Our first Horse Safari.

In the early hours of Sunday morning the riders met. Their mission to ride from Selvas restaurant to Chicamba Dam. The Retzlaff's and their refugee horse's first tourism venture. As the sun peeped over the mountain top, the trees were bathed in that pinky glow which heralds an African dawn. The horses snorted gently, snuffling each other in their eagerness to get going. A stirrup cup was prepared by myself a concoction of brandy, dark coffee and condensed milk. Just the thing for an early morning start I thought, but I could have been wrong as I saw some poor unsuspecting rider regurgitate and spit it out behind a mango tree. Perhaps I was to heavy handed with the brandy. As they set off in a cloud of dust I hurried back to the kitchen at Casa Bella to get ready for the halfway stop.

In a cluster of gum trees at the edge of Chicamba Dam, I was going to set up the bar and a table of snacks to keep the riders sustained for the second part of their journey to the Caruso Hotel. My back up was a confirmed bachelor called Murray Dawson in his rattle trap of a Toyota Land Cruiser. We packed the cooler boxes in Murray's car and he was issued with strict instructions to pick up tables and chairs at Brendon's farm and to meet me there.

I hummed to myself as I prepared delicious things for hungry riders to eat. The estimated time of arrival at the banks of Chicamba was to be 11 hundred hours. I consulted my watch and grinned in satisfaction that everything was going according to plan. I set off, landrover packed to the hilt as I had a lunch to prepare at Caruso hotel after the snack stop. We had gas bottles, mobile gas stove, frying pans, utensils, plates and kitchen staff balanced in various precarious positions.

As we approached Brendon's farm near Selvas I was rather surprised to note that Murray had not arrived. The tables and chairs were still neatly stacked on the grass verge. I tried to phone him but he was unavailable. As I removed a frying pan handle from the centre of my back the phone rang. I froze in horror it was Pat. "Where are you?""" he sounded desperate, "Everyone is dying of thirst" I consulted my watch it was only 10.45am. "You are ahead of schedule Pat" I said primly and" I am nowhere near the dam." I didn't dare tell him Murray had the cooler boxes and had not been seen since. " F-- the schedule" he screamed irrationally,. "Get here!!!! "Now Is that the way to talk to your backup in front of tourists" I remonstrated but Pat had already hung up. The phone rang again it, this time it was Murray, There are no tables and chairs here he boomed down the phone I have looked everywhere. I closed my eyes exasperated, Murray it appeared had misinterpreted the directions and was on the other side of Chimoio with all the drinks at an unscheduled destination. My heart sank.

You will be relieved to know we did eventually arrive at the edge of the lake to be met by a wild-eyed group of people who almost knocked us down in their rush to get to the cooler boxes. Once they had quenched their thirst we sat in the shade of the gum trees, I redeemed myself with the snacks and everyone tucked in hungrily while the horses looked on in bemusement. As they prepared to continue their journey one of the rider's reins had broken so Christine one our gorgeous young volunteers from England selflessly handed over hers and attempted to ride her horse with a halter. She disappeared round the corner testing Duke without his bridle. There was a thundering of hooves and I looked up to see Christine in full gallop heading straight for us clearly out of control, as people and horses scattered in all directions Squib a roly poly blob of a horse stood his ground and took the full force of Duke's head on the bottom, while Christine sailed gracefully through the air and fortunately landed on her feet. Squib looked a little surprised that he was attacked from the rear but nobody was more surprised than I at the reaction of the grooms. As Christine landed they all burst into raucous laughter slapping each other heartily on the back. More than embarrassed, I had to take them aside and explain that this not the reaction expected from them when a tourist falls from a horse.

The final destination was the Caruso Hotel. A bright pink establishment recently opened by an Arab. They graciously allowed me to prepare lunch by the pool. Murray and I unpacked and as I hunted for baskets and plates Murray set up the gas stove. He gave an embarrassed cough then turned to me apologetically. There was a problem and rather alarming one as there was no attachment from gas bottle to stove. I had to laugh, a runner was dispatched to the local market and came back with two bags of charcoal. A grid was found and set in place and we cooked lunch the African way as though we were in a rural village. As our weary riders arrived the aroma of a delicious chicken curry wafted through the air and our first outback safari was over. I grinned at Pat and Murray over a glass of luke warm wine as the ice has run out, 'Ready for the next one Pardners'??

From Amanda
Casa Bella,
Mozambleak

This letter is dedicated to a dear friend Pat Johnson who died recently. An officer and a gentleman who was held in the highest esteem by all who had met him.