Ranthambore National Park, India
Another night of vivid dreams and the malaria tablets can't yet be blamed. We're only due to start taking them today in preparation for Goa in a week's time. Instead the news that we learn later, of a tiger spotted outside our tents during the night, makes sense and explains the disturbed night's sleep. So, having woken early we are already up and about at 6am when a knock on the flap heralds tea and biscuits.
We get ourselves ready and are given hot water bottles, rugs and a little patterned cloth bag containing supplies from the hotel owners. Despite the heat of the day, it's freezing cold at night so we have four layers of clothing on plus hats, scarves and gloves. Soon a jeep pulls up with a guide, a driver and two other people on board. Pieter (Belgian) and Molly (from Singapore) are medical neuro-scientists who now live in Frankfurt. They are determined to see a tiger.
As the dawn light starts to brighten the sky we pull up at the entrance to Ranthambore National Park. It is thronged with locals trying to sell us hats, scarves and gloves despite us already being wrapped up like eskimos.
As we wait to get our paperwork signed more and more safari vehicles pull up. Some are jeeps like us, but many are 20 person-carriers full of eager tourists with cameras ready. The locals turn their attentions to them and we set off, thankful to be in a small party and optimistic this means we'll see tigers.
Apparently there are 16 females, 14 males and 20 cubs in the safari park. But with the hordes of people pouring in through the gates there's no chance of catching them by surprise. As we start to criss cross our designated sector - Zone 1 this morning - we keep coming across the same jeeps and safari vans, all trying to find the elusive tigers.
But we have a secret weapon; a maniac driver who thinks he's part of the Dakar Rally. "Eat my dirt!!" he cries as we speed off up another bumpy path, leaving the other tourists behind.
As the sun rises we see wild boar, deer and peacocks roaming but all attention is focussed on the tiger. "Look, fresh paw print. Tiger is here." Seems like the other drivers think the same. Soon we are all gathered in a valley, over 30 people in four vehicles trying to be silent and inconspicuous.
Seeing as we're no longer hurtling along dust-filled tracks at 60 miles an hour, now seems a good time to investigate our packed breakfast. Neatly tucked into a tupperware box are dainty triangles of cream cheese and tomato sandwiches, crusts removed. We've just finished munching away when our guide tells us we can hear deer making a certain cry which means "100% tiger is in valley". The driver puts his foot down and we race high up the ridge ahead of the others. At the top of the hill all is silent. We wait. There's a distant rumble and soon other jeeps appear. "They're following us", complains the driver.
We head off and after ten bone-shaking minutes negotiating rocky tracks and steep inclines we come to grassland and pause. "Tiger!". I leap up, camera in hand.
"I heard him" clarifies the guide. "It is the sound of the tiger". Oh. I sit back down. Pieter says he thought it was his stomach. Their hotel obviously didn't pack them sandwiches.
Suddenly we're off in hot pursuit. Excitement mounts. We round a corner and come upon another jeep, this one with a guide who is making tiger sounds to lure other tigers - it is mating season after all. Well, he's succeeded in luring us. We all look crestfallen. We wait 20 minutes or so, letting everyone else leave. Still nothing.
So we drive to a creek and have a toilet break. While I pee under a tree I look up and see cocoons hanging down almost touching my head. "What are these?" I ask. "Big spider nests," comes the reply. I'm back in the jeep before my flies are done up.
Molly is very disappointed we have stopped. "We should keep moving. I want to see a tiger," she whimpers. I think the only one we'll see is badly painted on the entrance sign.
By 9.30 it is obvious the tigers have forsaken us but the guide and driver are determined we shall see one and drive around at high speed for ages, retracing all the haunts they have already tried. Pieter thinks it's to ensure they get a big tip from us. But time is against them and they realise we are too far from the gate to be out by the 10.15am curfew of the morning game ride. "Hold tight" they warn and take us on a white-knuckle race of terror, backsides banging against the suspension and my poor bruised knee taking a hammering as we race down mountainsides and over boulder strewn paths to get out in time.
A flash before us. But it's a mere jungle cat - small and wild, but no tiger. Not even one of the leopards that can sometimes be found. And sure enough, when we get to the barrier at just gone 10.30, the army guard gives the driver a roasting. We are informed of an 800 rupee fine, and also told that not a single party has glimpsed a tiger in any of the six zones this morning.
Eventually we are able to proceed and once we are safely on our way back towards a hearty breakfast, the guide tells us he made an "under table price" for the fine, so he slipped the guard 100 rupees and avoided the official paperwork. He gets his tip, but still looks disappointed.
That afternoon we set out on safari number two, this time in a jeep with three Dutch tourists and thankfully a more sedate driver. We head through familiar landscapes at first but detour off into zone 4. There are still plenty of other tourists around, and no tigers to be seen, but we stop at lakes where crocodiles bask in the now blazing afternoon sun, majestic Sambah deer lock antlers and tussle by the water, monkeys sit high in the trees and a solitary serpent eagle surveys it all.
Onward we journey through fresh terrain with mountains looming and grasslands ahead. Then as sunset falls we come back past a lake to see the sun setting in fiery glory. We arrive back to our lodging caked in dust and ready for a long shower.
Overnight we are woken by rain, sudden and unexpected drumming on the roof of our tent, but next morning when tea arrives it is noticeably warmer. Sporting rugs and hot water bottles again, we get into our third jeep, this time with a German couple from Mannheim and an English pair from Potters Bar.
We are all hardened safari veterans now with a cynical camaraderie born of fruitless hunts. Today we are heading into zone three which takes us first up to Ranthambore fort, where hordes of colourful devotees are streaming up to worship at the temple of Lord Ganesh. As we venture further the landscape is beautiful. It's a cloudy start to the day but we drink in the vistas, very different from yesterday; flatter and prettier.
We search for a tiger but without expectation. The first two hours move slowly but calmly as we patiently drive around. There are far fewer people in the park today and we seem to have the whole place to ourselves. Occasionally we see fellow tiger-hunters, particularly when we come to the lake which sports the Maharajah of Jaipur's palace on the far shore, abandoned only since 1970 when hunting was outlawed. In the time of the British Raj over one hundred tigers a day were killed. No wonder they're so elusive today.
By another lake we pull up to view a family of wild boar along with some spotted deer and peacocks while herons, antelopes, white egrets and what look like Indian flamingos all wade and walk around. It's like a vision of the Serengeti. Then suddenly a bird lands on my head. I let out a yelp and it flies up into a tree, cocks its head and stares at me. The guide says it's a treepie, a more common version of a magpie. It swoops down and lands on the jeep, eyeballing us before taking flight again.
Over by the banyan trees are parakeets and Coman even spots a mongoose and then there is a loud commotion, peacocks take to the air, deer start running and our guide motions for silence. A tiger is in the long grass by the water's edge. We wait. And wait. But nothing.
It's getting late and we're all hungry for breakfast (another round of cream cheese and tomato sandwiches notwithstanding) so we start making for the exit. We see another couple of jeeps and a larger vehicle carrying about 15 despondent faces, then a roar is heard across the other side of the lake. In a cloud of dust the jeeps leap forward and the hunt is on.
We all come to a stop ten minutes away, probably 20 of us by this point, scanning the banks of the lake. "There, there" shouts the guide. We can't see anything. The curfew again has passed but still we wait. Other people leave until just two jeeps are left, one with a senior park official in who has come to check out the sighting.
And out of the trees, coming down the hill, far in the distance, a shadow appears, silent but real. There he is in the flesh. A tiger, slinking towards the fleeing deer. In moments he's gone, and there are cries of disappointment from the German couple who missed his fleeting appearance. But we feel triumphant, hunters who caught their quarry. We leave the park grinning like idiots, the vision just a memory, but we have done it. We have seen the tigers of Ranthambore. We can leave in victory.
