Cathy’s favourite day of the trip occurred in the wildlife-dense confines of Hluhluwe-Umfolozi Park (try biting the tip of your tongue and going “Sha-shloo-we-oom-fa-low-zee.” Good, you’re still pronouncing it wrong). She calls it Elephant Day and in the slang of two this is right up there with Manta Day, Outer Walruston and even our Sakalava wedding (surely not!).
At the outset, we negotiated an elephant blocking the road. Later, we watched a different elephant push down and strip the bark from an enormous tree. That afternoon we got surrounded by a herd of some thirty elephants whereupon a large bull entered the road behind us and forced us forward a few hundred yards— which was terrifying on the one hand but fascinating on the other since all the while he was swinging, his huge, impossible, pachyderm dong. Seriously, it was the size of my leg. But then, as my good friend Abe points out, elephant pussy is deep.
Over the course of Elephant Day we also encountered baboon, monkeys, warthog, guinea-fowl, hyena, hippo and so many giraffe, zebra, antelope, rhino and buffalo we actually came down with safari ennui. Yawn. Didn’t this place have lions?
My favorite moment, however, came the following day while stopping off at a wildlife hide to take a wazz. After using the hornet-infested facilities, we decided to check out the hide proper. Along the walkway we passed an old man hustling excitedly out of the entrance.
“Hurry, hurry, the elephant’s almost here!” he shouted, before rushing off in the opposite direction.
Shrugging, we entered the hide, a dark, wooden chamber perched above a watering hole and found two elderly women and another old codger seated on benches with their lunches spread before them. Tea, sandwiches, crisps, the works. Wrapped around their necks were either massive binoculars or unwieldy, zoom-lens cameras or both and between their conversation, the fiddling with equipment and the rustling of food-bearing plastic, they were making a helluva lot of noise for a place where silence is supposedly of the essence. Who knows how long they’d been there. The park guidebook suggests spending four or five hours in these cleverly-located hides to really make the most of the experience.
Despite our misgivings we sat down and joined them. Within a few seconds, a juvenile bull elephant strode purposely out of the bush and down to the watering hole. Maybe he would have a bath. However, upon hearing all the commotion from within— “Damnit, Mildred, where’s the sugar?” “Shhhh! You’re startling him!”— the beast immediately pulled up its trunk, fixed a mistrustful eye at the blind, and did a complete 180 back to the bush. Wildlife moment over.
“Well, you two sure are lucky,” said one of the old ladies. The others merely gaped. I think Cat’s tattoo was showing.
At this I used my stock response: “Thank you,” I said. “We like to be uncanny.”
Then, seeing nothing else of interest and having been in the hide for all of two minutes, we left. On our way back to the car we passed Grandpa once again, hurriedly shuffling back to the hide, this time clutching his camera.
