Explorations All Over

Into Africa: Elephants, Giraffes & Gin and Tonics

Russ Season 1 Episode 11

Into Africa: Elephants, Giraffes & Gin & Tonics
We dreamed of a safari for years—and finally made it happen. Come with us to the remote Tanzanian bush, where the wildlife is wild, the beds are five-star, and the gin is perfectly chilled.

In this debut Far Flung Adventures episode, we land in Tarangire National Park, settle into our luxurious tented camp, and experience the magic of the African bush—from morning game drives to evening sundowners. Whether you’re planning your own safari or just dreaming for now, this episode brings you front-row to the elephants, the sounds of the savannah, and the warmth of Sanctuary Swala.

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Into Africa: Elephants, Giraffes and Gin & Tonics

Hey there, I’m Russ — and welcome to Explorations All Over Far Flung Adventures, a subscriber-only series that takes listeners to some of the most remote, unusual, and unforgettable corners of the globe.

If this is your first time tuning in, welcome.  If you’re a loyal listener welcome back.

This first episode is a little different. It’s free for everyone — designed to give you a taste of what’s to come and, yes, to tempt you into subscribing. As a subscriber, you’ll get full access to Far Flung Adventures, plus bonus content, behind-the-scenes stories, and the satisfaction of supporting this podcast so I can keep sharing these one-of-a-kind explorations all over.

Safari and the untamed beauty of Africa. It conjures images of mystery, danger, and thrill. We had dreamed of it for years — and in 2017, we finally made it happen: a three-week glamping adventure through Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda.

So sit back. Or lace up your running shoes. Or crank this up in the car. However you listen to Explorations All Over, you’re in for something amazing.

Duncan and I dreamed of taking a safari. We traveled often—cruises, resorts, the familiar rhythms of well-worn itineraries—but this would be something entirely different. A journey into the unknown.

Planning a safari isn’t something you do on a whim. It’s not the kind of trip you piece together with browser tabs and travel points. The scale of it demands care. There are too many logistics, too many variables, and this part of the world—so rich in beauty, so unfamiliar to most people—requires respect.

We discovered Sanctuary Resorts after much research. A few inquiries turned into lengthy conversations. What started as curiosity became commitment. Over time and with the help of our dedicate advisor, we shaped an itinerary that would carry us through Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda—each destination adding a new layer to the journey we were imagining.

We began planning eighteen months in advance. It had to be that way. This kind of travel asks for patience, and in return, it promises perspective. Our advisor guided us through it all, helping us understand what to expect, what to leave behind, and what we might discover. There were lots of beautiful camps to choose from, each with their own personality.  And, like all great adventures, the more we prepared, the more possibilities revealed themselves.  

We spent months talking through the details—camps and game drives, sunrises and sunsets, and something called a boma, which I’ll talk more about later. There was a sense of anticipation in every conversation, a quiet understanding that this wasn’t going to be some theme park version of Africa. This wasn’t Jumanji. This was the real thing.

Let me be clear right up front: going on safari is a financial commitment. But it’s important to understand that everything—and I do mean everything—is included. Aside from your international flights to and from Africa, your ground and intercamp air transportation is covered. So are three gourmet meals a day, a tea break during your morning game drive (featuring a buffet of local specialties and freshly baked treats), and “sundowners” in the late afternoon—cocktails and a full spread of sweet and savory bites enjoyed on an open plain as the sun dips below the horizon.

Back at camp, wine and cocktails are included, as are the amazing meals both enjoyed in camp and on drives. So is your stay in luxurious accommodations, and the kind of warm, thoughtful hospitality that is honestly hard to describe. It’s that good.

Now yes, the cost is what keeps many people away. But if this is something you’ve dreamed about—start saving for it. I promise you, a safari is one of the most unforgettable, awe-inspiring experiences of a lifetime —and I don’t think you’ll ever regret it.

The first decision was where to begin the adventure, though in our minds, that had already been settled. Kenya would be our starting point. Specifically, Arusha. We booked flights on KLM, a long arc from New York through Amsterdam, and then on to East Africa.

One common mistake so many travelers make regardless of the destination is overpacking.  Packing for Africa is a balancing act. But overpacking isn’t even an option: bush flights enforce strict weight limits—just 33 pounds or 15 kilograms per person (that’s luggage weight, not traveler weight). So you’re forced to be selective.

The challenge, of course, is what to bring. Thankfully, Sanctuary provided a detailed packing list—from clothing to insect repellent—so we hit the local sporting goods store and got kitted out. Since laundry service would be minimal, we focused on quick-dry clothes we could wash in the sink and hang to dry. (Ideally somewhere the monkeys couldn’t reach them.)

And so bags packed, in January of 2017, we stepped into the unknown. It was exhilarating and unfamiliar and just a little bit unnerving. We knew Amsterdam. Arusha? That was a mystery.

Our advisor had made sure we were prepared—Kenyan visas secured before departure, all paperwork in order. We landed just past midnight, the air outside thick with darkness. Ours was the first flight to arrive that night, and we moved quickly through the quiet terminal. Fortunately, our driver was already there, waiting to take us to the Arusha Coffee Lodge.

The drive was surreal—pitch black, no landmarks, no lights, just motion. And then, almost suddenly, we arrived. The staff was waiting to greet us, fully alert and gracious as if midnight check-ins were an everyday affair (which, for them, probably were). We were shown to our room, given a quick orientation of the lodge, and told to expect our Sanctuary representative in the morning, after breakfast.

But sleep wasn’t so easy to come by. Our bodies were out of rhythm, our minds still racing. So we wandered to the bar and met Basil, the bartender. He welcomed us like old friends—warm, welcoming, unhurried. He didn’t pepper us with questions or stories, just asked how the flight had been, how the weather in Amsterdam was.

It was exactly what we needed. A gin and tonic. Something light to eat. Something familiar in a place that already felt like another world.

Eventually, we made our way back to the room and into bed, still unsure what day or hour it was, but deeply aware that we had finally arrived.

The next morning, we dressed quickly and made our way to breakfast. 

Our Sanctuary rep met us on time—warm, well-prepared, and ready to usher us into safari mode. He outlined the itinerary in careful detail, which we understood… vaguely. Everything had been arranged. All we had to do was follow.

Pickup was at 8 a.m. the next day. Destination: the Arusha airstrip—not an airport, an airstrip. Until then, we walked around town and wandered into a tanzanite shop. We left with two beautiful blue stones and no idea what to do with them.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we arrived at the airstrip: gravel roads, a few booths, and—rising in the distance—Mount Kilimanjaro, as if someone dropped it in from a postcard.  And lots and lots of bush planes wisking intrepid travelers to various destinations throughout East Africa.

We checked in by giving our names and stepping on a scale. No boarding passes. No security lines. A few minutes later, we were climbing into a small prop plane with twenty seats and no overhead bins. The pilot turned in his seat, gave a grin, and told us our first stop.

I looked at Duncan. What is happening?

Then we were taxiing. Then we were on the runway.

Without much ceremony, we were airborne.

The landscape below was dry and scrub-covered—brown earth dotted with thorny bushes. This was Africa, or at least, our first glimpse of it.

Soon, we began to descend. But where? From our seats and through the open cockpit, you could see everything—and there was nothing. Until, suddenly, there was. A narrow track carved out of the earth, barely distinguishable from the land around it. And a shack. And a Jeep parked next to the shack.

We landed. The plane rolled toward the small structure, its engines idling, then cut out completely. The silence was startling. A few people waited beside the Jeep, and someone called our names from the open door of the plane.

Was this our stop? Apparently so:  Tarangire National Park, home to Sanctuary Swala, our first camp.

We climbed out. Our bags were already being unloaded, and our driver—a soft-spoken man named Sammy—was helping two young women onto the plane. They looked emotional, holding back tears as they said goodbye.

Within minutes, the engines roared back to life, the plane sped down the makeshift runway, and it was gone.

And just like that, our safari began. Bags stowed, buckled into the Jeep, heading off into the bush. It was hot and it was dusty.  The only sound was the low hum of the engine, and the fading echo of propellers behind us.

The best way to describe the vehicle we climbed into is… well, it wasn’t exactly a “Jeep,” at least not in the traditional sense. The driver sat up front, and behind him were three rows of seats arranged stadium-style—each row slightly higher than the one before it to give everyone a clear view. Except there were only two of us, so we sat directly behind Sammy, our guide. The “Jeep” had a canvas roof, but the sides were completely open. This wasn’t just a ride—it was a full sensory experience. We could hear everything, smell everything, and see it all without filters.

Sammy welcomed us with a huge smile and asked if this was our first safari. We told him it was and how thrilled we were to be there. That’s when we noticed something odd in our seat—a stick with what looked like a horse’s tail attached to the end. Naturally, we asked what it was.

Sammy grinned. “Have you heard of tse tse flies?” He pronounced it gently—more like “say-say.”  In the U.S. we say tse tse.

Right then, I felt a sharp jab like a pinch on the back of my neck.

“OW!”

“That, my new friend,” Sammy said with a wide grin, “is a tse tse fly.”

Holy cow, it hurt. I started to wonder—what exactly had we gotten ourselves into?

Sammy explained that the flies were only found in Tarangire and only in one specific area, where they were drawn to the brush. Apparently, the “tails” were used just like animals use theirs—to swat away the flies. No spray works. No pesticide kills them. Those tails would come in very handy.

We drove away from the airstrip, trailing a plume of dust behind us. Sammy turned and told us that since we were ahead of schedule, we’d be starting our first game drive immediately.

My heart thumped. Duncan and I looked at each other with wide eyes. This was it. What we had started planning over 18 months ago was finally here.

We hadn’t driven even half a mile when we spotted our first animals—a herd of impala. I got goosebumps. Sammy stopped the vehicle, turned off the engine (as he would every time we stopped—so we could hear the animals), and explained the impala’s behavior, habitat, and diet. Turns out impala are near the bottom of the food chain, which explained why there were so many of them.

We drove on, jostling slightly along the dirt roads. No pavement in sight, but the shocks on the Jeep took most of the bumps.

A few minutes later, we came across a herd of zebra.

Fun fact #1: A herd of zebra is called a dazzle. Isn’t that perfect?
Fun fact #2: Zebra stripes are actually brown and white—not black and white like most people think. And just like human fingerprints, no two zebras have the same pattern.

Sammy turned off the engine, and we just observed—observed being the right word. We hadn’t even been on the ground for 15 minutes, and here we were, face to face with wild zebra, not in some small enclosure, but roaming freely through their native habitat.

I didn’t have to pinch myself. A tse tse fly had already taken care of that.

It was surreal. We were actually here, actually living this.

Not long after, we came across a tower of giraffe (yes—a tower), and later, a parade of elephants.

[Seriously, who came up with these descriptions? Did someone just sit with a thesaurus and a glass of wine and start assigning group nouns at random?]

Around midday, Sammy pulled over at a shady spot for lunch. We hadn’t realized how hungry we were until we opened the boxes the camp had packed—gourmet fare, right there in the middle of the wilderness. Impala grazed nearby. Giraffe moved across the plain in the distance. It was quiet. Peaceful. Unbelievable.

This was just the beginning.

If you've ever dreamed of waking up in the African bush, hearing lions roar in the distance, or sipping sundowners as elephants cross the plain—you’ll want to hear what happens next.

Far Flung Adventures is a subscriber-only series that takes you deeper—into the Serengeti, the Ngorongoro Crater, and an encounter in Uganda that still gives me chills.

Subscribe now to unlock the rest of this journey—and others you won’t find anywhere else.

It starts at 3 bucks a month. Less than your morning coffee. But what do you get?

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You’ll get the full safari series, plus upcoming stories from some truly remote and remarkable places—like the frozen wonder of Antarctica, the jungles of the Amazon, and  so much more.

Alright—back to the savannah, where lunch is served under an acacia tree and the next surprise might have tusks.

Now you might be wondering—weren’t we scared some lion would catch the scent of the food and pounce?

Surprisingly, no. Not for a moment. We never felt unsafe—ever. Not during game drives, not back at camp. Sanctuary was a professionally run operation, with guides who were trained in animal behavior and expert trackers. They knew the terrain and the wildlife better than anyone. Sammy did carry a gun, but it was stowed safely away and never once needed. He also had a radio and was in constant contact with the camp and other guides in the area.

After lunch, we continued our journey, heading back toward camp, Sanctuary Swala. As we passed through a particularly dense patch of bush, Sammy warned us: This was tse tse territory. Tails ready!

We swatted at tsetse flies more than once, but I have to hand it to the Tanzanian government—they’ve actually set up clever traps all around the bush to control them. It’s one of those behind-the-scenes things you never think about, but thank goodness someone did.

As we emerged from the brush, we spotted another group of elephants just off the road. Sammy pulled over and explained their family structure: which was the dominant male, which female had given birth recently, and which elephant you did not want to provoke.

We didn’t stay long. We just marveled. Sammy got on the radio, said something we couldn’t make out, and a reply came immediately. Something was clearly being coordinated.

Soon after, we passed a sign for the camp. About fifty yards farther, we pulled up to a wooden deck, where the entire staff stood waving and smiling and singing to greet us. Off to the side was a man—clearly not a local—grinning just as widely.

What. A. Welcome.

We climbed out of the Jeep and were immediately met with a warm “JAMBO!
We grinned and replied, “Jambo!” thinking it meant hello.

It actually means “welcome.” But they humored us.

The man introduced himself as Devin. He and his wife Terry ran Sanctuary Swala—and, as we’d soon learn, an extraordinary team. Devin walked us through orientation, something that would happen at every camp: the do’s and don’ts of camp life. Don’t walk alone. Use the room’s radio if you need anything. Breakfast at such-and-such time. Game drive leaves promptly at this hour. That sort of thing.

But above all: safety.

We were in the animals’ territory now—not the other way around. After dark, we were always escorted by an Askari, a local tribesman trained to deal with wildlife should they make a surprise appearance. But again, we never felt unsafe. Not once.

After the briefing, we were led to our tent.

From the moment we stepped out of the jeep, it felt like we’d arrived somewhere ancient and somewhat sacred. Sanctuary Swala isn’t just a camp—it’s a revelation. The tents were tucked under acacia trees and spaced so widely apart, you felt like you had the whole savanna to yourself.

Now, when I say “tent,” I don’t mean just a triangular flap of canvas and a cot. This was more like a five-star suite… with giraffe occasionally wandering by in the distance. We had a wide wooden deck with two lounge chairs looking out onto the grasslands, a bathroom that was bigger than some hotel rooms, and a bed so luxurious that we joked it was hard to get out of in the chill of the morning.

At night, the canvas sides gently swayed in the breeze. You could hear the distant lowing of water buffalo, the bark of nearby hyena—and sometimes something much closer. One night I was sure I heard something breathing right outside the tent. But that’s part of the thrill: you’re not in a hotel next to the wild. You’re in it.

We unpacked, freshened up for sundowners and dinner and called for an askari to bring us back to the main lodge.

The boma, the outdoor fire pit, was the heart of the camp in the evenings. There was a rich scent of burning wood and smoke floating up into the darkening sky and the emerging stars.  And dinners that would’ve impressed even the most demanding food critic. Imagine sitting at a table draped in crisp white linen, sipping a gin and tonic under the star-filled sky, while one of the amazing staff sets a china plate filled with seared lamb and couscous in front of you. I mean… come on.

The staff.  The staff could best be described as unbelievable. Within 24 hours, they knew how we took our tea, how we liked our eggs, and what made us smile. It didn’t feel like customer service. It felt like hospitality in the truest sense.

That first night we stayed only a little while around the boma. The food had been incredible. The service impeccable. And everything we’d been told about the Sanctuary experience was coming true.

But bed was calling. And it had never sounded so good. Night fell and the canvas walls rustled softly in the breeze. Out in the darkness you could hear the distant bark of hyenas, the low, steady breathing of buffalo close by… and maybe something else stirring just beyond the deck.”

We woke to a morning chill we hadn’t expected. Sunrise is the best time to spot wildlife—when it’s still cool and before the heat sets in—so it was early. One of the Askari walked us to the main tent for breakfast, and to our surprise, there were electric heaters going. But who could complain about a hot breakfast with a view of the African countryside, even if we were bracing for a four-hour game drive? Yes—four hours.

Let’s pause here for a safari essential: what do you do when you have to go to the bathroom? According to Sammy, all you have to say is: “I need to check the tires.” It’s code, but it has to be timed right—Sammy needs enough notice to find a safe place to stop. So, no last-minute emergencies.

We headed out and hadn’t gone far when we came upon a family of elephants, but not the same one we had seen the previous day. Sammy slowed immediately—he knew one of the females had recently given birth, and that meant danger. She confirmed it with a warning: ears flapping, trunk raised, and then—trumpeting. Sammy gently backed the vehicle up and waited as the family crossed the road, always calm, always respectful.

Once it was safe, we moved on—slowly—into the brush, horse-tail fly swatters at the ready. We got through mostly unscathed, though Sammy picked up a few tse tse bites and didn’t seem fazed in the least.

The day turned gorgeous—bright sun, no clouds, just that deep blue African sky. The chill lifted, and we headed into a different section of the park. It was migration season, and we’d arrived in time for one of nature’s greatest shows: the Great Migration. Thousands—literally thousands—of animals on the move, searching for food and water.

We came across a massive herd of water buffalo; from huge males, to slightly smaller females, to calfs just a month or so old. As they passed, wave after wave, their hooves pounded the ground like a distant drumline. We weren’t close, but the sound echoed all around us and you could smell the dust they kicked up and the musky animal smell they exuded, even from far away.

Lunch was served under the spreading limbs of an acacia, the linen tablecloth catching the breeze just enough to flutter. The food was elegant and fresh, but what really stayed with me was the atmosphere: the earthy perfume of sunbaked grass, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the low, rhythmic clicking of cicadas pulsing all around us. Every so often, a distant grunt or call would drift in—zebra, hippo, who knew? It was savage and peaceful all at once.

As we returned to camp, the now-familiar elephant family stood outside the camp, trunks swaying gently in the golden light. Sammy eased the vehicle wide around them, but not wide enough to escape their commentary—a few well-timed trumpets of disapproval let us know exactly how they felt about uninvited guests.

Back at the tent, we freshened up and made our way to the main lodge for sundowners with an escort.

Oh—and in case you’re wondering: Were we the only people there? Great question. No. There was another group staying at Sanctuary Swala, but oddly enough, we didn’t see them until our second night.

When we originally checked in, Devin mentioned that for an additional fee there was an optional excursion if we were interested—an on-foot observation of game just beyond the camp. With the Great Migration underway, it was a rare chance to see it up close and personal. Duncan and I jumped at the opportunity.

On the third morning, after breakfast, we met Devin and a local tribesman who would accompany us. There were some ground rules: Devin would lead, the tribesman would follow in the rear, and we were to obey all instructions—no exceptions. There were hand signals to stop, crouch, move back, or freeze. And the most important rule? Never run. If an animal approached, we were to hide behind a tree and stay absolutely still.

Devin carried a rifle. None of us wanted him to use it.

It was absolutely thrilling. Just twenty yards away, we watched as thousands of water buffalo marched by, kicking up dust, the earth trembling beneath our feet. Further along, we encountered elephants—not the same family we’d seen before. Devin signaled for us to crouch low as they passed, and I swear, my heart was in my throat.

These are the moments travel gives you—the kind that stay with you forever.

We returned to camp smiling—not sure if it was because we were still alive, or because of what we’d just witnessed. Probably both.

That afternoon, Sammy took us on one final game drive, this time to the Tarangire River. It was farther from camp, and as we drove, we passed animals that had once seemed so exotic but had now become strangely familiar.

At the riverbank, Sammy pointed out new terrain—wetlands, home to different bird species and, to our delight, hippos. We listened to their snuffling as we passed, then came across a group of warthogs—honestly, not the prettiest creatures.

We crossed to the other side of the river and made our way up a hill, then followed the water downstream. Duncan and I were wondering where Sammy was leading us—until we saw them. Two lions, sleeping in the shade beneath a tree.

Sammy told us they were locals—well-fed, and clearly relaxed. We sat in silence, watching the breeze gently stir their manes. They looked peaceful. But one glance at their massive paws and you remembered: they could tear a man in two without a second thought.

On the way back, we passed two ostriches lumbering up the same path we had just come from. We wondered if they had any idea what was waiting over the hill. Then again… the lions had already eaten.

We stopped for lunch at a quiet spot, and this time Sammy joined us. It felt right. In just a few days, he had become part of our journey in the most essential way. He had shown us a world far removed from our everyday lives, and we were better for it.

We talked, laughed, and looked back on everything we had seen—experiences that, for Sammy, were routine. For us, they were anything but.

Back at camp, we passed the elephant family once again. This time, they seemed calm. No trumpets. Just a quiet, powerful presence as they watched us go by.  Regardless of how many times we saw elephants we were always in awe of their beauty and majesty, both gentle and dangerous.

Later, after a hot shower and a change of clothes, we made our way to the main deck at Swala Camp for sundowners. The staff had arranged a low table and lanterns, and we sipped gin and tonics as the light softened across the plains. Elephants moved through the trees in the distance, and the sky turned a dusky lavender. It felt intimate and expansive all at once—like the world had gotten very quiet just for us.

That night at dinner, we wondered what the next stop would bring. Our time at Sanctuary Swala had been… well, the best word might be unexpected—in all the best ways. As I later wrote in my TripAdvisor review:
“Swala set an incredibly high bar.”

After one more exceptional evening, we went to bed feeling grateful. Not just for what we’d seen, but for how it made us feel.

The next morning dawned crisp and bright. Breakfast was, as always, a perfect sendoff. Terry was there, making sure we had everything we needed. Then we were back in the jeep, bags loaded, with Sammy—this time heading toward a different kind of destination.

The staff waved goodbye as we pulled away. We knew all their names, and they knew all our preferences. Their warmth and hospitality had left a mark we wouldn’t soon forget. As we drove out, we passed our elephant family— first we met them: grazing, majestic, awe‑inspiring.  The next morning, we recognized them — familiar giants in our evolving story.  As we departed, they seemed calm, almost regal, as if they understood our goodbye.

At the airstrip, we arrived early and spent our final moments chatting with Sammy about his next guests—how many were coming, where they were from, whether he’d guided them before.

Then we heard it: the soft thrum of propellers as the plane came into view, slowly descending. I watched it land and turn toward us, and suddenly I remembered our own arrival—how just a few days earlier, I’d seen two women embrace Sammy with tears in their eyes.

Now it was our turn.

We said our goodbyes, climbed aboard, and found whatever seats were open. The engines started. The plane taxied to the end of the strip. We picked up speed.

And as we lifted into the air, I realized I was leaving a piece of myself behind—
 with Sammy,
 with the camp,
 with the elephants.

I’ll be honest: I cried. The emotion snuck up on me, gentle but insistent. How could a place—just a few days in the wild—leave such a lasting imprint?

And this was just the beginning.

But the journey wasn’t over yet as our plane flew on to the next airstrip.

Next stop: Sanctuary Ngorongoro.

Our first four days in Tanzania opened a door to something we’ll never forget that resonated with us both deeply — but it was only the first chapter.

From here we descend into the Ngorongoro Crater, fly on to the vast plains of the Serengeti and track gorillas deep in the Ugandan jungle. The landscapes, the people, the moments… they only get more unforgettable.

And I want you to come with us.

To hear the rest of the story — and to support Explorations All Over and the Far Flung Adventures series — become a subscriber. It’s easy. Just click the link in the show notes or visit the Explorations All Over Facebook page.  I’ve pinned the subscription link at the top.

You’ll unlock the next episodes, special behind-the-scenes audio, and more adventures that you won’t find anywhere else.  But in the meantime, for subscribers, I’ve got something really special planned.

In our next Far Flung Adventures episode, which drops in 2 weeks, I’m talking with James Ward, Chief Explorations Officer at Rewild Safaris. We’ll dive into what makes a safari truly ethical, how to spot red flags when booking, and how to choose travel that gives back to the land and the people who call it home.

If you’ve ever dreamed of planning your own safari—or you just want to understand this incredible experience on a deeper level—you won’t want to miss it.

Subscribe now to unlock that episode, plus future adventures across some of the most remote and unforgettable corners of the planet.

Once again, I’m Russ.  Thanks for joining me on this first leg of my Far Flung Adventure to Africa.  There’s so much more to come.  More excitement, more discovery and more wildlife.  It’s going to be epic!

See you at Ngorogoro.

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