Two months into our round-the-world trip we are now seasoned travellers, London life a distant memory. We are moving constantly, packing and unpacking. Our children, Gregor, 8, Jasmina, 6, and Kinvy, 4, adjust merrily to the daily changes that we are throwing at them. My husband Nick is relaxed, even cheerful, getting used to spending time with his family, rather than his colleagues in the City.
The Midlands, the Drakensberg, the Natal coast, Swaziland, the Kruger, the Waterberg . . . our hired Toyota saloon, groaning with luggage, carried us obligingly around a large chunk of South Africa. Chanting Jasmina’s three times table repeatedly, we drove thousands of kilometres along amazingly empty and easy roads which we had previously thought to be unsafe. Admittedly, road signs stating “Crime Area, Do Not Stop” did unnerve us, as did the advice that we were constantly given — “you are fine to drive but don’t drive at night and don’t break down in the wrong area” (er, how could we be sure that that wouldn’t happen?). Fluorescent white tourists, we held our collective breath as we passed through some of the grim and sprawling townships.
But South Africa is both stunning and user-friendly. Empty and wild in many places, but connected to the world in practical ways: we could keep Kinvy supplied with Marmite and biltong, staples in her diet. Gregor could call his friend Edward, to update him on bird sightings. Our BlackBerry, no longer an office enemy, meant we could keep up e-mailing banter with those at home.
We camped with friends in their 5,000 hectares of lovely, remote bush in Limpopo Province. With no electricity, meals were cooked over the fire that we huddled around at night, a wild porcupine feeding on the dog biscuits that we scattered at our feet for him. We stayed in farms and guesthouses, people everywhere intrigued and enthusiastic about our trip. We grilled them all about the possibilities in this evolving country, the great schools with bargain-basement fees, the cheap properties, the wonderful lifestyle, the land claims, the crime.
Jasmina developed a raging temperature just hours before we were to leave South Africa for the next phase of The Trip, as we all now call it. Immediately hysterical, I assumed it was malaria, accompanying us from Kruger. I ranted at Nick, blaming him for bringing us to this dangerous environment.
He raced her to one of Johannesburg’s sumptuous private medical clinics for a blood test. Within the hour she had the all-clear. Sinus infection, phew. We just made it to the plane and were delighted to reach the noticeably more relaxed and friendly atmosphere of Livingstone in Zambia.
We stayed there in a private home on the banks of the Zambezi, rented, along with its superb staff, to lucky us. A trampolining accident, of all things, meant a visit to a “private hospital” (an authentically grubby clinic) in Livingstone for Kinvy. I won’t forget the sight of my small daughter, 4 years old, calmly lying on a grimy bed, lead jacket up to her ears, blasted by the reckless rays of an antique X-ray machine. Another “why did we do this?” moment.
We boated into Botswana and a few days of mobile camping safari with Lisa Reed, a specialist in child-oriented safaris. Lisa was a mine of information about tracking and animal behaviour and Gregor (now a bird-watcher extraordinaire) had a ball. His bird list, attended to with fervour since Cape Town, reached the giddy heights of 350-plus species.
Freezing, fully dressed, in our tents at night we were kept awake by hair-raisingly close roars of four arguing male lions. Kinvy, I kept thinking, would provide them with a nice hors d’oeuvre. A lone bull elephant chomped his way through the trees in our camp. Hoards of mice chomped their way through the tents, scurrying irritatingly, climbing the mosquito nets, vainly attempting to snuggle up with us at night. Filthy, we flew on to our next camp in the Okavango Delta, to electricity and hot water, as well as hippos and crocs aplenty.
The last few weeks have been exhausting and exciting — a mad mêl?e of travel. Our lives have changed utterly, but we are all thriving. This is a fantastic and fascinating experience; it has given us so many stories to tell already. No regrets, as yet.
Journey of our lives
Noisy lions at night are just one of the thrills as Rachel Tims and family continue their gap year