Nick Hughes, former managing director of Kuoni, tells us about his close encounter with a pride of lions and staying at Mara Bushtops and Governors' Camp in Kenya.

I was born and grew up in Rhodesia, now known as the torn country of Zimbabwe. During my childhood, I spent many a happy day wandering through the African bush among the birds, trees and long dry grass. It's been years since I last set foot there and seen the majestic animals of the bush at close quarters, so my recent trip out to Kenya brought back - unexpectedly - a torrent of old memories. It was a whirlwind visit and my first time to Kenya. The vast rolling landscapes of the Maasai Mara took my breath away.

As we trundled our way along bumpy tracks from the local air strip to Mara Bushtops camp, what caught my eye first were the vivid red robes worn by the local Maasai people. I found them so striking that the cynic in me assumed they were on show purely for the benefit of tourists like us. I soon reasoned that these flashes of crimson - sometimes in small lethargic groups under the shade of a tree or isolated specks in the distance trailing small herds of Zebu cattle - were for real. Just like the smell of the earth, the warmth of the sun and the background sounds of the bush - it all felt so very wonderful and real.

Mara Bushtops

Mara Bushtops camp literally looks out over the tops of the bushes, trees and wide open savannah. My 'room' was a magnificent canvas tent, semi-permanent in structure, set on a decked wooden base jutting out from the side of the kopje into the bush to form a spacious veranda on three sides. It was complete with hot-tub sunk deep into the veranda and Maasai assegai pitched into the ground at the entrance as a very authentic 'do not disturb' sign.

During our time at Mara Bushtops, we were taken on two wonderful game drives. Our guide was one of only 18 fully qualified Rhino Scouts on the continent and, true to form, tracked down a solitary black rhino male - highly prized by the Kenyans as their own indigenous rhino species. We also saw giraffes, elephants and were privileged to watch a flock of Marabou stalks land a few hundred yards from us, ending their four to six-week non-stop flight.

How that took me back to the playing fields of Blakiston Junior School, when I would watch those same slender white figures swirling high in the sky for hours on end, before descending to take their well-earned rest at last. It was a special moment for me. In the evening we were treated to a sun downer by the campfire and the surprise appearance of a troop of Maasai boys, all in their red robes, who sang and danced for us. It wasn't long before they dragged me to my feet to accompany them chanting and twirling round the fire.

Back at camp, the hot tub was run deep and I spent a memorable hour gazing out from it over the night-time bush, before joining our gracious hosts for a sumptuous dinner, complete with some excellent wines from the camp's very own cellar. What followed was a very deep sleep, punctuated only by the occasional snort of some wild beast down there in the scrub.

Governors' Camp

On day two, we transferred to Governors' Camp - the home of the BBC's Big Cat Diary television series - and had a dramatic start to our stay. During the short five minute drive from the landing strip to the camp, we came across three lionesses and their cubs all lazing under a tree a little way off the road. We circled round behind them and parked 100 yards off to observe.

After a few minutes, one of the lionesses glanced in our direction and ambled over. Then up got the next and the next, until all three - followed by nine cubs - walked in single file towards us. It was only when a lioness was 20 yards from the vehicle - which was open-topped and parked with the engine off - that I came to the uncomfortable realisation I was the nearest to her.

In the moments that followed, I'm sure I made some vague and embarrassing enquiry to the ranger about perhaps starting the engine. A relaxed smile and a 'don't worry, just sit still' were all I got in return! I will remember the next few minutes for the rest of my life. Just six feet away they passed us, one by one, offering no more than a nonchalantly uninterested glance in our direction.

We stayed at the Il Moran camp at Governors', a haven of colonial-style tents on the banks of the Mara River. Foundered in the early Seventies by Aris Grammaticas and his wife Romi, the camp has a graceful and established feel. The attention to detail is excellent, down to the Maasai guards who stand outside each tent at a discrete distance to watch over them and make sure no wild visitors interfere with a good night's sleep. Our dinner was under a tree on the river bank, lit by gas lanterns and the moon. The food and the service would have impressed even the most discerning of London's restauranteers.

At Governors' we saw hippos, elephants, giraffes, hyenas, zebras and many different buck - I was particularly struck by the wonderful birdlife there. Among others, we saw beautiful crested cranes - one perched at the top of a gnarled old tree in the middle of a sweeping plain at dusk - a secretary bird stalking along in the grass, and several brightly-coloured lilac breasted rollers. But my secret highlight from our days out in the Mara was a solitary flame lily that caught my eye as we bumped our way across one of the vast open expanses of long dry grass. What memories that brought back!

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Article added 24th April 2009.

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