Jacquetta

Today we are off on a mystery trip. It's only a mystery to husband Keir, who officially doesn't know where we're going. I booked it a few months ago: no mystery for me! Sadly, the combination of anti-malarials, time of year and flight times must have given away the fact that we are going to southern Africa. It remains to emerge whether he has guessed the Mozambique bit (Benguerra Island). Since both my experiences of diving earlier this year have been muted, at best, he has probably guessed I'm keen to go somewhere coastal as well. The books I'll give him at Heathrow will certainly tell all: one on the Kruger and the other on Mozambique, where he can relax and bird-spot and I shall dive (weather permitting).

I've got a name for the pre-departure tailspin that precedes any holiday, but I never seem to get any better at managing or preventing it. In just over an hour we are off, and I had barely time to write this. Although I wrapped up the massive task of page-making our forthcoming Everest book yesterday, that meant leaving packing until today. And this morning I couldn't find my favourite camera, the excellent Panasonic Lumix with an 18x zoom. OK, I'll fess up to having other cameras (2 other digitals and I won't admit how many film-based) but this is THE safari camera. And until I found it, I couldn't start charging its batteries, which takes simply hours ... hence I'm sitting in my office waiting for the light to go off: ridiculous! Actually the combination of dive kit, underwater housing (for the other digicam) and so forth makes for a surprising number of batteries, chargers, adaptors et al, not to mention the wonderful obsolete dive computers.

Time to go now (EDI then LHR then Johannesburg), this entry filed just after mid-day but I'll schedule it ahead (for once) so Keir doesn't read it before we go.

We've just been staying at the Savanna Lodge. I had been sceptical of its website claim "the ultimate safari experience", but I was wrong, it's all true. The Savanna Lodge staff are passionate, dedicated and skilful, and the whole day is geared to maximising your chances of game viewing in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve (which borders the Kruger). The morning game drive leaves at 0530, with breakfast served on return. Lunch is at 1530 followed by the evening game drive. (Between the two you can sleep, swim, chill or whatever.) Guests are assigned to a 2-man team which takes you on game drives in vehicles with no sides or canopy. Sitting thus exposed, within a few yards of elephant, lion or leopard, really does feel like the ultimate safari experience.

Keir and I were assigned to ranger Shaune and tracker Nordic – a long-term partnership in which communication was mainly wordless. They had an uncanny knack of being in the right place at the right time, each depending on each other's skills not only for successful sightings, but also for safety. They read the animal's body language, approach only when the animals are calm, often positioning the vehicle (engine always switched off) so that the animals approach it. Thus we found ourselves amidst a herd of 40-50 elephants, including very young ones and the matriarch, calmly feeding and walking past us, at one point only inches away. Here is one of the many photos I took (telephoto lens unnecessary:):

Elephant, rhino and lion were plentiful and most drives gave us close sightings of these and more. Rhino were even grazing quietly outside our cabin on the day we arrived, although I captured the one below at a water-hole, late afternoon. Shortly after, we saw these two lions near a kill, and they were so relaxed that they resumed mating. Apparently they do this every 15-30 minutes for as long as the lioness is in oestrus – only yards from the vehicle. I felt slightly voyeuristic at first, then just awe-struck.

But the most thrilling sight of all was leopard. Solitary, stealthy and secretive, it's the most elusive of all carnivores. We followed this female as she stalked and killed a baby kudu. The chase was literally breath-taking and the experience utterly unforgettable.

We really enjoyed the excellent Savanna Lodge food and drink: game drives always stop for a sundowner, and unlike many "inclusive" resorts, this one charges nothing for extras, whether drinks, laundry or bathtime luxuries (e.g. lavender oil in a quail's egg). They even give you a blank CD on which to burn your photographs!

Wednesday was my first day of diving here at Marlin Lodge, and it was sensational. Within the first five minutes, I found myself staring at this weird-looking mammal:

The fact there were a couple of sharks nearby was strictly a side-show. Dugongs are a threatened species, so rare that divemaster Paul had never seen one on a dive before despite 10 years of diving almost daily in these waters. There's a total of about 40 animals in this part of the Indian Ocean, and it's the icon of their Marine National Park. If I hadn't seen manatees in Florida before, I would have thought I was hallucinating. I found out about the dugong only after I saw it.

Dugongs (and manatees) are also known as sea cows, perhaps because they graze on underwater grasses, but (unlike the manatee's) the dugong's tail is fluked like a whale's. Sea cows are related to elephants, and reputed to be the origin of the myth of the mermaid. The photo above is courtesy of National Geographic. For once, I was glad I wasn't carrying a camera, as it left me free to enjoy the magic of the sighting.

It was the first of many dives I made on Two-mile Reef, although yesterday we went further afield to Cabo San Sebastian and dived to 29 metres in crystal-clear water. The journey there through the "washing machine" was a real white-knuckle ride, the motor-boat slamming hard through huge, confused seas. It was such a tranquil contrast then to drop below all that surface noise and share the cool, deep seascape with turtles, devil rays and potato bass. However, the bumpy journey was also rewarded with sightings of humpback whale and lots of dolphins, which was a considerably bonus on top of the diving. Above all, the diving was enhanced by divemaster Paul's relaxed, but highly professional style, which led to safe but enjoyable diving for everybody.

We've been in Mozambique for six days, and Marlin Lodge is stunning. Twice we went on a dhow cruise near sunset. The dhow is a traditional Arabic sailboat with a large lateen (triangular) sail and simple rigging (one halyard, one sheet). They have no keel: heeling is controlled by moving the passengers and/or sacks of ballast. The cruises are provided by the local islanders, in locally owned boats in which the mast looks improvised and sails are patched together from bits of tarpaulin and other material:

Our first skipper was all of 16 years old (his crew a year younger) and the teamwork whereby they handle these heavy, keel-less boats is most impressive. The rig is much more efficient on one tack than the other (where the sail presses against the mast). For our later trip, I had worked out how to get on helm, right across Flamingo Bay as it turned out. This photograph is significant as it is husband Keir's very first image taken with the Leica-lensed Panasonic Lumix camera that I used on safari:

To see how wonderfully elegant these boats are under sail, and why sunset is the best time to enjoy them, words are inadequate, so here's another image.

It's hard to know what became of December, although the 5th-13th was spent very enjoyably in France, ski-ing with friends and neighbours Aileen and Malcolm Johnson at Val Claret, just above Tignes. We had both the best conditions I can remember, and almost the worst, with two whole days out of seven when I didn't ski at all. However, it was so brilliant when we could that this hardly mattered. Now that the apartments at Val Claret have wi-fi, I routinely take my laptop and regard bad weather as an opportunity to work, rather than a challenge to ski regardless of wisdom. This has had a good effect on my broken bone tally: after three years out of five with successively a serious back and head injury, then broken clavicle, finally just a scaphoid, I was beginning to feel defensive when asked if I wasn't getting past it. Nowadays when blizzards loom, I just get out the laptop. Just as well, too, as a kind fellow skier spotted a mistake in our new Everest guidebook (on the back cover too) that had somehow slipped through all proofreading. Thanks to the magic of email, this was fixed, proofs rechecked and the whole book put to bed just as fast as if I'd been at home.

After the return from Val Claret, there wasn't long before Christmas and I must say that this was the most peaceful, amiable and enjoyable Christmas Day I can remember. I think Amy was partly the cause, but my wonderful family must take some credit too. Probably we were all seeing the event through two-year old eyes this time. Certainly she got super presents: Uncle Sandy provided a music centre with karaoke, and you can see how popular that was:

My pre-Christmas trip to the Early Learning Centre for the grandparent present had started badly, because I naively answered the assistant's questions about age and gender truthfully: this led to my being steered toward a toy ironing station! Once I told them she liked transport, we refocused on one of those garages with lifts, ramps and a helicopter pad and about 20 diecast cars of the right scale to go with it. Sandy and I had a wonderful time "helping" Amy (i.e. preventing her) sticking on the transfers and we all had a great time playing with her toys. Pure magic!

I’m in Val Claret for the week, the ski resort just above Tignes where I have been coming for 20+ years for a pre-Christmas boost of unrepentant, politically incorrect downhill ski-ing. I keep thinking I should grow out of this, but I constantly rediscover that I am still addicted.

Most lunchtime stops are a bowl of soup in a mountain restaurant, but today was different. I had decided to try ice-diving under Lac de Tignes, with Evolution 2 and it was completely unlike anything I have ever experienced. I mean, I have dived before, but in warm water and maybe a wet suit, not under an ice ceiling in a dry suit having arrived on skis and departing shortly after, also on skis, but winded: because of the high altitude (2100m/7000ft) and low temperature, the regulator delivers less air than you expect, and would freeze if turned up to a normal setting. So you suck air, greedily. And wear blue rubber gloves that are locked on at the wrists.

Courtesy of Evolution 2 and marinebio.com, here are a couple of pictures. They aren't actually of me, but easily could be as everybody looks the same in a dry suit and full-face mask:

The colours are extraordinary. The air bubbles trapped underneath the ice take on the curiously convex, reflective quality of mercury. Unlike when sea diving, there was no fish life nor live corals to view. I was certainly not cold, nor even faintly damp nor frightened. But it was as different from the world of lift queues, après-ski and pisted fluency as outer space.

The instructor holds on to you at first, all part of the beginner treatment, but then asks (in sign language) if you prefer him to let go. Of course I did, but it wasn’t nearly as easy as sea diving, where I am very much within my comfort zone. I found myself fighting the buoyancy and striving to stay upright. I would probably be more competent next time around, but I’m not sure if I need to do it again.

Of one thing I am certain: I will never again look at the blank surface of Lac de Tignes in quite the same incurious way. Now I know what lies beneath, there is literally a whole new dimension on the familiar mountain experience.

Madeira is something of a revelation. It has an attractive climate year-round, thanks to being on a latitude with Marrakesh, moderated by maritime influence and sea breezes. Its mountainous scenery is dramatic and lush, but despite the gradients you can reach anywhere on the island by bus. You can do easy walks along its levadas (irrigation channels) ot make adventurous hikes to its highest point (Pico Ruivo at 1862 m/6107ft).

Roads are good and driving standards high: drivers give way to pedestrians and, even more surprisingly, to each other. They use the euro and GMT here, and you can drink the tap water. We flew direct from Glasgow in 3.5 hours, and yet it is unquestionably an exotic place to visit.

Discovered in 1420 by an explorer called Zarco, in the service of Henry the Navigator, Madeira was soon colonised and has been Portuguese ever since. Enjoying a degree of autonomy, the island seems to take pride in its mother country. The population stands at around 275,000 and there is little crime or political unrest, hardly any litter or graffiti. And although unemployment is high, we have seen only one beggar in Funchal.

Most people speak English and seem welcoming to tourists. The museum attendant who didn’t was more than patient with our questions and body language and pidgin Portuguese. Habsburg ex-Emperor Carlos died of pneumonia here in 1922 after only six months in exile. Winston Churchill painted here in 1950. And because our small, family-run hotel has wifi, I can blog about it direct.

Here are some photos from our first explorations: first the wonderful rooftops of Funchal from its very modern cable car:

There's a fine fishing village at Camera de Lobos (lobos means sealion in this case, though also wolf) where we saw them catching the shark-related espada ("scabbard fish") which we had for dinner (truly delicious):

Finally, here we are, Keir and I, near the dramatic 600-m high cliffs of Cabo Girao:

Yesterday we visited two gardens (Palheiro and Madeira Magic). After long weeks of white-out snow in Dunblane, it was especially refreshing and delightful to see flowers in January. And the flowers here have an extravagance, a mad profusion of vibrant colour and some wonderfully improbable forms. Here are some examples, first, the King’s Crown Protea:

Widespread on the island is this amazing Bird of Paradise flower:

Finally here is the Golden Cup, an unusual flower that is be pollinated not by birds, but by bats, because it puts out its aroma only at night. This must be to mutual evolutionary advantage, but I don't yet know why:

Pico Ruivo sounded unmissable. Its summit (1862m/6107ft) is at an impressive height, reached via knife-edge paths and long dark tunnels through the basalt, passing amazing flowers lower down, then centuries-old heather trees and, near the summit, patches of snow. Madeira Explorers even organise a tour that drops you at Pico de Areeiro, lets you climb to Pico Ruivo and then collects you from Achada do Teixera, thus combining Madeira's three highest peaks with a long scenic drive and no backtracking. So I booked with them for Saturday.

Our guide Adriano was excellent, and the group a pleasant bunch of 8 other hikers, all of us going at roughly the same pace. It being January, we were lucky to set off on this itinerary: it has to be rearranged whenever there is too much snow or rockfall. Perhaps it is churlish to report that, as the photo above shows, we were in fairly dense cloud for almost the whole time. Even in poor visibility, you couldn't miss the dramatic skyline and basalt pillars:

The path was so well engineered as to seem disconcertingly tame, with ropes and cables for protection and little drama even on this exposed rock bridge, with sheer cliffs falling away on both sides:

The walk featured a lot of steep staircases and we had to cross the odd land-slip along the narrow path: Madeira's heavy rainfall must create huge challenges for path maintenance. I suppose it was the summit that troubled me the most: the vast timber platform seemed at odds with my concept of mountain summit, with a wide boardwalk leading to a further viewpoint. Doubtless it works well for picknicking tourists. However, my smile below reflects the brief break in the cloud that let us glimpse a breathtaking view of the coast from this lofty viewpoint before closing in again. It was almost enough to overcome my reservations.

The Bahamas have seemed very exotic to me ever since my elder sister Lindsay returned from there as a bronzed, beautiful 18 year old (nearly half a century ago). Knowing that the diving is supposed to be good, I was delighted when Keir suggested a holiday here, and we had a delightful direct flight with BA on Saturday. Thanks to timely online checkin, we had two exit row seats with more legroom than Business Class, and after only 3 movies (Amelia Earhart, An education and Golden 39) we were in Nassau with only a short transfer to the resort.

Sandals is at Cable Beach, near Nassau on New Providence Island. It's an amazing mixture: the down side is the naff pseudo-classical statues and some cringe-worthy (but optional) entertainment, but there is also the stunning natural beauty of its beaches and private island. We also like the simplicity of all-inclusive: if you've finished eating, you need not hang around for the bill, there's no need to carry valuables and no reason not to have another drink.

Anyway, the diving is included! Fortunately I visited the dive shop on arrival and got a place on yesterday's shark dive, an event that runs only if enough experienced divers sign up for it. We were encircled by dozens of Caribbean reef sharks (harmless if treated with respect, but wild animals all the same) and had magical moments watching them at very close quarters. I'll try to update this with a photo: it being my first dive I wasn't carrying my own camera, but Ricardo, the dive photographer, was in action. The water is cold enough that I went into Nassau on the bus today and bought my first wet suit, which should make a big difference for the rest of the week. It was only $10 more expensive than the rental, and can be re-used on my next dive trip in cooler waters. Some women would rather have a mink coat, but I am delighted with this extremely comfortable garment.

Today was my birthday and it's hard to imagine a better start. OK, there was no wardrobe, but there was a wreck and I did find a lionfish. On today's dives I felt really relaxed, truly in my element. (If there is reincarnation I'd like to come back as an otter or dolphin, please.) Thanks to Ricardo Mesa, the talented resort dive photographer, I have my first-ever recognisable photos of myself diving.

I spotted a lionfish lurking on the wreck, and am here pointing it out to my buddy Sean, who hadn't seen one before. They are elegant, extravagant and delicate-looking and deliver a near-lethal sting if you provoke them, so this was close enough:

We just hung around watching it in fascination. If you are into headgear such as fascinators, could this species be a source of inspiration?

Finally, also thanks to Ricardo, here's my parting shot from the wreck, which was called the Steel Forest, and lies in about 21m/65ft of water:

After a peaceful afternoon, we went for a Japanese meal (delicious, cooked and served with theatrical flair by a young Bahamian). Afterwards I got a wonderfully thoughtful present from Keir, who had cunningly concealed it (heaven knows how, my luggage is bursting with dive gear but his seems to contain minimal clothing plus several hardback books of up to 1000 pages each). What a lovely day I've had!

On Sunday, my Sandals dives were cancelled because of high winds. However at 11.20 I found out that the Stuart Cove shark-feeding dive would run in the afternoon, leaving at 12 noon. So I scrambled to retrieve dive gear and do the paperwork (two separate liability release forms), then joined the group which had only 7 divers in total, plus a shark feeder (Ingrid) and an underwater videographer (Janine). (I wondered how difficult, in the long-ago days of TV's “What’s my line?” the miming of either of those occupations would have been?)

After a preliminary wreck dive, Ingrid gave us a shark briefing as well as some safety advice. (Dive briefings can sometimes be casual affairs, but on this one, every diver was listening as if his/her life depended on it.) Caribbean reef sharks live for up to 40 years, if lucky enough not to be killed by humans, but aren’t sexually mature until they are about 10-15 years. The death of each mature shark represents the loss also of future shark generations.

National Geographic says that 40 million sharks are killed each year, largely because shark's fin soup is highly valued, especially in China. Finning is a brutal practice in which fisherman cut off the fins and throw back the hapless shark to bleed slowly to death in the ocean. Considering sharks have been around for over 400 million years, it seems shocking that human greed is threatening to make them extinct over a few decades: see Shark Allies.

I had been slightly concerned about the ethics of shark feeding, in case the tourist attraction created a dependency culture. Much to my relief it turns out that the bait supplied by these daily feeds amounts to a light snack that doesn't affect their need to hunt and feed. Sharks are the vultures of the ocean, seeking dead and diseased flesh (carrion) and thus keeping the oceans clean. Jaws movies and general superstition have given them an unfairly bad name.

Live divers are not their preferred food, but they may test if something is edible by biting (which could lead to an accidentally sticky end of your dive if you get in their way). Anyway, these are wild animals and powerful swimmers, and when excited by food their thrashing about creates strong turbulence, so you need to stay alert. If what they bite is unyielding, their teeth are sacrificial: apparently each shark may grow and discard over 20,000 teeth in its lifetime.

I was pleased to see that Ingrid and Janine both put on chain mail protection (there was no cage, just a small bait box). We, the other divers, had only subtle protection: the sharks are supposed to be attracted to the fish bait and the person dishing it out, rather than to us. We were briefed to keep still and follow instructions, at all costs avoiding any thrashing about of arms or legs. Experienced divers try to make minimal movement to conserve air anyway, but we had added incentive on the shark feed. This image shows the lovely Ingrid in her chain mail with excitable sharks milling about her bait; you can just make out some divers kneeling or lying prone in the sand behind her:

Technically, our dive was very simple: we added extra weight to guarantee negative buoyancy and kneeled or lay in a circle watching Ingrid and sharks at the centre. We remained almost motionless for 50 minutes, which sounds a long time but believe me there was not a dull moment. This was, by a long way, the most exciting, engaging and interesting dive I have ever done. Being so close to these acrobatic fish was totally absorbing, rather than frightening, akin to an extreme form of aquatic modern dance.

You can see the dive boat at upper right of this picture, and I am the diver small at lower left. The second image below gives a better sense of how close they came, though the shark image isn't as good:

We were warned that the sharks might knock out our regulator or mask and firmly told not to touch the sharks – but nobody told the sharks not to bump into us. The constant circling, the sharks' extreme closeness and the small group size meant that photography could hardly fail. I even took some decent shots myself, though I freely admit that the images here were all taken by Janine of Stuart Cove. In the one below, I'd just taken out my air regulator to make the photo recognisable, BTW: I don't think I'd have felt as calm if a shark had knocked it out!