Safari, Rain or Shine

We spent Thursday and Friday at Ranthambore National Park, a huge 400-km protected wildlife santuary famous for its 30-something tigers. We weren't lucky enough to see any (it's a 5% chance this time of year) but all the same, it was quite the adventure.

We arrived in the dead of night on Wednesday and slept through the heat for most of the morning. Prepared for the hot sun, we all wore light clothes and too much sunscreen, leaving behind our umbrellas and the waterproof covers of our two jeeps. You can surely see where this is going - right as we pull onto the park trail, ominous drops fall on our heads, and they're barely a warning before the sky rips open and we're drenched, immediately and continuously, for the next hour and a half. Never in my life have I been more wet, with drooping hair and transparent shirt for an added effect. But in spite of the torrential downpour, the spirit of our group proved strong through laughing and singing even as the rain pelted our faces. There were a few electronic casualties of saturated cameras and phones, but thankfully my camera lived through the storm.
When the sun finally did appear once more, we made the most of our remaining time careening full the park over extremely rocky paths and steep hills. We saw a bizarre type of deer/horse, tiny antelope, and lots of birds . . . about which our flamboyantly-mustached guide (green khaki safari) could only point at one and state "Young Male," and naught else. (Meanwhile, I wonder what all the females are up to, and how our guide can be so sure of this info from so far away.)

Day Two commences with a visit to a young leopard in captivity, saved by one of the head rangers half a year ago when she was injured and lost her mother. In hushed voices we stood in awe on the other side of a flimsy fence as the beautiful creature chomped away at bits of meat quite similar to my Siamese at her dish. And the ranger was chasing her around in her mini-jungle, capturing her in his arms for a moment when we were privileged to stare into her wild eyes before she leapt up into a tree to regard us at a safe distance.
Obviously, that was my favorite part of the day. Well, almost.
We saw more wildlife and more breathtaking expanses of green, sharing our last day as a full group in natural splendor. Then on the ride home came what my poetry professor would call a "moment of pure ecstasy" - spontaneous, vivid, ephemeral, unforgettable. We're suddenly all standing up lock-kneed tight-gripped in our open jeep, blasting through twisted jungle trails and square farm plots. So high up with the open-air rush that we were flying. And as we touch ground again, back in the village near the hotel, everyone is grinning and waving frantically and shouting out their few known English words. We do the same only with an enthusiastic "Namaste!"

Just in a few short hours we find ourselves at the train station, standing in a guard circle around our mountain of luggage, buying cookies and mango juice from food stands, ignoring the growing crowd of dodgy-looking men staring through our skin. But this is all unimportant as we hug goodbye to our four comrades who are to return to Udaipur for another four weeks.
And then there were nine.