In 1855, as he explored the Zambezi river as a possible route inland, David Livingstone became the first outsider ever to set eyes on the Seventh Natural Wonder of the World, “The Steam that Thunders,” and patriotically renamed it Victoria Falls.
We visited at the height of an exceptional wet season, with somewhere around 10 million litres of water per second cascading 108 metres down over the 1.7km wide fall.
They are set in the heart of classic bandit country, on the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. With baboon and elephant-sized holes in every fence in the region, and nice picnic sites along the main road used as mugging honey-pots (2 elderly couples staying beside us had been held up by 4 or 5 men with machetes the day we arrived), we left our valuables locked securely in Finn and drove Ben down for the day.
From the Zambian side, only a small fraction of the falls is accessible, and even that is so shrouded in mist that it is basically not visible. Even that fraction of a fraction is, well, impressive. Niagara, eat your heart out. The lions and elephants wild in the surrounding forest trump casinos and hotels, too, although the hippos wallowing in mud did remind me slightly of the American diners.
With “Activities” including bungee jumps, gorge swings and microlight flights universally overpriced by about 400% (15 minutes in a microlight costing the same as a jump, at nearly $150), we opted for the foot-based self-guided tour, and didn’t regret it.
“Green” is the buzz-word. I should know, having spent 3 years designing hybrid vehicles. If we’re honest, we’ve missed that one on this trip; two tonnes is a lot of diesel.
But “Development” is the other. The discussions on the benefits of aid go round and round in circles, with countries in Africa providing both positive and negative arguments. The impact of tourism is less well understood though. Next time you plan a holiday to Florida or Cornwall, count the number of people who ask “are you being sponsored?” But the economy of these areas rely on tourism, not aid. Responsible management of tourism money can do more to benefit long-term development and conservation than aid could dream of.
Moorings Farm and Campsite, half way between Lusaka and Victoria Falls, is a perfect example, as is Mukambi Lodge, just outside Kafue National Park in Zambia. Both support entire villages as accommodation for their staff, funding schools and other facilities. In the case of Mukambi, for every employee at the lodge, there are 5 residents in the village, with no limits set on who may live there. We have never met more laid-back owners, or happier staff. There are many other similar places – see our travel log for more.
There are also the opposites, like Fat Monkeys at Cape Maclear on Lake Malawi. There, the screaming English lady-boss spent her waking hours yelling obscenities at the staff, who were consequently terrified of using any initiative. Asking to plug my laptop in at the bar, as I drank paid-for beer and used paid-for internet access, was a step too far, and took 15 minutes to sort out with the Banshee.
With a budget comparable to a large new car, we are spending more on this trip than many people ever channel to aid or charity, so determining where that money ends up is a very real responsibility. Guidebooks are beginning to offer token “green” advice (our 816 page Lonely Planet guide to Southern Africa boasts on the cover that its “Green Index highlights the best ecofriendly options,” in a whole 2 pages, after the index). They are yet to provide much in the way of advice on responsible places to stay; the comfyness of the beds, the swimming pool, the remoteness of the campsite – these things are their mainstay.
As such we often struggle to suss out where to stay when we arrive in a town, and too frequently end up in the Fat Monkeys instead of the Moorings. And then move on, asap!
Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, had been our on-again, off-again base for nearly 2 weeks by the time we finally picked up Aaron and Katherine (Surfers 16 and 17) and headed away.
We have met many people who consider Africa to be “the bush,” with cities and population centres an inconvenient necessity. The genuine Africa is found in small homesteads and rural villages, with cities an imposed European influence. There is a large tourist industry geared up to this ideal, offering village and cultural tours, drumming lessons, traditional artefacts for sale and the like.
These people buy or hire rugged 4x4s, set out on safari and find the worse roads possible to get stuck on for days at a time or, in our case, set agendas through the most rural sections of a country possible.
Which is great, and good fun, and with the vehicles we have it would be irresponsible to avoid the fun times. But I disagree with the driving belief. To taste and see a country, it is essential to first taste and see the large cities.
We were discussing these dilemmas with Mike, who had just returned from the bush, and he asked if I would send visitors to Scotland to the Highlands or central Glasgow. An interesting question. Is it possible to “see” Scotland without visiting Princess Street, or seeing the ship-building on the Clyde? Can you understand Northern Ireland without seeing the peace lines in Belfast and Derry?
Cities are the nerve centres of a country. Politicians live and work there, newspapers and books are printed and sold, culture is developed. It there that people are well informed and have vocal opinions. It is there that contact with people is not just easy, but required.
Maintenance of the trucks has meant whole days at a time in run-down areas of large cities, hunting shop to shop, or spending hours sitting chatting as a job is done. It was in Lilongwe, with Ben up on blocks, that we met John, running after every minibus that arrived on the street, looking for work. It was Kampala where we met Shanwe, a young girl in the motor shop who sat quietly until she finally said to Louise, “can we be friends?” It was Khartoum and Damascus where we realised the propaganda in our home media has avoided the fact completely that countries cities are open, functioning societies that welcome visitors (though their governments are less tolerant). It was Damascus where the hotelier lent us $100 from his pocket to allow us to eat out after arriving late.
Cities are also where crimes happen – it was in Dar es Salaam that someone reached in through the window to lift a wallet and ipod (he got neither), and Harare where someone slashed our tyre and followed us. To pretend they are always lovely places would be a lie, and having Ben and Finn adds to the logistics. But they are the heart and soul of a country, and to miss or skip through them would leave a very one-sided view of a country.
In the 1960s, the Zambezi was dammed at a narrowing where it forms the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, then North and South Rhodesia. The scale of the project is staggering, with one of the largest man-made lakes in the world behind it.
As the project progressed, a town called Siavonga was founded for the construction works. From the start, a fishing industry was planned, and tourism was expected. The fishing industry flourished for a few decades, but is now in decline for the usual African reasons – over extraction and under management. The tourism industry never really took off in Siavonga, largely because the other side of the lake, in Zimbabwe, is a National Park, and so has a stronger pull: if visiting Lake Kariba, most people want to see animals and go fishing.
However, if what you want to see is a sleepy and unusually welcoming village, on the shore of a beautiful lake with stunning sandy beaches, Siavonga is a perfect destination. Pack the hammock, a good book and some sunglasses, and you’ll be in bliss.
Because the industries in the town were very much planned, there are an unusually high number of white Afrikaners. We were invited back for tea with Gerda, a friendly lady who, with her husband, runs a large kapenta fishing business. As a side line, her son builds the fishing rigs (large pontoon style boats with a bright light that attracts the fish, and a net on booms that scoops them out), along with any other boats that people want. Several (or all?) of the large tourist boats in the town are their handywork.
The lake was in flood while we stayed; 2 of the 6 floodgates in the dam were open. A truly awesome sight. People in the town seemed to imply that they’ve never needed to open more than 2, but the water level was still dangerously high (chalets in the first campsite we stayed were all under water). Opening more than that is an international affair though, leading to downstream flooding for over a thousand kilometres in Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique.
After two days we returned to Lusaka and, the next day, it was time to say goodbye to Simon, Surfer number 15. Our lone evening together was spent in the company of Max and Julian, two jolly, talkative Germans. The next day we found ourselves back at the airport – 11 out of 15 airport visits now complete, we took Aaron and Katharine onwards to Livingstone, the site of Victoria Falls.
ps – Happy Birthday Heather!
With Ruth flying out of Lusaka the Thursday after we arrived in Zambia, and Simon flying out the Friday after, we had a week to kill with no destinations planned.
Luckily we bumped into Mike Garnham, a seasoned traveller who, for many years, has left a UK reg Hilux in Zambia, flying out with friends and family once or twice a year to continue the adventure. He was able to give us ample advice, with one or two decent options, to fill the time.
We had set up camp at Pioneer, 20km East of Lusaka, in a stunning location 6km from the nearest tarmac road. We settled on abandoning Ben there and driving West in Finn for half a day to Kafue National Park, and then returning to Lusaka and driving South for half a day to Siavonga, on Lake Kariba – the subject of the next post.
Many parks in Africa are surrounded by extended game reserves, in which the rules are relaxed, but the animals are still protected. Mukambi Lodge, across the river from the park proper, had taken advantage of this and built a village for their 45 permanent staff, with families. 250 people live there, and there’s a school and other facilities funded by the lodge. We’ve stayed in few other places where the staff seemed so genuinely happy and relaxed. When we arrived, we were warned to be careful of the elephant in the campsite. There was an old fellow watching it, though, and he told us confidently that he’d scare it off if it came too close “by clapping my hands and shouting.” Luckily it didn’t come to that, although it did wake us up that night by having a nibble of the tree around our tent.
We stayed for 3 nights. For the first full day we did, basically, nothing. Although Basil, a resident hippo, provided some excitement by coming out of the water in the middle of the day and heading straight for the lush green grass of the campsite. The next day was action-packed, with river fishing in the morning and a game drive at night.
For the first time we decided to buy into a game drive instead of driving ourselves. Sitting relaxing while someone else, who happens to know where all the animals normally hide, did all the driving was a great change. It also allowed us to continue driving after dark, which isn’t normally allowed for self-drives. The guides were superb, setting a friendly and relaxed tone, but expert at what they did (including coaxing the aging landcruiser back into life after every stop).
That said we had seen very little as we started back to the boat to cross the river to the lodge, and the feeling of disappointment was starting to settle in. Then suddenly Frazer, with the spotlight, turned and said “have your camera ready.” The tiny blip on the side of the road, 200 metres away, was a leopard.
The next day we returned to Lusaka on a high.