Far beyond what I'd been imagining.
There's no question that many before me have ridden the rough roads of the Serengeti, and there were many times when I found our safari car surrounded by a dozen others and this or that favorite hippo pool. And it was not a thundering herd of buffaloes or elephants but instead a caravan of cars raising that plume of dust off in the distance. Never you mind; this was my safari, my discovery, my Serengeti, just the same as it was for the half-dozen other explorers in our beefed-up, raised-roof Toyota Land Cruiser.
One visits the Serengeti on the plain's own terms. It's an elemental place, and despite the myriad rules for safari-goers (stay in the car, don't use noises to try and turn animals' heads, be very quiet when the car is stopped, windows go up in the presence of baboons, don't toss food to them or leave any behind, wear full body armor, or is you can't then at least wear a hat and slather yourself with sunscreen, drink a lot of water, but never from a tap), the Serengeti is a dangerous place. Big cats and angry elephants are the obvious dangers, but what about the snakes that slither everywhere unseen? Or the stinging insects or the relentless burning sun? Or the cute little vervet monkey that might jump in your car and rip your face off.
It is a dangerous place, and that's precisely why the Serengeti is such an exciting, personal place. Humans, who could so easily tame the landscape, have voluntarily agreed to leave the animals to be animals, very wild and unpredictable animals. And if one follows all the rules set up to minimize human impact, then one can suddenly be very close to animals quite indifferent to human presence as they stalk prey right there less than a stone's throw from a vehicle.
The Serengeti is a place where something exciting is promised to any safari rider who is willing to sit and wait for just a few more minutes. Like the time my car waited a good 45 minutes as a nearby cheetah seemed to be stalking a far-off flock of Thompson's gazelles. Then she suddenly changed her mind and direction and bolted 50 yards in the blink of an eye to nab a healthy -- and stunned -- African hare. So quickly did it happen that as I checked my camera I saw that I had a great shot of the cheetah leaping from a low crouch into a takeoff, followed by the cheetah standing in a cloud of dust and clutching a struggling hare in its jaws. No exposures in between. It all happened too fast. Things can take a while to unwind; nature follows its own timetable.
When one goes to the Serengeti, and leaves the wristwatch and the iPod at the lodge, the adventure is for him or her alone. There is a lot of land out there. And on the land are myriad animals always hunting or being hunted. One can see the struggle all day long. One can hear the struggle continue into the night. It is not for the squeamish. And it is very personal.