For me, the word Serengeti is synonymous with The Migration, firmly in capitals.
I have always wanted to witness those hundreds and thousands of white-bearded wildebeest and Grant's zebras as they follow their primeval instincts and cross from the Serengeti and adjoining reserves to the Masai Mara and back again.
But this is no ordinary itinerary, for the migration path and timing can never be accurately forecast. So much is dependant on climatic conditions that viewing this spectacle is something of a hit and miss affair.
There are no guarantees, for Mother Nature is fickle, and the Serengeti alone covers a staggering 14&Nbsp;763km2, 80 percent of which lies in Tanzania while the remainder lies in Kenya, in the Masai Mara.
In essence the migration is a continuous and ongoing search for food and water. It is a lifelong quest from the moment that these wildebeest are born till they die... Wildebeest usually give birth between January and March on the nutritious short grass plains of the southern Serengeti, and most calve down within a three week period, almost a synchronised birthing. A baby wildebeest can run five minutes after birth and within a day has no problem keeping up with the herd.
As the grazing is depleted the herds congregate and head in a north-westerly direction to the Western Corridor and then they face the Grumeti River crossing, and the perils of gigantic Nile crocodiles.
They continue in a northerly direction and eventually cross into Kenya into the Masai Mara, where they have another river crossing to contend with, the Mara.
They leave the green grasslands of the Mara around November and head back, moving in an anti-clockwise direction to their breeding grounds to repeat the cycle the following year.
Because Arusha had closed its airstrip for upgrading, we flew out from Kilimanjaro on a balmy April morning.
Our plane was a De Havilland Twin Otter, complete with a cooler box of bottled water and sweets that were passed around to help equalise the pressure in our ears. As we trundled down the runway with a last glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro's snow capped peak flashing past the porthole, the reality that we were about to see the Serengeti hit home.
No fences mark the boundaries and the name is derived from the Masai word, siringet, which roughly means "endless plains". According to Turner Miles, the first game warden of the Serengeti, siringet was derived from siringitu, which means, "tending to extend".
The Serengeti could not have been more aptly named and as our flight crisscrossed the seemingly infinite plains, we were left speechless at the vast open spaces. For kilometres there was grass, occasionally a ribbon of water, a few trees and the dust kicked up by animals on the move, no more than dots in that vastness. Of them we could only easily identify the elephant by their sheer bulk.
We first flew to Sasakwa, and dropped off some passengers in the middle of nowhere, destined for a lodge in that region. Then we took to the skies again. Next stop was Seronera, situated roughly in the middle of the Serengeti and home to the park's headquarters.
The pilot lined up for the landing strip and touched down without so much as rattling the cooler box.
Most of the remaining passengers gathered their cameras and books and rushed off the plane.
Twenty minutes later we touched down and the white stones spelt out "Ndutu". The ccAfrica Land cruiser was parked to one side, with our guide waving us a welcome.
"Last stop folks," the pilot said and within minutes our luggage was on the ground and the Twin Otter was barrelling back up the airstrip for takeoff.
Our game experiences have never before been in closed vehicles, but it was a closed vehicle that was waiting for us, complete with a pop up roof. As we were in Tanzania at the start of the long rains, I suppose there were some advantages.
We had hardly turned away from the airstrip when we came across a couple of elephant. Around the lake we saw zebra, then kongoni then giraffe. It seemed that every corner produced an animal of some description and they were quite unperturbed by our presence. The giraffe gazed seductively through her lashes at us before turning gracefully and cantering into a thicket.
Twenty minutes on and we turned up a dirt track and spread before us was the tented camp. It was impressive, not the least because it was framed by a superb example of an acacia. The dining/living tent was set back and a row of camping chairs was arranged outside in front of a burnt-out fire, brilliant red set against the browns and greens of the Serengeti, as each one was covered by a scarlet shuka, the cloths worn by the Masai.
Greetings done,we were given a refreshing drink and then it was down to the orientation by Asheri, the camp manager. I was totally amazed, for we could have been sitting in any elegant comfortable living room, complete with drinks tray, sofas, leather bound books, gleaming silver and crystal. We signed our indemnity forms and were introduced to our butler, Erick Othiambo, and our guide, Alex Kamwani. Then Erick led us off to our own tent.
This was a first for us, and something we had once avoided, as roughing it had lost its appeal along with the idea of no bathroom, no electricity, leaking tents, camp cots, no hot water or maybe no water at all and endless tins of food. Pioneering stock we were not, but one look at our little place under the Tanzanian sun and we both couldn't understand why we hadn't done this years before. This was real Africa. Here was the camp and the solitude and the open plains and the animals, and no sign of habitation for kilometres. Somehow all that wove its magic to put the romance straight into this place.
Our tent was huge, double-skinned for warmth at night and cool during the day. The double bed had snowy linen and fat pillows and the softest of Indian rugs on the floor. There was even place to hang and store a few clothes, bedside lamps, a flush toilet and a delightful outdoor bucket shower that we discovered was filled with piping hot water every evening so we could shower under the stars.
There was a wash stand, two in fact, with soaps and shampoo and shower gel and we could, if so desired, even dine under our own separate gazebo. Laundry would be hand washed daily and, depending on the breeze and sunshine, returned neatly pressed that evening. We were given a sizeable torch, a two-way radio to keep in contact with our butler, and strict instructions not to wander off unescorted.
From our tent we could see and hear no one, only the rustle of the acacia leaves and the incessant twittering of birds and a glimpse of an African hoopoe moving through the upper branches. Gin and tonic in hand, we watched an elephant meander past on silent feet and disappear into the bush and then it was time for lunch, a creative feast produced under the scorching African sun.
When one considers that this camp is as migratory as the animals we had come to see it is quite extraordinary. When the animals move on the camp is packed up and moves on too, silverware, tents, staff, the lot. They literally follow the dust of the migration, which is what we had hoped to see.
However, reports were not favourable. The bulk of the herds had moved through some days before. Calves were all dropped weeks before and the animals were on the move.
Our guide, Alex, suggested an afternoon drive and we headed out before our coffee cups were cold. We were amazed at the volume and diversity of game, so much to see considering the vast open spaces that stretched all around us. We only glimpsed one other vehicle, guests staying at our camp and, fanciful though it may sound, we had that part of the Serengeti entirely to ourselves. We enjoyed a spectacular dazzle of zebra cantering this way and that, and found a few wildebeest congregated around water who weren't going anywhere - about 20 percent do not migrate. Suddenly Alex pointed. In the distance there was a cloud of dust. We drove towards it and as we got closer we could make out a large number of wildebeest at full gallop.
We were all smiles, but once we crested the hill there was no sign of them. Some while later we came across vultures feeding on a baby wildebeest carcass, lappet-faced dominating, African white backed pecking and Griffon's strutting. The vulture hierarchy played out for all to see.
On that drive we saw plains game and more elephant and a wily pair of jackal enjoying the late afternoon sun, but as we turned for camp we saw another herd of wildebeest threading their way along the horizon. They looked like ants, marching resolutely, almost in single file.
We got close and counted 60 passing in as many seconds, and still they kept on coming. The air was filled with the harsh bark of zebra and the peculiar noise of the wildebeest.
In the Serengeti you must be back at camp at sundown and we had some way to go so we left them and returned to a roaring fire and hanging lanterns and fireside tales and a sumptuous dinner with possibly a glass too many of red wine.
Parting words from Erick after he had escorted us to our tent were, "Please not to wander around during the night, if you require anything please use your radio" - an exceedingly good idea if one considered the alternatives.
Over the next few days we found so many wonderful things. We were stunned into silence by the fields of flowers, Gutenbergia cordifolia, that blanketed the plains in a purple hue. We were riveted by the brilliant plumage of the superb starling, and enchanted by five Fischer's lovebirds. We enjoyed the antics of a cheetah and her cub and smiled at the extended bellies of lions, so full and fat with so much food around.
We enjoyed the bat eared foxes, sunning themselves in a tangle of fur and feet and large, large ears. And then there were the raptors - glorious, impressive sightings of the eagles. We saw long crested, tawny, marshal and back-chested snake and, my favourite, the bateleurs, so distinctive as adults with their red beaks and feet and short tails.
But the real joy was the migration. Too many to count, too many to comprehend, for at one time we were surrounded by wildebeest, zebras, calves and foals and the very air was alive as the Serengeti itself seemed on the move.
We picnicked among them and awoke to them and couldn't stop marvelling. Eagles and kites surveyed the masses from trees, calves lost mothers and followed our vehicle calling pitifully and vultures spread their wings just waiting. There are really no words. Animals wheeled in from all directions and some stopped to graze, some just stood still and some began to run, and run as we witnessed the greatest show earth.
Unfortunately, one cannot stay forever. We reluctantly stood alongside the airstrip, with Ndutu spelt out in white stones, and waited for our plane.
It could be said that once you have allowed the Serengeti to touch your soul you will forever leave a piece of your heart to wander those endless plains.