And on the seventh day they rested

The Zambezi  Sun is in the town of Livingstone, Zambia, which was named after the famous explorer. It’s a decent sized community and its growth has really been driven by its proximity to the Victoria Falls. It was pushed into tourism apparently by the greediness of the officials on the other side of the bridge who wanted a lot of favors from the developers of the hotel. It became so egregious that they built in Zambia at a lesser site but with no political interference.

After that welcome buffet the previous night, we got up and walked around Victoria Falls The view of them is quite different from the Zambian side, but still very impressive even in the dry season. At about noon we took a van over to the Zimbabwe side and after running a couple of errands  in town, some folks went to look at the Falls from this side and some went to the Victoria Falls Hotel, one of the great old ladies of the Victorian era.  There was a unanimous decision not to do the bungee jump.

The only word for the hotel is spectacular. It has scale, perspective, and most of all it reeks of a bygone era when that region of Africa was very much part of an empire devoted to England's economic growth. There are some interesting posters inside from about 1933 that show by country the principal trade commodities of the time and a caption that says that the total trade with the colonies of the British Empire was about L33 million annually. Not even a hundred years ago and yet so small.

We went outside, had a light lunch because we were anticipating a large dinner. The other big event of the day was that Diane flew in and joined us there from her trip around Southern Namibia. After some serious discussion we decided that rather than exert ourselves by walking,  we should relax, have high tea and smoke cigars on the patio. I could have been wearing a pith helmet. Allan concluded that the Bulawayo Room was a good place to take an afternoon nap. 

Our arrangement was that the van was to collect us and we would leave for another hotel at 5 p.m. sharp. At that hour everyone was there except Johnny,  so we left with the thought that he is old enough to look after himself and he would find his own way. Sure enough as we were driving through town we spotted him meandering around the shops, and he told us that he wasn’t too late and could have found a taxi back to Zambia. Anyway we went off to have sunset drinks at the Limpopo Hotel and watch the animals at the waterhole, followed by a dinner with drums and exotic African foods at the Boma. We had the drinks but in determining the schedule for the next day, decided to head back to the hotel early instead. We had made that awful decision to leave at 5 a.m. which meant a 4:15 wake up call.

Livingstone I Presume

We knew that this was going to be a long haul exacerbated by the fact that we had to cross the border between Namibia and Zambia. Border crossings are always something to be looked forward to in Africa, because there is nowhere else in the world where one can observe first hand or even participate in such gross incompetence. 

We had a great breakfast at Lianshulu and struck out at about 8 am. It was sort of smooth but Sel, who was driving one of the trucks, saw an apparition, got a fright, lurched to the left, pulling the steering wheel and smashing that big, expensive electronic mirror on the steel gate. Lianshulu is close to a town called Katima Mulilo, which is famous because it was the HQ of the South African Defense Force during the war with the Angolans and Cubans. It no longer has that claim to fame and apparently both the base and the graveyard are overrun with plants and weeds.We pulled in to customs quite early because we knew that we had a long way to go afterwards and the Namibians once again came through for us. No undue delays or bureaucracy, just move 'em in, move 'em out. And the best thing about leaving Namibia was that we could legally drive with more than one person in a truck. The Zambian customs folks were reasonably quick but there was a slight problem.

We had stopped on the side of the road between Namibia and Zambia waiting for a couple of the guys to come out of the office. I was in the passenger seat of our truck, Allen was in the driver's seat, and we were killing time when all of a sudden we heard a huge grinding banging noise a felt the truck lurch forward as though it had been hit by something large. Guess what? It had been hit by something large, a big red something large, another fire truck. And guess who was driving it? SEL. He had pulled out from behind us and forgot that the truck extended to the left. Remember this is Africa and the vehicles are right hand drive. Anyway he succeeded in ripping open two of the three lockers on the vehicle and dragging them for a few yards down the road, with equipment inside threatening to come spilling out. After doing our best to pick up pieces and bend and slide things back into place, we caught up with the other guys who were now stopped at the Zambian customs post. Once we had had a chance to assess the damage we decided that we couldn't tie the pieces together with bailing wire and gum, and I took the truck back out of the border post, into Namibia, and to a body shop that the clearing agent knew in town. I have to hand it to the guys who worked there. With the most primitive of tools, including a drill whose bit had not been replaced in two years and had no edge, and a hand pumped riveter, they managed to reattach the fender and close the lockers securely enough to hit potholes without losing anything. Then we went back across the border, this time just driving and waving to the guards who knew all about our dilemma, and rejoined the rest of the crew. 

Now the customs fun started. The border going into Zambia closes at 6. We had never worried about this because we had arrived at mid-morning thinking we had plenty of time. Peter and the clearing agent were working furiously to get the paperwork right so that we could speed across the country and get to Zimbabwe.

Paperwork takes on a different meaning in Africa. It is not a means to an end but an end in and of itself. It allows people power and capriciousness, an apparent knowledge of laws and rules, and an ability to quote Nancy Reagan and just say no.  So we waited and sweated (it was about 100 degrees in the shade. Now you also need to understand that the border post is a freight interdiction center but if you are on foot and want to but something from the stalls outside of the border, no problem. Just walk past the gate which blocks the road but nothing else, go past the guards with the AK 47’s and the folks in uniform waiting to inspect your papers and buy a drink or a piece of chicken if you are brave enough to eat it.

Now with all of this eating and drinking, there is an obvious need for bathroom facilities. At the lodges they have been fine. However on the road it’s a little different and one comes across some strange things. Probably the most alarming was at this border post, where the notice to the right was posted. Makes one wonder about washing ones hands, let alone using the facilities.

So we waited, and we took the time to read the notices. The one thing that is impressive is the fact that at every border post the authorities are screening for Ebola, albeit lightly, and are trying to educate the  people who pass through of its symptoms and dangers. This is clearly a disease that is  frightening the crap out of all of Africa. In Walvis we had temperatures taken at the airport before we claimed baggage. At each of the road borders we were asked about travel history and at the Zim border we had to discuss the disease and then get a purple thumb to prove to the passport control folks that we had been appropriately educated.  As an aside they are also not neglecting aids, and in each passport office there are boxes of free condoms for men and women. 

Anyway, at about 5:30 it appeared that we had the right papers and we had to line up the trucks so that the lady, and her AK 47 friends at the gate could inspect our papers. Once again the clearing agents had screwed them up, but fortunately she worked with us and the last truck came through with about a minute to spare.

By this time it was getting close to sunset and we still had a three hour drive ahead of us. It wasn't that it was so far, but that the road was heavily potholed, so that if you drove into one you could fall all the way through to China. So while it was light it was sort of okay, but it became a nightmare after about an hour. We made it thought and at about 9:30 we pulled into the Zambesi Sun hotel in Livingstone. What a relief, still no flat tires due to potholes. We parked in the lot and while the porters took the baggage to the rooms, we ran for the buffet dinner which was about to be shut down. What a good meal, even if it was cold.