Member Bio: Doug Wright
Doug is a long-time resident of Unionville, and was Head of Co-operative Education for a local high school until his retirement. A naturalist and wildlife photographer all his life, Doug also has fifteen years of experience as a volunteer keeper at a local zoo. Many short trips, and two extensive trips around the world, started his writing career and got him into travel photography.
Upon his retirement, Doug became an active member of the Markham Village Writers, the Markham Group of Artists, and the Richmond Hill Camera Club. He also runs Music nights and a Travel Club out of his home.
During his teaching career, Doug was a regular contributor of Career, and International Co-op articles to the York Region Board of Education’s Co-op Newsletter. After his last big trip, he started working (still in progress) on a travel and photography book of his worldwide adventures. Some of this work has been published in the Toronto Star newspaper. He is also a regular contributor of articles and photographs to the Markham Arts Council publication, Arts In Motion.
Penguin Parade
By Doug Wright
Rush hour had just begun, the streets filled with tiny chaps in their black suits coming home from a hard day at sea, making their way over hill and dale, parking lot and flower garden, to feed the hungry family waiting at home for their supper. One by one, they split off their well-trampled routes to their individual nests. Each little breadwinner was greeted with enthusiasm and open bills to fill. The chatter finally faded along with the daylight as another day drew to a close in the Simon’s Town penguin colony.
Until today, I had never cared much one way or another for these wet little birds, but they caught me totally by surprise. When viewing wildlife in so many other places, these are the rules: 1-Stay on the boardwalk, or behind the fence, or with the ranger. 2-Don’t disturb the animals. 3-Don’t make any sudden movements or loud noises. So, as I pulled off the main street and down the laneway to the beach, I was more than a little surprised to see a penguin waddling up the middle of the road toward me. I quickly pulled over and reached for my camera while watching two more come up the sidewalk, and a trio cutting across someone’s driveway and through their flower bed. They were everywhere and the more I looked, the more of them I saw.
Finally, I moved slowly down the road toward the beach parking lot. A few more penguins passed me as I got my stuff out of the car. They all seemed so preoccupied, chattering away to each other, that I found myself greeting them as they went by. And you know what—they turned and talked back to me, in a penguin sort of way. They were a photographer’s delight, stopping and posing for the camera like well-paid little fashion models.
At the top of the hill overlooking their nests and the beach, a walkway had been constructed with a fence next to it, in an attempt to separate the human from the penguin community. Walking along that path, I discovered some leaf litter piled up against the fence. Half a dozen of these “would-be jail breakers” had scaled the pile and appeared to be discussing the best way to tackle the last foot of fencing impeding their escape, when I happened along. Two more of the birds, who had successfully made their break, seemed to be having a change of heart, searching the fence line for a way back to join their buddies. As I set up my camera and tripod to photograph the jailbreak, one of these two marched right under my tripod and between my legs. No shyness here!
Stories of the nasty bites they can inflict on unsuspecting tourists came to mind, as I considered trying to help them out. In the long run, I decided to let nature take its course. Chatting with the chaps up on that litter pile, it was hard to keep a straight face as they cocked their heads from side to side, listening intently to every word and replying in their best penguin chatter. Flexing their little pink eyebrows added to the impression that they really were listening to my every word.
But manners aside, these diminutive, tuxedoed party-goers can let out quite a yell or call when they want to. I couldn’t figure out where all the donkeys were hiding until I remembered that their braying call is responsible for their name: Jackass Penguins.
Animals such as otters, meerkats, or chipmunks win our hearts over with their charm, playfulness and personality. Today, I add penguins to my list.
On a historic note, many of these birds were saved from a huge oil spill in 2000 by hundreds of volunteers from all over the world. Boulder Beach is on the south side of Simon’s Town, about half an hour’s drive south of Cape Town toward the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa.
In the Footsteps of Mick Dundee!
By Doug Wright
My first trip to Australia was shortly after the Crocodile Dundee movies, Parts 1 & 2 came out, and the Outback was the place to be. I loved those movies, the story, the actors, the locations, everything about them, so when I went to Australia, I wanted to visit some of those locations.
Much of the scenery in the Crocodile Dundee movies was filmed in Kakadu National Park near Darwin in Northern Territories of Australia. So I started there, but the pub that Mick Dundee kept returning to was thousands of kilometres away in a tiny little one-Kangaroo, end-of-the-road place called Birdsville. So as badly as I wanted to go there, it was just too far out of the way to anywhere.
There must be other small towns with equally interesting bars I figured, so when I left Port Douglas on the northeast coast to follow the road further north until it ran out at Cape Tribulation, I talked to my hosts at a local B&B and they suggested that I make a little side trip off the highway and back up into the hills to Mt. Carbine on the tablelands.
There was only one vehicle parked out front, so I wasn’t surprised to find the bar empty when I strutted in. Wasting a perfectly good strut, I finally had to call out, and was surprised when a very large dog stood up with his paws upon the counter and just stared at me.
Fortunately the staring contest was quickly broken when the owner came out of the back to see if I was lost. “Not at all!” I replied, and once he found out I was Canadian, was interested in bars, ordered a drink and a meat pie, he became very chatty. He told me how “a bloke came into the bar one afternoon, talking about a big croc,” so they all went down to catch him… “and that’s his skull at the end of the bar!”
The huge skull across the entire end of the bar was from a 17-footer, but on the wall behind it was a 1958 newspaper clipping of another croc caught in Karumba that unofficially measured somewhere between 28 and 30 feet. “It was as long as the bar!” I was told. There was also a Boar’s head mounted on the wall, just below the “Last Bar for 1,000 KM” sign, and next to the owner’s “Credit policy.”
From here, I was sent to another typical small “Queenslander Pub” in Mt. Malloy, an hour’s drive away. It had the typical wide doorway that was always open and a verandah that just about wrapped itself right around the whole building.
What I love about local bars is that they always display so much of the local culture on their walls, shelves and beams. Something old, something new, something borrowed and something…no wait…that’s from something else! But they usually do include some of the local history, something from their regular patrons, “humorous bar signs,” souvenirs from all the locally found liquors, wines and beers, and they’re always glad you came! The difference with Outback bars in Queensland is that they include “UT’s” (Utility trucks) parked out front, VB (Victoria Bitters), souvenirs on the walls (the local beers) and Jackpot poker games…and…they include some of the local wildlife (both two- and four-footed) like blokes with Drover’s Hats, Cockatoos, Buffalo horns, Crocodile skulls, and other hunting trophies (often dead, but sometimes alive).
A quick look around, and I found a table on the patio with a good view of the bar. I put my pack (with the Canadian flag on it) down under the table, opened my notebook and started writing about the bar at Mt. Carbine. After a while I was starting to wonder about the service here, when I realized the problem… I looked like an American. So with that, I got up, walked over to the bar and asked what a Canadian had to do to get a drink around there. With that, the mood and the service quickly changed, and they asked me what I was doing with the notebook over there. (Mt. Malloy 2 photo) When I told them I was writing a book about bars, I instantly had five new mates! Everyone was interested in what I was doing, everyone wanted to be in it, and everyone shouted me a round until I ordered dinner.
The food was just to help me stay sober long enough to get back to my B&B. I could tell by the big grins on their faces when I returned that night, they knew I had found what I was looking for. That was where I learned the meaning of their farewell saying, “See ya when the mud dries!” The tablelands, like most of the outback, is dry and dusty for most of the year. But when it does rain along the coast, it can get really muddy, and you can get very stranded until the rain stops and the mud dries up. Then you can get on your way again, or just get home from the pub (so they claim)!
People’s Choice Award Winner, 2009
Favourite Local Artist
By Doug Wright
“I want to be an artist,” Lynne Schumacker said when she was only six years old. Inspired by her grandfather, an English Wedgewood painter, and her uncle, who created beautiful stained-glass windows around Toronto, she studied art at Central Technical. Her instructor there, Doris McCarthy, was one of those teachers that really makes a difference in your life. Doris taught her the basics of art, preparing her for her time in Haliburton, and down east in Nova Scotia.
With watercolours and oils, Lynne honed her style of Realism with landscapes and seascapes. She took pictures for inspiration and of all the details that she loves to include in her work. Many of her canvasses are large, but you can still find that drop of water or blade of grass that makes her work unique.
People can often identify a location from one of her paintings because of her attention to detail and because she doesn’t change things. Her paintings bring out the stories behind the locations. That’s one reason Lynne likes to attend her shows, to talk to her patrons and share those stories. She is now involved with Beaux Arts in Brampton, where they offer a gallery, exhibitions, lessons and eleven studios for their artists.
To be a successful artist, you need to be good and you need to be noticed, and that’s where Lynne’s husband comes in. His marketing knowledge, organizational abilities and political skills help to secure her place in a number of shows, including August’s Buckhorn Fine Arts show, the McMichael Gallery this fall, and the Investor’s Group Show next spring.
Lynne has two new interests now; continuing her love of landscapes in the Killarney district up north, and the “Canadian Mosaic”… what is happening in her community. So look for some new streetscapes when you visit her gallery or her website at www.schumachergalleries.com.
Island Paradise
By Doug Wright
Fiji is the island paradise that post cards are made of. You “lose” a day when you go there from the Americas and get it back when you return, because Fiji is just west of the International Date Line and literally the first country in the world to see each new day.
There are some beautiful resorts in Fiji. Something for everybody’s taste and budget, and some are only a short ride from the airport, while others are an entire world away. Those are the places I like, off the beaten track, and typical of the culture that I am there to explore and learn about. I don’t want to remember places by the colour of their hotel carpets or bed spreads; I want to get out and experience the sights, sounds, smells and the people that a place has to offer. And Fiji has lots of those to offer.
Some of you may have been to Fiji and not been overly impressed since the town nearest the airport is not a good representation of Fiji. Nadi is simply a small third world town, with very little to impress the tourist. To really appreciate an island paradise, you need to get to the coastline of any one of Fiji’s 300 smaller islands. That is where all those beautiful picture postcards come from!
I visited several, from the tiny, five-acre Paradise Island, which offers non-stop action for the younger set, to the second largest island of Vanua Levu. An inexpensive fifty-minute flight took me from Nadi to Savusavu, with its tiny landing strip cut out of the forest and lined with palm trees. This “airport” consisted of two huts: a storage shed for luggage and an office for selling tickets. Between them was a long bench, where some of the local kids came to watch me wait for my ride. I sat there with a book for twenty minutes until somebody arrived to collect me, but I must be a pretty interesting reader because those kids just stood there quietly, watching me read for the entire twenty minutes without saying a word. I pretended to ignore them, just to see how long they would last. They won-I blinked first!
Savusavu is more of the real Fiji that I was looking for: one short main street along the water, between a well-protected natural harbour and the hills up behind it, with one of just about everything a local person would need. I stopped in at the Savusavu Yacht Club for lunch. It is a small wooden structure with a great collection of faded flags from all over the world. The sign read, “For Members Only,” but I was reminded of how friendly Fijians are when I discovered that I could “join” the club for the price of my first drink! Because Fiji is one of the few stops available to sailors crossing the South Pacific, many of them stop at these smaller “out” islands for fuel, supplies, some conversation, and a chance to stretch their legs.
Typical Fijians are fine-featured folks of generous proportion, with dark complexions and hair. So it didn’t take me long to notice a stunning diminutive blonde at a table outside overlooking the wharf. It took even less time to run into her new husband and discover that they were staying in “Heaven” for their honeymoon. Disappointed but intrigued, I accepted an invitation to drive the 30 km, or 30 minutes, back along the Hibiscus “Highway” to see their resort, Lomalagi… And what a resort it was!
Lomalagi (Lo-muh-LONG-ee) actually does mean “Heaven” in Fijian, and it was everything a South Seas paradise should have. According to the owner, Collin McKenny, the resort was a 25-acre working coconut plantation for 100 years, starting in the hills and running down to a graceful, long beach at the water’s edge. A lovely dining pavilion with a bar and two waterfalls surround the “S” shaped swimming pool with filtered seawater. A nearby game house has a regulation pool table, video and book library… all overlooking the ocean. The menu is made up after consultation with guests because as they like to say, “When you’re in Heaven you get to make your own rules!”
There are only six villas for a maximum of twelve guests. The HUGE, but very private villa has a sitting area, a kitchen, and a large shower room with intimate lighting, and a soaking tub big enough for two! Outside, an equally spacious, partially covered private deck has sun lounges and a dining table. Each Villa is built into the side of the hill around the plantation, just above the beach and facing the ocean, with sunrise and sunset views. Movies and music are offered instead of television and telephones.
You can explore Natewa Bay at your own pace in a two-person kayak, take out the mountain bikes, or go horse-back riding (bare-back-no saddles!), drink by the pool or just stroll around the gardens. I had a wonderful Fijian massage. No volleyball at two pm or dance class at four; there is no need to “sign up” for any activity. Couples might want to visit a private, mile-long white sand beach by kayak or boat for a great Robinson Crusoe experience. It’s the most beautiful white sand beach on the island! Or play some golf on the nine-hole par three course close by. You can also hire a car for a trip to Savusavu town, or charter a plane or seaplane for a land or air tour of Vanua Levu Island. I am not a “morning person,” so I appreciated the fact that they catered all activities to my schedule.
There is a local village that guests can visit to get a sense of the real Fiji. The trip includes morning tea, lunch prepared in an underground oven and a visit to the local school-worthwhile since the Fijian children are adorable!
Largely cut off from most modern day materialism, life here still moves at a leisurely pace, as it always has. You might end up as a teaching aid if you visit the local school, for their resources are minimal compared with North American schools. I took a suitcase full of children’s clothing, which was greatly appreciated,as most western culture is.
In the evening, some of the local musicians might pull out their aging instruments and play a song or two. Guests who are musically gifted are often invited to join in and sometimes it is the villagers who are surprised. Such was the case when former Beatle, George Harrison, and his lovely wife, Olivia, stayed at Lomalagi and paid the local village a visit. Needless to say the villagers got more than they realized when they asked him to join in on a couple of songs. So impressed was George that a few weeks later, three brand new guitars and a ukulele arrived. That was his last “public” performance and his last act of charity before his life was cut so unfortunately short.
Lomalagi first specialized in privacy and seclusion, then started offering honeymoons and dream weddings. Imagine arriving at the beach by bilibili (a bamboo raft) and being escorted across the beach to your wedding by Fijian warriors, with songs by the village choir and tropical flowers everywhere!
Or saying your vows atop Mount Lomalagi, which overlooks the entire island and provides a view of the sun as it sets over the ocean. The Magic Circle is perfect for an after-dark wedding, with torch light, live music and traditional local food and drink. Even traditional costumes can be created for guests out of real Tapa cloth with, of course, beautiful flowers everywhere.
As a diver, I saved the best for last. Natewa Bay is the largest bay in the South Pacific (40 miles long to the open ocean). The bay has its own ecosystem and its isolation means that there is no commercial boat traffic, no pollution, and no coral bleaching, resulting in colours that are unbelievable. Our village guide, Sam, stood in the bow of the boat and called out a loud and eerie sound… and suddenly they appeared: 50, 60, 100 dolphins, swimming straight for us. For an hour, they leapt and played all around us, chasing and leading the boat. There are two pods of Spinner Dolphins in the bay, the only resident pods in Fiji!
Natewa Bay has only recently opened up its pristine waters to scuba diving, snorkelling and deep-sea fishing, or night fishing. Divers appreciate the dozens of beautiful reefs and walls with some of the most fabulous hard and soft corals in the world, and home to countless varieties of fish. It was amazing to see a Lion Fish the size of a basketball! The snorkelling is picturesque right off of the beach, or you can take scuba lessons and venture out farther. Scuba gear is available for rent, while all snorkelling gear (including reef shoes) is provided free of charge. Thanks to the dolphins, there are no nasty sharks in the area!
I hope to walk through the gates of “Heaven” again one day soon. But if you get there ahead of me, please say “Hello” to Simba, the Fox Terrier that becomes everyone’s surrogate pet (he’s probably the most photographed dog in Fiji). And if you are lucky, you might see Shaka (a Lilac Point Snowshoe Siamese cat), but he’s pretty shy. I guarantee you’ll never regret visiting this little piece of Heaven!
What I’ve Learned From My Travels
By Doug Wright
I’ve learned a lot from my travels. I am not a “lounging on the beach with my nose buried in a book” kind of guy. I’m an explorer and I simply can’t sit still for very long. This was a problem in school, but a behaviour that got me around the world twice and into all sorts of adventures. So what have I learned from all this gallivanting around the world? Many useful things — and some that are not so useful at first glance.
I have learned that Leprechauns do not really exist… but Fairies do! Irish Leprechauns are largely a figment of Walt Disney’s imagination and a creation perpetuated by Hollywood ever since. But Fairies, on the other hand, are real — just like God (if you have faith). During my travels in Ireland, I met many people who have seen, or know somebody who has seen “the wee folk” (aka Fairies). They are as much a part of Ireland’s cultural heritage as shamrocks or Guinness. Their history predates Christianity, but it is interesting to see how their size has diminished with every invading culture and new religion that has swept over the Emerald Isle—except for the banshees. They are the red-haired female fairies in ragged robes that show up just before someone from one of Ireland’s five great familes1 dies, to cry or scream of their passing. They are the only ones that have remained life-size to this very day, and are still feared for what they foretell. Most fairies today, however, are just a convenient answer to why you can’t find your car keys, or who took that lovely figurine off your neighbour’s front lawn.
I have learned that Christianity is not the only answer! I was raised by Christian parents, in a Christian neighbourhood that was part of a largely Christian country, so Christianity was the ONLY answer at that time. But when I started traveling, I discovered people who felt the same way about their religions — and they weren’t Christians! Whereas Christianity has been around for approximately two thousand years, I met an Aboriginal elder in the outback of Australia who told me that I believed in one of those “new” religions. After all, his had been around for the last forty thousand years and was still going strong today. And as I soon learned, his was far more environmentally friendly than most of today’s “modern” religions. For example, it did not permit ownership over the earth and all it’s creatures, to do with as we pleased. It taught co-existence with the earth, which has served its members well for a long, long time.
I have learned that Canada is a wonderful place! It has never been easy for us to identify Canadian culture, especially being so closely tied to the United States, but nobody has really tried since Bob and Doug Mackenzie poked fun at the things that are probably most Canadian. Multiculturalism would have you believe that “we are the world,” but unfortunately, the world doesn’t get along all that well together and this may be our undoing. I guess I got homesick when I stayed with a Canadian expat in Sydney, Australia. You could tell a Canadian lived there, by his CDs (Shania Twain, The Guess Who and Stompin’ Tom), bottles of Heinz ketchup and real maple syrup in the fridge, and Canadian Club in the bar; donuts in the cupboard next to a jar of Kraft peanut butter and a box of Kraft dinner, and a roll of duct tape in the drawer were the final giveaways! We never realize how much we’ve got until we have to go without.
I have learned that it’s the journey that matters, not always the destination! I spent A LOT of time sitting on planes, sitting in airports, standing in lines, waiting for buses, cabs, ferries, etc., until I finally clued in to the fact that almost anything can be fun if you have a vivid imagination. In short, I learned to entertain myself no matter where I was, or what I was waiting for. I was out there to have fun, and maybe that’s why I made so many friends everywhere I went, since I learned to make the best of every situation. There were certainly lots of opportunities to be miserable and sometimes I was, but those were just lost opportunities, and I have no memory of those occasions now. We tend to focus on our destinations, but our whole life is really just one (and hopefully long) journey, so why not enjoy it as best we can?
I have learned that salt, sugar, ketchup and alcohol are not the four basic food groups! I’ve been fooled for a lot of years, but eventually discovered you can (and really should try to) do without them. I learned to appreciate the health I still had and what I was losing, never more so than when I lost the sight in one eye. I was in the Australian outback (Cober Pedy) when the retina in my right eye decided to completely detach for no particular reason. To make a long story short, it was diagnosed the next day in Alice Springs, operated on two weeks later in Adelaide, and I convalesced with some party angels in Darwin for six weeks. The operation was unsuccessful, and I got used to using one eye, so I continued around the world and made out just fine. Now I have arthritis in my knees, and I will do everything I can to make sure that they last as long as absolutely possible. There is little worse than being sick when you are all alone and far from home and those who love you. The only thing worse is staying sick, or not having anyone to love and care about you.
I have learned that I actually enjoy writing! My high school English teachers would be so proud… and surprised! While I still can’t sit still and concentrate long enough to read a book, I actually enjoy putting my thoughts and adventures down “on paper.” I came to this conclusion after writing 24 newsletters, 18 articles, and possibly a book (if I ever get it finished) while I was away on one trip. And I keep a diary every day when I am traveling now, so I can (in the words of a photo-finishing ad on an airsick bag I had to save) “Relive those wonderful memories!”
I have learned to find my way! I discovered that fear of the unknown can seriously cramp our lives. And that it is amazing what you can do, and how far you can get, when you give it a try. I spent a year, traveling all the way around the world by myself on one trip, with little more than my camera bag, one big suitcase, my Visa card and a curiosity that kept me going. On that trip alone, I survived 42 flights, 27 boat trips, 9 different rental cars, 9 buses (not counting city or airport buses), three trains, one quad bike, one elephant and one camel. I learned to drive on the other side of the road (not the ‘wrong’ side, since a lot of the world drives there). I found hotels, B&Bs and friends in every town, every day. I learned that saying “hello” and “no thank you” is a must in every language for survival reasons. I even learned how to navigate in Fiji, where they don’t use maps because everything is “that way,” with a vaguely pointed finger
I have learned that people can live happy, productive lives without: cell phones, computers, TVs, microwaves, DVD players, iPods and, in some cases, without cars, electricity, Coca Cola or running water. I had to give up a lot of the trappings of my upbringing, culture and country when I packed my whole world into one suitcase for a year. But try explaining how much you miss those things to a kid living in a mud hut in the bush country of Africa. I learned to count happiness by smiles instead of possessions.
And finally, but most important, I have learned that no matter how much of an adrenalin rush an adventure is, or how beautiful your view, it can never be all it can be without sharing it with those who are important to you. There have been so many times when I was doing something or saw something, and wished that my family, partner, friends or neighbours were there to share it with me. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to travel through life alone anymore. Maybe that’s why I want to write all of this down and share it with you!
So please excuse me now. I have to abandon my computer to call a friend on my cell phone, so I can fix the flashing numbers on my DVD player, and to watch my high-definition, big-screen TV from my hot tub.
1According to tradition, the banshee can only cry for five major Irish families: the O’Neills, the O’Briens, the O’Connors, the O’Gradys and the Kavanaghs. Intermarriage has since extended this select list. From Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banshee
Giraffe Kisses
By Doug Wright
I have always been one of those people who like to touch things, since I learn best from doing, rather than listening, reading, or watching how things are done. You can imagine that this can be a bit of a problem when one is a nature lover, especially when nature likes to bite or sting! That’s why I am a big fan of petting zoos… and places like Giraffe Manor, where you can actually touch something.
My wife and I were left behind in Nairobi with food poisoning, while the rest of our tour group went off to look for gorillas in the Rwandan mountain rainforest. After our stomachs settled down, we wandered over to the Norfolk hotel one day for afternoon tea — an old colonial ritual — where many of the rich and famous set out from on their hunting safaris. From the patio, we could see far off into the distance, down the same road where Teddy Roosevelt had set out with 500 porters and everything he could possibly need, including a baby grand piano.
We struck up a conversation with a British engineer at the next table, who was telling us about the last party Betty threw at Giraffe Manor. After learning that you could feed and pet giraffes there, it quickly rose to the top of our “To Do” list, and we booked a trip to their Education Centre.
The next day we escaped the fumes of Nairobi’s diesel traffic jams through the suburbs and finally to the clear countryside beyond, where our driver deposited us at the Giraffe Manor Education Centre. It is a big, round building containing a double classroom and theatre. We were led up some stairs to a second-story balcony that almost completely surrounded the place. Each year, 30,000 to 40,000 of Kenya’s students visit the centre for free, as most of them have never been outside their towns and villages and have never seen a wild animal up close. So with a class in session, we started around the balcony alone until… there they were… five of the biggest, prettiest giraffes I have ever seen.
They make no noise, so it is almost surreal when they see you and come over to be fed. They drift in slowly and gracefully without a sound, like brown hot air balloons covered with ragged yellow patches. The children joined us, adding “oohs” and “ahs” punctuated with little screams of pure joy, to our stunned silence.
The staff told us not to worry; the giraffes wouldn’t bite, as their massive heads, almost twice the size of a horse’s head, floated in over the railing on powerful, long and sturdy necks. Huge, liquid brown eyes were framed with eyelashes three inches long and so thick, that the women were awed with envy. I almost laughed at the two stubby little horns that really do look like something out of a fairy tale. Their Swahili name, Twiga, appropriately means “beautiful one.”
The staff brought around pails filled with giraffe pellets (like giant rabbit pellets made from acacia (African Thorn tree) leaves, and about the size of my thumb). Giraffes love these, because they are made from their favourite food, and compressed without the thorns. The pellets also smell very nice, like air freshener, and so does giraffe breath as a result. Add to this the soft fur, almost like peach fuzz around their lips, and you have a 15 to 20-foot tall plush Gund toy with an 18-inch long, dark, purple sticky tongue (for removing those leaves from thorn trees, or pellets from your hand). They may look fragile and frail from a distance but close up, you realize just how sturdy and rock solid these animals can be at one-and-a-half tons each.
After we had distributed five pails of pellets between the five giraffes (with lots of petting and appreciative sounds), they wandered off to what looked like a nearby country estate.
This was Giraffe Manor, and it was the final chapter of the lessons that we received on giraffes that day. It seems that David Duncan, of England’s ‘Macintosh Toffee’ family, was a hunter. He and his buddies would head off to Africa for a little male bonding and big game trophy hunting as was often the case with British aristocracy full of testosterone in those days. But it wasn’t long before the wives of these “would be” adventurers demanded to come along too, as long as suitable quarters were provided. So in 1932, David built a country retreat just outside of Nairobi where they could hunt, while the women played cards under the warm, clear African sun. Beautiful flower beds soon followed, and it became a little piece of colonial heaven carved out of the wilderness.
Being modeled after a Scottish hunting lodge, with views of Mt. Kilimanjaro to the south and the Ngong Hills to the west, it attracted the attention of the grandson of a Scots Earl, Jock Leslie Melville, and his American journalist wife, Betty, who bought the manor as their home. Jock was often away driving race cars in Europe, leaving Betty to entertain the flow of America’s who’s who from the entertainment and news world on their 140-acre estate. Betty also met and befriended another lonely local entrepreneur, by the name of Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke. Soon they were throwing parties that were the talk of all Nairobi. Sadly, Karen’s coffee plantation fell on hard times and she gave Betty much of her furniture and possessions before she left Africa for good. Her memoirs, penned under the name Isak Dinesen, were turned into the 1985 movie, Out of Africa.
Many of Betty’s early guests were impressed with these beautiful Rothschild giraffes, and she soon discovered how rare they were, only found in her area and declining quickly due to habitat loss. So Betty and Jock decided to turn at least part of their property into a sanctuary to protect and increase the waning numbers. The valley nearby, where the last 130 giraffes could be found, was to be carved up into small parcels of farm land so four small giraffe herds were moved to nearby national parks for their protection. At the same time, a young female giraffe named Daisy was brought to the manor to start a resident herd there in 1974. Betty wrote a book about their adventures, called Raising Daisy Rothschild, which was followed by a short film, The Last Giraffe. As more giraffes were brought in to keep Daisy company, those beautiful flower beds mysteriously disappeared, while warthogs and even the occasional Bushbuck soon became regular visitors. In fact, Walter Cronkite was a good friend of Betty’s and a regular visitor to Giraffe Manor with his family. One of the warthogs that he found so comical is named after him.
Betty and Jock started the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife in both Kenya and the United States, to raise awareness and money to protect giraffes, while building the Education Centre that we find there today. Sadly, Jock died of cancer in 1984. Betty returned to spend most of her time in the United States, while her son Rick now runs the estate. When not in use by the family, the manor house generates an income for the Education Centre as a small but exclusive bed and breakfast.
This we learned on a short walk from the Education Centre to the manor. We passed through a gate in the stone wall on our way to the front door, under the gaze of several free-roaming giraffes nearby. There we arranged for our last night’s stay in Africa. It was very expensive, but the atmosphere and the luxury made it a once in a lifetime experience.
I opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by a giant face, which actually pushed me back inside, looking for a hand out.
I was told that if I put a food pellet between my lips, the giraffe would appear to kiss me while gently removing the pellet. With a lot of prodding and my wife ready with the camera, I tried it and couldn’t help laughing as those fuzzy lips carefully removed the pellet from between my lips. “Do it again, I don’t think I got that one,” my wife begged, grinning from ear to ear. So once more, I selected the biggest pellet I could find, showed it to the giraffe, and quickly placed it between my lips. This time, that sticky 18-inch-long, dark purple tongue shot out and slathered my face with slobber until it located the pellet, pulling it from my lips. Disgusting? Sure. But how many people can say that they have been “kissed” by a giraffe?
The next day, we returned with all our bags to check in for our overnight experience. We spent the afternoon touring the Education Centre properly this time, walking around the property with a guide and getting a tour of the house after settling into the Karen Blixen room (so named because it was furnished with Karen’s bedroom furniture).
The living room was filled with large, comfortable chairs, flowers, and a baby grand piano in the corner, with photographs of their friends everywhere.
Large doors opened out onto the sunroom, where breakfast and afternoon tea were served. Three of the four walls were made of glass windows opening to a tranquil view of calla lilies, cacti as big as trees, and a rainbow of bougainvillea, with the Ngong Hills in the background. That afternoon, we had four ‘visitors’ looking for handouts at teatime. One of the very trusting males poked his whole head and neck through the window so he could reach us, sitting on a couch along the far side of the sunroom. What a thrill to have three giraffes visiting us through the open windows.
We had to be careful not to spook or upset them, as they could break a window making a hasty retreat.
I tried to get some pictures from outside the sunroom, but one has to be very careful. Giraffes don’t like anyone around their feet where they can’t see them very well. Keep in mind that a giraffe can kick forward, backward and sideways, and their legs are six to seven feet long, with size-24 hooves at the ends, it is no wonder that they can easily kill a lion with a single, well-placed kick. As I came around the corner of the patio, one of the males saw me and started toward me, looking for food. I could feel the patio shake under his one-and-a- half-ton footsteps, so I beat a hasty retreat back inside–you don’t want to disappoint an animal that big when they find out that you have no food — just a camera!
Time flies when you’re having fun, and soon it was time for supper, the social and gastronomic event of the day. We were joined by the couple managing the estate, along with another couple, married at the manor two weeks previously and just returned from their honeymoon safari. We all met for drinks in the living room before being ushered into the elegant dining room, paneled in dark, local wood, with a huge bouquet of flowers in the center of the table. We sipped from wine glasses and water goblets large enough to require two hands as our first course, cream of cauliflower soup, arrived. That was followed by lightly battered Tilapia (fish), zucchini and mushroom casserole, sesame and honeyed carrots, and roasted potatoes. The wine and conversation flowed easily as we dined, and dessert arrived some time later-a fruit salad with homemade chocolate truffles–the perfect finish to a wonderful meal. Darkness creeps up quickly near the equator, and we had just enough time for an evening feeding session with the giraffes and a nightcap before heading off to bed.
The next morning brought the strangest wake-up call I have ever had. There was a bumping sound at our second-story window, with two big brown eyes looking in to see if anyone was home! We opened the window to pet our caller but we had no tip for him, so he quickly lost interest and wandered around to the sunroom for breakfast.
Now I know that you are not supposed to feed pets at the table, but breakfast can be a real event when you share it with five giraffes. Through the open windows of the sunroom, those heads and long necks quietly appeared to see what the tourists had for breakfast. It seems that on top of their regular diet of acacia leaves and pellets, some giraffes have also developed a taste for bits of toast, muffins, and fresh fruit. Once again, we were impressed by their velvet-soft lips and fragrant, fresh breath (from all those acacia leaves) as they gently picked their treats from our fingers.
After breakfast, we did one last tour around the property, petted Walter Cronkite (the warthog) goodbye, and packed up our things before lunch. After another gourmet meal, we had a few minutes to sign the guest book and read some of the other guest’s comments. It seems that Brooke Shields had stayed in the same room we had, and she too got “a kiss” at the front door by “the handsomest man in the house” (probably the same giraffe that “kissed” me)!
And how are the Rothschild giraffes doing now? The herds have tripled to over 350 in the last 40 or so years!
For more information on Giraffe Manor, visit: www.giraffemanor.com
May 7th, 2009 at 1:23 am
Nicely done, Doug !
No question – a fascinating subject, and you did it justice.Need I add that I hung on every word ?
Bob
May 19th, 2009 at 11:56 am
Doug
I have always said that you have a natural (gift) talent when it comes to writing stories….I look forward to the book – I reckon that it will be a best seller…..
Liz
June 4th, 2009 at 1:53 am
Doug,
you write with such humour and wit; the story of Giraffe Manor has me ready to fly to Africa for no other reason.
Looking forward to more of your wonderful writing..
Nancy
June 5th, 2009 at 11:05 pm
Amazing stories! I really liked your essay on What Il Have Learned from My Travels. Our travels have not been as extensive as yours but I totally agree with you. It is not about the destination — its is about the journey and being exposed to other cultures and their beliefs. Thats what makes us better citizens of the world.
June 5th, 2009 at 11:32 pm
Hey Doug
I read the top story about travelling. I felt each of your paragraphs was both an intro and a conclusion. There was much between the lines that I think you could flesh out. Each paragraph left the reader, well me anyway, wondering what brought you to the conclusion. It’s the specifics I think will make for interesting stories in themselves.
Keep writing.
June 6th, 2009 at 12:47 am
Fascinating reading Doug, enjoyed both stories immensely. Being kissed by a giraffe is now on my bucket list.
Keep up the great work! Let me know when the book comes out.
June 11th, 2009 at 2:20 pm
A pleasure to read and wonderful insights- I will be sending on the giraffe story to a friend who would loved to have been on the receiving end of that giraffe’s kiss. Keep writing!
July 7th, 2009 at 6:54 pm
Hi Doug,
Keep working on your book! Like Kathy Williams, I look forward to reading more of your adventure stories when it’s published.
You have an adventurer’s heart and a writer’s mind; what a great combination!
July 7th, 2009 at 11:30 pm
Wonderful story about Giraffe Manor! I remember you telling me this story years ago, but I couldn’t remember the specifics when in Nairobi, so I missed-out on my ‘kiss’ with a Giraffe. It is so nice to see this story now in print.
Can’t wait for the book!
July 12th, 2009 at 3:20 am
Doug — your story about my small resort in Fiji is really wonderful! You’ve captured the feel of “Heaven” just perfectly and I REALLY appreciate that! Now hurry back, okay??
Cheers, Collin