Cape Town owns its identity. There’s something almost aspirational about the imbalance and (lack of) contradictions in this particular city, and they are clear to me when I explore it on foot, on different days and times, and try to understand why my basic feeling is absolute discomfort.
At Finch Hattons Luxury Camp in the Tsavo, a crocodile called Jemimah tries to kill Muthuri, Dan Kiptoo falls off a bed, and a thousand hills come alive.
You could smell the nyama choma long before you saw it. It was our first night in Tsavo, and the itinerary said we were heading out to a bush dinner. So down the stretch, past the rock-paved swimming pool, through a dark stretch to a grassy patch. Now wasn't the time for anyone to start recounting that old story of the man-eating lions of the Tsavo, and luckily, no one did.
There are 12 chalets in this hamlet of wonder in the middle of the wild. 12 wooden chalets, set along the river banks, joined to each other and the bar/dining area, by a boardwalk.