Ever since I first started travelling (and after I’d backpacked my way across the US) there have been two destinations on my wish list; one was Japan, which I finally visited for the first time last October; and the second is Africa, fuelled by an obsession with Born Free, Out of Africa and an overwhelming desire to see lions, elephants and rhino in the wild.
Well next month I’m flying to Kenya, then taking another plane to Tanzania, then taking another plane to the Serengeti in search of the Big 5. I KNOW.
Along the way I’ll get to see Kilimanjaro, and while I’m there I’ll be going on game drives and experiencing life in the Serengeti (although I can’t pretend I’ll be roughing it, because I’ll be staying at the luxurious Four Seasons Serengeti). I KNOW.
For the next four weeks I’m going to be running around getting visas and the dreaded yellow fever vaccination and channeling my inner Isak Dinesen/Karen Blixen with a wardrobe of khaki.
It’s basically a dream trip for me, the fulfillment of a lifetime’s travelling ambition. The fact I’m doing it on my own feels like a bit of a challenge, a case of fearing the fear and doing it anyway. And although I feel *slightly* guilty going on this trip without No 1 Son I know he’ll have plenty of opportunity to explore any destinations he wants to, because he has caught my travelling bug. As a writer, my big African adventure promises to be an unforgettable travel experience, and I’ll be blogging, tweeting and instagramming about every minute.