The Kruger National Park in South Africa! I haven't thought about it for years. I had forgotten all about this Garden of Eden where radios, newspapers and television sets play no role in daily existence.

It was once an important part of my life. I think my first visit was when I was about 15 years old. My father discovered the place and fell in love with it. It was primitive, cheap and fascinating. It was easily accessible by car and bookings were to be had at a single phone call.

We went twice a year, sometimes on our own and sometimes with friends travelling in a convoy of 2, 3 or 4 cars. In those early days, cars had a habit of breaking down on the road. I think that on every trip we made, there was some minor drama with a car stranded at the side of the road and a clump of dejected travelers standing around in a knot waiting for the arrival of a mechanic from the nearest town. I remember clearly the frustration of the long and sometimes hot wait while repairs were carried out on the edge of nowhere.

As I grew older, I became the family driver. Settled behind the wheel of the family sedan my imagination knew no bounds. Here I was, the temporary leader of the clan, in charge of the fortunes and lives of my parents and brothers. I took minor risks to expose them to imaginary dangers, both with the traffic on the roads and the animals in the reserve. I would speed or drive with a window half down, waiting for a lion to shove a paw into the car in an effort to scoop someone out. I could feel myself grab the furry limb and twist it until the beast screamed and ran off howling into the bush.

The reserve is about 200 miles long and 40 miles wide. The northern part of the reserve was father's favorite and was totally undeveloped. The camp at Punda Milia had no electricity, basic toilet arrangements and a steel cable surrounding it that served as an ineffective fence. It prevented elephants, but nothing else, from entering. The garbage bins were emptied and strewn about by hyenas, baboons and other animals every night. The roads were tracks through the sand and mud and game wardens were hardly to be seen.

In later years I introduced my wife and children to the pleasures of the reserve. By then, it had become a recognized tourist attraction and the facilities - and the prices - had been upgraded. The main roads were now paved and reserving accommodation now meant making many phone calls. But we went every year and looked forward to a week without phone calls and newspapers.

Food was an important part of these visits. The main meal, eaten in the evening when everyone was safely behind the camp fence, always consisted of barbecued meat, potatoes and onions. Barbecue methods differed greatly but I remember that beer was always sprayed over the meat, probably as a tenderizer, a taste enhancer and proof of the chef's virility.

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