Picture the immense American Great Plains. Instead of long stretches of open highway and monocrop grains, it's brimming with mile upon mile of animal herds.
Tens of thousands of large mammals gracing the expanse in a display commensurate with the magnitude of open space. This is the Serengeti, as wild and wonderful as you've ever heard.
Our first informal safari was the drive from the Seronera Airport to our lodge. In that 90 minutes we spotted three of the Big Five (elephant, Cape buffalo, and lion, and stopped to watch uncountable other animals from giraffes and zebras to gazelles, impalas, warthogs, hartebeests, topis, steenboks and hippos.
During the ensuing week we learned to hale our driver when we spotted animals ("Simama!" - Stop) and how to signal our readiness to move on ("Twende" - Let's go).
We rarely yelled "twende" for elephant herds with their endearing matriarchal families. Babies gripped their mothers' tails while toddlers trunk-tussled each other. Teenage sons' belligerence was evident as they were slowly eased out of the group.
Every Serengeti safari features "African massages" - the effect of washboard dirt roads throughout the National Park. There are no paved roads in the park. Dirt roads are easier to maintain; they are also easier on animal feet than hot pavement. The slower roads better protect the animals from vehicle collision.
Surprisingly, the roads themselves do not seem to present much impediment to the wildlife. Predators tolerate roads with their occasional jeep traffic because their prey use the roads. Prey use the roads for quicker travel than moving through the tangle of grasses.
The most exciting display was watching a cheetah chase and kill a rabbit. In sight of 50 or more jeeps, and a tanker truck trying to navigate the jam, she nabbed it, mewed for her cubs, and led all four in a kindergarten line to the rabbit feast.
Less dynamic but equally heart-throbbing was observing a leopard. He perched just above our two jeeps in a stately yellow-bark acacia tree.
For 20 minutes, we hung out as he strolled leisurely among the high branches. He mostly ignored us: we were literally beneath his notice.
The coevolution of animals with their African environment was apparent in many ways.
We were shocked by the violence of elephants as they habitually destroyed shrubs and felled acacia trees in their zest for fresh leaves. Any area they had grazed looked like a tornado had passed through. Santa Barbara's front country would be shredded in a few months by these guys.
In the Serengeti, however, elephant destructiveness was followed by gazelles and warthogs eager to graze on the newly available leaves.
Warthogs dug holes that filled with the next rain's water, creating new habitat and drinking holes.
Dung beetles rolled animal droppings into neat balls. New trees would soon sprout from seeds in the poop, completing the cycle.
No hunting is allowed in the Serengeti; so, animals are not afraid of vehicles, even at proximity. Their lack of aggressiveness or fear toward jeeps reminded me of our Channel Islands foxes, which evolved until modern times without predators.
While African animals' nonchalance towards vehicles reminded me of the Channel Islands foxes, there was a major difference. We were never allowed out of the jeeps due to potential danger.
For necessary bush potty stops, our guides would first drive to a short-grass area, avoiding tall grasses where venomous snakes might be hiding. Then we squatted directly in front of or behind the jeep, visually staying one with the vehicle.
African animals evolved to fear two-legged creatures. Except for hippos and black mamba snakes, most Serengeti animals will retreat first and attack only if necessary. We were highly discouraged from testing this theory.
After the density of wildlife, the biggest surprise for me was the cats. I'm not a cat person, but I fell in love with the grace and beauty of the big cats.
Lions, leopards and cheetahs were as elegant as royalty. We were fortunate to catch glimpses of the smaller cats, too: servals and a carical.
On our first morning back in Santa Barbara, a bobcat posed for us right outside our kitchen window. He stared at us for a minute or two, seeming to say, "I'm a big cat, too!"