Ian has his back to me when I walk into the bar, but in his dark green safari shirt and tan slacks, he’s pretty unmistakeable. I recognise the young couple from earlier in the day, but it is apparent that I’m the last of the group to arrive. I quickly order a drink from the bar and head over to join them.

Ian has only just started to make introductions, so I haven’t missed anything important. He adds me to the proceedings with a smile. The young couple are called Terry and Sandi. The clear explanation for their bubbliness is that they got married yesterday and this is their honeymoon. I’m not entirely sure I’d pick a safari for a honeymoon, but here they are.

Sue and Nicki are two single ladies who have been friends since school and are sharing a holiday after retirement. They are both first-time safari travellers like myself.

Finally, making up our seven are Tom and Amanda. They are in their forties and this is their tenth safari, all taken with the same company to a range of destinations across Africa. They seem quite happy to help and support any of us newcomers.

Ian assures me that there are five other single travellers in the group leaving from London and I will have a chance to meet my room-mate when we land in Amsterdam. “I’ll go over some things after dinner,” he tells us. “For now, why don’t you just relax and get acquainted.”

Naturally, everybody wants to know a little about their companions and we are soon explaining what we do for work and pleasure alike. This is honestly the bit I’ve been dreading most about the whole trip. I’m really not sure if I need – or want – to explain my single traveller status or not.

Sue immediately takes the pressure of by telling us all about her terrible ex-husband and her recently final and very acrimonious divorce.

Apparently, after her two children had left home to start families of their own, her husband had had an affair with a colleague from his office. Sue had caught them in the marital bed when she unexpectedly returned from an appointment early. “I completely lost it,” she tells us with frankness and clarity. “I dragged the girl – for she was young enough to be his daughter – out through the front door of our house and into the street naked, throwing her clothes after her.”

Most of us totally fail to supress open laughter at this. “I know. I over-reacted,” she continues. “I went back upstairs and told my husband that I wanted a divorce and that he should leave immediately. Sensibly – for perhaps the only time in his life – he did as I suggested.”

There are murmurs of appreciation and support for her position all around. 

“Anyway,” Sue continues, “when Nicki suggested that I needed a break, we decided to treat ourselves and go all-in. This is the result, two middle-aged ladies on a safari.”

“My boyfriend tried to con me out of my house and ended up in prison for it,” I tell them when everything goes quiet. “I always wanted to go on safari and now I am free to do whatever I want.” Again there are a few murmurs of understanding as my revelation of betrayal sets in.

“Men are complete bastards,” Sue mutters as she raises a glass towards me and I follow suit, clinking glasses across the middle of the table. “Present company excepted!”

“I hope so,” Sandi sighs. “I’ve only just got mine!”

I’m sure by now that the ice is well and truly broken between us. A drink always helps to break down those anxious boundaries, but everyone seems to be on a similar wavelength. I had worried that we might get some people who only hope to gain bragging rights by being able to say they had been on a safari, but all of us here seem genuinely keen to take it seriously and enjoy the experience.

Ian comes back a few minutes later and takes us all into the restaurant for dinner. From this point on, everything is down to the tour company, he explains.

As we eat and chat as a now friendly group, Ian gives us a run-down of the basic rules for the trip. There are details about how we will travel, how to behave when we are actually on a game drive and quite a bit about how to take care to ensure the safety of ourselves and others.

“I’ve had a quick word with Peter and we have some tentative vehicle assignments worked out.” He tells us as we get to dessert. “There’s nothing set in stone, but both Peter and I like to be in the vehicles with the highest numbers of newcomers. At the moment, this means that Tom and Amanda will be in vehicle two and the rest of you will be in number three with me.”

“Five or Six to a car?” I ask.

“Yes, plus our local driver. They are big long-wheelbase Toyota Land-cruisers. They are more than big enough. Each vehicle has a pop-up top for good game viewing and they are air-conditioned.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound too bad. I guess we’ll spend a lot of time inside them?”

“Yes, Mark. Pretty much all day, every day. It’s not as bad as it sounds. We only generally do two game drives per day, so maybe seven hours in total. There is time to relax or even have a swim most days. You all have your full itinerary?”

There are several muttered affirmatives. In fact, we’ve all had our full schedule for several weeks. “A couple of these drives between locations are pretty long,” I suggest. “What are the roads like?”

“Mixed. We will be on good tar down to Amboseli, reasonable dirt in the parks and mostly good tar between all the destinations. It turns to dirt for Ngorongoro Crater and then it is pretty rough out to the middle of the Serengeti. All I can say is, enjoy your African massage when you get it.”

“Now, I know it’s early, but our connecting flight is actually at about seven tomorrow morning. We need to be checking in by five. I suggest you all get an early night and set an alarm.”

Getting up at four in the morning, especially after a couple of drinks the evening before, isn’t my idea of fun. I haven’t exactly got a hangover, but I do feel a little groggy. Luckily, I’ve given myself enough time to get a quick shower before I pack for one last time and head downstairs.

I’m not even the last to arrive, Sue and Nicki being about five minutes after me. All our luggage is piled into the courtesy mini-bus and we are whisked off to the terminal in short order. The KLM desk is busy, but not unduly so. We end up in the queue for only about ten minutes, much better than the more than twenty that it takes us to get through security.

I’ve never travelled on a long-haul flight, being restricted to the far more usual local and European destinations in the past. This short connection to Amsterdam is only about an hour, but it really is too early to enjoy it. No sooner is the breakfast service of a sandwich and a coffee served than we are descending to land.

Schiphol Airport’s multiple connected terminal layout is a little daunting and I’m not sure that I’d have liked to do it if travelling on my own, but with the group of us and Ian leading the way, the long walk from concourse ‘D’ to concourse ‘E’ is extended by our flights both arriving and departing from the extreme ends of the respective arms of the building. It’s a good thing that we have plenty of time. I really wouldn’t like to do this at a run if short on time because of an incoming delay.

There’s a quick security scan at the departure gate. My camera and associated equipment are once again singled out for special treatment, but I really am used to it now. Once safely into the waiting lounge, we are introduced to our fellow travellers and Peter.

There are two couples – both long-time customers on return visits – and five single travellers. Andrea is apparently a solicitor, appears to be in her early or mid-thirties and, like several of us, taking a trip-of-a-lifetime. She’s a keen photographer and is quick to complain that her bag also keeps getting checked. Her long dark hair is pulled back with a rainbow-coloured band.

Mary is apparently in her early sixties. She recently lost her husband and is now going on this trip because it is something that he always wanted to do, but they never got the chance.

Geoff and Tim couldn’t look less alike. Geoff is in his late forties, short and plump. He has a full moustache and is wearing a floppy hat and a pair of binoculars around his neck. Tim is in his early twenties, tall and gangly. He also has a pair of binoculars, though. I hate to deal in stereotypes, but they scream “Twitcher” at me the moment I see them.

Finally, there’s Brian. He introduces himself with a soft Welsh accent that’s easy on the ear. He’s about my age – late twenties or early thirties – and is taking a little time between long-term work contracts to explore the parts of the world he hasn’t already seen. His light-brown, slightly curly hair is matched by light-brown, almost golden eyes and a readiness to smile. Standing just under my 5’11”, he seems solidly built in a tight-fitting pale blue cotton pull-over.

Peter, our primary guide and the man in charge plays the part to perfection. He is a little over six feet tall, with dark hair and a pencil moustache. He is dressed much like Ian – safari shirt and khaki slacks with business-like walking boots. He welcomes our little group and helps to make introductions quickly and efficiently; clearly a man with much practice at his craft.

“Mark, it’s good to meet you. I hope everything has been satisfactory so far?”

“Yes, thank you, Peter. It’s good to meet you too. Ian has taken good care of all of us so far.”

“Excellent. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve put you to share with Brian. It didn’t seem fair to saddle you with one of the twitchers,” he tells me with a quick wink. Geoff and Tim now have a bird book out and are comparing notes.

“Thank you. I’m keen to see the birds as well, but not quite that keen!”

Introductions have barely been made properly when the flight is called for boarding and we all make our way down the airbridge to the plane. I find myself sharing a three-seat outside section with Brian and Andrea, with Andrea in the window-seat and Brian by the aisle. There’s plenty of leg-room and the 3-3-3 layout of the cabin gives a feeling of roominess.

I keep my laptop out as I settle into my seat. It’s still relatively early in the day, but we’re already one time-zone ahead and it will be dark in Nairobi when we land, another two zones to the east. I suppose that we should be grateful that it isn’t quite in jet-lag territory.