The lands travelled

Kenya is light. A golden light I have found nowhere else with such clarity. In the Maasai Mara, July mornings set the shadows like a marksman taking aim; in the evenings, October falls within minutes and the herds stretch out in the tall grass.

I work with two tented camps — no concrete, no buffet, fires in the evening and enamel kettles. The Maasai guides I engage are the ones I have known for fifteen years. We set out at dawn, return before the heat, and head out again in the late afternoon for the descending light.

The great migration crosses the Mara River between late July and early October, yet the Mara remains extraordinary outside those windows — less frequented, more peaceful, with a far finer use of the land. It can be combined with Lake Nakuru or the highlands of Laikipia to open the journey out further.

Uganda is the land of the great forests. At Bwindi, watching the mountain gorillas remains one of the most powerful experiences I know — a slow climb beneath the canopy, hours of walking at times, then an hour face to face with a family that the trackers have known for decades. Everything here is regulated, supervised, respectful: no rush, no spectacle, simply a shared presence.

At Kibale, it is the chimpanzees one follows, in another rhythm — more mobile, more vocal. The country reveals itself through this double movement: the forest that slows you down, the communities that open up, the volcanic landscapes of the west that remind you this part of Africa is alive in the geological sense of the word.

It is a demanding destination — specific permits, rigorous organisation, walking at altitude — but one that is profoundly rewarding. It is often paired with neighbouring Rwanda for those who wish to prolong the experience.

Ethiopia is not a safari country in the conventional sense. It is something else: an Africa of high plateaux, of churches carved into the rock at Lalibela, of the monasteries on Lake Tana, of the spectacular rifts of the Danakil. A cultural and geological destination before it is one of wildlife, which speaks to those who wish to touch something of the ancient roots of the continent.

As for nature, the Bale Mountains National Park is home to the Ethiopian wolf — one of the rarest canids in the world — amid highland landscapes that recall the Andes more than the savannah. It is a demanding journey: altitude, distances, a rhythm all its own. I offer it to those who have already travelled in East Africa and are seeking another side of it — less photographed, denser in history, profoundly affecting.

Zambia is the land of the walk. South Luangwa invented the modern walking safari — you set out on foot, early in the morning, accompanied by an armed scout and a guide who knows every tree. You read the trail, you learn to recognise it, you stop often. The density of wildlife is exceptional: leopards, wild dogs, elephants, hippos come out of the water at nightfall.

I like to come here at the end of the dry season, in September and October, when the heat draws the rhythms tighter and the herds gather around the waterholes. The nights are calm, the skies without rival.

Namibia is a country of air and mineral. Etosha National Park, in the north, is one of the most singular places to watch wildlife in Africa: a great dried salt pan around which the animals gather at the waterholes, sometimes as silhouettes of perfect legibility, as though set upon a stage. The approaches here are calmer than elsewhere — you take your time, you wait.

Further south, the dunes of the Namib at Sossusvlei offer one of the most recognisable images of the continent — and one of the most poorly photographed, through haste. They are best approached early, in the first hour of the day, while shadow still draws the ridgeline. I prefer this country at the start or the close of the dry season, when the light turns more oblique.

Côte d'Ivoire appears in no conventional safari catalogue. That is precisely what draws me back. The country offers another relationship with Africa — not the savannah and the great herds of the south-east, but primary forest, inland rivers, villages where one lingers a long while.

It is a journey for those who already know East Africa or the south-western coast and are seeking something else: a more intimate, rarer destination, free of the pressure of the bucket list. One travels differently here, meets people differently, and returns with another kind of story to tell.

For that reason, it is also the destination I offer least often — a handful of journeys each year, by application, with a logistical framework prepared well in advance. If it calls to you, write to me: we shall take the time to talk it through.