There’s a lot of talk in the safari world about “the good old days,” when an African safari was a mysterious journey into an untamed world of raw, unspoiled beauty. The golden savannahs stretched endlessly, dotted only with towering acacia trees, and the distant silhouette of mountains created a majestic backdrop. The atmosphere was rich with the earthy scents of the bush, and the silence was broken only by the distant roar of lions or the rhythmic thunder of a herd of zebra.
It was a time when photographers had time, when the wild felt truly wild, no WIFI, no over-the-top luxury camps, no crowds. It was a time when you could sit quietly with a subject and wait for the moment to unfold, not fight for position, bumper-to-bumper, as engines idled and radios crackled.
Today, too many safaris feel like fast-food photography. Crammed into overcrowded parks, people battle for a frame that looks just like everyone else’s. The wild feels scripted. The moment is gone before it even begins.
This was precisely how I felt this past year on our tiger safari. While India’s national parks at least limit vehicle access, unlike Africa’s national parks and reserves, where there is no limit, the roads are scarce (very few). Most vehicles are now crammed with photographers whose goal is to get a shot, spraying and praying, not creating. We were at several sightings where vehicles were literally slamming into each other, and at others where 30+ vehicles waited impatiently in line for up to 30 minutes for a few seconds of a view with a mother and her older cubs. The atmosphere of stress felt like a crowded freeway, with horns honking.
India
Amboseli National Reserve, Kenya
On the flight home, I found myself smiling, reflecting on how incredibly fortunate I am to live in Kenya, home to more than 30 private conservancies that still feel like Africa did twenty years ago.
Private conservancies limit the number of camps and guests, which means very few people share vast landscapes. They often cost more, yet feel different from the moment you arrive. Wildlife encounters unfold slowly, without crowds, giving space for behavior, light, and atmosphere to be fully appreciated; silence still exists. Camps are small with simple luxury, highly staffed, and deeply committed to conservation, keeping tourism light and intentional. These vast, protected landscapes directly benefit the communities and wildlife.
Kitirua conservancy Amboseli, Kenya
Experienced guides can go off-road, linger at sightings, and tailor each day to the bush’s rhythm rather than the clock. You can sit with a leopard or follow lions at dusk, without another vehicle in sight or worrying about gate times. You can photograph the experience, not just the scene, and create images that carry weight and story. The kind you print big, hang on the wall, and feel something every time you walk past.
In the conservancies, you’re not just ticking off sightings. You’re slowing down. You’re tuning in. And you’re getting closer to the essence of what a safari should be: **personal, powerful, and intensely wild**. The kind of experience that stays with you long after you’ve gone home.
What makes a safari truly unforgettable isn’t the number of sightings, it’s the way you experience them. Over the past few years, most of my safaris have shifted to private conservancies, where wildlife, conservation, and the quality of the experience come first.