Walking the Ground: 60 Days Across Africa With a 39-Year Safari Specialist
By Karin Jones, CTC, MBA
Founder of Artisans of Safari
Designing African safaris since 1987
Host & Co-Producer of Safari ChangeMakers
Recognized by Travel + Leisure / Condé Nast Traveler
After 60 days across Kenya, Zimbabwe, and South Africa, I returned home with the kind of safari intelligence that cannot be pulled from a brochure, a booking platform, or an AI-generated destination guide.
I returned with updated field knowledge. Renewed relationships. Fresh perspective. New rare doors. And a deeper conviction than ever that the best African journeys are not designed from a distance.
For 39 years, I have been creating African safaris. I began doing this work in 1987, and even after nearly four decades, I still believe the same thing I did at the beginning: to design Africa well, you have to keep walking the ground.
Not occasionally. Not symbolically. Not from a desk.
You have to go back. You have to sit with the guides, the lodge owners, the pilots, the conservationists, the hoteliers, the artists, the chefs, the families, the founders, and the quiet forces behind the scenes who determine what a safari actually becomes once the itinerary leaves the page.
This latest journey was not a vacation. It was a field audit, a relationship audit, and a logistics audit — a 60-day immersion into the people, places, and moving parts that define the next era of private travel in Africa.
Field research is not a marketing exercise. It is how I keep my advice current, honest, and deeply connected to the realities on the ground.
Why I Still Walk the Ground
The safari world has changed enormously since I first began designing African journeys in 1987.
Botswana was once a rugged outpost. Many of today’s luxury hotspots were still emerging. Some of the pilots I knew in the early days now own aviation companies. Some of the young lodge managers I met decades ago have become the great founders, conservation leaders, and hospitality visionaries of the continent.
And Africa itself keeps changing.
Flight routes shift. Road conditions change. Lodge teams evolve. Private concessions improve or decline. New conservation models emerge. Certain places become too busy. Others quietly become extraordinary. A hotel that was perfect five years ago may no longer be the right fit. A lesser-known property may suddenly become the most soulful choice in a region.
That is why firsthand knowledge matters.
A safari is not just a collection of beautiful lodges. It is a sequence of decisions: when to move, where to pause, which guide to request, which aircraft makes sense, which airport is worth avoiding, which room category matters, when a private vehicle is essential, when a helicopter changes everything, and when a famous place may not be the right place for a particular traveler.
Those decisions cannot be made properly from generic destination content.
They come from being there.
They come from testing the logistics myself. From sitting across the table from the people who will look after my clients. From knowing which experiences feel authentic, which feel overproduced, and which have the emotional power to become life memories.
That is what I mean by walking the ground.
The Logistics of Excellence
While I was still in the field, news broke of airspace disruption in the Middle East. Some of our travelers in Tanzania were affected while flying via Qatar.
My first move — from the ground in South Africa — was to check on every client who might be affected.
Within minutes, I had a WhatsApp war room running with my Tanzania team and the travel advisor involved. While the advisor handled the international rerouting, our team pivoted the ground arrangements, adding several nights in Tanzania so the travelers remained comfortable, cared for, and fully supported rather than stranded in limbo.
That is the part of luxury travel most people never see.
It is not the thread count. It is not the welcome drink. It is not the pretty image in the proposal.
It is what happens when the plan changes.
It is whether the people on the other end of the phone know you, trust you, and move quickly for your travelers because the relationship is real.
This is why my fieldwork matters so much. I do not simply recommend experiences; I build and renew the relationships that make those experiences work.
During these 60 days, I was not just looking at rooms. I was meeting daily with lodge owners, hoteliers, private guides, ground teams, conservation leaders, and aviation partners. I was test-driving helicopters, private charters, boats, trains, quad bikes, road transfers, and the rhythm of journeys as they unfold in real life.
Because if my clients are going to experience it, I need to understand it.
Kenya: High-Octane, Soulful, and Still Full of Surprise
Kenya was the first chapter of this journey, and even after decades of traveling there, it still finds ways to rearrange my sense of what is possible.
The Suguta Valley: Kenya at Its Most Elemental
With Andrew and Chyulu Francomb at Ol Malo, I returned to one of the most exhilarating ways to experience Kenya: by helicopter.
Flying doors-off into the Suguta Valley felt less like travel and more like a pilgrimage. We landed on the rim of a vast volcanic caldera — immense in scale, almost otherworldly in silence, and without the footprint of mass tourism.
For the right traveler, this is not an add-on. It is a defining experience.
It is the kind of day that reminds you Africa is still full of places that feel wild, raw, and astonishingly unmediated — if you know how to reach them, and with whom.
Flying with Andrew Francomb into Kenya’s remote north — the kind of field research that changes how I design a journey.
Kalepo: Culture Without Choreography
At Kalepo, with Storm and Rob Mason, I was reminded of something I care about deeply: the difference between cultural access and cultural performance.
There was no staged moment. No polished choreography. No sense of travelers being placed in front of a culture for consumption.
Instead, there was daily life. Samburu rhythm. Ancient traditions. Warmth, intelligence, and the kind of immersion that only happens when a camp has been built with sensitivity, humility, and long-term trust.
This matters because luxury travelers increasingly want meaning, but meaning cannot be manufactured. The most powerful cultural experiences are not performed at guests. They unfold because the relationship is real.
Sarara and Reteti: Conservation That Works Because Communities Lead
At Sarara and Reteti Elephant Sanctuary, the conservation story is both practical and profound.
The “Milk to Market” model, using goat’s milk for rescued elephant calves, is not just a supply-chain solution. It is a pathway to income and autonomy for local women. It is conservation designed as an ecosystem of dignity: wildlife care, women’s enterprise, community benefit, and guest education all moving together.
I helped feed a calf. I saw the system at work. And once again, I was reminded that the best safari experiences are not separate from conservation and community — they are connected to them.
Conservation that works is rarely abstract. At
Reteti, it is measured in rescued calves, local livelihoods, and systems built to last.
Manzili: Nairobi’s Creative Pulse to the Mara’s Soul
My Kenya journey also took me into the world of Manzili — first in Nairobi, then in the Mara.
With owners of Manzili House & Manzili Mara, Vanessa Roumeguere and Thomas Bossard, I explored a Kenya story that feels wildly creative, deeply personal, and unlike anything that fits neatly into a standard safari category.
In Nairobi, Vanessa opened up a version of the city many travelers never see: hidden galleries, master artisans, cultural texture, design intelligence, and a sense of Nairobi not as a stopover, but as a living, creative capital.
Then came Manzili Mara, perched on the Siria Escarpment with the northern Serengeti stretching endlessly below.
Karin & Vanessa at Manzili Mara — safari partnerships, beautifully rooted in place.
There was art. There was music. There was roasted sheep beneath an acacia. There were conversations about a forthcoming collaboration involving ballet in the bush. There was the kind of joyful, slightly rebellious energy that cannot be scripted.
Manzili is not simply a lodge. It is an intimate private world — part sanctuary, part salon, part love letter to modern Kenya.
For the right traveler, it could be unforgettable.
Slowing Down: Rovos Rail From Victoria Falls to Pretoria
Between the intensity of Kenya and the pace of South Africa, we boarded Rovos Rail for the four-day journey from Victoria Falls to Pretoria.
In an age of instant everything, four days on a vintage train feels almost radical.
It gives the landscape time to enter you.
There is the observation car, the slow drift of bushveld, the dressing for dinner, the rhythm of conversation, the sense that movement itself can become part of the experience rather than something to be endured between destinations.
Rovos is not right for everyone. But for travelers who understand that the way one moves through Africa can matter as much as where one lands, it remains one of the great acts of slow travel.
The luxury of time — Rovos Rail reminds us that transition can be part of the journey, not merely the space between destinations.
South Africa: The Audit Behind the Advice
In South Africa, the work shifted from bush intensity to city, coast, wine country, and a detailed audit of hotels, private estates, restaurants, and safari models.
As an Africa specialist, it is not enough for me to know what is “best.” I need to know what is best for whom.
Cape Town alone demands that level of nuance.
Some travelers want the grand icons. Some want boutique intimacy. Some want the gravitational pull of the Waterfront. Some want the urban energy of Kloof Street. Some want Clifton drama, mountain views, or a private villa experience where the city becomes almost incidental.
So I inspected, revisited, stayed, tested, and compared.
The Grand Dames. The boutique newcomers. The Winelands estates. The private enclaves. The restaurants. The jazz rooms. The neighborhoods. The day-trip possibilities. The small details that determine whether a stay feels seamless or merely impressive.
I stayed at and revisited properties including Cape Grace, Pineapple Boutique Hotel, The Clairmont, Cape Cadogan, The Cole, Mount Nelson, Lanzerac, Mont Rochelle, Coot Club, and a range of boutique Cape Town addresses. I also spent time in Johannesburg, refining my sense of how to introduce travelers to the energy, grit, glamour, and contemporary pulse of the New South Africa before or after safari. I was so pleased with The Peech which we choose often for clients. It has everything we need in a Johannesburg property. A great room, excellent service, a stand-out restaurant.
This is the work behind the advice.
It is not glamorous all the time, although it certainly has glamorous moments. It is note-taking, questioning, walking, comparing, checking service standards, meeting leadership, looking at room categories, testing transfers, and asking again and again:
Would I trust this with my clients?
The Rare Doors: Private Africa Beyond the Obvious
The most memorable moments of the South African chapter were not simply luxurious. They were personal.
A Secret Vineyard in the Banghoek Valley
One afternoon brought me to what may be the most beautiful wine estate I have ever encountered, tucked into the hills above Franschhoek.
It had been recommended by two of Africa’s top private guides — always a good sign. The experience was quiet, precise, and deeply connected to place. I later established a direct relationship with their Private Client Sommelier, whose philosophy mirrored my own: connection between place, people, and precision.
I am not naming the estate publicly, and that is intentional.
Some doors are not meant to be broadcast. They are meant to be opened carefully, for the right traveler, at the right time. For our wine-lovers this will be included.
Leeukopie Estate: The Kerzner Legacy
Then came Leeukopie Estate, the private enclave of the late Sol Kerzner — and perhaps one of the most exclusive private stays in Cape Town.
I spent the afternoon with Sol’s daughter, Chantel Kerzner, who personally took me through the estate by Land Rover.
Leeukopie is not a hotel. It is a private world.
Overlooking the cliffs of Hout Bay, with extraordinary scale, privacy, gardens, horses, trails, beach access, staff, and space for a maximum of 30 guests, it represents a level of South African hospitality that is both ambitious and deeply personal.
For travelers who have seen the obvious and want something extraordinary, it is the kind of rare door that changes the entire architecture of a Cape Town stay.
Leeukopie Estate — Karin & Chantel Kerzner -a private world, and the kind of access that only comes through real relationships.
Cape Town Through the Table, the Stage, and the Living Room
Some of the best field research happens after dark, over lunch, or around a private table.
Cape Town’s culinary scene is world-class, but knowing where to go is only the beginning. The deeper value is knowing the people, the story, the timing, the table, and when a dining experience fits the larger shape of a journey.
At FYN, one of the most intelligent kitchens on the continent, Chef Peter Tempelhoff interprets South Africa through a Japanese lens from high above the city. At La Colombe, perched in the Constantiaberg Mountains, the experience remains part theater, part technical mastery, part love letter to local produce.
In Stellenbosch, Vergenoegd Löw offered one of those only-in-South-Africa moments: the famous Indian Runner ducks marching through the vines, a charming ritual with a real purpose in natural pest control.
But the most meaningful moments were often the most personal.
A private tasting at Klein Constantia. A traditional South African braai at the home of my friend Allie and her husband Carl. Cape Town jazz at Asoka, Fat Harry’s, and The Blue Room. Lunch with Royal Portfolio leadership. Conversations with people whose work, homes, and friendships have shaped my understanding of South Africa over decades.
This is the difference between visiting a city and being invited into it.
Conservation Beyond the Brochure
The emotional center of this journey came in the field.
At Kwandwe in the Eastern Cape, I joined Angus Douglas and his team for a black rhino conservation darting operation — one of the most profound experiences I have ever been invited to witness.
This was not observation from a polite distance.
I was close enough to feel the urgency, the tenderness, and the choreography of people who have dedicated their lives to protecting a species that cannot protect itself from the world we have built.
I helped administer vitamin support to a five-year-old female black rhino. I assisted with blood collection. I watched vets, researchers, helicopter teams, and field staff move with quiet competence around an animal carrying the weight of an entire species’ future.
I did not expect the emotion to hit so hard.
But it did.
I found myself in tears — not from shock, but from gratitude. From the privilege of seeing care at that level. From understanding, viscerally, that conservation is not a concept. It is people, risk, science, funding, courage, and hope in motion.
In the field at Kwandwe, witnessing the science, urgency, and tenderness behind black rhino conservation.
Craig the Giant Tusker and the Future of Protection
At Angama Amboseli, our filming felt both timely and tender.
We arrived just days after the passing of Craig, the iconic Giant Tusker whose presence had become a symbol of what is still magnificent — and fragile — in the wild world.
We sat down with Craig Millar of the Big Life Foundation, one of Craig’s longtime custodians, to discuss the legacy this extraordinary elephant leaves behind. We also interviewed Roscoe Wendover, CEO of Angama, on the partnership with Big Life and the work unfolding in the Kimana Conservancy, a critical wildlife corridor at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro.
It was a conversation shaped by grief, urgency, and momentum.
Craig’s story is not simply about one elephant. It is about corridors, communities, coexistence, and the future of the great tuskers who remain.
Safari ChangeMakers: Voices From the Field
Throughout these 60 days, we were also filming and recording in-person conversations for Season 2 of Safari ChangeMakers, the podcast produced by Artisans of Safari.
These conversations are not abstract interviews. In many cases, they are with the very people my travelers may meet, learn from, or be hosted by on the ground.
We filmed with conservationists, founders, lodge owners, hospitality leaders, scientists, artists, and entrepreneurs who have gone all in on Africa’s future.
At Ele-Collection in Victoria Falls, we toured the plant with Ben Norton and the team, seeing firsthand how they are physically removing and repurposing plastic waste from the Victoria Falls and Hwange ecosystems.
At Matetsi Victoria Falls, Sara Gardiner shared the scale and ambition of their conservation and rewilding work along the Zambezi.
At Jordan Wine Estate, a lunch with Jeremy and Ema Borg of Painted Wolf Wines, artist Lin Barrie, and scientist Jess Watermeyer became something more than a meal. It became a production meeting, a conservation conversation, and the seed of a future small-group journey built around wild dog research, art, wine, and purpose.
That is what Safari ChangeMakers is about.
Not simply where to stay. But who is shaping the future of where we stay, what we protect, and how travelers can participate with humility and meaning.
What I Brought Home
After 60 days, what stays with me most is not one hotel, one meal, one view, or one spectacular moment.
It is the people.
Africa has an extraordinary abundance of people who have given themselves fully to a place, a species, a craft, a community, or a cause. They are the reason I keep going back. They are the reason my work still feels alive after 39 years.
I came home with fresh intelligence, yes.
I came home with new access, refined hotel knowledge, private experiences, updated logistics, and a stronger sense of which journeys will be most powerful for which travelers.
But more than that, I came home reminded that safari, at its best, is not consumption. It is connection.
Connection to place. To people. To wildlife. To responsibility. To beauty that asks something of us in return.
That is the kind of travel I believe in.
And that is the kind of journey I build.
If This Kind of Journey Speaks to You
If you are looking for a safari shaped by current field knowledge, rare access, and relationships built over decades — not simply what is available online — I would be delighted to begin the conversation.
Whether you are a traveler dreaming of Africa, or a travel advisor looking for a dedicated Africa specialist in your corner, my work is to open the right doors, ask the right questions, and design a journey that feels deeply personal, beautifully orchestrated, and connected to something larger than the trip itself.