Crossing from Zimbabwe into Botswana at the border post on Kazungula Road, you're likely to notice a couple of things. First, there is the Botswana customs building: a modern low-slung bungalow, spotless by local standards, and, unlike its dingy counterpart on the Zimbabwean side, air-conditioned and largely devoid of buzzing flies. Inside, crisply uniformed officials man gleaming glass booths, swiftly dispatching Botswana-bound travelers, although there are rarely more than a half-dozen people moving through at any one time. Outside the building, nosing around like the family dog, is a tremendously obese, obviously well-fed, warthog.
In the context of Africa, Botswana is a wealthy country. Beneath its Texas-size topography-a sprawling mix of desert, delta, and Mopane woodlands-lie diamonds. Many, many diamonds. That explains the comparatively plush customs post, as well as the satellite dishes that adorn the cement homes lining the road from the border to Kasane, a dusty town that serves as a traditional jumping-off point for safari seekers headed into the country's northern interior. And it explains why in many respects Botswana is the ultimate destination for those looking to encounter African wildlife on its own terms. Unlike South Africa, with which it shares its southern border, and Zimbabwe, to the east, Botswana is a fairly stable country with a strong democratic tradition. And unlike the less well-off safari meccas of East Africa-Kenya and Tanzania-it's not overrun with minibus-loads of tourists or AK-47-wielding poachers and bush bandits. It is, however, overrun with animals, boasting a particularly bountiful population of elephants and loads of such A-list predators as lions, cheetahs, and leopards, as well as various and sundry antelopes, zebras, giraffes, buffalo, and other game.
The country's charms come at a price. A safari here is not cheap-that's partly by design, to keep out the riffraff, and partly by necessity. Most itineraries will take advantage of superbly sited tented camps, some of which amount to elaborate makeshift villages-carefully arrayed networks of walkways and decking, tasteful dipping pools, full bars under thatch-and almost all of which are out of reach of anything but an airplane. A typical eight-to-ten-day semi-circular swing through Botswana's northern reaches, including stops at three of the nicer camps, Cessna flights in between, food, guides, laundry, etc., could run you $4,000 or more per person. It's expensive, yes, but you'll tell yourself it's a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Then, if you're like most people, you'll go back a few more times.
Here's why: To go on safari in a place as unspoiled as Botswana is to experience life as a part of nature, rather than as a mere observer of it. It's like stepping into a National Geographic special, or a Hemingway story, or Isak Dinesen's memoir. You are not just looking at wild animals, you are among them. You're in a truck, sure, but in Botswana, odds are you'll be in an open vehicle, with nothing but 10 feet of air between you and that lioness. There's no peering through windows or craning with a camera lens through a rooftop hatch, as is often the case in the East African countries. When that fiery African sun rises red over the horizon (there's nothing like an African sunrise), it's rising on you, and when it sets (equally spectacular) you'll feel the welcome cool of night directly on your skin. In between, a guide, generally a South African or native Botswanan, maneuvers you through a bushland where you may encounter anything from a knot of peacefully grazing giraffes to a pair of mating leopards to a herd of thundering Cape Buffalo. It's supremely humbling to sit in such close proximity to wild game; to confront an environment as potentially harsh as that of southern Africa during the dry season (they call October "Suicide Month": Temperatures can top 100 degrees unrelentingly); and to exist in an ecosystem where even the tiniest microbe has the upper hand.
Of course, you're facing all these potential ills in relative comfort and safety. Could that lion eat you if he wanted? Sure. Couldn't that elephant just decide to turn over the truck and stomp everybody into flapjacks? You bet. But very seldom do such "accidents" happen. And you'll get used to the animals quickly. The initial adrenaline surges occasioned by run-ins with Mother Nature's most fearsome will soon recede into measured fascination and unremitting awe. You might spend a good part of the first night staring out through the mosquito netting, discomfited by a pair of lions roaring nearby. But then, as you lie in your cozy bed in your comfortable tent, a satisfying dinner and a few ice-cold cocktails behind you, you might stay awake long enough to watch a parade of elephants glide past silently in the moonlight, making their way to a water hole 50 yards out. That's a safari in Botswana: a whiff of danger with a twist of lime.
