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Initially, we didn't plan on going to Zimbabwe but,
upon finishing an overland truck tour from the Cape, we were
having such a good time with our guides, we decided to follow
them over to Victoria Falls Town, Zimbabwe for a few
days of relaxation. A bit stop on our epic trek from Cape
Town in South Africa in the far south of Africa to Cairo in
Egypt in the far north-east.
Sadly, Zimbabwe is but a shell of its former pride-of-the-British-Commonwealth
self. The tourists have disappeared, their money is worthless,
the store shelves practically bare and the few overland trucks
that come through town twice a week or so are the only thing
that keep the few lodges and hotels that remain, open. The
economic situation is so bleak, and the economic policy so
warped, that Zimbabwe's police force, were detaining tourists
and forcing them into banks to exchange all of their foreign
currency at the outrageous official government exchange rate
of 65 Zim Dollars for 1 US dollar. The street rate was 6000
to 1. Victoria Falls town proper has become a tourist ghost
town. The people are so desperate that it was hard to witness,
as the Zimbabweans that we did meet were some of the most
generous people that we've met. My wife Heather's 28th birthday
is an excellent example.
On the big day, we decided to go over to the Zambian side
of the falls to test the strength of our wills, on Zambezi
Gorge Swing, a rope swing attached to a wire strung across
the gorge, a free-fall of 60 meters. Ridiculous and exhilarating.
Upon return from our escapades, we learned that the manager
of the lodge was to throw a birthday party in honour of Heather
and Chad, our guide. What we received was way beyond what
anyone could have reasonably expected. The manager, irregardless
of the hard times that they were experiencing, brought in
a chef from a local 5-star hotel to cook us an elaborate traditional
Zimbabwean feast that included 10 different dishes. Following
the dinner, a traditional a capella group arrived to sing
and dance for us (their version of The Lion Sleeps Tonight
is the best we've ever heard). After the festivities ended,
the manager would not hear of us giving him any money and
that what we had experienced was just the usual Zimbabwean
hospitality. We were utterly blown away. What incredibly hospitable
people! Afterwards, we danced the night away. This day was
one of the many highlights of our trip.
We headed north to Zambia, a beautiful and wild country.
It was the first time that we felt like we were actually in
the "dark continent". The city of Livingstone
was so lush that mango trees lining every streets would dump
their fruits on top of your head. A delicious but painful
experience.
We checked into the reknowned Jolly Boys Lodge, run
by a good-ol' hockey-loving Canadian girl, Kim, and spent
a week of relaxing in the lush surroundings. Accommodation
for our stay was a 1970s era camper with an interior decorated
in gloriously faded hues of orange and brown. It was a psychedelic
trip back in time. Our time in Livingstone was incredibly
serene and uneventful but it was also time for us to get back
on the road.
We headed to Lusaka which looks like as though it's
in an entirely different country than Livingstone; a town
that hasn't experienced a war but still has that bombed-out
feel to it. The only reason we were here was to arrange transportation
to Malawi where we planned to become certified scuba divers.
We arrived and learned that buses going to the border with
Malawi were to leave at 4 am in the morning and we needed
to arrive an hour prior for boarding. We did what we were
told.
Heather and I, along with our Kiwi travel partners, Jarryd
and Marina, arrived at the bus station to a scene of complete
chaos. Every person we asked, who looked like they worked
there, had no idea which bus was going to Chipata,
the last Zambian town before Malawi. Finally, an important
looking man with a clip-board came towards us and began to
react frantically once we told him we were there to board
the 4 am bus. He desperately told us to follow him and proceeded
to throw our luggage into the trunk of a waiting taxi. We
suddenly learned that the bus had left early and we were going
to catch it in this dilapidated taxi. Any description of Zambian
roads being bad would do injustice to reality. The taxi careened
after the bus for one-and-a-half hours reaching speeds of
170 kilometers per hour. Heather and I both thought that this
was the end. Our bodies left splayed on the tarmac, bones
picked clean by the wildlife. Finally, after a white-knuckled
eternity, we caught up with the bus and after several fruitless
attempts were able to physically force it to the side of the
road. The ticket collectors jumped out and I showed him our
tickets to make sure that the bus was going to Chipata. He
said it that it was. So, now that we were on the bus, we could
relax.
I awoke to our Kiwi travel partner tapping me on the shoulder.
If we are supposed to be going east then the sun should logically
be right in front us but now, incredulously, it was behind
us. We were on the wrong bus going the wrong way. In fact
we were heading to Angola, the landmine capital of
the world. So, our grand tour of Zambia became a 20-hour journey
on an extremely dilapidated and sweatily over-crowded local
bus from Lusaka to the dodgy Angola border town of Sete
and back. We arrived back in Lusaka at 11:30pm and found a
taxi back to Chachacha Backpacker's Lodge.
Wade, the friendly owner, said our travel story was the best
he'd heard in a long time and let us stay the night for free
and even, as the bar was closing for the night, had a staff
member load up a cooler of beer for us to wait out the last
few hours until our bus left and didn't charge us a thing.
I guess the considerable laughs we had induced at our expense
must have been payment enough. Luckily, the next day we were
able to minimize the prevailing confusion at the Lusaka bus
terminal, catch the correct bus and make it safely to the
lovely, relaxing backwater of Africa, Malawi. Finally! |
Travel Writers: Hard Travel in the Heart of Africa By
Scot Milroy
