Torn Trousers: A True Story of Courage and Adventure: How A Couple Sacrificed Everything To Escape to Paradise
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
What could possibly go wrong in paradise? Tired of mortgage and car payments, thirty-something Andrew and Gwynn, and their Siamese cat, sold everything they owned and escaped their humdrum nine-to-five existence for life in paradise — a tiny island accessible only by boat or air in one of the remotest spots on Earth: the Okavango Delta in Botswana. Woefully inexperienced, they took control of a luxury game lodge where the rich and famous went to sip G&Ts with lions and elephants. Trouble soon followed. Their lives were threatened daily by snakes, elephants, baboons, and a hyena with a plastic fetish. Not to mention the endless—and often insurmountable—challenge of keeping their five star guests fed in a world where the closest supermarket was an air flight away. Amongst others, their guests included a famous Hollywood director, some French aristocrats, a Mafia lawyer, world famous singers, and the England cricket captain. Light-hearted and humorous, this action-packed story—peppered with some suspense— will enthrall you with its unique look at life in wild Africa.
their whiskers, these almost prehistoric bottom-dwelling fish looked and tasted like mud. Not something most people relished. Finally, Morag introduced the last of the maintenance trio. “Thekiso.” He was young enough to be in high school. Thekiso stepped forward. “I like to speak English. It is good to meet our new managers.” “Hello, Thekiso,” I said. “Thekiso,” he corrected. “Yes. Thekiso,” I repeated. “Thekiso! Thekiso!” Olututswe interrupted; clearly distressed by the way my Western
Gwynn might like playing with fire—she does, literally—but this was no arson attack. Morag had made it abundantly clear she had no intention of teaching Gwynn anything to help her run the camp. My wife had taken the only face-saving option available to her—to go it alone. Pity she’d done it so publicly. Morag stared at Gwynn. Then, she said, “But I am friends with Sandy. You can’t—” “That does not make you bulletproof,” Gwynn snapped. “So don’t bother throwing it in my face again. I’m
of dry, sweaty heat—and that was under the trees where it was cool. It would be hell walking on the islands now. “What are you talking about?” I peered over her head at Hans and Gretchen, marching down the sandy path towards us. “Ready for lunch I see,” Gwynn said, pointedly as the couple stepped up to the reception desk. They looked nothing like two people headed for a blow-out meal at Tau Camp. Hans, with his ramrod-straight back, wore a military pith helmet, giving him a decidedly Prussian
brought me a letter from Sean saying I’m in charge of running CIMs.” When I didn’t reply, she added, “Overnight safaris to Chief’s Island which Sean sells as Chief’s Island Mokoro-trails. Anyway, twelve Canadians are arriving in a couple of weeks and Sean wants me to take them out with the guides.” My adventurer juices began to bubble. I dropped my pencil and calculator and looked up at her. “Sean says KD and I have to do a high-speed recon to find the best places to take them. I’ve already
isn’t cool. Mick babbled into his microphone, announcing to the regional air traffic that he was starting down. My ears popped, and I still couldn’t make out where he intended to land. Then I saw a streak of white sand in the bush. I immediately thought of a cricket pitch. “You mean that pitch down there?” I asked, half-seriously. “Yes,” Mick replied, pushing a small lever. He studied the ground ahead as the flaps on the wings dropped. I appreciated his concentration as we plummeted on a