The sense of menace was clear and tangible. We were in a taxi completing the brief journey from Malindi's tiny airport to our hotel on the east coast of Kenya. As we looked out of the car windows as we passed through a couple of villages we were eyeballed by many curious locals. I turned to Sandra, my wife, and said, "I've never been anywhere like this, this is one dangerous place."

The beach turned out to be a complete no-go area. During certain months, the ocean current dumps huge quantities of thick seaweed on the sand, making swimming perilous. As the knotted plants attract large numbers of angry and fearless flies, the beach is only really suitable for a brisk walk. And when the local beach touts latch on to you, you'll find that brisk is just not fast enough. These boys just do not take no for an answer. We like to think of ourselves as seasoned travellers, having been hassled in every continent bar Antarctica, in any number of languages, but these Kenyan lads must be the world champions. Believe me, it is not all good-natured - but we'll return to that later.

The only drawback to the safari trip was the 3AM alarm call, particularly after the Kenyan brandy had inured the senses to such an extent that I'd thought yet another large one at midnight was a splendid idea. I just knew that I would awake refreshed after a gut-load of booze and a couple of hours sleep. Well, I didn't. And our early breakfast seemed to be based on a new recipe: bacon lightly dipped in grease and eggs placed carefully in the middle of an oil slick. Not a good start.

It was thrilling to finally drive through the gates of Tsavo National Park. Thrilling to see my first zebra, antelope and warthog that wasn't on the television or in a zoo; this was wildlife up close and personal and wild. But of course, we all wanted to see the big, dangerous sexy ones. The advantage in visiting during the dry season is that the guide - in our case, Peter - has a pretty good idea of where to find the animals, since water supply is restricted to a few waterholes that the animals have to visit.

There was small windowed concrete bunker set in the earth by the waterhole, accessed via a tunnel from the lodge. We were heading back to our room via the series of suspended walkways when Sandra stopped me. "What's that, down by the water?"

We really did see lions the following day. To be more exact, we heard them before we saw them: an almighty roar as we were heading for the safari bus. Peter took off quickly, as he had an idea of where they were heading. There are often incidents between lion and buffalo, although these mainly involve posturing as lions will rarely attack unless the odds are stacked heavily in their favour. Buffaloes are the meanest, most bad-tempered and dangerous beasts in Africa.
Half a dozen lionesses and a smattering of cubs were lazing by the waterhole. Lions are actually not very exciting to watch, as they spend around twenty hours a day doing nothing at all. We watched, though, as one by one the lionesses' heads popped up, aware of the approaching threat of a massive black buffalo loping towards them from the other side of the water. Peter said the buffalo would be quite prepared to attack the group, but what the buffalo had not seen was the large male who was concealed in long grass about 20 yards from the pride. But he had spotted the buffalo. Cameras at the ready people, time for main feature!

Someone spotted a cheetah late that day. The guides communicate by radio, so each can tip-off the other of a possible sighting. We received the tip-off and Peter, thankfully forgetting the strict speed limits within the park, floored the accelerator as we raced against the setting sun. Cheetahs, wow! But would we make it? Red dust flew from the wheels, as we looked around and saw the excitement burning in each other's eyes. We got there, of course we got there, to see another stunning sight. Three cheetahs who, we felt, put up with us for a few moments before trotting away. Such grace and beauty that the TV could never capture, and a few tears of happiness from Sandra.

The abiding memory of Satao is of the noise. Staying for just one night in a tent within the camp got us close enough to back-to-nature as we would have wished to be. I laid in bed and heard the trumpeting of elephants. It was impossible not to go and look, although you are warned not to stray from the tent. As I sat outside, cupping my hand around my cigarette (well, I thought it might antagonise or attract an angry elephant or something), I watched as two young elephants, insistent on continuing their argument, encroached upon the camp. A guard stamped his feet and shone his torch into their eyes. Once he had their attention, he pointed the light away from their faces and into the distance. Amazingly they followed.

Finally we trekked into Mombasa on a day-trip. Passing a huge pile of burning garbage, next to a sign saying "Keep Mombasa Tidy", we entered the city market.