Sand Rivers

Day 13 - Feb 17th


There is nothing very exciting about sitting in a moving vehicle or in a plane flying.  At least not any more but I do always feel an incredulous trill at the moment when one turns into the other.  And in a tiny little Cessna Caravan it arrives as a miracle.  Bumping along with a belt on in a beige brushed nylon seat for all the world like catching a ride in an ageing Toyota Corolla, picking up speed and more speed and then suddenly whoosh and the ground is dropping away. It shouldn’t be. And the opposite is even more of a shock – returning from flighted serenity to earth with a roar and a rush and a thud, bump, bump, bump.

                         Toyota Corolla

But that’s what it takes to get to Sand Rivers, Selous.

Twenty three years ago in 1996 after visiting Tanzania on a very successful holiday I started my own little travel consultancy.  I specialised in bespoke journeys (“The Holiday Adventure – Go somewhere beautiful.  Do something different”).  I suppose over the four years I organised about 40 separate trips to Tanzania and Zanzibar.  I didn’t make much money but saw a lot of the country and visited lots of places tourists could stay in search of the perfect itinerary.  I didn’t get much time to myself; I was checking out the best rooms or the nicest guides or the cleanest buses or whatever but I did get to spend some nights in some very very beautiful accommodations.  This trip, twenty years later we are visiting a few of them again.

Some, like Rangwi Convent in the Usambaras are extremely basic.

Some like Sand Rivers are not.

I spent a night here 20 years ago and felt very fortunate both for the complimentary room I wrangled and because of everywhere I went in Tanzania it was my favourite place.  I sent some of my higher spending clients – mostly honey-mooners - and they loved it.

In the interim I worked hard at selling Christmas Trees.  I sold a lot of them and in the end I sold the business.  And decided to book us in for three nights – leveraging my past relationship with Nomad Safaris I got a very welcome discount and here we are.

I wonder if  instead of fame a less narcissistic Andy Warhol might have proposed 15 minutes of  luxury for everyone on the planet.  I might choose to spend mine here – it is the opposite of kitsch. It embraces the natural world – the hippos snort in the river it overlooks, the pool mirrors the overhanging Baobob, the rooms are glorious, separate, rough hewn and elegantly sparse but functional on a grand scale – the showers for example are little waterfalls, the beds soft and vast, the balconies spectacular.  The food is properly delicious.  The staff properly good at helping us to feel good about ourselves. But I am not writing their brochure.  The point is that we can’t quite believe we are here; it is the nicest place any of us have stayed.  I can’t say we have deserved it – no one really deserves this kind of service and in an unjust world there are surely many places as accommodating but I haven’t seen them and won’t be seeking them out.  It is regardless a real pleasure.

And we are becoming such willing and enthusiastic wildlife experts.  More than 80 species of birds now seen and I reckon I could identify better than half of them from a cold start and I could tell you a thing or two about the mammals as well.  I think Taran could write a book – actually he has written a pamphlet and went over it with Phillip on the phone.













Carmine Bee Eaters

Lilac Breasted Roller


Jo is walking around a little glazed, a little blissed out.  She has just had a massage.

A baboon crosses the terrace in front of me.  The river rolls on. The bush literally calls out.  I guess real life will return but not tomorrow.  Nor the day after.