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.

A long and dusty road

The next day was a long and dusty road. Our fearless leader had told us that we should sleep in. Not to worry he said, because we had a very short haul on Wednesday, about 250 miles on a beautiful paved road. Great! An easy drive on a long straight road and an early plunge into the pool followed by a sundowner river cruise with the flat dogs and the big sea cows. At this point we should have known that nothing is that easy. 

We left the lodge on time or a bit later and made elaborate plans to go through the roadblocks ahead, and again our plan appeared to be working until Peter approached the first one. He drove up to it, wildly gesticulating out of his window for those of us following to back off. Of course this wasn’t at all suspicious. Of course we couldn’t stop in sight of the guard house. Naturally they went up to him and asked if he had any passengers. Honest Abe that he is, he fessed up, said he chopped down the cherry tree and that his daughter was in the back. They told him to pull over. Roy had essentially been waved through but in the interest of solidarity he pulled in next to Peter, so they looked into his truck and lo and behold, there was Henry. I had Johnny hiding in my back seat, and as the guard came up to me, Johnny said in his best stage whisper “Can I get up yet?” Fortunately the guard was distracted by a crying kid who had come running up, and so when he asked me whether I had a passenger, I said no and he opened the gate. The cops here were conscientious and so while the rest of us waited a couple of miles up the road, Peter had to get written up, go to the bank, and then go to the police station to pay his fine. Oh well, it’s the price of carrying human cargo. We went the first 200 km, filled up, went the next 200, filled up again and then drove about another 70, the last 10 of which were on a dirt track leading to the lodge. Our short leg had taken us about 8 hours. 

The Lianshulu Lodge was terrific, much fancier than the previous night, with magnificent view over the Cuala River, this time into Botswana. The Caprivi Strip is just that, a strip of land about 20 km. wide and several hundred kms. long that belongs to Namibia and is a buffer between Botswana and Angola. After we had checked in and unpacked the wine, which at this point had had a daily cooking in the side locker of the truck, we took a river cruise on a pontoon boat.It was wonderful, serene and is absolutely the best thing to do in Africa. We drifted down river, drinking beer or sodas, eating biltong and droewors,  floating past a lot of hippos who were very nonchalant about our intrusion, past troops of baboons and vervet monkeys, past crocs who just squinted at us through their beady little eyes that peeked out just above the surface, and we saw dozens of species of birds; bee eaters, king fishers, fish eagles, kite, doves, heron, and many whose names I can't remember. The highlight for me was the lenshuan ( not sure I spelled this right), a mid size species of deer who live by the river edge and swim from one side to the other in search of better grazing without so much as a passport. Just like the USA.

On the way back we learned how deceptively reassuring the hippo were. One got angry that we were a bit too close and started chasing us down the river. It looked like a two ton dolphin with huge jaws rushing after you in giant bounds through the water.. Not a good thing. Fortunately our little engine that could really kicked into life and we beat a very hasty retreat.

We tied up at the dock just after sunset, went up and had a great meal and hung out in the night. Unbeatable. Now I had noticed some large fresh dollops of elephant dung very close to our room but hadn't really worried about it. After dinner that night I stayed in the lodge writing this blog, and was the last person there. The owner called Eugene to walk me back to the room, As we walked back along the dark paths between the trees, he told me that the elephants and the hippos had been very naughty recently, and in fact had been running amuck in the camp the prior night, hence the fresh droppings. We walked up to my room and opened the door and Andrew came in from the deck on the river side and said "Come look," Well outside our deck was a very large bull elephant happily destroying the vegetation looking for dinner. He threatened to start coming up the hill and Eugene who is no bigger than this elephants trunk told us not to worry. We asked him what he was going to do and he patronizingly explained that he was going to scare the jumbo away with his stick. At that he and his trusty twig in one hand and a huge knife in the other walked toward the beast shouting at it. And guess who turned tail and walked away? Not Eugene. We were saved by the tiniest, scrawniest guard in Namibia


The next morning was more of the same great food and spectacular views at breakfast before we hit the road. Waking up there, looking over the river in the morning light is mind blowing