Zannier Omaanda

Gin and tonic just hits different on safari. Back home, this hasn’t been my go-to tipple since the late Noughties. Hand me one in the Namibian bushveld, however, and I’m happy as a pride of lions with a bellyful of impala, which is exactly what we’d been staring at before stopping for our sundowners. The Land Rover bonnet now doubles as a bar, with our guide Imbilli laying out snacks of biltong (Dr Smith devours his bodyweight in this stuff) and dried mango. I’m not sure whether it’s the heat that makes the ice-cold drink taste better — laced with the tang of fresh lime and a touch of bitter, herbal quinine — or the view: a crash of rhinos grazing on the grassy plain. Either way, I’m in my happy place.  

It’s pretty hard to believe we’re only a 30-minute drive from an international airport and capital city. I’ll admit I was a little sceptical about this part of Zannier Omaanda’s sales pitch — a safari lodge so close to civilisation? Surely not. And yet, I’ve barely figured out how to connect my phone to the hire car’s Bluetooth before the reserve’s Jurassic Park-style wooden gates are parting for us. Dr Smith slams on the brakes to let a litter of warthog piglets pass. He hurriedly digs out his fancy camera, but the ever-skittish creatures run off with their skinny tales sticking up like antennae; it looks like he’ll be continuing the photographic series he began in Kenya last year, unofficially titled 'Warthogs’ Bottoms'.  

A giraffe peeps at us from between the acacia trees. A dazzle of zebra gambol past in a monochrome blur (are we alone in our obsession with collective nouns for wild animals?). 'Ooh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world,' Cat Stevens croons aptly through the speakers.   

Well, wilderness lite, in this case — the kind that comes with an infinity-edge pool that seems to melt into the plains, a formidable collection of wildlife-photography books each the size and weight of a paving slab, and plenty of artfully strewn cushions in spaces where guests lounge about in designer kaftans.  

As for our bedroom ‘hut’, its circular forms and thatched rooftop may resemble those of a traditional Owambo village, but inside, the aesthetic (and the lemongrass scent of LA Bruket products) is pure stealth wealth. A few years back, I’d stayed in Zannier Le Chalet, the brand’s Megève outpost, so I was curious how its tasteful, earthily textured looks would translate to Sub-Saharan Africa. It turns out that lashings of linen, hardwood and raw plaster look equally good this far south of the equator. We’re hard pushed to find a scrap of plastic anywhere.  

A bath tub plenty big enough for two and a wood-burner are some of the other fancy features to carry over from its Alpine sibling. While neither sees much action during our stay in Namibia’s sweltering summertime, the jars of loose-leaf teas and locally made ceramic cups are so pretty that I’m compelled to brew a cuppa, breaking my rule that the only thing one should drink in a hotel room is champagne. As for the bed, it could comfortably sleep a whole pride of lions, never mind a pair of regular-sized Brits.  

Back at the camp’s nerve centre, there’s an appealing indoors-outdoors thing going on, letting us waft between the restaurant, lounge, fire pit and bar shack without encountering such inconveniences as walls and doors. After suggesting a couple’s treatment and reeling from the frankly bizarre revelation that Dr Smith doesn’t enjoy massages (unless they’re from me, he cannily caveats), I saunter down to the spa hut for some solo pampering, leaving him to wallow happily in his watering hole (AKA the pool). My back receives a good pummelling that eases away those game-drive-induced knots. Yet the service is a little light on bells and whistles for a five-star-hotel spa. There’s no pre-treatment consultation before we get down to business, for instance, and an hour later I’m dispatched without post-rub-down refreshments.  

Back at poolside HQ, I reconvene with Dr Smith for a lunchtime mezze platter as colourful and abundant as the bushveld scenery, which is currently blooming with bright yellow wildflowers. 'It’s so lush and beautiful after the rain, but that does make it harder to spot the animals,' warns the camp’s manager Jo Anne, as she stops by to chat.  

Green season or not, we’re heartily pleased with our haul, ticking off three out of the Big Five — elephants, lions, rhinos — during a 48-hour stay, as well as all manner of antelope species and some more warthogs (rear-ends only, of course). None of the creatures appear in anywhere near the numbers you’d find in Africa’s national parks; instead of the Serengeti’s thundering herds and dramatic river crossings, this relatively petite park is a sanctuary for animals that have been rescued from all over Namibia. Showing impressive multi-tasking, Imbilli fills us in on some of their residents’ backstories — like the bull elephant that needed a new home after clashing with farmers in the north — while simultaneously steering the Land Rover through dense bushes and holding his radio antennae aloft in the other hand. His efforts pay off — just before sunset, we pick up the signal from a tracking collar and creep to within a few metres of the tusked giant as he munches on some marula trees.  

Before we depart this stylish staging post for more remote corners of Namibia, we squeeze in one last G&T. This time at the thatched poolside bar, this time picking a Namibian gin, Desolate, for my poison. It turns out this one’s distilled with marula fruit. Well, if it’s good enough for the elephant…

While I get the backstory on other bushveld botanicals flavouring my cocktail, Dr Smith reviews the day’s camera footage. Suddenly, he lets out a baboon-like whoop that almost makes me spill my drink. 'I’ve broken the curse of the bottoms,' he explains, thrusting the screen towards me. 'Behold, a warthog face!' It’s probably the least attractive thing we’ve seen at Zannier Omaanda, but nonetheless proof that on safari, persistence always pays off.