The moment we stepped out of the plane in
Zambia it felt different. The ground staff were joking away in their own
language and it felt like we were at last on holiday, ordinary tourists welcome
to have a good time and wonder at the Victoria Falls and bungy jump if we
liked. There were trips up the
Zambezi to be had – the Sunrise cruise and the Sunset cruise quite blatantly
advertised as “the Booze cruise” with its open bar and the catchcry “The more
you drink the more you see”. This
unjudgmental hedonism was a huge relief to us and we were in a merry mood.
Finn and Fredi had gone on ahead of us to
Jolly Boys, and our backpackers, Fawlty Towers sent a truck to pick us up. We three plus Caiden hopped up into the
back and trundled into Livingstone looking hopefully for wildlife along the way
but seeing swollen hotels and little shacks and eventually the slightly shabby
town with its wide brown main street and clusters of commercial
enterprises. Rather startlingly a garishly painted steel wall on one side of the street was hauled back for us
and we were driven into the forecourt of our hostel to which I took an
immediate liking. On the walls of
the reception area were framed photos of John Cleese and his team with two
African warriors inserted at the back.
Somehow, though, it looked as if it had been there a long time and the
joke had been superseded by this new Fawlty Towers just the way it was. The
stolen name had been reconfigured.
Fawlty Towers was now known as comfy and generous. There were leather sofas
and a bar with free coffee and tea and if you happened to be around at 11am a
free pancake as well. There was an
icy little swimming pool with tables at which travelers clustered
drinking beer and looking at their phones. There were nice cats everywhere.
I had a pretty little room looking out on
the big grassy area with a mosquito netted bed occupying most of it. At first I loved the glamour of the
four poster effect but I soon I learnt the torment of the stuffiness inside and
the constant risk of getting tangled up in the net or letting a mosquito
in. But the water was hot and
clattered from the shower like a tap and I thought “What more could I want?”
During our days there I got very bonded to my kindle, which glowed in the night
and provided Jack Reacher for company when I couldn’t sleep.
We linked up with Jolly Boys pair that
night and resolved to visit the Victoria Falls next day. Jun had done it before “We will get
wet.” she said and we certainly did.
I might just copy what I put in my diary that night.
“We went to the extraordinary mind changing Victoria Falls. Got soaked, hence the wet diary” (its
pages are all crinkly and damp still)
“Finn said it best ‘Its ephemeral, water only there for a minute but
it’s permanent and has been for ever’ The water comes off a long cliff emanating
from a vigorous but peaceful river.
Suddenly the flow turns into wild springing cascades that crash into the
gorge below sending up spray that doubles back like the heaviest of rain. It was like being in the middle of a
sky cloud in transformative mode – all turmoil and wetness and roaring.”
We dashed across a sloshy footbridge and looked up through
the wild spray at the great arc of the Livingstone Bridge which connects Zambia
with Zimbabwe. I saw a tiny little bungy jumper up there and thought of the bit
in King Lear when Gloster tries to kid the king that he’s on the edge of a
cliff when he isn’t and lies to him thus
“Halfway down hangs one that gathers
samphire – dreadful trade
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head”
But methought my bungy jumper seemed no
bigger than a bee.
We all laughed at the absurdity of getting
so wet but Caiden was not amused at all. He didn’t cry but his mouth was set in a tight line.
He must have been thinking how transgressive we were. All his little life he’d been cautioned not to get wet and
sometimes a plastic cover had encased Business Class to prevent that
contingency and there we were in a sopping laughing ecstasy at the roaring
Victoria Falls. No way to
behave. He was cheered though when
we walked alongside the river accompanied by beautiful baboons. We were cautious and clutched Caiden
tight as we’d been warned that the creatures had no scruples about taking
anything they wanted and, in fact, we saw a mother and baby hoeing into a huge stolen
sweet potato not far down the track.
What is it about baby animals that entrances even more than human
babies? Perhaps it is that they are little proportioned replicas of their
mummies and full of flattering promise just like cute little child models with
their lipstick on. It is not
really a creditable feeling to go gaga over baby animals.
Our path need when we reached an iron barred fence that separated our
country from Zimbabwe. An enterprising bracelet seller was lurking in the
bushes on the other side and greeted us.
Fredi was moved to go and shake his hand but currency problems prevented
us buying anything. Later F and F
went over the bridge to Zimbabwe and encountered the same problem. Nobody had change even if you wanted to
buy a souvenir.
The last walk we did was tough and a
challenge to my puffing self. We
clambered and slithered, along with many other pilgrims, down a path to “The Boiling Point”. There the yellow and white waters that
have been thrown from high above hit the walls of the canyon and go round in a whirl
before sorting themselves out and going on their way. We joined the little crowd of people sitting on rocks and
watching the seething water.
Mostly they were families out for the day posing for photos and laughing
while they got their profiles just right. It was good to be amongst them. Going up the track again was actually not as bad as coming
down and people passing the other way encouraged me with sympathetic jokes and once a high five. The
euphoria of the Falls made us all happy.
That night we all thought we’d get up early
and go on a trip into the National Park to see some animals. We did see warthogs and other funny
creatures and also a few white mens’ graves. But I’ll blog all that tomorrow.
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