Feeding Crocodiles

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So there I was standing on the side of the road with the contents of my backpack disgorged on the new asphalt. There was a very animated man running in circles with a Zulu spear held high above his head. His war cry filled the air, “Contraband, Contraband, Contraband!” The officials had decided to search the whole bus and I was not the only one standing there with all of their possessions strewn about, but it was my backpack that had produced the spear. It was clear that the officials had found what they were looking for, because they stopped paying attention to everyone else and concentrated on me. At first I had thought that there was some rule about carrying a large, bladed weapon across the border, but I knew that was not the case, one of my fellow passengers had produced a nasty looking pocket machete to cut the plastic away from my spear and the officials didn’t even bat an eye at it. I had heard about the fun that some people have experienced while crossing African borders, so I kind of knew what came next. The three officials surrounded me and started questioning me - “Where did you get this?” “I purchased it from a tourist stand in Zulu Land in South Africa.” “Do you have a receipt?” “No, it was a tourist stand they don’t give receipts.” “You should not buy things from the street vendors!” “That was all that was available.” “How do I know you didn’t rob a museum?” - It was at that point that I realized what they were accusing me of. I thought about explaining metallurgy and artificial ageing to the men, but I knew that wasn’t going to help - It seemed that my quest to find a well made spear instead of the cheap, sheet-metal ones had backfired! “I didn’t rob a museum I bought it from a tourist shop.” We went back and forth on the subject for a while and then they pulled back and waited for everyone else to finish repacking their bags and get back on the bus. It seemed as if I was going to be stuck in the ‘no man’s land’ between the Namibian and Zambian border posts - Of course, they had already given me my Zambian visa, I remember, because I was forced to pay seventy-five dollars more than their embassy told me I was going to have to pay for it a week before. With all of the prying eyes out of the way the three officials walked up to me again. The men had stern looks on their faces mixed with the slightest hint of a smile - They were enjoying themselves. They were silent, as if they were waiting for me to make the next move. It was becoming clear that a large bribe was expected by the men and would make the false charges go away, but I am not one to play that game. I turned to the man holding my spear and I said, “Am I going to leave with or without my spear, or should I just tell the bus to go on without me?” At that point the man sent a sad, ‘we tried’ glance over to the other two men, who shrugged their shoulders, and then he handed me the spear saying, “Next time be sure to get a receipt.” I quickly repacked my bag, boarded the bus and walked the gauntlet of annoyed eyes to my seat. The sign on the shiny new bridge said, “Welcome to Zambia!”

Excluding the festivities at the border, the journey north through Namibia had been pleasant. The man sitting next to me had used my shoulder as a pillow for most of the night, but the bus was so cramped that I didn’t really notice. We reached the Angola border and turned east onto the Caprivi Strip, a narrow strip of Namibia that juts out between Botswana, Angola and Zambia that once, not too long ago, was considered to be one of the world’s more dangerous places. The sun was just rising when we entered the wild area to the north of the Okavango Delta. The scenery was amazing with wide rivers and brushy forests and large, grassy plains. The occasional villages that we passed were all made up of traditional grass huts and they were surrounded by walls made of sticks and logs standing on end like an old wooden fort. It was a nice final view of Namibia! We easily made it through the Namibian border post and then came the fiasco at the Zambian border. The remainder of the journey to Livingstone was great. The road was in great condition and it was constantly surrounded by the scrubby, dry forests that seemed to be so common in Southern Africa. We slowed a few times and once we were forced to pull off of the road due to some unforeseen mechanical problem with the bus, but, even with the delays, the drive was nice. One of the places we slowed on the road was on a low ridge and it afforded us an amazing vista across the landscape in front of us. In the distance, over an unbroken sea of brownish-green forest, we could see an area engulfed in mist, or smoke - We all knew that our destination was close. Within an hour we had reached Livingstone and Mosi-oa-Tunya, The Smoke that Thunders, better known as Victoria Falls.

We were fairly late pulling into Livingstone, so we drove straight through town and on to the Zimbabwean border post inside Victoria Falls National Park. It was an unexpected treat, though many of us on board were a bit alarmed at first, thinking that the bus had forgotten to stop in town - The bus’s final destination was Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, according to the schedule, but it turned out that the bus only went as far as the border and then returned to Livingstone. Our drive through the park allowed us to see several elephants and a huge troop of baboons roaming through the park’s lovely forest. We also got to see the mist and hear the thunder of one of the world’s three great waterfalls as we did a very messy turn around at the congested border post (we almost hit a family and a guard holding a machinegun!) We pulled up to the bus office in Livingstone nearly three hours late, but, for Africa, that was not too bad. I collected my backpack and weaved my way through the throngs of taxi drivers and touts offering to take me to a ‘nice place’ to stay and then I set off on foot. There was another lady on the bus heading to the same place I was, so we walked together, accompanied by a young local man who said he was working for the hostel and would show us where it was (for a small tip) - Sometimes it just isn’t worth arguing! True to his word, he showed us to the Jolly Boys Hostel and pointed out a few of the important features of the small town along the way. The lady I was walking with had made a reservation, so she had no problem getting her room. Another lady that had shown up just before us had been sent away, because they were full. Lucky for me, they had camping spaces available, so my lacking of a reservation didn’t matter - The heavy tent I purchased in South Africa was proving to be a very important acquisition! I went and set my tent up on a patch of grass beneath a tall, leafy tree and then I settled in for what would turn into a weeklong stay.

Livingstone was a pleasant town filled with history and colonial charm, but with the ever-present, slightly seedy feel of a frontier town - It is safe to say I liked the place from the start. Once the capitol of Northern Rhodesia, Livingston initially grew off of the colonial exploitation of the natural resources in the area, expanding into other industries later. When the capitol moved to Lusaka, Livingstone fell into a bit of a decline relying more heavily on tourism than industry, eventually even losing the tourism to some conflict or another. While the decline did prevent the older colonial buildings from being replaced, it also prevented the maintenance they needed from being done and many of the buildings fell into bad disrepair. Now, with the rife corruption and inconceivably moronic problems going on south of the border in Zimbabwe, Livingstone has resurfaced as the choice tourist destination in the area, reclaiming a huge portion of the tourism industry that had grown in the town of Victoria Falls on the south bank of the Zambezi River. Livingstone truly had something for every type of traveler - From nice restaurants, hostels, museums and innumerable sightseeing options to exclusive resorts that cost more per night than most peoples’ first car, it was all available in Livingstone.

The hostel I was staying in was a great, lively place. It was somewhat of a party place with a huge pool and a bar area complete with a pool table and ping-pong, but there were ample places to retreat from the noise and lounge with a book. It was a bit odd - I had just purchased my plane tickets from Africa up to Ireland that week and I found myself sitting at a huge table in Zambia surrounded by people from the Emerald Isle! At times it seemed like most of the people at the hostel were from Ireland and I suppose they were. I had decided to eat the huge, communal dinner that the hostel was preparing. I took a seat at a long table across from Laura, an English girl with a degree in Egyptology, and Sam, a guy from Lurgan, Ireland who was on an epic journey around the world on his motorcycle. We spent the next hour or so sharing stories from our travels - Sam had been away from home for nearly two years, riding his motorcycle from his home in Ireland, across Europe and Asia, around Australia, across North America twice and then all the way to the tip of South America. When we met he was on the last leg of his journey north through Africa and he had been stuck in Livingstone for about a month, because a bag with all of his important documents had been stolen and he was waiting for replacements. I sat and listened to his stories, especially the ones regarding Iran and Pakistan, two places near the top of the list of places I want to visit, with the same longing that some people back home look upon my journey with - I would love to experience the world with my own transportation! Sam was telling us about his time in Cape Town when he stopped talking mid-sentence and said, “I don’t believe it!” or something like that - One of the guys he had spent a lot of time with in Cape Town had just walked in. The guy’s name was David. He was from Limerick on the west coast of Ireland and he was traveling north through Africa, much like me, but he was hitchhiking instead of using public transportation. He joined us at the table and we all talked and laughed until late.

The following day started late, as they usually do when the previous evening ended late. I spent most of the morning sitting in the sunshine beside the icy pool talking with my new friends. It was around mid-day when several of us decided that pizza sounded great, so we headed out to a tourist pizza place down the road a ways. It was a beautiful day and the town was full of activity. I had to stop at an ATM to pick up some local currency and there I made a wonderful discovery - For the first time in my life I was a multi-millionaire! I wanted to see what it felt like to hold a million in cash in my hand, so I typed a one followed by six zeros into the ‘Amount’ field and pushed ‘OK’. The machine had no problem with my request and it spit out a pile of bills nearly half-an-inch thick. I tried hard to imagine the stack of money in my hand was of US dollars, but the beautiful plastic bills, decorated with blue leopards, and the fifty-thousand printed in the corners made it impossible - I was still a millionaire, but only in Kwacha, the Zambian currency. The pizza place was packed and it took a long while to get our food, but it was worth the wait. I was clearly in a town full of millionaires - My food cost me a paltry fifty-thousand Kwacha!

After lunch my friend Laura wanted to go to the crocodile farm near the falls to watch the daily feeding, so I decided to go with her - I was not expecting much, but the outing turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences I had in Africa. We walked out to the street and shoved ourselves into an already over-packed taxi and we were off. We arrived at the farm and discovered that the feeding time was actually an hour later than we thought, which was good, since we were late. There was a group of English teenagers in front of us at the ticket desk with their chaperone and we were grouped with them for the tour. We started the tour by visiting with the snakes. The farm had a large group of snakes in a long bank of glass-fronted cages under the roof of an open-air patio. Our guide was a funny local man who clearly loved his job. The young Englishmen wanted to touch and pet everything and they were humorously vocal about it - I don’t know what the usual tour at the farm was like, but the constant, “Can we pet it?”s and, “Can we hold it!”s prompted our guide to oblige with a broad smile in several cases that would have been completely out of the question elsewhere. The first animal we got acquainted with was a large python that our guide collected out of one of the cages and carried out to us. The massive serpent was not very active at first, but once our warmth started energizing him he became quite playful, though our guide insisted on holding the snake’s center section the whole time - Apparently the snake had a tendency to bite, so our guide was being cautious. The python went back into his cage and then our guide flung open another cage - One I would not have considered opening! The cage contained five or six boomslangs, which are one of Southern Africa’s most feared snakes. The snakes were actively crawling around a few dead branches, demonstrating their arboreal prowess. Our guide told us that of all of the poisonous snakes at the farm the boomslangs were the only ones that could safely be handled. He stuck his hand into the cage, dodging several lightning quick strikes, and he grabbed one of the long, slender, grayish snakes and pulled it out. The snake had puffed up its throat like a cobra when he first grabbed it, but it quickly calmed down and started crawling through our guides fingers completely unhindered. He had no intensions of letting us hold the snake, because, he told us, there was no antivenin for it at the farm. He put the boomslang back in the cage with the others and we moved on - Our guide did not open the cages for the black mamba, the two types of cobra or the beautiful Gaboon viper.

After the snakes we got to meet our first crocodiles. The ‘nursery’ was adjacent to the snake enclosures and there were several baby crocodiles lounging in the warmth of the enclosure. Our guide reached in and picked up one of the babies and passed him around to those of us that wanted to hold him. While I had the young reptile cradled in my hand one of the more enthusiastic Englishmen started trying to pet the animal’s head, which got him riled up and nearly got me bitten, but it was still an amazing experience. We were told that it was getting close to feeding time and that we needed to move on, so we put the baby crocodile back in his home and walked towards the large fenced enclosure that dominated the garden-like grounds of the farm. Our guide pointed out a large, cage-like trap that they used to capture the wild, ‘problem’ crocodiles that call the farm home - Apparently the farm serves as a prison home for troublesome (man-eating) Nile crocodiles, which is definitely better than killing them. We walked into the enclosure on an elevated walkway. I was immediately amazed by the lacking of fences and other barriers, because there was only an open handrail - Back home there would be a fortress separating us from the giant crocodiles! My amazement quickly changed to excited astonishment when our guide folded down a set of steel stairs, grabbed a pieced of flimsy plastic pipe and ushered us down into the enclosure. There we were standing on the muddy bank of a large, man-made pond with an enormous Nile crocodile less than five feet from us. Our guide started explaining the workings of the farm and how its crocodilian occupants came to be there. We were constantly being watched by a lone, greenish eye, but the crocodile’s lack of movement was a bit misleading. At about the time one of the young guys asked if he could pet it, the giant man-eater hissed and swung its open jaws towards us in a lightning fast movement that startled us all and reminded us that in that particular petting zoo the ‘cute’ animals could eat you! Our guide, who was standing between us and the giant reptile, didn’t flinch as he stopped the animal from advancing with his small piece of plastic pipe. He answered the kid’s question in a way I was not expecting: “This crocodile is normally too violent to pet. The one I like to pet is in the other enclosure - He is normally more docile.” We all backed out of the enclosure and left the giant croc alone on the bank.

The large enclosure that our guide was referring to was on the other side of the walkway and, unlike the one we were just in, it was completely packed with giant scaly monsters. Our guide told us that, in addition to the huge number of big crocodiles, there were three ancient giants in the enclosure. He said that two of the giants could not be petted and that one of those, named Godzilla, was extremely dangerous and must be avoided at all costs. He asked us to wait on the catwalk while he walked out to find his favorite crocodile and to see where Godzilla was basking. He walked to the far end of the enclosure, passing several large crocs and then he found the one he was looking for. He then walked a bit further around the pond and found where Godzilla was - A violent, open-mouthed hissing and a quick, mock charge directed our eyes to a truly massive Nile crocodile sitting on a small patch of concrete and mud between the two ponds. Our guide walked back to his friend and waved us toward him, telling us to give the smaller crocodiles a large berth as we walked by - Of course, a large berth is not very large when you are in a fenced enclosure! We cautiously made our way around the pond to where our guide was standing and there we were introduced to his friendly crocodile. It looked like the massive beast in front of us could swallow a man in one gulp, but our guide was not at all worried about his friend or the other large croc that was lying snout to snout to his friend. He told us not to approach the crocodile near its head and then he walked up to the crocks rear legs. After folding the giant reptile’s rear legs back, parallel to its tail, which he said eliminated the danger of getting hit by the animal’s powerful tail and lessened the chance of being on the wrong end of a quick charge, our guide motioned us to him one at a time. My turn came and I cautiously made my way towards the largest reptile I had ever seen. Its immensity increased with each step until its enormous armored body and scaly green skin was at my feet. As I knelt down to run my hand along the animal’s ancient hide things my mom had taught me as a kid - “Don’t run with scissors!”, “Look both ways before you cross the street!”, “Don’t pet giant man-eating crocodiles!”- started running before my eyes in rapid succession. The common sense alarm was clanging loudly in my head, but, as I have many times in the past, I completely ignored it and reached my hand out towards the reptilian beast - A scene from ‘Romancing the Stone’ entered my mind, only there was no giant emerald flying through the air, forcing me to offer my hand up to the giant crocodile! I ran my fingers over the rough skin covering the bony plates on its back and then I felt the skin on its side - I knew it would be cold, but I didn’t expect the animal’s skin to be so soft and smooth. I posed for a few pictures and backed away without incident. I watched as one of the more entertaining English kids knelt down to kiss the crocodile, which prompted the first aggressive behavior from the animal. I stood there reflecting on the amazing experience. One of my friends once described crocodiles as being one of the only animals he was scared of, because they were the only animal he had ever come across that actually did want to eat you and considered humans as usual prey - I wonder what he would have thought about the tour?

A large group of tourists started lining up on the outside of the fence, all of them gasping in amazement at where we were standing and how close we were to the animals. That was when I realized that it was feeding time - Were we to be the food? I was relieved when another attendant showed up with a few trays of rancid chicken meat. The crocodiles at our feet were not overly interested in eating at the moment and they let the food that we threw them sit on the ground, but Godzilla was eager and he put on a huge show for all of us. One of the guys in our group threw a huge chicken towards Godzilla and the huge croc jumped and caught it in its huge jaws - He was truly a ferocious beast! We spent the rest of feeding time in the enclosure with the crocodiles and then, when the last piece of chicken was gone we headed back towards the catwalk. Godzilla decided to follow us and he slipped into the water and swam to the bank next to the stairs - Needless to say, we quickly got out of the enclosure and said farewell to our new crocodilian friends. We had one more stop on the tour to visit a rare albino crocodile that had been born at the farm - It was still green, but it was a lot lighter than the others. We thanked our guide for an amazing and memorable tour - We had paid for the same boring tour that the other tourists there had paid for, but we had gotten so much more!

Laura and I were planning on walking back to town, but the English guys we were on the tour with offered us a ride back in their rented safari vehicle. We accepted and headed off into the bush. The ride was not a direct journey. We first headed down a long dirt road to a craftsmen village that their driver lived in. We stopped beneath a huge tree, next to a small shop and we were immediately surrounded by people. The village was located in a picturesque setting with lots of greenery and several massive shade trees. It looked like each family had their own compound consisting of several round, thatched huts surrounded by a tall, thatched wall. There were also several community buildings, mostly built of unsightly concrete blocks that clashed heavily with the natural feel of the primitive home compounds. The buildings and compounds were separated by tall grass and large expanses of fine, loose dirt littered with the usual animal feces and garbage - The garbage is an unfortunate plague afflicting most of the rural communities and many of the cities I have visited in Africa (and elsewhere in the world), which seems to be caused by imposing modern, wasteful practices and the convenience of individually wrapped products on traditional communities that are not equipped to deal with the excessive packaging that comes along with them. Despite the litter it was clear that the residents of the village tried to keep their surroundings clean. We walked slowly through the village as we learned about the day to day life of the residents. We were constantly surrounded by a huge group of screaming, happy children and laughter filled the air whether we played games with them or just held their hands as we walked. We stopped and visited one of the family compounds and I was surprised how comfortable the inner courtyard was. We also visited the ‘factory’ where the local men carved the wooden and stone curios that were being sold in the local tourist markets. It was an amazing thing to actually see the artists at work. One of the men was engaged in carving small, wooden animals. He handed me a recently carved horned lizard and then a kangaroo. I was told that an Australian man had hired him to carve Australian animals to be sold in the Australian tourist shops and then he showed me an assortment of cheap plastic Australian animals that had been left in the village so that the men would know what an Australian animal should look like. Another man was putting the final touches on a lovely crocodile and another had just finished an intricately carved walking stick. I thanked the men for showing me their lovely work and then I continued on to their showroom, which was a thatched, donut-shaped enclosure, to see some of their completed work. I was not ready to buy anything, so I was just looking - Someday I will have to return with a giant box and some money, because I loved all they had on display. While I waited beneath a tree outside of the showroom I heard, “Keith?” and I turned to find a lady that I had met on the tour in Namibia (the slow one I had walked with in Brandberg). Her group was leaving the village, so we quickly said hello and they were off. We left a short time later, hoping to catch the sunset from a giant baobab tree above the falls. We drove through a maze of dirt roads and then we came to a stop beneath a giant tree with a platform built in its branches. They called it the lookout tree or something like that. There was a somewhat rotten, double, ladder-like staircase leading up to the platform, which would have given any safety inspector a heart attack. I walked up to the ancient ladder and gave it a shake - It wobbled - and then I started climbing. The first two or three steps had broken away, so I had to pull myself up a bit with my arms. The rest of the climb went well and I reached the platform built amongst the massive branches in time for sunset. It was an impressive sight - Through the branches of the old baobab I could see the mist from the falls rising up from below and then the crisp line of the horizon beyond. The sky was glowing orange - It was a lovely African sunset! We made it down the tree safely and then we drove back to town, shivering in the chilly night in the back of the open vehicle.

The following day I headed out to see Victoria Falls with David, another of my friends from the hostel. We caught the early shuttle out to the park, which dropped us off in front of the huge row of souvenir stalls in the parking area, and then we made our way to the small guard shack that served as the entrance to the park. A few moments later we were strolling down a well maintained path beneath a beautiful canopy of green. As we walked several monkeys sat attentively on the trash cans and sized us up - Did we have food? Would we be easy targets? Their penetrating gaze cut right through us and must have told them that we had nothing for them to steal, because they let us pass - The hilarious stories of food related monkey muggings within the park were numerous back in town. All of the greenery was damp from the morning dew and the spray from the falls. A thunderous roar filled the air, increasing in intensity as we followed the hand-painted signs pointing towards the ‘Knife Edge Trail.’ We got our first proper view of the world’s largest waterfall from a small viewing platform at the end of the unbelievably narrow chasm that the entire Upper Zambezi River disappeared into. It was an impressive sight, though, due to the torrential spray that rose up out of the canyon like an inverted rainstorm, only a small portion of the falls was visible through the mist. I took a few pictures and then we followed a staircase that led down to the right of the viewing platform towards the depths of the canyon. It looked like the trail had once descended all the way down into the canyon, which would have afforded amazing views of the falls, but we were only able to follow it as far as a poorly constructed barrier just before the jagged, broken edge of the pavement fell away into a huge sheer drop to the trees below - Erosion had erased all signs of the path beyond, so we headed back up. We passed a few more lovely viewing platforms, each one slightly more impressive than the one before, and then we reached a stand where two friendly men were selling and renting ponchos. The Knife Edge Trail had a reputation for being very wet. We had already passed a few people who had been soaked through, as if they had taken a shower with their clothes on. We waived to the poncho men as we walked by and they smiled wide smiles when I told them, “No thank you” to their offer of a poncho. Immediately after the poncho stand the trail started getting very wet. Instead of just damp vegetation, all of the broad green leaves were dripping wet and the path was somewhat slippery. I stopped and wrapped my camera bag with a thick plastic bag that I had brought along for the purpose and David donned his trusty poncho and then we moved on into the mist. We stopped at all of the viewing platforms where we took in the amazing spectacle of crashing white water and roaring thunder as we watched the narrow chasm completely devoured the mighty Upper Zambezi River. I tried in vain, between the huge waves of upwardly ‘falling’ rain, to capture the majesty of the scene, but all I managed to do was wash the dust of the Namib Desert off of my camera. By the time we reached the long, green footbridge that spanned a shallow chasm that split Zambia’s ‘falls view’ in half I was completely soaked, but I was as happy as I could be. We had passed several people on the trail by then. Most were wearing the green ponchos that the men were renting at the poncho stand and most of them had broad smiles on their faces, but a few of them were not very happy, having realized too late that the poncho they had on did not actually keep them dry. A small minority of the people we passed seemed to have a similar philosophy towards waterfalls as I did and had opted not to wear a poncho at all, preferring to be pounded by the wonderfully cold mist and to experience the full force of Mother Nature’s might. We crossed the bridge, stopping half way to admire a huge rainbow that formed a full circle (excluding the narrow band blocked by my shadow), and then we turned right onto what I would call the start of the Knife Edge Trail. The trail got its name from the path it followed along the edge of the deep chasm. It was an impressive path, one that would not be allowed anywhere in America due to its nearly complete lacking of handrail. The trail was carved into the gentle grassy slope that descended from the dense trees to the vertical rocky canyon wall, about three feet from the vertical drop. As I already mentioned, there were no handrails along the full length of the path, excepting where a few access trails led down the slope from the trees - The trail was very slippery and the short sections of handrail were meant to serve as a barrier to prevent people from plummeting into the canyon if they slipped on the sloping trail. The grassy margin that separated us from the precipice was steep and completely soaked, so we had no illusions that it would even slow us down if we fell - Needless to say we took it slowly. The trail ended at a viewing platform that overlooked the canyon that the Zambezi River flowed away from the falls through. Across the canyon was the Zimbabwean side of the falls. Many people have told me that the Zimbabwean side is better for viewing the falls, but on the day we visited it wouldn’t have mattered - The same white cloud of mist that was intermittently obliterating our views was completely obstructing most of the other side. There were several lovely rainbows over the Zambezi and the scene was too lovely not to attempt to capture it on film, so I set up the tripod and did my best to keep the camera dry as I tried, this time with limited success, to capture the true majesty of the falls - All I can say is, “Poor Camera!” We followed a different trail away from the falls and we got some amazing views of the Victoria Falls Bridge that spanned the Zambezi Gorge. We made it back out to the dry area and explored a bit more of the park. We ultimately ended up following a trail that led to the top of the falls and I sat there for a while, a few feet from the edge, and took in the amazing spectacle of whitewater, mist and rainbows. I can’t even begin to imagine what Dr. Livingstone’s reaction must have been like when he saw the falls for the first time - I knew what the place would look like and it still blew me away!

We headed out of the park in search of food, only to discover that the only restaurants in the area were located at the expensive tourist resorts that lined the Upper Zambezi, so we settled for a couple of plain sandwiches from one of the gift shops - Someone could make a lot of money opening up a small nshima stand there! We took our sandwiches and we made our way down the road towards the border post. We showed the lady at the window our passports and received a small slip of paper with a stamp on it that would allow us to cross the bridge without technically leaving Zambia - Very important when the visa for Zimbabwe costs so much. We walked past a few gun-toting guards and then we followed the road to the bridge. We had gone out there to watch a friend do a bungee jump off of the bridge, but that fell through since the company was not operating that day. The view from the bridge back towards the falls was impressive. We could also see the huge, churning maelstrom at the base of the bridge and, looking down the gorge in the opposite direction from the falls, we could see some of the most famous whitewater in the world - I would have to return someday to try my hand at the Zambezi’s famous class 5 rapids. We walked back to the border post, taking an unofficial detour to see a hydroelectric dam in an adjacent canyon, and then we caught a cab back to town. It was a great day!

I spent the next several days just relaxing around the pool with my friends, or sipping coffee downtown. We sampled most of what Livingstone had to offer and we discovered many great restaurants. We also found an amazing local restaurant near one of the town’s many bus stations that specialized in nshima, which is the same, thick, cornmeal paste that I first encountered in South Africa going by the name of pap, and we had many amazing meals there. I had been in Livingstone for about a week and I was perfectly content with spending my remaining time in Africa there. Several more interesting travelers came through town and we had some great conversations - There was another guy on a motorcycle who was had just come down from Europe via West Africa and the Congo and was working his way to South Africa and then north to Egypt and there was a guy who had been on the road for a very long time, but apparently came from a very wealthy upbringing in England (my friends said that the school he had gone to was reserved for the extremely privileged), though he always denied it. Rumors were flying all over town that the actor Ewan McGregor was in town on his motorcycle, so there was a lot of talk going on about his motorcycle journeys as well, though I never saw him. We were all sitting around one evening listening to a few people talk about the stunning natural scenery of South Luwangwa National Park and several of us decided we wanted to see it. By the time we went to bed that night we had planned our departure from Livingstone.

About mid morning the next day I was crammed into the back seat of an over filled bus with my friends David and Karen, a Canadian girl we had met in the hostel. We were headed to Lusaka, Zambia’s capitol, where we hoped to rent a truck to take us to the park. We were on one of the best roads in the country, but our driver was still swerving wildly back and forth like a madman. We later learned that the swerving was due to giant potholes - Our friend Sam was following us on his motorcycle and he actually stopped and took a picture of his bike next to one of the giant craters, but it looked more like a picture of him in front of the Grand Canyon. The bus dropped us off in the center of a mob of friendly people at Lusaka’s amazingly hectic bus station. We grabbed our bags out of the luggage compartment beneath the bus and then we fought our way past scores of taxi touts to the street. We took a quick glance at the map to figure out which way to walk and then we were off. A few minutes later we passed a railway station and then a Police station and confirmed where we were on the map - We had chosen our direction correctly. We spent the next hour wandering around the streets, which were only vaguely represented on the map, in a pleasantly quiet neighborhood looking for a place to stay. Finally, after several ‘No Vacancies” and a few wrong turns, we found the hostel we had originally set out to find. We set our tents up on a nice patch of grass surrounded by a wall of hedges and then we went out to find food.

We were staying at ChaChaCha Backpackers, which was one of the only hostels in the city and perhaps the busiest. The place had a great atmosphere, complete with pool and tiki bar, and a helpful, though overly stressed, staff. We immediately settled in and started looking for a way to get to South Luangwa National Park. We quickly eliminated all of the exorbitantly priced ‘organized’ trips and then we sadly had to eliminate renting a truck - It would have cost a lot more money than any of us had. While we tried to find a way to get to the park we enjoyed all that Zambia’s capitol had to offer. We explored the central part of the city around Cairo Street while we searched for needed items in the markets. The thing that stood out more than anything as we walked along Lusaka’s pleasant, tree-lined streets was how friendly the people were. The shady streets were packed with pedestrians and most of them wanted to say hello, much like every city I have visited in Africa, but there was something different. People would stick their fist out and we would press our fists up against theirs, which was the equivalent of a handshake, and then they would say, “Hello, how are you? Are you enjoying Zambia?” We would talk for a few moments and then they would say with a smile, “Have a nice day!” and they would move on. There were no pleas for money and we were never asked to see their shops - They genuinely wanted to say hello!

We discovered an amazing local restaurant on Cairo Street called ‘Auntie’ something, which served up massive helpings of nshima and other local fare. The owner was a friendly man who was clearly excited to have tourists in his shop. As he explained all of the entrees that he had on display buffet style at the counter he joked with us and asked how we liked Lusaka and Zambia - He showed us dish after dish and they were all looking good. He lifted the lid on one of the meals revealing an unsightly concoction and quickly shut it again, smiling and saying, “Cows’ feet. Tourists don’t eat that!” We all settled on the chicken dish and took a seat at a plastic table - We had a wonderful meal, one of many that we enjoyed there.

What was meant to be only a day or two in the capitol quickly became a week. We spent our time relaxing and exploring the city. We found a wonderful movie theater, possibly the best I have ever been in, in the westernized side of town where I took in a few of Hollywood’s new blockbusters. We also discovered a ‘fast food’ Indian restaurant called ‘Curry in a Hurry’ on the same side of town and we had many wonderful (and delicious) meals there. We spent most of our evenings sitting around at the hostel with friends playing guitar, talking and playing games - I joined one ‘high-stakes’ poker game, but I didn’t have any money on me, so one of my friends handed me a stack of money two inches thick to play with (it wasn’t enough money to buy a candy bar!) One evening a large group of us decided to go out to one of the big ‘expat’ hangouts called the ‘Brown Frog’, or something like that, to see a friend we had met in Livingstone and his reggae band play. It was a great show, but the evening morphed into an all night party. We ended up at a dark, laser-lit dance club packed with the most stylish people in town. It was a rave, much like they are always portrayed in the movies. I admit it, it was not my kind of place, so I stood up against the wall in the shadows next to the dance floor and I waited for my friends to get tired while I talked to a few other people in a similar situation as myself. The following day started late as would be expected. It was decision day for me. I needed to be in Johannesburg in six days to catch my flight to London. We had looked at all possible options for getting to South Luangwa National Park and, due to the poor condition of the roads none of the options would have guaranteed I would be on time, so I decided to head back down to Livingstone and catch a flight to Jo’burg from there. My friends found someone heading to the park with their own vehicle, so we said farewell and they went on their way with them. I spent the night at the hostel and the next morning I was on a bus bound for Livingstone.

In Livingstone, I claimed another patch of grass for my tent at Jolly Boys and then I planned an overnight trip into the wilds of Chobe National Park in Botswana for the following day - I needed one more glimpse into the African Wilderness before I headed north!

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Photos

The Baby Crocodile
He was very calm in my hand, but he still tried to bite me from time to time.

Lost in the Mist
Most of the falls were completely obstructed by the mist that flowed up out of the canyon in thick sheets.

Look What I Am Doing Mom!
This was one of the best petting zoos I have visited!

A Crocodile Smile
Godzilla perked up a bit when they brought out their meal (I was glad it wasn't us!)

The Unhappy Monster
This was the first of the giant Nile crocodiles we met. There was nothing but our guide and a few feet of mud between us.

Taming the Wild Beast...
at least making it a little less likely to eat us!

Our Friend
The crocodile we were petting was still a huge and dangerous animal.

Godzilla!!
Our guide said that this guy was the most dangerous animal in the enclosure with us - He was definitely the most aggressive.

Scales
The crocodile up close.

The Albino Crocodile
This is a rare albino crocodile that was born in the zoo.

The Craftsmen Village
This was the lovely village we visited on the way back from the crocodile farm.

From the Lookout Tree
This was the view from the platform in the baobab tree. The mist in the distance is Victoria Falls.

A First Look
This is the first real view of the falls for me.

Looking at Zimbabwe
This is the final lookout on the Zambian side. Across the gorge (the misty section where the rainbows are) is Zimbabwe.

The Victoria Falls Bridge
This is the famous bridge that linked Upper and Lower Rhodesia, now Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Looking Over the Edge
This is the spectacular view from the top of the falls looking over the edge.

Looking Upriver
Who would think that just down river from this peaceful scene one of the worlds largest waterfalls existed.

The View of Victoria Falls from the Bridge
This is the start of the mighty Lower Zambezi River.

Comments

[laetitiaaroundtheworld]

Great blog! Love the part about the crocodiles...that must have been truly something! hahaha

[Bob]

Ehe
Ahaha. Godzilla.