Safari in Maasiland Kenya

Reminiscing about my first, and not my last Safari in Maasiland, (also known as Masi Mara) Kenya. Mother nature made gods land. Maasiland is gods land. So many times on this safari did I think about what is important in life.

Touch down took place in Nairobi at dusk, our bodies still humming from the eight-hour transatlantic flight, and were whisked into a five-star exquisite boutique hotel. Champagne awaited us in the lobby, and our delicious dinner of East African fusion cuisine. Sated and exhausted, we surrendered to Egyptian-cotton linens.

Safari in Kenya

Dawn brought a sumptuous breakfast of artisanal granolas, fresh passionfruit sorbet, and eggs poached to translucence, before our private chauffeur, glided us to Wilson Airport's lounge. It was were we first encountered Luca, with the quiet charisma of a man who conversed as easily with the skies, as with kings. The Cessna 206, a bespoke four-seater lifted us into the ether, a thrill that set our heart racing.

My intrepid companion, Victoria, seized the co-pilot's controls and she was flying over the vast African canvas. In a mere hour, we descended into the untamed heart of Maasailand, alighting at Camp Kanzi: immediately taken with the opulent wilderness, where and authentic lodge reigns supreme, and exclusivity is assured.

Loved flying in the Cessna

Amazing lodge, this was no ordinary vista; it was a revelation from the gods of geography. Kilimanjaro loomed on the horizon. We'd soared above the vast lava fields, black rivers, where, over millennia, resilient acacias and fever trees had clawed their way through the porous rock. Sparse grasslands flanked these rivers trees for hundreds of miles.

First lodge was my favourite Camp Kanzi

From the moment that I saw Camp Kanzi I loved it. It embodied the pinnacle of five-star opulence, exquisitely upmarket, unapologetically expensive, yet profoundly authentic in its Maasai roots, and utterly unique in its seamless fusion of wilderness and refined indulgence. In this remote corner of Maasailand, where only three lodges, the visionary Luca and his impeccable team orchestrate them all with effortless mastery.

Camp Kanzi was dream-like, a safari film-set. Intimate, unapologetically lavish, and profoundly rooted in the Maasai soul. Only five of us for our two-night idyll: Victoria and I, plus a trio of discerning Americans whose whispers hinted at boardrooms in Manhattan and ranches in Montana. Our private suites were tented masterpieces, elevated on platforms beneath thatched roofs woven from rare Chyulu Hills grasses. Mine was a cinematic reverie: billowing white linens on a kingly four-poster carved from fallen ebony, brass fixtures, and a shower that fed the watering hole, visible from my veranda, a private view, like the front-row seat at the circus: impala, troops of baboons, iridescent blue starlings darting like sapphire arrows, lizards, giraffes nonchalantly passing by, humorous warthogs scurrying past the lumbering water buffalo, and herds of zebra.

No sooner had our bags been unpacked, we embarked on an initiatory bush walk, guided by Perashi, a Masi elder whose spear-tipped wisdom cut through the acacias like a blade through myth. His knowledge and tales were not lost on us. Self taught English told us of the land's ancient tapestry. This was far from the sanitised safaris of the masses.

Lunch followed in the beautiful lodge: a bespoke affair of three courses, the heirloom tomatoes burst from the camp's permaculture gardens, and a sommelier's curation of Italian wines as Luca is Italian. The air alive with the rarefied thrill of what we had already encounter in paradise. I kept pinching myself.

The three-course luncheon at Camp Kanzi was a symphony of refined indulgence, each dish artfully paired with a meticulously selected Italian vintage or a bespoke cocktail, evoking the timeless elegance of Tuscan estates reimagined amid the wild savannas. Sourcing whispers of authenticity from the camp's own hydroponic gardens—where sun-kissed heirloom produce thrives in sustainable harmony—the meal transcended mere sustenance, becoming a portal to Kenya's untamed luxury.

As the midday light waned, our gracious host Luca, with the quiet confidence of a true custodian of the wild, inquired after our preferences for the evening's sundowner elixir. We ascended then in the whisper-silent embrace of an open-sided electric safari vehicle, gliding toward a vertiginous perch that commanded the vast, amber-drenched valley below. En route, the African tableau gave us soaring buzzards tracing thermals, elusive wildebeest, wide-eyed bush babies, graceful giraffes, and herds of buffalo thundering like ancient sentinels. As the sun dipped into a blaze of crimson and gold, I savoured my tequila, its agave smell mingling with the crisp mountain air. A high-altitude memory, unparalleled and profoundly intimate.

In this enclave of Maasai heartland, spanning some 40,000 acres of conservancy, a private realm where conservation and heritage entwine, neither Luca nor the Masi bear firearms. The guardianship of this sacred Maasailand falls to vigilant rangers, armed with the quiet authority of rifles and resolve, while the Maasai themselves wield only the storied blade, a symbol of unyielding tradition amid an era of . Here, the exquisite evolution of three lodge locations has taken over 30 years of luxury, that is not imposed but inherited, authentic, exorbitant in its rarity, and utterly, irreplaceably unique.

That balmy evening, our Masai guides, ever vigilant stewards of the wild, summoned us, as their keen eyes, discerned a pride of lions prowling perilously near our camp, under the canopy of inky African night. We were thrilled to spy eleven regal lions, lionesses shepherding their playful cubs, their golden eyes glinting like heirlooms in the moonlight.

Occasionally, I like to dress appropriately for dinner, so wore my leopard-print kaftan. The ensuing fireside discourse crackled with effervescent wit; I elicited laughter from our American companions by confessing that my wellness ritual rendered "my body a temple, though my mind remains an unapologetic cesspit". A risqué bon mot that danced on the edge of decorum, perfectly attuned to Miss Kim Rub comment.

Soon it was dawn and time for some English classics: eggs poached, bacon crisped, plump sausages. Cereals, warm sourdough toast, fresh butter, and a cornucopia of exotic fruits; mangoes, passionfruit, bananas, melon. Stuffed by this over-indulgent feast, we embarked on a three-hour cloud-forest odyssey.

En route, I was impressed by the blossoms on the trees, their blush a rare shade of pink. Our vehicle ferrying us across vast, sun-scorched plains to a vertiginous meadow, where the ascent tested our mettle under the equatorial blaze.

Cresting the summit revealed a verdant Eden: an ancient forest of vine-like arms, in the emerald coolness, set against the inferno of the climb. At its heart loomed monolithic trees, sanctified by the Masai as their ancestral temple under the stars. Ceremonies evoking the Masi's deepest spiritual veins.

Refreshed by a shower after the walk, luncheon arrived as a fusion of African and Italian chicken, paired with sun-ripened tomatoes. We languished in our tent for an hour of unhurried relaxation, before convening at four for high tea, mindful of the epicurean indulgences ahead, I savoured with restraint.

My equestrian dream to ride off into the sunset came true, a bespoke excursion curated for the connoisseur of the wild - Luca who appeared in leather breeches. VERY SEXY. Mounting my steed standing 17.2 hands, I used mounting block to sit in the European saddle. As the day's heat yielded we hacked out from camp across undulating grasslands. "Whither this path?" I ventured to Luca, our silver-haired Italian host, whose laconic reply, "That bar over there". Not strictly the truth in the conventional sense. However, the Masi had brought the bar to the bush and set it up amid the acacias. We dismounted and the horse were rode back to came. High on a hill we enjoyed an aperitif, blending Old World safari finesse, with our world in the wilderness. Truly five-star. Authenticity, lavish yet profoundly rooted in historic colonial travel aesthetics, exorbitant yet eternally priceless, every moment unfurled as a unique verse in the poetry of untrodden earth.

Atop this mount our sundowner was extridinary, the Maasai had anticipated our every desire: a bespoke mobile bar, stocked with premium spirits, a sundowner ritual. The three Americans, who had opted for a gentler arrival, converged with us in this golden-hour symphony. We savored handcrafted cocktails, while a troupe of young Maasai warriors performed their timeless rite: soaring vertical leaps that echoed the untamed spirit of the savanna. Their eyes sparkled with mischief upon spotting me; an invitation to join was inevitable, and I leaped into the fray with abandon, our laughter was at my expense. Happy to oblige.

Twilight descended like a velvet curtain, but Luca unveiled yet another layer of enchantment: a nocturnal promenade, a mere heartbeat from sundowner, leading to what appeared a shadowed cavern mouth. In truth, it was a colossal lava tube, a geological marvel vast enough to cradle a palatial two-story estate within its ancient embrace. At its heart flickered a crackling fire pit, but the true revelation was the dining tableau: a linen-draped table groaning under the weight of silver, china, and crystal flutes for the champagnes. Here, bin the earth's primordial vault, we were regaled with a three-course meal, each dish more delicious than the past.

The very paraffin lanterns that illuminated the lodge's dining area, seating and pathways now cast their amber glow across this subterranean sanctum, the transformation was extraordinary. Dining in a lava tube? It was nothing short of alchemical magic, a night alive with unbridled mirth. I, ever the provocateur, unleashed my wry tales, drawing peals of laughter

The early morning call at 5:45 a.m. summoned us for a dawn safari, breakfast forsaken in favour of the hunt for ephemeral wonders. As first light, we encountered lions, their camouflage unmost fooled us, but not the Masi. Then, our inaugural elephants, a majestic pair, spectral in the mist, followed by herds of giraffes like living sculptures, zebras in ebony-and-ivory striations, and water buffalo wading through dew-kissed grasses. This journey to the second lodge pulsed with life. Our silent electric chariot, powered by the camp's proprietary solar arrays, the sole lifeline in this grid-forsaken idyll. guided us through the mosaic landscape.

Nine is the morning and hunger stirred, I confided to Victoria in passing. The ever-attentive Maasai intercepted the cue, veering into a sun-dappled meadow where, with balletic precision, they conjured a full lodge breakfast: cloths, 'directors' chairs, and a table was laid with fruits, bacon, sausage and eggs - all al fresco, beneath the balmy caress of acacias.

Our convoy then traced the unseen paths to the second jewel in Luca's crown: Chyulu Wilderness Camp, a more contemporary vision, sleek and new-ish, yet laced with that same disarming Maasai charm. Its pièce de résistance? A vast, watering hole, a mere arm's-length from the terrace, teeming with unscripted cameos from the animal kingdom. A discreet, low-voltage electric fence politely deterred the larger animals, though the irrepressible monkeys pirouetted unchecked over them.

Lunch beckoned at 1 p.m., but after our sumptuous 9:30 repast, I was content, for once, in the afterglow of such unparalleled extravagance.

Nestled in the opulent embrace of Chyulu, our second lodge, a upmarket sanctuary where every detail whispers of refined authenticity and unparalleled exclusivity. We enjoyed a languid afternoon on the expansive terrace. Gazing out over at watering hole, a private vista crafted for the discerning traveller, we were graced by the majestic procession of a mother elephant and her two calves.

As twilight's appeared on the horizon, Luca joined us in intimate conversation, his insights into this wild realm as profound as they were personal. Under a canopy of stars that crowned our 8 p.m. dinner al fresco. Seated at a candlelit table, we dined, just six of us, including Luca himself, alongside two vibrant South Africans and a pair of esteemed conservationists and biologists. These extraordinary visitors, flown in expressly to deliberate the audacious reintroduction of a white rhino to Maasailand. Their tales of ecological alchemy mirroring the lodge's own commitment to ethical, conservation. Our menu, a nether masterpiece with vegetables plucked from the lodge's own kitchen gardens. Wonderful conversations left us tired, so we retired to our suite, the cocoon of Cuthulu's quiet opulence.

Dawn broke at 7 a.m., but I opted for the indulgent breakfast, whilst Vanessa went on an exhilarating aerial safari, curated for her delight. Instead, I chattered with my South African companions, worldly souls who had immersed themselves in this Eden for a full month.

Upon Vanessa's triumphant return, alight with tales of untamed expanses viewed from above, we ventured forth with Perschi, our poised Maasai guide, to an authentic Maasai village. Within the thatched enclave of traditional Maasai huts, hand-woven from centuries-old techniques and adorned with intricate beadwork. We were welcomed not as tourists, but as honoured kin. Before the allure of their exquisite, handcrafted jewellery, they beckoned us to join their rhythmic dance, I was once again singled out to step into the circle; how could I resist?

En route back to Camp Cuthulu's African embrace, we found a group of male elephants in a sun-dappled glade. An elder patriarch, his tusks nearly grazing the earth, cradled protectively by his youthful kin. Our guide murmured of their devotion to his care, a poignant tableau of wild kinship. In the adjoining meadow, a miracle unfolded: a newborn giraffe, no more than a week old, its umbilical cord still attached. Such rarified sightings, unhurried and unforced, are the quiet currency of Cuthulu's promise, luxury not in excess, but in exquisite rarity.

The afternoon unfurled in sublime idleness, Vanessa drifting into sleep. Later we unraveled the day's wonders; the elephants' vigil, the baby giraffe, the ladies and children in the village. Each thread, a vibrant stitch, in the irreplaceable fabric of this unique and authentic odyssey.

Our time at the second lodge had come to an end. Our last sleep on Safari. It was an early start the next day as we want to get in once again climbed into the Cessna and flew Mallindi. We flew straight to the coast and along the shoreline. Skimming the waves with barely 15 m below us. This was thrilling, however had I known we were so close to the water it would’ve been scary to. This time with the two dogs and our cases, as we were going to the home of our gracious host Luca.

Coastal property was spectacular. Loved the 20 meter pool, full time staff, beautiful manicured grounds, and our choice of bedrooms. Top priority for me is swimming, whilst Victoria sunbathed. That evening Luca took us to a fantastic seafood restaurant on the beach where we dined on seafood; lobster, prawns, local fish from Kenya is abundant coastal waters.

Early the next morning the staff made us eggs and bacon…and all the usual African delicacies. Luca drove us to Mallindi airport and we waved him goodbye. The next part of the journey was a small aircraft the size of a private jet, which took us to Nairobi. There we were met by a driver for the day who chauffeured us to wherever we wanted.

High on the list was shopping so we went to an artisanal shop for African artistic specialities. I purchased some of the colourful beaded items of homeware. Then we headed the Helen Butter foundation, due to the shopping expedition it left us not time to visit the museum, so we opted for a Margarita in the restaurant instead.

Time to go to Nairobi airport. We were afforded first-class treatment by being escorted to the business class lounge. We had quite a few hours to either way so we had dinner, alcohol and Victoria had a shower. The British Airways evening flight was uneventful and we both managed to sleep in large due to the several gin and tonic, that made me sleepy.

Getting home is made easy now due to the Elizabeth line so I boarded the tube and was home within an hour. Straight to bed dreaming of our amazing African adventure. after her dawn safari, while I reclined amid the terrace's beautiful furnishings, enveloped in the profound hush that defines true five-star seclusion. Notably, both lodges were absence of mosquitoes - thankfully.