1 July to 9 July, 2019

The name “Victoria Falls” conjured an image of an exotic, inaccessible place. No doubt when David Livingstone saw it for the first time in 1855 the falls rightfully deserved such a notion. But the number of tourists who get there by plane, as I did, or by road, attest to its accessibility.

And the paved pathway, along the top of the gorge, leading sightseers to sixteen different lookouts points requires no treks through a jungle, but an easy stroll.

The risks are primarily getting doused with the spray, if the winds blow your way, or having food snatched from your hands by one of the enterprising baboons–which I managed to avoid.

I suspect nothing can mar the thrill of seeing the falls.  Even in the dry season, when the wide sheet of rushing waters is a fraction of its full force did not disappoint. The locals called the falls Mosi-oa-Tunya (The Smoke that Thunders), and still do.

Watching rainbows form with the cascading water, and being cooled by the mist made me giddy.

I was reminded of my visit to Niagra Falls between US and Canada, there are several parallels. Seventy-five percent of Vic Falls are seen from the Zimbabwe side and the town, Victoria Falls, although pleasantly low-key is clearly in large part catering to the tourists that flock there. The Zambia side is smaller, but the pathways have thicker foliage with turnoffs offering a chance of a more isolated viewing. And its town, Livingstone, retains an authentic feel.

I reserved four nights in swanky accommodations on the Zimbabwe side  at the Victoria Falls Safari Lodge, justifing my splurge with the demanding road trip in Namibia the previous weeks. I indulged in hot showers, quiet relaxing moments observing wildlife, and sight-seeing.

The lodge, each afternoon at lunch time, offered the chance to watch vultures and marabou storks engaging in a feeding frenzy, thanks to a naturalist who supplied them with meat. It was the lodge’s effort to raise awareness of the vultures threatened existence and to stave off their decline.

Beside the walk along the falls there was the much talked about helicopter ride over the falls, which I couldn’t pass up (another splurge), and a delightful sunset cruise on the Zambezi River where hippos peeked from the water and crocodiles rested on the banks.

The public, denied the adventures of David Livingstone during his jungle trek, can get their thrills at the falls by bungee jumping and other “adrenaline rush” activities. I eschewed them all and opted for scenic walks.

There is some debate whether the falls are best visited on the Zimbabwe or Zambia side. I decided to visit both.

The border between the two countries is fluid: people travel for jobs and business opportunities daily.

Wishing to spend some more time in Livingstone, I found a room in the home of a delightful Zambian/Russian couple, Emmanuel and Natalie, who’d met on holiday in Spain five years prior.

They shared a passion for dogs and during my stay were busy caring for a recent litter of fourteen pups.

Their mom, a black lab mix, was overwhelmed by the prospect of feeding them all. She would blithely wander off despite their whimpering, and displayed no tug of maternal instincts. Her previous litter had been one sole pup, Shaka, from an arranged encounter with a Rottweiler.  He was 65kgs of muscle, and gentle as a kitten, as long as you didn’t come between him and the door.

The days gave me the chance to share time with Emmanuel and Natalie, explore the town, and the falls from the Zambia side.

I strolled about forty minutes into downtown Livingstone each day, enjoying a glimpse of local life, greeting people along the way. I found them warm and welcoming.

Asking directions to a shared taxi, a woman, with a large box of vegetables propped atop her head, walked several blocks with me until she was certain I knew my way.

Shared taxis were a convenient way to get around and gave me the chance to chat with the residents. They all showed excitement in speaking to someone from New York City. One driver had family in New Jersey.  In asking about a gospel concert being advertised, another driver made it clear that he did not belong to that denomination. Drivers never tried to take advantage of me, I was always asked the actual fare.

Some images of Livingstone:

Through Couchsurfing, I found a man, Ivor, who with his own funds started a school for abandoned/ impoverished children. He and his wife converted their home into a classroom, a room for a volunteer, and another room for their family. They built an outdoor classroom where, when I arrived, about thirty kids from two or three to twelve years of age crammed inside, engaging in play, with little supervision. The adults were busy preparing a farewell lunch for a French man who had been volunteering the past two weeks.

With barely a moment to introduce myself, the kids began calling me “teacher,” vyied for my attention, and jockied to sit beside me.  Some of these kids quickly soaked up anything I showed them. There were find the word books, all with Christian terminology, that mixed capital lettering in the list with lower case letters in the puzzle making the task difficult. A small group sitting near me patiently waited while I rewrote the words in lower case, while others preferred to style each others’ hair,  or gently touch mine. Having enough pencils with points was generally achieved quickly.

It was difficult to access what the kids already knew, but most seemed eager to learn. Many had a rudimentary command of English–some had more. It was a chaotic, boistrous atmosphere and after about an hour I was exhausted.

The couple’s aspirations were challenging at best, but these kids, coming from abject poverty, for at least part of their day, were safe, clothed, and fed.

During my stay in Livingstone I was trying to figure out my next destination.

Through an acquaintance, I learned of the Okavanga Delta in Botswana. The name entranced me, but how to get there? I spent a considerable amount of time looking into flights and travel options.

Although I loved my road trip in Namibia, I missed the opportunity to camp out in the wilderness and looked for camping trips in Botswana that included the delta and elsewhere. I found a seventeen day camping trip beginning in Maun, Botswana. The best option was to fly from Kasane, Botswana less than two hours by car from Livingstone.

I decided to make the most of this. I found a travel company, Kalahari Tours, that would pick me up in Livingstone, and offered a one night camping trip in Chobe National Park before dropping me off at the Kasane Airport.

Emmanuel, Natalie, and all their dogs, gave me a warm farewell before I was transported by van with a Spanish tourist, to the crossing, between Zambia and Botswana, by ferry. We were met on the other side by another van and driver, went through customs, and set off for Kasane to begin our tour.

Botswana didn’t seem too different from the countries I’d left behind. Despite a thriving economy and a much stronger currency, the pula, from what I could see there was little evidence of a wealthy nation.

After lunch, our group coming from Poland, Ireland, Holland, France and other places across the globe, enjoyed a boat tour of the Chobe River where wildlife was abundant and fascinating. We then set off in a safari truck in pursuit of seeing game.

Safaris are big business in Botswana. And some of the drivers in tracking game displayed a recklessness in their determination to please their customers. After hearing of a leopard in a tree, our driver sped along dirt paths in Chobe National Park sending helmeted guineafowl scurrying for their lives. Although I am not certain, it looked like at least one was sacrificed during the pursuit.

After watching a spectacular sunset and herds of elephants along the Chobe River, we set camp. We were warned not to wander off. Elephants and big cats roam freely.

The temperature dropped precipitously, and facilities were basic. It was an excellent preview for my camping trip, beginning in Maun, Botswana, a few days away.