History and nature come together and harmonise in Mapungubwe. A land of fierce but tantalising beauty, situated on our northern border, it now lies near empty although this was not always so. It was here, during the tenth and twelfth centuries, that an important, early Southern African kingdom came in to being as a major centre of power and then, for reasons which are still not absolutely clear, collapsed.

The main Mapungubwe settlement was built around the base of a steep-sided sandstone hill that arises abruptly from the valley floor. At its summit, various burial mounds and the remnants of old houses have been found. It was here that the nobility lived and it was here, too, where South Africa’s most famous archaeological artefact – a gold-plated rhino – was found.

The modern park, in which it lies, was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site on the 5^th July, 2003. The National Park bearing its name was officially opened, amidst much fanfare, in September, 2004.

The Park is divided in to a Western and Eastern section which are separated by the Den Staat farm.

The Western section is mostly flat and forms part of the Limpopo flood plain. Along the river is a thin, deep green, jumble of riparian forest, which gradually thins out as it gives way to thornveld and then miles upon miles of mopane scrub that somehow manages to survive despite the complete absence of anything resembling real top soil.

The Eastern section is more broken country. Here nature has created its own unique architecture, one that is dominated largely by rock.

The Mazhou camping-site, which is one of my favourites in South Africa, is situated in the Western section. Positioned close to the Limpopo, it is well thicketed with enormous Nyala Berry and Apple Leaf Trees which interlock overhead to provide some relief from the worst of the sun.

It was here I found myself sitting, sipping wine, one glorious, crystalline, summer’s night. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, was a half-remembered world of big cities and busy highways but I found it very difficult to bring it back in to focus.

The sky was heavy with stars. Amongst them was one which caught our eye because it was much bigger and brighter than the rest and was moving slowly across the heavens. We decided this must be the International Space Station.

For a few paranoid moments I wondered if it had had been sent to spy on us and tried to recall if I had done anything to warrant such scrutiny (although, given his reputation, it was much more likely it was keeping its beady eye firmly fixed on my birding partner, Ken).

The next morning I crawled out my sleeping bag to find a family of Natal Spurfowl pecking in the dirt outside my tent. They were joined, a little later by some noisy blue-black Meves’s Starlings and a curious Crested Barbet. In the branches above us a pair of striking blue Woodland Kingfishers stirred.

Because it was such a glorious day, we decided to head in to the more heavily forested Western section first. We had barely got on to the stretch of road that runs along the Limpopo when a whole convoy of 4 X 4s came roaring up our rear. Their vehicles were fitted with metal spades and spare jerrycans of petrol, spotlights and winches. Driving the front one was a barrel-chested guy in a camouflage T-Shirt with sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The other men all sported similar going-on-safari mufti, while the women folk looked like they were headed off to audition for bit parts in the next Tarzan remake.

These were Very Serious Explorers.

In less trying circumstances – like when we were not attempting to birdwatch – I would have found them fascinating. Now they were just plain annoying because we had to pull over and let them pass and then watch them go clattering down the track, with their TVs, micro-waves, ice-dispensers, up-to-the-minute navigational aids and all the other modern conveniences and gizmos that seem to be required these days before you can go Roughing it in the Bush – scaring away all the rare birds we had been hoping to see.

Such distractions aside, this is usually a good place to get up close and personal with White-backed Vultures who, unlike their cliff-dwelling Cape relatives, like to nest in the tall trees that grow along the river. Through gaps in the canopy we kept getting glimpses of these magnificent birds, circling overhead. When the sun caught them their back feathers flashed a brilliant white.

We continued driving through this rich mantle of trees before emerging in to a clearish, flat stretch, on the one side of which ran a line of tall Lala Palms. It was here, under a clump of thorn, I had got a lifer on my last trip – a Three-banded Courser, an uncommon, largely nocturnal bird, very much confined to the Northern parts of South Africa.

A bit further down this road is the Maroutswa Pan which is usually an excellent birding spot, especially for water birds (on our last trip we saw a Honey Buzzard here as well). Despite all the evidence of recent good rain there was very little water in the pan itself.

We, nevertheless, lucked out and got another rarity – a Green Sandpiper – or at least Ken, who has seen one before, was convinced that was what it was. I, as usual, was confused. The bird looked like a cross between a Wood and Common Sandpiper. I was still mulling over the true identity of this mystery bird when a real Wood Sandpiper turned up and helped solve the puzzle.

My elation at being able to add another lifer to my list turned to anger when we got back to camp, later that afternoon, and I found the resident monkey gang – hardened criminals every one – had, for good measure, punched a few more holes in to my tent. What added to my irritation was that once again I had no food inside and I had used up all Ken’s duct tape patching up the holes the baboons had ripped in it in Kruger a few days before!

That night, curled up in my sleeping bag, I heard lion. They sounded like they were only a kilometre or so downstream, although Ken was convinced they were across the river, deep inside Botswana.

Another scorcher was forecast when we set off to explore the Eastern section the next day. Passing through the main gate, the road curved left towards the edge of the park and then dropped down through a rocky bluff. All around was evidence of nature’s erosive powers at work: cliffs undercut, niches hollowed out, old river courses altered. In places the rock was fissured and rotten, large chunks of it sliced away like a cake, revealing the layers buried underneath.

At the point where the road swings right along the Limpopo they have constructed a raised wooden walkway which takes you, at bird’s eye level, through the leafy tree tops and provides excellent views. The river at this point is fat, sluggish and wide but as this was the dry season, it was not quite so wide or deep as it is during the rains.

Along the foreshore ambled a family of elephant. Perhaps because there are no immigration formalities required, they like to use this spot to ford the river between South Africa and Botswana. Later we were to see some Zimbabwe fishermen doing the same thing further down the river.

We stopped for brunch at the view point on top of a hill which once served as an SANDF army base and observation point. It is here, at the confluence of the Shashe and Limpopo that the three countries that have played such a pivotal role in my life – South Africa, Zimbabwe and Botswana – meet.

It was almost like a homecoming to be standing on top of that promontory looking over that vast, shimmering, seemingly uninhabited, landscape. I felt almost totally isolated from the outside world.

The whole place gave off an aura of romance. I felt like I had been magicked back in time. This was the ancient Africa of myth, which the old cartographers had heard about but weren’t too sure how to depict in their books or their maps.

For all its harsh beauty and important cultural links with the past, Mapungubwe is, however, a park with problems. That this is so became apparent when we set off down the road that leads from the viewpoint to Poachers’ Corner.

As we rounded the bend that takes you in to this wonderfully scenic part of the river, we found ourselves encircled by a vast herd of cattle. They had obviously crossed over the Limpopo from Zimbabwe. There must have been several hundred of them, their bells tinkling merrily as they wandered around munching the grass or masticating nonchalantly like they had every right in the world to be here, in what is supposed to be South Africa’s showcase park.

As an undoubted consequence of this we did not see a single wild animal in this section other than a few bored-looking baboon chewing on some roots they had just dug up. All the kudu and nyala and other game that had been here on our previous visits had, presumably, been forced to move up in to the more arid parts of the park.

If the monkeys were not bothersome enough this only added to my annoyance. Having travelled a considerable distance, at big expense (to say nothing of close shaves with elephants and being forced to listen to Emily, Ken’s Satnav – a merciless pedant if ever there was one – continuously telling us we were on the wrong road) to get here, both Ken and I felt we were entitled to demand a refund because we reckoned we hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to finish up looking at a bunch of cows.

I can do that from my bedroom window at home.

In the end, we thought better of it and just reported our concerns to the camp manager. He admitted it was an ongoing problem but said the matter was politically sensitive since it involved citizens from another country and had to be handled diplomatically. To me it sounded like the sort of soft-soap, fudging-of-the-issue, claptrap PR people use to calm down folk, like us, who had got worked up in to a state. I can’t say I drove out of the park gate feeling more sanguine about the matter or thinking they had a clear-cut plan in place to deal with the problem.

You never know though. I was wrong about the Green Sandpiper so maybe I have allowed myself to over-think this too…

And I still love Mapungubwe – although I am not sure these feelings extend to those primates who keep trashing my tents…