Waterfall Wonderland

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Three years ago the Tusker team went to Zambia for some Christmas fishing. Part of our stay at Mutemwa Lodge included a day excursion to the Ngonye Fall near Sioma. I was so taken with them that I vowed to return some day. I have it in my head, not to say it’s true, that Livingstone and Baines happened upon the Ngonye Falls before Victoria Falls and were equally impressed. Our first trip there included a precarious crossing of the Zambezi in a flimsy canoe. This time we approached the falls from the other side. My trusty guide Brian lead the way across a shallow section of the river. One step , two steps and flat on my back. Turtle style. You could hear him groan inwardly. What mission had he agreed to. A daft Muzungu with a need to see the falls when the light was still soft.

I righted myself as quickly as could, nothing dignified about it and off we set. You be the judge. Worth a second visit? Absolutely. They are the most magnificent waterfalls and the best thing, there was not another tourist or person in sight. A pity in someways but bliss for those of us who have the privilege of soaking up their beauty in splendid isolation.

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I’ve seen some odd things on the side of the road during my travels but the giant size trousers on the road to Sioma takes the cake. What on earth were they all about? Marketing? They are made of fabric. But there is no signage so that doesn’t tick the marketing box. Statement? Size matters? Andy’s Big and Tall coming soon to a village near you. Who will ever know.

Sioma Camp was my home for two nights. It’s got to be one of the most beautiful spots on the Zambezi. Like many places though, it is in limbo. The previous owner had tired of the bush life and the newbie was just getting started post divorce. Full of energy and ideas and a heap of odd faith based beliefs, he is busy sinking well points or boreholes with solar generated pumps for the community. His one gem of an idea was that all men going through a divorce should be sent to a “hospital”where their cell phones and credit cards were taken away from them for at least four weeks. Guess he’s learnt a lesson the hard way.

The best part was the manager, guide, camp attendant, jack of all trades name was Bryan and his side kick Gerry. Had to be a good combination. My Dad and Gerry were friends for 80 years.

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Next stop Livingstone, to experience the might Zambezi crashing over the Zambian side of Victoria Falls……. Fail. The drought has it’s strangle hold on every facet of life. As you can see from the photo below it is indeed true the Zambian side of The Falls is virtually bone dry. If you’ve never seen The Falls in all their glory its a pretty dismal sight. For me it was another first and quite extraordinary to get the full perspective of the depth and texture of the gorge.

As I ambled along in Florence I debated whether to take a dip in the now famous Devil’s Pool. With the water level so low it is probably the safest time to visit the pool at the edge of the Falls. Ok, done, I’m in. The cost US$ 105.00. It was an incredible experience there is no doubting that. You go by boat to Livingstone island, an experience in itself. The driver who does the trip ten times a day is an absolute wizard at dodging the rocks as he weaves his way to the rocky bank. Next step is the swim across a part of the Zambezi to the pool it’s self. Pushes the heart rate up not because it’s a difficult swim , more just the thought that you are swimming meters from the edge of a 100m drop off.

The Pool is much smaller than I had envisaged. The guides are cautious and shepard you one by one to the edge for the “photo shoot”. I was the thirds most wuusy candidate. The other two were men. One about 100 years old and the other clearly dragged there by his girlfriend. The young millennial had me peeing in my costume as she swiveled and pouted for the best angle on the edge of the world. Flip! The poor guides kept having to tell her to move back. But her selfies were much better than mine. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. Has it been spoilt by ease of access and commercialisation? Absolutely.

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I had heard about the Livingstone Express Steam Train. Not via Prof G this time, instead a real live person. The cost was iniquitous but I liked the idea of the historian that chatted about the history and the bridge during the ride. It’s a lavish affair. Red carpet entrance with welcome drinks. Plush interior and all the colonial trappings one could think of. The train stops in the middle of the Bridge. You can get off and walk around before climbing back on board to be treated to a four course meal. The bridge was designed so that passengers who opened the windows could experience the mist that thunders as the crossed. Only problem. The Zambian side of the fall is dry so no mist. Still pretty awesome. A rip off? Absolutely. But I guess that’s the trade off of having one of the seven wonders of the world as a draw card.

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I have always fancied the idea of going across the Vic Falls Bridge. The engineering masterpiece that was inches out of alignment until the metal shrank in the cool of the night and clicked into place. Amazing. So Florence can add another tick to her box. We crossed the bridge without a single hassle. It’s a single lane so you can go as slowly as you like.

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You may have noticed that as I get closer to Zim the nostalgia kicks in big time. True to this I had decided I needed to stay at the National Parks Chalets. They have been privatized and are in the process of being renovated. Not a minute too soon. The receptionist and I agreed on a tariff and she gave me the keys to number 7. What she failed to mention was that a troop of baboons use Chalet number 7 as their home. Bit sweaty in 39 degree heat when you can’t open a window. Anyway not much to moan about when the view looks this good, bushbuck, impala, warthog and elephant wander down to have drink and you are the only one in camp. Splendid isolation.

Oh, and as a bonus the birds are on tap. Cut throat finch, tick.

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Growing up our local Methodist church used to organise holiday activities for the youth. This meant we got to zoot around the country side and generally have a blast with our chommies without too much fuss or supervision. One year we went to Kandahar Camp at Vic Falls. I revisited the spot and puzzled at the thought of entertaining teenagers for 5 days with only very basic facilities. Can’t remember much about what we did, but I do remember having a fine time. Life was simple in those days it seems.

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The next leg of my trip takes me back to my roots. Ancestors and hometowns. Time to wrap things up in more way than one.