By Nina Kokotas Hahn for Fathom | Waking up on safari in Botswana is something magical. First come the steady calls of the African mourning dove, which overpower the rest of the bush choir. Then the rustling trees on the other side of the canvas walls (What could that be?), only occasionally audible over the whirring ceiling fan. Morning light slowly spills across the room, just before the bush equivalent of an alarm clock: French-press coffee delivered by the cheery camp staff and served on a tray dressed in white linens.
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