Lions and Rhinos and Kudus, Oh My!

I just realized that in my last post, I included more photos of my amazing lodge than of any actual animals.  I decided to rectify that by showing you some more cool wildlife.  Don't be scared!  They're just photos:

ELEPHANTS:

KUDUS AND IMPALAS:

RHINOS (PERHAPS, MAYBE, I THINK?):

GIRAFFES:

ZEBRAS:

LIONS!:

AND ME!:

The Lyin' Sleeps Tonight

The challenge my friend, Kait, suggested for this blog post title was to use a pun.  Again, this was the best I could come up with.  I guess I'm not very good at this.  However, it is an original (as far as I know) so there is that.

The morning after I arrived in Botswana, I planned to try to go across the border into South Africa to visit the Madikwe Game Reserve.  Admittedly I hadn't done much research so all I knew was that it was an underrated park where visitors have a chance to see the Big Five (elephants, leopards, lions, buffalo and rhinos) without dealing with all the crowds at the larger and more popular Kruger National Park near the Mozambique border.  I had originally wanted to go to Kruger, but then I realized how far away it was from Johannesburg and decided this was the next best thing.  In retrospect, I should have gotten more information before I left, though it all worked out in the end.

Since I didn't want to use the same cab driver as the day before, I asked the woman at the guesthouse where I was staying to call the driver she normally used.  The taxi arrived and I explained that I wanted to go to Madikwe and from there on to Johannesburg.  The driver didn't think that there were any public buses that stopped at the park, but he had another possible solution.  Since the park was only about 20 kilometers from downtown Gaborone, he could arrange for someone to drop me off there and then pick me up later in the day once I had finished my visit.  He couldn't do it himself because his passport had expired and thus he couldn't drive over the border.  We went to the bus station and made arrangements for me to get a ride with another driver there.  It was agreed upon that I would call the original guy back when I was ready to return to Botswana.  That's because it turned out I was going to have to go back across the border in order to get a bus to Johannesburg.

Everything went smoothly as we drove to the border and passed through immigration.  Beyond the border, it was only another five to ten minute drive to get to the park entrance.  That's where I hit a bit of a setback.  When we got to the gate, the unnecessarily rude ranger who was working there, curtly informed me that Madikwe was actually a private park and the only way I would be able to get in was if I had a reservation for a game drive with one of the park's lodges.  I, of course, had no such reservation so she gave me the number for one of the lodges and using the driver's cell phone, I put in a call.  The woman at the main reservation center told me that there was space on the evening drive, which started at around 4:00pm and cost the equivalent of about $100, including lunch.  At that point it was just after 11:00am so I would have had a few hours to kill if I just booked the drive.  I decided to ask her how much it would be to spend the night.  She told me the price was normally the equivalent of about $400, including all meals and an evening and morning game drive, but she would give me a discount of 50%.  Even $200 was way outside my normal budget for one night's accommodation, but since it was only $100 more than the single game drive and I would get two drives plus the room and board, I decided to book it as a splurge.  The $400 rate was also normally per person for double occupancy so I really did get an amazing deal.  I guess for once it paid to not plan ahead since with the lodge being at low occupancy they were willing to take whatever they could get to book out another room.

Once we finally gained access to the park, it took another ten minutes or so to get to the lodge since we had to drive down narrow, winding dirt roads.  When I finally got to the Buffalo Ridge Safari Lodge, though, it was like I was entering a jungle oasis.  The lodge is the only one in South Africa that is own wholly by the local community, which made it even more special.  As I checked in at the open air lanai, staff members brought me a glass of orange juice and then helped to carry my bags to my personal chalet with its own viewing deck and king-size bed.  This was definitely the nicest place I had stayed in hotel-wise on this trip and perhaps ever in my life!  I totally felt like queen for a day even though I was paying a cut-rate price.

I quickly returned to the pauper's life, however, by spending the rest of the morning and early afternoon emptying out my backpack and hand washing some clothes that were in desperate need of a cleaning.  I hung the clothes outside to dry on my deck, though I did fear their possible theft at the hands of local baboons as one of the staff members mentioned the sticky-fingered apes might be in the neighborhood.  After finishing my laundry, I went to go sit out by the pool for a short time before lunch was served.  The two-course meal was delicious and it was so nice to eat in an open dining room that overlooked the bush spread out before us.  When I finished my lunch, I went to the lodge office to send a few e-mails from the computer and then went back to my room to bundle up for that evening's safari.

Half an hour before we left on the drive, the lodge served tea and sweets in the dining room.  I then joined 15-year-old Nikki, her older brother and parents --  South Africans now living in Australia -- and an older German couple along with our guide in the Jeep.  I had a front row seat next to the two teenagers.  We took off down the road and first encountered some zebras and kudu, which look a bit like large deer.  The next discovery was much more exciting -- three large elephants eating in the brush.  That morning the South African family had seen a pack of wild dogs and a pride of lions eating an elephant carcass so they were keen to instead see some buffalo.  On our hunt for buffalo (an animal I have a hard time mustering too much enthusiasm for being from America) we passed a rhinoceros off in the distance as well as several giraffes.  Soon enough we came upon a huge herd of buffalo moving across the plains.  As our guide was radioing to other drivers to alert them to the location, the South African family (seasoned safari vets) noticed a poisonous mambo snake slinking under the car.  When the deadly snake didn't come out the other side, the dad started to fear that it had climbed up into the Jeep's engine where it was warm.  Luckily, when the guide pulled the Jeep forward, the mambo was coiled up in the grass and we were able to drive off.

Our next stop was the site of the elephant feeding from earlier in the day.  It was a bit of a distance so the guide took off pell mell through the bush shouting out warnings to watch out for the tree branches, which were nearly impossible to avoid.  Along the way we saw more zebras, giraffes, kudu and impalas.  By the time we reached the feeding ground it was already starting to get dark and we had to wait for another tour group to clear the area before we could move in ourselves.  We finally got our chance and I got my first glimpse of a lion in the wild.  A mother lioness was lying down resting with her cubs and a few other adult lions that were hidden under the bushes nearby.  We could see the smelly carcass, but there wasn't much eating going on as the big cats appeared to be too sleepy.  Our driver got as close as he good to the lioness until it started to get too dark to see much of anything.  As we were driving away, however, we got a quick glimpse of a hyena lurking around in the shadows waiting for his chance to move in on the decaying corpse.

We were supposed to stop at sundown for cocktails and snacks, but since we were rushing to see the lions, we had to wait until after dark to have our drink break.  By the time were driving back to the lodge, it was too dark to see much of anything, though our guide did shine a big flashlight back and forth trying to catch a glimpse of something.  His efforts paid off as we briefly spotted a small mammal -- perhaps a pole cat -- darting out alongside the Jeep.  When we returned to the lodge at about 7:30pm, we sat right down to a three-course dinner and the South African family graciously invited me to join them at their table so I wouldn't have to sit all alone.  It was then off to bed early as we had to be up at 5:00am to get ready for the morning drive.

Before taking off in the Jeep the next morning, we were served tea, coffee and rusks (the South African equivalent of biscotti) in the main lodge.  Just as with the day before when the sun went down, it was quite chilly until the sun rose so we all bundled up and covered ourselves in blankets.  The morning started off slowly with just some sightings of impala, kudu and guinea fowl.  Then we hit the big cat jackpot.  On coming upon a watering hole we first sighted a jackal running at a bit of a distance and then tucked away in a clearing, a whole pride of lions.  There were three or four lionesses and another three or four cubs, one of whom was heartbreakingly playing with a plastic soda bottle.  Outside of the clearing, lay two adult male lions who most likely were brothers.  At first they were just resting, but eventually they got up and one of them walked to the watering hole to get a drink.  Several zebras were also in the area, not initially noticing the presence of the lions.  However, the lions didn't seem all too interested in pursuing them for a snack.  After several other groups arrived and we'd had our fill of the big cats, we went off to have our mid-safari tea and rusk break.  As we ate and drank, a group of wildebeests roamed about nearby.

Soon it was time to head back to the lodge since we were way over on the other side of the park.  There were more sightings of zebras, giraffes and impalas, but nothing else too exciting or different.  The elusive leopard eluded us, but otherwise we saw four of the Big Five between the two days, which in my mind, at least, added up to a successful safari.  I did feel bad for the South African family since in all of their many game drives they had yet to see a leopard.  They stayed at the lodge an extra day or so after me so perhaps they did get lucky.

After a nice breakfast out on the main lodge deck, it was time to pack my things and get ready to go.  The South African dad had offered to drive me to the Botswana border since my driver from Gaborone couldn't get across.  After walking back over, the driver met me going through immigration.  He dropped me to the bus station and it was right back to South Africa I headed!

Busing It Through Botswana

Yes, I'm back to alliteration.  So sue me.  If anyone else has any suggestions for post title writing challenges, feel free to send them along.  Otherwise you are going to have to continue to suffer through my same first letter leanings.  Har har.

Now back to Zimbabwe where I was last seen trying to catch some zzzzz amidst a loud musical ruckus.  I probably got about three or four hours of sleep that night before I had to get up to catch my ride to Botswana.  I met the safari van at the entrance to the lodge where I was staying and joined an older couple who were on their way to a full-day safari at Chobe National Park.  As we took off, our guide/driver told us that we would be driving through a game reserve on the way to the border  and might encounter some wildlife along the way.  He said that when they had been driving through recently, they had come across several lions (or maybe they were leopards) crossing the road right in front of the car.  We ended up having no such luck, though we did spot a buffalo hiding out amongst some trees and a group of giraffes eating leaves off in the distance.  The older couple seemed a bit more excited than I was as it was their first wildlife encounter in Africa, whereas I had seen both buffalo and giraffes up close in Tanzania and thus wasn't nearly as impressed.

After about two hours, we crossed over the border from Zimbabwe to Botswana without much incident and then changed vehicles upon arriving on the other side.  We drove only a short distance further into the town of Kasane before pulling over to the side of the road upon catching sight of a small bus that was also stopped on the shoulder facing in the opposite direction. Apparently this was the bus that was going to take me to the city of Francistown where I could catch another bus to the capital of Gaborone.  I was able to sit in the middle seat up front, which turned out to be a blessing as they sure did cram the passengers into the back of the bus.  Sitting in the front seat, I had a great view of the scenery and local wildlife passing by before us.  At one point, an elephant family, including a few small calves, crossed the road right in front of us, though I didn't react quick enough to take out my phone for a photo.  It was my first "wild" elephant sighting in Africa, however, so it was still pretty exciting even though I don't have photographic proof.

It took about seven hours to get to Francistown and along the way we had to endure several rounds of feet sterilization as well as stops for gas and food.  At one gas station, I was thankfully able to get cash out of the ATM so I could pay for my bus fare in Bostwanan Pula.  Along the route we passed a number of cyclists as well as support vans for the annual Tour d'Afrique bicycle race.  At the rest stop where we all ate lunch, I asked one of the riders where they had started and where they all were ending.  He told me he had started in Nairobi and was riding to Cape Town, but that there were other cyclists who had started all the way up in Cairo back in January (it was mid-April by this point.)  I thought I was accomplishing something by going overland (via bus and train) from Nairobi to Cape Town, but this guy was doing the same route completely by bicycle!  I suddenly felt very lazy.  The only solice I could take was knowing that in the end I beat them to the finish.

After a few more hours, we arrived in Francistown and as I disembarked from the bus, a tout quickly ushered me over to a bus heading to Gaborone.  I had to wait another 15 minutes or so for the bus to take off during which time a steady stream of vendors came on board trying to sell various food and drink products to the already seated passengers (a phenomenon with which I was quite familiar after my previous African bus adventures.)  We finally left a little after 3:00pm and more than six hours later, once it was already dark out, we arrived in the city of Gaborone.  I knew there was a backpackers hostel about 10 kilometers outside of town, but for once I hadn't booked ahead so I had no idea if there was any availability.

When I got off the bus, I connected with the first cab driver who spoke decent English and told him that I wanted to go to an inexpensive lodge or hostel.  The first place he brought me turned out to be booked and after picking up another passenger (who had a problem with his own reservation there) we drove to another place that was also at full occupancy.  The other passenger had stayed at a sort of boarding house/lodge previously so he directed the driver to head there to check if there were rooms.  It turned out they had availability so we decided to stay there even though it cost the equivalent of $35 a night for pretty bare bone's accommodations.  I didn't have much other choice at that point so I pretty much had to go along with it.  Of course, the driver claimed I owed him more than we had agreed upon since he had "gone the extra distance" helping me to find a place to stay.  I finally had to pay him what he was asking and when he didn't have enough change, he told me he would reimburse me the following day when he came to pick me up in the morning.  I thought he was a cheat so I never ended up calling him back the next day, which meant I was out a bit of money.  At least I didn't have to deal with him again!

The Falls Are Leprechauns Spreading Rainbows

The challenge my sister issued to me for this blog post title was to use both metaphor and personification.  This was the best I could come up with.  I don't even have any idea if what I wrote is actually personification, but leprechauns are persons after all so I feel like I can at least make a good case for it.

Where we left off, I was getting ready to head over the border from Zambia across the Zambezi River into Zimbabwe (also known as Zam, Zam, Zim.)  Along the way, there was some potential for a bungee jumping adventure if I felt so inclined.  Bungee jumping had never been that high on my "to do" list, but I figured if I was ever going to do it, a bridge across the Zambezi River with Victoria Falls as a backdrop was as good a place as any.  As such, I left my hostel with all my bags and walked to the bus depot where I got a cab to the border.  I then got stamped out of the country, trekked with my two backpacks into "no man's land" and walked up a set of stairs to the Victoria Falls Visitor Centre at the start of the Victoria Falls Bridge.  I went over to the woman at the bungee jump center and told her that I didn't have a reservation, but I was interested in possibly jumping.  She ended up talking me into doing the "Big Air" triple play that Wouke had done the day before--slide (zip line), bridge swing and bungee.  It did seem like a decent deal because the jump cost $120, but the package of three was only $35 more.  It was like getting one activity for free.  Besides, Wouke wanted me to compare the jump and the swing to tell her which one I thought was scarier.

As it turned out, I was the first customer of the day, which totally didn't put any pressure on me or anything.  Before I knew it, I was in a harness and heading to slide off the cliff on a cable across the river to Zimbabwe.  Even though I was hanging 420 feet above the rushing water below, I had been on a zip line several times before so I wasn't that nervous as I soared across the canyon.  I was able to look around and enjoy the view of the waterfall on the other side of the bridge while I started to psyche myself up for what was still to come.  When I reached the far side of the river, I got unhooked and made my way halfway across the bridge to the jumping platform for my second activity.

Shortly after I got onto the bridge, a second customer arrived who was going to be jumping right after me.  Like Wouke, I had hoped to do the swing before the bungee to save the main event for last.  For some reason, the operators like to do the bungee first and, instead of arguing, I decided to go along with it, since they pointed out that if I did the bungee first and then chickened out of the swing, at least I would have gotten to do the primary activity.  That made sense so I changed into the bungee harness then watched as one of the employees "tested" the rope and demonstrated how we were supposed to dive outwards for a successful jump.  Before I knew it, it was my turn and I was having towels wrapped around my calves with the bungee cord attached to a harness.  Meanwhile, another employee was wandering around with a video camera asking me all sorts of questions as if I wasn't nervous enough already.  As the one worker prepped me, I started pestering him with a bunch of what ifs?  What if the rope breaks?  It won't break.  Well, there was that one Australian woman whose rope broke just recently, I reminded him.  Yeah, but that's the only time that's ever happened.  Okay, then what if I have a heart attack on the way down?  Do you have any history of heart problems?  Well, no, but...

Next thing I knew,  I was standing at the edge of the bridge trying very hard not to look down.  I kept asking for a few more moments so I could breathe and get into my "zen" place, but the operator eventually pointed out that there was a guy hanging off the bridge who I was apparently weighing down or something so I realized I couldn't selfishly wait any longer.  5-4-3-2-1, BUNGEE! I didn't so much dive or jump outward as instructed as rather fall forward off the platform.  I guess that was all I was able to muster under the circumstances. The 333-foot plunge down actually wasn't that bad, though the bounce back did hurt a little and made me a tad bit nauseous so I wasn't really able to enjoy the view of the falls.  Also, the longer I hung there bouncing upside down, the more I felt like my sneakers were coming undone and were going to fall off.  In my mind, that meant that the towels with the bungee cord attached could then slip off my feet, causing me to drop into the rapids below just like my Australian predecessor.  By the time the recovery guy reached me, I grabbed onto him so tightly before he was even able to rehook the cable and bring me up.  I don't think that made him very happy.  I learned later that each bounce was actually making the harness tighter, though it certainly didn't feel that way to me.

Once I was safely back on the bridge scaffolding, I was finally able to breathe.  However, I still had one activity to go--the swing, which according to Wouke was the worst of the three.  I hooked myself on the safety line, walked along the scaffolding under the bridge to the Zimbabwe side and then crossed back over the bridge to the platform, shaking the whole time.  I had to change harnesses again and then was hooked to the line at about chest height for the feet-first jump off the bridge.  With the memory of the first jump still fresh in my mind, this time I was even more hesitant to take the plunge.  I was actually surprised at how scared I really was because I've never had anything more than a normal fear of heights and daredevil activities.  I mean I had jumped out of an airplane before, for heaven's sake. 

As I slowly approached the platform edge, I kept a firm grasp on the jump operator while repeating, "I can't do this.  I can't do this" over and over again until I was practically crying.  I begged for more time, but he told me it was only going to get harder the longer I waited.  The guy who edited my video later said that I stood at the edge for more than a minute without jumping.  As I stood there, the operator told me to look at the hotel on the banks of the river and think about something that made me happy.  I got a word in my head and with that word ringing in my ears, finally took one small step off the platform into the abyss below.  As I plummeted downward like a kamikaze plane, my stomach leapt into my throat.  Just as Wouke described, for the few moments I was in freefall, I truly felt like I was going to die.  I thought the line would never catch and I would keep going down until I ended up SPLAT! on the ground.  It wasn't so much that my life flashed before my eyes (there wasn't enough time) as that I just sensed imminent death.  Then mercifully, the rope pulled taut and I started swinging back and forth.  Just as I reached the height of the first swing, I let out my first scream of the day (more like a whoop) out of relief that I had made it through the three events alive more than anything else.  As I swung back and forth waiting to be recovered, I was able to enjoy the scenery for the first time and revel in having overcome my extreme fear.  Yet, I still held on for dear life when the guy came to get me as I had this irrational fear that the cable might suddenly break.  I couldn't scramble back onto the bridge scaffolding fast enough.  Despite that, I had a lump in my throat when I thanked the guys for keeping me safe because I really did appreciate it.  I have to agree that the swing was scarier than the bungee jump and even sky diving because you can actually see the ground.

When I made it back onto dry land, I ended up deciding to purchase the photos and video of the bungee and swing since I figured I would never be doing that ever again and I should have some actual proof that it happened.  I then took a spin around the Visitors Centre and learned about the history of the bridge before I headed across the bridge into Zimbabwe.  When I got to immigration, I happily discovered that it was only $30 for a visa for Americans rather than the $50 I had expected.  I had originally planned to pay $100 to go back and forth between Zambia and Zimbabwe so it was nice to find out I was only out $30 in addition to the $100 I had been scammed earlier.  After crossing the border on foot, I caught a cab for the ten-minute ride to the camping lodge in the town of Victoria Falls where I had a reservation for the night.

For those of you who haven't been, I have determined that Zimbabwe and the United States are basically the same place.  For one thing, they speak English in Zimbabwe.  Also, their currency is the US dollar.  Then finally there's the massive waterfall along the international border with their northern neighbor, Zambia (a.k.a. African Canada.)  The only real difference between the two countries is that Zimbabwe has been ruled by an evil dictator for the past 30 years.  So yeah, I guess that's kind of a big thing.  In the past decade, Robert Mugabe's rule led to massive hyperinflation, which resulted in the destruction of Zimbabwe's currency and astronomical unemployment rates.  Things are starting to get a little better, but they're still not great.  That's one reason I struggled to find a bank that would cash my traveler's checks even though they were in US currency (I really needed more dollars.)  I finally found the one bank in town that would do it and they charged me a huge commission fee, but I had no real choice in the matter.

In between trying to cash my checks and heading to Victoria Falls State Park, I stopped by the tourist information office to inquire about a bus going to the Botswana border.  The man I spoke to inside the center was very helpful and told me that there were no public transport companies that took that route because it went through a game reserve.  However, he said that he might be able to arrange a ride for me with a tour company that was headed over the border to Chobe National Park the next morning.  He told me to come back before they closed at 5:00pm and he would let me know for certain.  I had no other way to get down to Botswana short of going back into Zambia so I crossed my fingers that it would work out.

By that time it was after midday so I spent the rest of the afternoon in the national park on the Zimbabwe side of Victoria Falls.  It's true what they say about the falls being somewhat more impressive from that side as visitors can see a much wider overall vista.  Only about 20% of the system can be seen from Zambia and the other 80% is visible from Zimbabwe.  I walked from one end where the river was flowing calmly near a statue of Scottish explorer, David Livingstone, to the other where I could see the Victoria Falls Bridge.  It was a bit easier to avoid getting soaked than in Zambia, but there was one section near the Horseshoe Falls where the rain came down so heavily that it was impossible to see the actual waterfall behind the mist.  I had come a bit better prepared this time, wearing flip flops and a bathing suit under my clothes.  I still didn't have an umbrella or raincoat, though, and thus got totally wet in any case.  My camera, which had stopped working the day before when it got wet, was functioning again, though the LCD display screen was now broken, so I couldn't actually see what I was taking pictures of.  I snapped away at the near perfectly arcing rainbows that appeared over the rainforest without having any idea if the photos were actually going to turn out.  Seeing that symbol of hope over and over after the triumph over my fears earlier in the day, made me feel renewed and excited about the next stage of my journey that was yet to come.

As the afternoon wore on, I realized that I needed to hurry back to the park entrance in order to get a cab back to the tourist office on time.  As I raced down the path away from the waterfall, a bushbuck antelope leaped right out in front of me and then a short time later, an older couple walking ahead of me pointed out a group of vervet monkeys hanging out in nearby trees.  Once I got back to the entrance I noted that having spotted a banded mongoose and several warthogs earlier in the day, I had seen all of the mammals that were posted on a sign about wildlife in the park.  I felt pretty fortunate to have such good luck.  My luck continued when I arrived at the tourist information office and the man who had helped me earlier told me that he had found a ride for me with a safari company going into Botswana early the following morning.  I had to pay about $30 for the trip, but I figured it was worth a little extra money to have a comfortable ride and avoid having to go back into Zambia.

Late in the afternoon once I returned to the lodge, I made an attempt to catch some of the waning rays of sun that were shining down.  The area around the pool was completely shaded by that point so I tried to find a stretch of grass where I could lay out my towel.  However, just as I was taking off my flip flops to sit on the towel, I noticed that I had placed the towel on and was stepping into a patch of nettles.  A few of the painful prickers stuck to my foot and I was able to pluck them out and put my shoe back on, but then had to spend the next ten minutes plucking dozens more off the bottoms and sides of my shoes and towel.  When my painful task was finally completed, I walked over to the pool area to sit down until I was convinced to join a Zimbabwean family that was swimming in the water.  The family lives in the UK, but was back for a vacation to visit relatives.  I swam with them for about half an hour until I started to get cold and got out to take a shower. 

That night I was feeling adventurous so I ordered the crocodile steak that was on special at the lodge's restaurant.  The meat was a bit more gamey than I usually like, but I'm glad I gave it a try.  After dinner, I tried to settle in for an early night since I had to get up before dawn, but the bar across the street had other plans for me.  I didn't mind at first when I was just overhearing a traditional Zimbabwean choir that was performing for some overland tour goers, but when the bar started cranking up the tunes it was nearly too much to bear.  I was still awake when an American college student who was on the tour returned to the dorm room some time after midnight.  We chatted a bit in the dark, even though we couldn't actually see each other.  Some time after 2:00am, the music finally stopped and I was able to get a little bit of rest after a long and eventful day.

Zig-Zagging Across the Zambezi from Zambia to Zimbabwe

How’s that for some Z-rated alliteration.  See what you’ve done, Becky.  You’ve created a blogging monster.  I know that you have issued another title challenge, but since I already came up with this one before receiving your comment, that will have to wait for my next post.

Now back to Zambia.  When we finally arrived in Livingstone at about mid-afternoon, I had to head straight to an internet cafe because I hadn’t booked a place to stay in town yet.  I had initially planned to spend a night in Lusaka after getting off the train, but since we were delayed I had to cancel that reservation.  Once I was able to get online, I had a mild panic attack when I saw that apparently all of the hostels in Livingstone were already booked up for the next few days.  There was a younger Western-looking couple at one of the other computers so I asked them where they were staying.  They told me they were at Jolly Rogers Backpackers, though they thought it was full, which reflected what it had said online.  I asked them for directions in any case, figuring I could go over and ask in person. 

Not sure exactly where to go given their vague answer, I wandered in the general direction they had indicated and passed a local guesthouse.  I decided to go in to see if they had any rooms as I was now afraid the whole town was booked up.  The place was very basic, but the room they had available seemed clean enough so I decided to take it rather than risk being homeless for the night.  After paying the manager, I wandered back to the main street where I happened to notice a sign pointing toward “Livingstone Backpackers.”  I followed the signs down a few streets to a dirt road where I saw the gate for the hostel.  The guard let me in and I went in to the office where I breathlessly asked if they had any space for the following night.  He said they had plenty of room and since just looking around I felt much more comfortable in that environment, I asked if they had room for that current night as well.  He said they did, so I decided to go back to the original guesthouse to see if I could get my money back for the room.  The manager wasn’t around so I lied a bit to his wife telling her I had decided to just get on a bus that afternoon and continue on my way.  I even offered to let her keep part of the money to make up for the inconvenience.  She seemed a bit annoyed, claiming that she had just had to turn away someone else who had come in looking for a room, but in the end she gave me most of my money back aside from about 25%.

Happily checked in to my new backpackers’ hostel where I ended up being the only person in my dorm room as it was, I went back to the main office and asked the manager about booking a whitewater rafting trip down the Zambezi River. The Zambezi is basically the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe with each country on an opposite bank of the river.  At first he told me that I was too late because it was the last day of the season.  Then he must have made a phone call because he later came up and told me he was mistaken and the following day was actually the final day.  After booking the trip I relaxed by the hostel pool where I chatted with a young woman who was staying at the hostel as a volunteer for an affiliated non-profit until the sun started to set and she went in for dinner.  I went back into town, got some dinner for myself and then went to bed a few hours later to get ready for my early morning the following day.

The next morning I got up, put on my swim suit under shorts and a tee-shirt, packed a bag and went out to meet my van pick-up outside the front gate of the hostel.  I chatted with the hostel guard for a few minutes before the van arrived and I joined about six people already on board.  We drove about ten minutes to a nice resort hotel where we all went up to the office to pay before going down to a hut where we got a safety briefing before breaking into four different groups.  I ended up by default with most of the people from my van--two British friends, a German woman and three young Dutch girls.

We drove down to the river, joking along the way with the guides, before disembarking and getting ready to walk down a steep path to the river entry point.  Our guide turned out to be the guy who had given the safety talk and had more than 15 years of experience, which made us feel a bit more secure.  I had gone white water rafting one time before when I was in college, but those had been mostly three and four degree rapids, whereas now we were dealing with fours and fives.  I started down the path, but then realized I needed to go to the bathroom so I veered off and when I was done came back and met up with the German girl, Nicole.  It turned out that she had worked in PR at Dow Jones in London at the same time that my friend, Angie, had worked for the company in New York so it was really funny to see what a small world it was (even though they only knew each other vaguely by name.)  Nicole was taking it really slow down the path, which was probably a good idea since my legs were shaking by the time I got to the bottom myself.

When we finally got to the river bank and boarded the boat, our guide went through some basic skills, though he said we couldn’t practice a water rescue because some local fishermen had spotted a three-meter crocodile in the area a few hours before.  Apparently our kayak rescuer hadn’t heard that warning about the crocodile because he came to pull one of the Dutch girls out of the boat and two of us seriously struggled to quickly pull her back up from the river water into the raft in spite of our earlier lesson.  Luckily the croc didn’t surface during the time she was in the water.

After the skills overview, we took off down the river and made it successfully through the first two sets of rapids. On the second set, we surfed so high up the waves created by the whitewater that to me it was a miracle we didn’t capsize.  On the third set, it was a different story.  I had switched into the front seat location along with the British guy.  On one of the rapids, Nicole and the British guy fell out of the other side of the raft and out of shock the rest of us stopped paddling.  While everyone else fell out one by one, I struggled to stay aboard before finally giving up and going over myself.  Nicole and the British guy were swept down the river before being rescued by the kayaks while the rest of us were able to grab onto the side of the raft.  Since we were still in the rapids, I swallowed a bunch of water right before we were getting ready to go under for a second to flip over the raft to the right side.  Luckily, I was able to get enough air and once we flipped the raft back over, I got pulled back up safely.  On the following few sets of rapids, there were a few more close calls and some of the other rafts flipped over, but we luckily remained upright.  There was even a point where we were able to jump overboard and hang on to the raft for a bit from in the water.  Nicole was the only one who remained inside due to her extreme fear of crocodiles.

After what felt like five minutes later, but was actually more like an hour and a half, we arrived at our exit point from the river.  We got out of the raft with our paddles and walked up to a cable car that brought us at a nearly 45-degree angle to the top of the cliff above.  We took a few photos and had some sodas before heading back to the hotel to have lunch.  After lunch we had a chance to look at the photos that the guides had taken and our group decided to purchase one CD to share amongst ourselves.  Since most people were staying at Jolly Rogers we figured we could leave the disc there and everyone could stop by the front desk to make copies for themselves.

When we got back to town, Nicole and I made plans to meet later that night for dinner and I headed off to try to get some cash that I could convert into dollars.  I thought I might want to go to Zimbabwe to see Victoria Falls from that side and was under the impression that the visa cost $50.  As I planned to come back to Zambia in order to go through Bostwana to South Africa, I thought I would have to pay another $50 to come back in since I had only bought a single-entry visa.  Therefore I wanted to get $100 in cash converted.  I went to the ATM and took the equivalent out in Zambian kwacha.  I then headed across the street toward some of the exchange offices.  The staff at the hostel had suggested going to the bank branch in a nearby supermarket, but the store seemed to be closed for renovations so I decided to take my chances with one of the exchange bureaus.

As I neared the first office, it appeared to be closed and as I started to walk away, a black market dealer approached me.  I normally would have dismissed him automatically, but I had read in one of my books that you can sometimes get a better deal on the street so I foolishly decided to hear the guy out.  Sure enough, he offered me a better rate than was advertised in the bureaus so I told him that rather than changing dollars in kwacha, I needed to get 100 dollars.  He started pulling money out of his pockets, but when he heard how much I needed, he went off to get the money from another guy down the street.  That should have been my first clue that something was off.  However, when he handed me the 100 dollar bill and I held it up to the light without taking my sunglasses off, it appeared to have a legitimate watermark.  For some reason, I accepted the bill, gave him my kwacha and then took off back toward my hostel.

The farther I walked, however, the more suspicious I became.  The weight of the paper just didn’t feel right and the color of the ink seemed lighter than it should be.  Before making a final determination whether it was real or not, I also decided that I wanted to break it into two 50s so that I wouldn’t get change in foreign currency when I went to pay for my visas.  The woman at the hostel said she couldn’t break it, but she explained where there was another supermarket in the opposite direction where I could get it changed.  When I got to that bank window, the guy told me that all he had was $100 bills at that time himself.  As I was getting ready to leave, I started talking to another girl who had just changed some money.  I asked her to compare my bill with hers and there were some very clear differences.  I then decided to ask the money changer and sure enough he confirmed that my bill was fake.  He asked where I got it and I had to confess I had gotten it off the street.  I learned that was a pretty stupid move on my part because there is a lot of counterfeit money floating around in Zambia.  He suggested that I go back to the area where I had exchanged the money and then if I found the guy, threaten to go to the police if he didn’t give me my money back.

I followed the man’s advice, but unfortunately couldn’t really remember what my scammer looked like since I honestly hadn’t been paying much attention.  I seemed to recall that he had been relatively short and wearing a black shirt with writing on it.  I couldn’t remember anything else beyond that so my approach was to walk by the area where I had been scammed and wait for someone to come up to me.  I had changed my shirt and put on a hat so hopefully the guy wouldn’t recognize me.  Sure enough, a man in a gray tee shirt soon came over and I immediately laid in to him telling him that I knew the bill was fake and that I wanted my money back. He denied that he was the guy who had changed my money saying that he had just showed up a few minutes before.  I told him I was going to go to the police and after arguing back and forth a bit, I realized that I had serious doubts whether it was the same guy and had no way to prove it even if it was.  I finally stomped off in a huff saying I was going to the police, which is exactly what I intended to do, though not necessarily to rat him out.

It took me a little while to find the police station and when I finally did they said there was nothing they could do unless I could positively identify the guy, in which case I could give them a call and they could help “mediate” to get my money back.  For some reason, they couldn’t actually arrest the scammer, but rather just sort of stand there backing me up while I pleaded my case.  Since the bill was fake they also had to confiscate it, which was fine by me because at that particular moment I was so upset and humiliated that I had no desire to ever lay eyes on the thing again.  They did tell me that I could come back in an hour or so in case they had picked up anyone who may be connected to the scam.  I went off to get a massage I had previously scheduled, though I was hardly able to relax since I was feeling incredibly stupid and ripped off.

On the way back to the station, an hour and a half later, I tried to take a short cut and wound up getting lost and having to backtrack.  Since I had arrived later than I was supposed to, the people who had helped me originally were no longer available.  Instead they brought me back behind the counter to talk to one of the other supervisors who decided to lay into me about how it was illegal to change money on the street and it was all MY fault that I had been scammed.  He was laying it on so thick that I finally got extremely frustrated and just couldn’t contain my sass. 

“Fine, what are you going to do?  Arrest me?,” I asked him. 

“I’m not going to arrest you since it was the first time, but you shouldn’t do that again,” he responded. 

I looked at him and said, “Do you really think I’m ever going to do that again after I was just given a fake $100 bill?” 

Luckily he laughed and shook my hand, but I was still annoyed that he was treating ME like the criminal when I wasn’t the one approaching people on the street and offering them counterfeit money.  Maybe if he did his job better these scam artists wouldn’t be in business in the first place.  Unfortunately, I don’t think he really believed stopping these guys was in his job description.  Since that officer was no help at all, as I was leaving I asked when the other guy was coming back and was told I could return the following morning if I wanted.  Originally I planned to, but then decided it was pretty much just a waste of time since it was basically a lost cause.  I can only hope that at least some of the money I gave the scammer went to a good purpose such as buying food for his family.

That night after the debacle at the police station, I was a bit late meeting Nicole at her hostel.  Luckily she was understanding and as stupid and naive as I felt for my huge mistake, it did feel good to tell her the whole sordid tale so at least I could get a bit of sympathy.  She even bought me a beer to help me forget my pain.  I did decide, however, that since I had basically just lost $100, I couldn’t justify spending the money on the visas to go back and forth to Zimbabwe and would instead stay in Zambia.  It seemed Zimbabwe would just have to join Lebanon, Greece and Spain among the countries that I had seen, but not set foot on during the course of my trip (sort of like how Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house in Alaska.)

The next morning, I walked toward town to catch a cab to go visit Victoria Falls.  I had brought all my things in a plastic-coated shopping bag because I had heard from the Dutch girls the day before that it gets pretty wet standing in the rainforest next to the falls.  However, since I figured I would be walking along trails, I stupidly wore my sneakers and socks. I didn’t bring any sort of umbrella or raincoat either and, though you could rent rain gear near the park entrance, I didn’t want to spend the money and figured I couldn’t really get that wet.  I was wrong.

At the first clearing where they were renting the rain gear I was able to get a nice view of the waterfall, but there were a million people standing around trying to see the same thing so I quickly moved on.  I headed next down the path into the woods and got hit with the first sprinkle coming off the spray of rushing water.  I went left off the main path to get to the other side of the ridge where I couldn’t exactly view the falls, but could see the river down below and the Victoria Falls Bridge crossing over the Zambezi from Zambia to Zimbabwe.  It was relatively dry there and I was able to get some nice pictures of a rainbow stretching over the bridge.

Getting back onto the main path, I walked over to the righthand side of the ridge where I started to get a better sense of what the Dutch students were talking about when they said they got soaked when they visited.  It got even worse when I crossed a pedestrian bridge that went over the river and buckets of water rained down upon me.  I was soaking wet from head to foot by the time l I made it to the other side.  I checked out the view from that side of the bridge before crossing back over and getting soaked once again.  By this time, my camera, which had gotten a bit wet while I was trying to snap photos was no longer fully functioning.  When I would try to turn it on the lens zoom function wouldn’t work so the camera couldn’t stay on.  I found a dry spot near a monument where I sat for a while trying to dry both myself and my camera out.  I even took off my socks and laid them in the sun before resigning myself to putting them back on while still damp.  Once the rest of my clothes were mostly dry, I walked down another path that led along the side of the river from the higher level before the water went crashing over the side of the cliff.  From the riverbank I was able to get close to the edge of the falls, which was both cool and pretty frightening.  Luckily, my camera started to work again so I was able to take some more pictures.

As I walked back toward the entrance one of the guides pointed out various places on the map and asked if I had seen them.  He suggested walking down a path to the Boiling Pot on the lower level of the falls and told me that if I walked down the road I could walk halfway across the Victoria Falls Bridge without going into Zimbabwe.  I thought I would walk to the Boiling Pot first, but as I neared the trailhead it was guarded heavily by two or three large baboons.  I had heard some warnings about baboons and how nasty they can be so I decided to walk to the bridge first and then come back into the park to go down the trail.

After exiting the park, I walked a few hundred yards down the road until I came to the Zambian immigration control.  I was able to cross the border without getting stamped out of the country by telling them I was just going to the bridge.  After going through the fence and entering the “no man’s land” between Zambia and Zimbabwe I was nearly accosted by baboons and vendors trying to sell me things before I made it to the bridge.  Once I got there my camera battery died so I once again wasn’t able to take any pictures of the beautiful rainbows created by the rising mist in front of the waterfall.  I then crossed over to the other side of the road where people where lined up to bungee jump off the bridge.  There was a sign demarcating the border line with Zimbabwe and I walked to the other side of it and eventually even to solid land on the opposite end of the bridge just so I could say I had been in Zimbabwe even if I didn’t get a stamp in my passport.  No one was paying attention to which side I had come from anyway so it was easy to get away with it.

While I was standing watching people jump off the bridge with my stomach in my throat, I saw one of the Dutch girls, Wouke, who had signed up for a triple bungee adventure, which included a zip line across the canyon, a bungee jump headfirst and a “swing” feet first from the bridge.  She had already done the zip line and there were only a few people ahead of her before she was going to do the swing and then afterward the bungee jump.  I decided to stay and watch and even pulled out my video camera so I could record it.  I was nervous for her when she got onto the platform to jump feet first into a freefall before swinging back and forth from a cable.  She successfully jumped, but was shaking when she got back around to the top of the platform for the headfirst dive.  The second time she hesitated a bit, but finally took the plunge and dove headfirst off the bridge.  When she got back, she said the swing was actually the scarier of the two because when she was falling feet first, she felt like she was falling to her death until the cable caught her.

After Wouke finished and got unharnessed, I walked back up with her and her friend to the bungee tour center where we met one of the other Dutch girls to have lunch.  As I sat there eating with them, I started to contemplate the idea of going bungee jumping myself.  It had never been high on my “to do” list before, but I figured if I was going to do it anywhere it might as well be in Africa overlooking Victoria Falls.  Since I was still smarting from my $100 loss from the day before, however, I decided I couldn’t justify spending all that money.

Once we finished lunch I crossed back over the border uneventfully with the three Dutch girls and walked back to the park as they got in a cab to go back to town.  By this point, the baboons had thankfully moved along so I was able to hike the 20 minutes down the wooded trail to the Boiling Point.  This part of the river is right at the base of the falls overlooking the Victoria Falls Bridge and is basically a whirlpool of rushing water.  Some locals were actually getting in the water there, but even though I had gotten hot from the hike down in the sun, I had no desire whatsoever to get wet again.  The walk up was obviously a bit more arduous so I did walk down to get a quick spray from the rainforest before catching a cab back to town.

Back at my hostel, I put on my bathing suit with plans to sit out by the pool for the rest of the rapidly waning afternoon.  However, a few of the guests were taking turns climbing up a poolside rock climbing wall so I went up a couple of times myself without bothering to change out of my swimsuit.  Once I had come back down for the third time, the sun was starting to set and it was getting chilly so I went back inside to change.  That night I went back to Jolly Rogers to edit the bungee jump video I had shot for Wouke and hang out with Nicole one last time before we all left the next day.  That evening I had found out I was getting more back from my income taxes than expected so while talking to Wouke and some other guests I started thinking more about actually going for the bungee jump the next day.  While I put that decision on hold, I did decide to cross over into Zimbabwe to see the falls from that side and then spend one more night there before continuing to head south.  I figured as long as I didn’t have to cross back into Zambia, I would save money on one visa fee at least.

I will post the amazing photos tomorrow.

Clackety-Clack, Choo-Choo

In Skyping recently with my sister, she said that she was completely over me using alliteration in the titles of most of my blog posts.  She wanted me to use a different part of speech and so she requested that I try onomatopoeia.  Unfortunately, the example that I use in this title features both onomatopoeia and alliteration.  Sorry, Becky.  I tried!

"Clackety-clack, choo-choo" refers obviously to my never-ending train trip from Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania to Kapiri Mposhi, Zambia.  I arrived at the TAZARA train station in Dar just after noon and discovered that my train didn't actually leave until nearly 4:00pm.  I also found out when the cab driver dropped me off and actually gave me my ticket that I had paid the booking agent nearly double the list price.  I was incredibly annoyed that I had been ripped off, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it at that point.  While I was waiting at the station, I ended up chatting with two middle-aged British friends and a young Dutch woman.  The British women had both volunteered as teachers in Tanzania (one currently and one previously) and were heading back to the home of one of the women in the southern part of the country.  They ended up being in the sleeping berth next to me while the Dutch woman was one carriage over.

When we finally boarded the train, I discovered that my roommates were two Zambian women.  I was the second person to board so I was able the claim the second lower bunk before the third woman got on.  I felt a bit bad since she was a little overweight, but not bad enough to switch places with her.  Both women spoke English fairly well, but when they were speaking with each other they spoke a different language (Swahili?) so I had no idea what they were saying.  One of the Zambian women told me that she was trying to start a business so she took this trip back and forth several times a month.  I don't know how she did it, but I give her credit for having an immense amount of patience.  The British women offered to let me stay with them if no one else joined them in their cabin, but I was afraid that someone else would board in the middle of the night so I didn't want to take the risk.  I was also fine with where I was, aside from the fact that I couldn't understand anything my roommates said when they were talking to each other.

The beginning of the trip started off fine, though since the train and the tracks were old, it was a bit of a rickety ride.  There were a few times when I thought I was going to slide right off my bunk in the middle of the night.  It was also during the first night that we went through a game reserve in Tanzania, which meant that unfortunately we didn't get a chance to see any of the animals.  The next morning, the train stewards came through the cabin to clean and offer us breakfast, but I had packed enough of my own food to be able to subsist for a while. At that point the water in the bathroom was also luckily still working so it was possible to wash your hands and face.

That second day we went through many small towns and villages where vendors and small children would come up to the windows and try to sell food or beg for money.  At one point one of the women in my berth bought a huge bag of rice, which struck me as an odd thing to do when she was already loaded up with a ton of luggage.  It would seem to make it that much more inconvenient when she was trying to get off the train, but what do I know? 

Things were still going okay until we got to a stop where the British women got off in a town near Mbeya in southern Tanzania that stretched from 15 minutes to half an hour to several hours.  One of the Zambian women told me that the train approaching from the opposite direction was stalled because of mechanical problems and that we had to wait until it was fixed before we could keep going since there were only certain places where we could pass it.  At first she said it was going to take nine hours, but we ended up getting going again after only three or four.  I don't mind sitting on a train when it's moving forward because at least there's the sense of progress, but it's torture to sit there when the train is not even going anywhere.

By this point in the journey, the bathrooms were out of water so I had to resort to baby wipes in order to maintain some semblance of cleanliness.  That night, as with the night before, we went to bed pretty early for lack of anything better to do.  At about 11:30pm or 12:00am, however, we were awakened by people offering to change money followed shortly by Tanzanian immigration officers stamping us out of the country.  I thought we were going to go through to Zambia that night, but we ended up waiting until the next morning to cross over the border.  When we got into Zambia early in the morning, I decided to change my money with one of the black-market dealers even though I'm sure I was given a horrible rate.  Zambian immigration then came through our car and since I only had enough US dollars for a single-entry visa, I had to buy that instead of getting a dual entry so I could go back and forth to Zimbabwe.  The letters he wrote on my passport, though, could suspiciously look both like S/E (single entry) and D/E (double entry) so I did debate as to whether I could get away with it at the border.

That third day we were supposed to arrive in Kapiri Mposhi at about 3:00pm, but because of the multiple delays of the previous day, we were more than twelve hours behind schedule.  The scenery passing by the window was really beautiful, but after two full days on the train, I'd had just about enough of it and was really losing patience.  Once again at about 8:30 or 9:00pm, we turned off the lights and went to bed for the night.  Then, as if on cue, about five hours later, the two Zambian women woke up and started getting ready to disembark.  I have no idea how they knew where we were, but sure enough at about 3:00am we arrived in Kapiri Mposhi and were unceremoniously kicked off the train.  The 48-hour journey, had turned into a nearly 60-hour ordeal.

A number of passengers seemed to be settling in for the night at the station, but after reuniting with the Dutch woman and a French couple she had met, we were approached by a driver who told us he would bring us to the capital of Lusaka.  He said his van could fit up the 18 people, but that he would leave with less if need be.  In the end, he waited to fill up the whole van and the 18 of us suffered an incredibly cramped and uncomfortable three-hour trip to the Zambian capital in the middle of the night.

Once we all piled out of the car at the bus station in Lusaka, I stood by the trunk where all of our luggage was stored and waited for the driver to come over and unlock it.  Exhausted and confused by all the chaos, I saw a tall man (who looked nothing like our driver) hold out his hand to me and without thinking and somehow assuming that he worked for the driver, gave him the money for the fare (the equivalent of about 10 USD.)  I immediately realized I had just given money to some random stranger and while the French woman tried to help me go after him, I was pulled in another direction by the driver and some touts trying to get me to buy a bus ticket.  I realized the guy was long gone, but the French woman kept asking me if it was this guy or this guy or that guy while the touts at the booking booth tried to arrange my bus ticket from Lusaka to Livingstone.  In the end I gave up my $10 as lost, paid for my bus ticket and boarded the bus that didn't leave until an hour later for Livingstone.  I'm pretty sure I passed out and slept for most of that six-hour trip.