- The Long Road to the Wild: Arriving at Kruger National Park
- Kruger – Into the Wild: Skukuza to Satara
- Kruger – Cheetahs at Dawn, Grasslands at Dusk
- Kruger – The Ghost of the S100 and The Afternoon That Changed Everything
- Kruger: The Leopard Beneath Our Window
- Kruger : The Day We Almost Didn’t Go
- Kruger: The Last Hunt & the Long Goodbye
There’s a particular kind of joy that only travellers who’ve had to stop travelling will understand — the joy of starting again.
Day 0 — London to Kruger: Fevers, Layovers, and a Little Girl’s Roar
The Ones Who Wandered Before
Before our daughter came along, my wife and I were restless souls. Weekends bled into getaways, holidays turned into expeditions, and the world felt like it was ours to wander through — one passport stamp at a time. We didn’t just love travelling; it was the rhythm we lived by.
And then, as it does, life beautifully interrupted us.
Our little one arrived, and the backpacks went into the attic. The boarding passes were replaced by bedtime stories. And wildlife was replaced by Cuddly toys.We didn’t resent it — not for a moment — but somewhere between the nappy changes and nursery runs, we’d catch each other’s eyes during a David Attenborough documentary and silently share the same thought: one day, we’ll go again.
That day came sooner than we expected. Our daughter turned six, and suddenly she wasn’t just ready — she was asking. “Where are we going next?” she’d say, as though she’d been waiting all along.We looked at each other, grinned like two teenagers, and said the words we’d been dreaming of for years:
South Africa.
Why South Africa? Why Now?
South Africa had lived in our imagination for years. The raw, untamed beauty of its landscapes. The promise of coming face-to-face with the Big Five. The stories of Cape Town — a city so stunning that people speak of it the way poets speak of first love.
We carved the trip into two glorious halves — Kruger National Park, where we’d chase the wild, followed by Cape Town, where we’d surrender to one of the most beautiful cities on the planet.
But it was Kruger that truly pulled us in first. You see, Kruger has something extraordinary that most safari destinations don’t offer — it lets you self-drive. No rigid schedules. No racing from one sighting to another at someone else’s pace. Just you, your vehicle, the open bush road, and the freedom to stop whenever a six-year-old shouts, “LOOK! WHAT’S THAT?!”For a family with a young child, this wasn’t just convenient — it was a blessing.
When Plans Meet Reality
We left from London Gatwick, buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes from a trip you’ve been dreaming about for half a decade. Every bag was packed with precision. Every checklist was ticked. Safari hats? ✅ Binoculars? ✅ Our daughter’s favourite stuffed Bunny for the journey? Absolutely ✅.
We had planned for everything.Everything except what happened next.
Somewhere over the skies between London and Addis Ababa, our little explorer started burning up. Not a mild warmth — a proper, raging fever. Her tiny body fighting something viral, her eyes glassy, her energy draining with every passing hour.My heart sank. My wife’s eyes met mine across the dimly lit cabin, and I could see the worry etched into her face. This wasn’t part of the plan.
But here’s the thing about travelling as a family — you learn to hold two truths at once. Yes, this was hard. Yes, we were worried. But we were also together, thousands of feet above the earth, heading towards something magical. And our little one? She fought the only way a six-year-old knows how — she closed her eyes, curled up against her mother, and slept – Sometimes the body knows what the heart needs.
We landed in Addis Ababa with a poorly child and a growing knot of anxiety.Addis gave us time we didn’t plan for but desperately needed — time to pause, get medicines, to care, to recalibrate. Sometimes the journey demands that you slow down before it lets you move forward. From Addis Ababa, we flew onward to Johannesburg. But Joburg wasn’t our destination — just another waypoint, another waiting room in our long pilgrimage south.Six hours. That’s what stood between us and Kruger.There’s no glamorous way to describe what we did — we found a quiet corner of O.R. Tambo International Airport, laid ourselves flat on the cold floor, and slept. Three pilgrims, utterly spent, tangled together between carry-on bags and crumpled boarding passes.
It wasn’t pretty. But it was honest. And in its own strange way, it was one of those moments I know I’ll never forget — the three of us, vulnerable and exhausted, yet still moving towards something extraordinary.
The last leg was just an hour — a short flight from Johannesburg into the heart of the bush. Our daughter was still under the weather, quieter than usual, her little body still recovering.But as the plane began its descent into Kruger Skukuza Airport, something shifted. She pressed her face against the tiny oval window, and there — just below, grazing casually beside the runway as though welcoming us personally — wild Elephants.Her eyes went wide. Her fever-flushed cheeks lifted into the biggest smile I’d seen in two days. And just like that, every ounce of exhaustion, every worry, every difficult hour of the journey evaporated.She was back. Fully, gloriously, unstoppably back.
Kruger’s airport is unlike any I’ve ever seen. It’s tiny. It’s surrounded by wilderness. You don’t walk into a sprawling terminal — you walk into the bush itself. The air smells different here. Earthy. Alive. The sounds aren’t announcements and luggage carousels — they’re birdsong and rustling grass and the distant call of something you can’t quite name.
We picked up our rental car — a Toyota Fortunner — and I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t skip a beat. Growing up in India, the Fortunner was always that car. The one you’d see commanding the highways, the one you’d dream about driving someday. And here I was, keys in hand, about to drive one through an African game reserve with my family beside me.I adjusted the mirrors. Set up the GPS. Loaded our bags. My wife buckled our daughter into the back seat — the little adventurer already scanning the horizon through the window.
I turned the key, the engine hummed to life, and I looked at my wife.
“Ready?”
She smiled. The kind of smile that carries six years of waiting in it.
“Let’s go.”
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And off we went — into the golden light of a Kruger evening, into the wild heart of South Africa, into the trip that would remind us who we were before, and show our daughter who she was always meant to become.
This is Aldrin and my partner Amoli. We bring you "Earths Pilgrim" - a unique insight into our travel escapades while leaving life in a cubicle. If you are looking for some inspiration to break the shackles of a regular life, then you are the right place. Read more about us- Click here.