2 Game Drive Read Online Free PDF Page B

reserve on the edge of Kruger National Park. Drivers from our safari lodge would pick us up in Land Rovers at the little airport and drive us into the game reserve.
    “After four days of drrrrrinking in the magnificent flora and fauna of the camp, some of you will return to Johannesburg and then onwards home. Others will have a tour extension, allowing additional time back here in Cape Town to see other sights and discuss business arrangements and future bookings.”
    Jay and I were booked for the extension. After the safari, we were scheduled to remain in Cape Town for a few days to meet with hotel people and other travel vendors. In those meetings we would finalize the specific venues and arrangements for the custom tour our agency was promoting.
    We heard a lot of housekeeping details about the next day’s departure, received thick packets of handouts and brochures, and viewed a video of different properties offered by David’s company. Finally David dismissed us for a short break before the City Tour.
    I stretched. “I’m going up to my room to dump all of this junk and get my camera, Jay. Need anything?”
    “No, thanks,” he said, stuffing a newspaper in his man-bag. “I’m going to get some more rand out of the ATM and grab some water. I’ll meet you at the van.”
    * * *
    The housekeeper’s cart was at the door of my room as I came down the hall, and the door was partially open. I could hear someone rumbling around in the bathroom, apparently cleaning. I didn’t linger, just dropped all the stuff on the desk, grabbed my camera, and headed back to the elevator.
    I almost bumped into George, who was making a few selections from the maid’s unattended cart.
    “Ha! Caught you, George. Bet you didn’t think anyone would see you pilfering.”
    He stiffened in self-righteous indignation. “I am not pilfering. This stuff is for the guests and I am a guest. Want some of this bath gel?”
    “No, thanks,” I laughed. “There’s plenty in my room.”
    I caught the elevator back down, joined by George, whose pockets were bulging with maid-cart booty.
    I saw only strangers in the lobby, so I walked straight through and out the front door to the parking area where the tour vans were waiting. George followed. Heading toward my assigned van, I jammed my key card into the back pocket of my shorts. Those shorts were beginning to get a little too tight ... too much great food already on this trip. Unfortunately they were all I had, and the day was predicted to be hot. I could feel the glances at my rear end, even from George. I ignored the suggestive comments I overheard from the bell stand.
    It might seem strange that I did not carry a purse, but I gave up purses on trips some time ago. Huge purses look great, but they are also a huge pain. They just weigh you down and make you a target in sketchy situations. Also, people like Jay constantly give you stuff to carry for them.
    “Here,” he’ll say, handing me some trophy he’s snagged, “Just stick this in your purse.” Eventually my bag would be overflowing with junk he didn’t remember handing to me in the first place.
    It didn’t take me long to lose the purse habit and develop a new method. That was quite a change for me because girls in my hometown are born with purses in their hands. Southern women go all the way to their graves clutching handbags. Now, after years of lugging junk around, I am free. My serious money and stuff like passports and credit cards go in a neck purse under my shirt or in the room safe. My little walking around money goes in my pockets. That way, my hands are free and I’m less of a target for theft.
    Outside in the bright morning sunlight of the hotel entrance, cars and trucks constantly arrived and departed. Motorcycles whizzed by, and people and luggage moved in and out in a sort of controlled confusion. We headed toward a line of vans from David’s tour company waiting at the hotel entrance. Our group was already loading. I