Timbavati rondavel camp, somewhere near Kruger.

We're now in – arguably – the nicest accommodation of the trip. We're eschewing the tents today, and this camp is covered in 'rondavels' – round buildings with a single door. They're traditional dwellings for the area, but these have been updated, with a bathroom curving around one side and coloured patterns all over the outsides. I've scored a double room to myself, which is a breath of fresh air. So, where was I?

Having finally sorted out the 'morning walk' debacle, things are back to normal, and everyone's friendly. To be honest, I'm not sure any of the other people on the truck either cared, or indeed understood what the issue was. It's a shame Christine and Heather won't be joining us on the transfer, as they're the two people that have been keeping me sane. Our 'family' is beginning to bug me a little bit. I must stress they're all very nice, but having any sub-group of six is always going to risk unbalancing a travelling group, and I'm particularly irked that there are kids. They're probably better behaved than one would have a right to expect of children that age. The older kids are clearly highly intelligent, over-achievers, and they're – I would say – a 'successful' family. You're never going to be 'cool', though, when you all have personal Swiss Army knives, and when mum and dad have pens on chords round their necks. I've realised, that I would probably not have signed up for the trip if I'd known there would be children – I'm finding I have to think about moderating my swearing, and consider the jokes and stories I tell (I mean whether they're suitable, rather than whether they're funny – that's never been a consideration, tho' god knows it should be).

So, we 'game drove' out of Kruger or a few hours, and reached the camp just after lunch. We were then to have our last 'cultural experience' – a tour of the Timbavati village. This was simply weird. We had an old-ish local guide. He spent fifteen minutes telling us how poor everyone was, how there were few cars, how it was hard for people to go to school. His English wasn't great (so god knows how the Dutch and French-Canadians coped), but it felt like he was pushing the poverty thing. We went into the 'village'. Instead of the traditional mud huts that you'd, perhaps, expect an African village to consist of, most of the buildings were one or two room dwellings fashioned from breeze blocks. It was all so strange. They had a 'witch doctor' there, dressed in gaudy red robes. They laid out a rug covered in various animal bones, and the guide told us a couple of stories. I can't tell you what they were about, as I was totally lost. Christine told me she smiled at the woman and got two empty eyes back at her. She was clearly very well fed, and the 'we're on the verge of poverty' message was also slightly sullied by the loud rap music coming from the house next door.

As we walked around, the experience became stranger and stranger. We saw houses with lots of adults, most of whom were sitting around doing nothing. No-one looked mal-nourished. Indeed, many of them looked slightly overweight. The dirt tracks between the houses were littered with rubbish, and my Western sensibilities screamed, 'if you're really poor, and also have nothing to do all day, TIDY UP' (and yes, I know I'm not the tidiest person in the world, but then, I'm not asking for help either. I know standards of cleanliness shouldn't necessarily be an indicator of need, but at least it's 'making an effort'.) The effect was also slightly undone when we walked past a really rather nice house, with a brand new Audi parked in the carport. Yes, carport. Big enough for three cars.

I don't know what this was about. I don't know what it was trying to achieve. While I'm considerably richer than the people living there, I still wasn't particularly sympathetic. I wasn't, in any way, convinced that they were in any danger of starvation. It was difficult to know what to do with it. As we walked back to camp, we spotted at least fifteen vultures circling in the sky. We never found out what they were after.

Once we were back at camp, we immediately jumped on the truck, which took us to the nearest Kruger camp for a night game drive. The guide we had wasn't a patch on the guy we'd had two nights before. For starters, she seemed to miss a lot, and was so deaf it took her fiftymetres or so to stop when we shouted we'd seen something. We'd go something like 'Stop. Stop! Look, really stop! Lion!'. It was getting quite funny by the end. We'd ended up leaving half an hour late because some other people turned up late, and Quintan had a semi-heated argument with the guide about extending the drive. She eventually capitulated. We cursed Quintan later, when we were cold, hungry and shivering, seeing nothing, and desparate to go back to camp. The three latecomers were middle-aged lesbians. I know this because they all wore glasses. Okay, okay, and had practical haircuts. Oh alright, when asked, 'So what do you do?', they replied, 'Oh, we're lesbians'. We saw so little on this drive, it wasn't funny. Well, we did catch a fleeting glimpse of a leopard, but that was about it. By the time we arrived back at camp, I was commentating to Heather and Christine,
'If you look carefully, to your left you can see a caravan. You'll generally only see this in the park during the day. By night, they tend to be found in the camps...'

The evening was fun, with another Nomad truck in the camp. Apparently, some of them climbed out over the fence and were playing on one of those push-pull things on an old railway line at 2am. I stayed at our campfire and got to know the 'new guys'. The Northern Irish couple are interesting – they're from County Tyrone, and have a strong prediliction for sports shirts. They're over for a wedding, so thought they'd have a look at Kruger while they're here. I have a theory – or I read it somewhere, or something – that people become mor patriotic in times of conflict or isolation. I'm not an expert on the troubles in Ireland over the last century, but I'd imagine those seeking to keep Northern Ireland British were much more resolutely patriotic than those of us in England. This couple were more 'British' bar far, than me. I live in England, where I don't have to stand up for my country. It just is. In fact, it's well known that being British has, to a small extent, been hijacked by the more right-wing elements in the UK. No, it was just interesting that this Irish couple identified far more strongly with the UK than with the Irish Republic.

(not sure I've articulated that particularly well, but does that make sense?)

So, Albert is Brai-ing today. We've noticed that, whereas Bjorn was very organised in what he does, and Lissom was more laid-back. On Kurt, Quintan is the chilled one, and Albert is the 'Iron Chef'. We've also noticed that while there's 'enough' food, you often feel like you could do with a little more. Budget-wise, I think the food on this bit of the trip has been higher quality, but there's been less of it.

So, it's our last night. Time to get fed.