Speed Safari - Organised Travel in Southern Africa (Pt II)

So, part one left us stranded in the hunting concession area of the Moremi Game Reserve. Did we escape the lurking dangers of myopic hunters? Did the tour leader explode? The answers are; 1. obviously, and 2. she was remarkably calm considering that the incident royally screwed the all powerful schedule. Some 90 minutes, a brief journey in the back of a tow truck and a kindly South African safari leader with more mechanical abilities than we could muster later and the vehicle was back on the road again. We subsequently met up with and reloaded the mother truck, waved goodbye to our not so trusty safari vehicle and through the sterling efforts of our truck driver arrived at the next camp site after dark but in good time to, in chronological order; ignore the attempts of the Germans camped on the neighbouring pitch to be friendly, get the tents up, and shower. With the mighty schedule now appeased, we headed off to the rather fine bar facilities whilst the cook worked his magic with dinner. Is it too much information to report that this was our first shower in nearly three days? Probably.

Chobe National Park

The next day involved an easy trip up to Kasane, on the edge of the Chobe National Park in the far north eastern corner of Botswana. Our camp site was on the banks of the Chobe River which rises as the Cuando River in Angola to the north west, forms the border between Namibia and Botswana as it flows south then east, becoming the Chobe River in its lower section before joining the Zambezi river just downstream from our camp. As we pitched our tents it became obvious who the snorers in our group were. Our tent was in one corner of the pitch whilst everyone else put theirs up in a cluster at the other end.

On offer was an afternoon boat safari upstream where we had an opportunity to view part of the biggest concentration of elephants in Africa (between 35,000 and 120,000 depending on your source). To be honest after Moremi I was pretty much gamed out but the hive mind was taking root and I went along with the group. After boarding we were given a briefing which detailed what we were to be doing and which was noticeably light on safety information.

I did a quick count of the life jackets. It was a very quick count indeed. There weren't any. I then started to check out who on the boat we might be able to out swim in the event of any capsizing incidents. These waters are after all filled with crocs and when you’re in their element, swimming for your life, I think it’s good to give them alternative and, more importantly, slower targets. Regular readers will recognise this as a marine variant of the lion escape strategy I came up with in Moremi, though this time the passenger age range indicated better prospects of success if it ever had to be deployed.

There was in fact only one safety related instruction; the upper deck was limited to ten people at a time. Given that there must have been upwards of 50 people on board on a cruise that turned out to be teeming with wildlife this was never gonna happen, as indeed it did not. I know this because I was number 15 when I got up there.

The cruise actually turned out to be one of the more charming experiences of the tour. The main highlight was the extended and close up viewing of an elephant bachelor herd wading around a marshy island in the middle of the river. Over on the river bank more elephants mixed with giraffes, the former taking an afternoon drink whilst the latter were snacking on the upper branches of trees. At one point we saw a wildebeest lying on its side in the shallows. It was dead, though apparently not yet decomposed enough for the crocs’ liking. The compliment of wildlife on view was rounded off by crocs, antelope and birds of various descriptions (read: I wasn’t listening to the commentary). We returned to the jetty some two hours later, pausing to watch the sun dip below the horizon, then retired to the waterfront bar to watch the landscape go black whilst the skies turned a deepening blue and the horizon blazed orange in that classic African way. Magic.

Into Zambia

Zambian immigration process (theory)…
* C and I have to pay US$60 each because we booked onto the tour too late to be included in the visa waiver scheme;
* Everyone else gets in for free because they understand the value of proper preparation and booked far enough in advance to be included in the scheme.

Zambian immigration process (revised theory on arrival)…
* Everyone but the Aussie couple have to pay US$60 each because someone in an office somewhere didn’t understand the value of proper preparation and failed to send the necessary paperwork to the right people;
* The Aussie couple still get in for free because the Zambian government likes Australia better than the rest of the world and doesn’t require its citizens to have visas.

Zambian immigration process (actual)…
* Everyone but the Aussie couple pay US$65 each;
* The Zambians have apparently fallen out with Australia, but not badly, so the Ausssie couple pay US$35 each;
* The Zambians really don’t like the Americans and try to charge the lone American in our group US$100. Persuaded after lengthy international negotiations conducted by the tour leader to settle for the same, “you’re not our best friends but we don’t actively dislike you” rate the rest of us pay.

Hmmm. Wonder what was going on there then. It had been a short drive from Kasane to the Botswanan/Zambian border which round these parts is the Zambezi River. The vehicle queues for the ferry were lengthy and just as we despaired of ever seeing our truck in Zambia any time that day, having left it at the back of the queue in order to cross as foot passengers, down the line it came to take the last vehicle slot on the very next crossing with us. Hmmm. Wonder how he did that then.

Victoria Falls

You can see Victoria Falls, or Mosi-oa-Tunya (the Smoke that Thunders) to use its local name, from the road as you approach. More accurately you can see the plume of water thrown into the air as up to 3,000 tonnes of water disappear over the edge each second. Flow rates, and therefore the spray thrown up, vary with season but even now, three months after peak flow, the amount of airborne water is impressive. It is so great in fact that the actual views of the falls from nearly all lookouts on the walk the other side of the gorge are more often than not disappointingly obscured. It’s a bit like peering through fog whilst torrential rain pours, erm, up. We got very wet. Every now and then the wind would shift, giving temporary respite from the deluge and a tantalising clear view of the water roaring into the gorge opposite, though not to the extent that I could risk the non-weather proofed and very expensive camera.

Compared to Iguacu Falls in South America it is a claustrophobic experience, with the gorge at most only 120 yards wide, though the aural experience is amplified as a result. The noise generated by that much water plummeting some 360 feet down (almost 100 feet further than Iguacu) is tremendous. It does undeed thunder. C and I walked/waded as far as the viewing path would take us, risked life and limb on the very slick wet surfaces of the precarious view points, and then walked back to dry off. I’m sorry. Iguacu was more impressive. I suppose we’d better start thinking about getting out to Niagara now.

Tent interlude - Wildlife and scenery reporting will continue shortly

Accommodation during the trip generally comprised of tents provided by the tour company. They were aging canvas dome tents the zips of which were so obstinate that within a few days the index finger and thumb of both hands were calloused and became lacerated as the skin dried in the bone dry climate. Only liberal treatment with moisturiser prevented the digits from being rendered useless for the duration.

The tents could comfortably accommodate one person and their baggage. Unfortunately C and I are quite obviously two people, and we weren’t especially selective on the packing either, so things were a little cosy for a while. Seasoned travellers that we are, we eventually figured out that we needn’t have brought practically our entire wardrobe on holiday with us, let alone lug it from the truck each night. After amalgamating the essentials into a single bag we were able to implement a relatively efficient and comfortable in-tent regime.

Unfortunately in another stunning display of pre-travel preparation I had mis-read the “Packing for your trip” section of the tour literature. Specifically I stopped reading after the part that said “Bring a 2 season sleeping bag”. This is unfortunate because if I had kept reading I would have learned that this applied for tours conducted in the austral summer months between November and March, and that outside of these months a 3-4 season bag (rated for temperatures from minus 10 to minus 5 degrees C) would be more appropriate. They weren’t kidding about those night time temperatures. In 26 nights I was warm for about only six of them, and three of those were in a hotel or chalet room. We weren’t the only ones caught out by the freezing nights and the South African economy did well out of the consequent bulk purchasing of blankets and warm clothing conducted by the group.

Escape

The great thing about our stay in the Victoria Falls area was that it was a two night stop. We were able to slip the yoke of the dreaded schedule and do as we pleased for a day. It also provided a welcome respite from the daily chore of breaking camp in the morning only to set the tents back up in the evening. Actually we didn’t have to set the tents up here at all, having chosen the upgrade option which consisted of, well, slightly bigger tents. At least they had an electricity supply and, being permanent, didn’t require us to set them up or take them down. Once we got the hang of making our own decisions again we spent our free day taking care of the backlog of grubby washing before heading off into the nearby town of Livingstone for some essential supplies; cigarettes and some CD’s to back up our growing collection of pictures.

Livingstone was something of a grubby place; a one street town with dusty back streets and an intimidating atmosphere. With shopping completed we visited the craft market, but I only got as far as the first stall where I was engaged in polite chatter about what my name was, where I was from, and how much did I want to pay for some admittedly interesting but ultimately undesirable local art curios. I was trapped and just could not pull away from the stall holder to follow C, who is a good deal more competent than I in such situations, further into the market. I was mightily relieved when she finally returned to rescue me. Whilst waiting for our pre-arranged but late arriving taxi to take us back to the camp site we were accosted by a beggar who could not be shifted but who soon revealed his true profession as an incompetent pick pocket. As he eventually shuffled off he deliberately walked into C, an act intended to distract us from the fact that he was in the process of unzipping the front compartment on the pouch of the money belt around her waist. Luckily he wasn’t able to extract anything, but it’s scarey how easily he was able to get even that far.

Whilst we were out sampling the delights of the local town some of the youngsters in the group had taken a sunset boat trip (aka booze cruise) and then partied on until the early hours. C and I on the other hand spent a pleasant evening at the bar restaurant, enjoying the free time until the schedule was due to return and drag us back into its relentless embrace. We would be leaving Zambia the next day and we needed to dispose of our Zambian currency. Although it was mildly entertaining to sit around and boast, with an exchange rate of 8,000 Kwacha to the Pound (there's been a bit of an inflation problem since it was introduced in 1968 at a rate of two to the pound) about how many 'grand' we were carrying around, the notes were quite grubby and we weren’t sure how easy it would be to exchange them outside Zambia, assuming they even survived the journey. We were doing our best to convert all our Kwacha into beer.

Next up: Namibia. Indecent exposure on the banks of the Okavango River and an encounter with the extremely rare orange rhino.

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