Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

April 13, 2015

While you were working – Blood, Maun, Botswana

There’s been highs, there’s been lows, there’s been memorable experiences, tranquility and excitement and that’s just the last 24 hours. We leave the parks today for bitumen sterility and sanity, these two concepts go together so elegantly around here. Travelling in P.N.G. has up until now held the dubious honour of having the worst roads we’ve ever driven on but now the baton has been passed to a new bearer of the pothole trophy, Chobe National Park; the crowd cheers. It seems to be a badge of honour for the socially awkward South Africans that seem to be our main companions on these roads, the worse the road the more of a man you are, apparently. One day someone might fill me in on the logic here but for now I am still naively thinking that off roading as a past time should be, ahem, off road; enough said on the matter.

Time for one last game drive that will take us from wild Moremi and back into the wild un-wild that is the rest of Africa, the borders seem quite cursory to me beyond the money we pay to be within them. On rapidly drying roads we are finally able to set off relatively stress free spotting game all over the place, much of the usual with the addition of a massive croc gliding smoothly through a waterhole, add that one to the book Charlie. There’s no big cats, a hope we’ve finally let go of, or so we think, a game truck pulls up beside us and apparently they know where lions are. We’re off with the faintest sniff of cats booming immense expectation and hope back into our passive day. We bush bash off road, we backtrack, the guide gets out and does a great job of playing up his bush tracker skills but to no avail, it looks like cats just aren’t meant to be for us.

It’s with a strange mixture of relief, disappointment and joy that we leave the parks bound for simpler pastures, Simba our car ha battled dutifully and guided us the whole way. The anxious edge that made up our lives in the parks from campsite visitors and the roads will be no more but gone as well will be the true sense of the wild and frontier life that comes from being in these parts. It remains the least disconnected from nature I’ve possibly ever been and that alone is enough to form the crux of a time memorable for all the things we came here to see and feel. At the gate we’re slugged another unexpected fee but that shouldn’t be all that unexpected here either. We leave the parks now and with the passing of a gate we also farewell the roads and the outrageous costs of a life gone by. Like putting our minds through a carwash we exit the other side of the gate unburdened by some of the frustrations that clogged our vision in the battle that was getting through the parks.

Our life now takes us from the wild and into Maun, one of Botswana’s bigger towns and a much needed shopping and refuel trip. We sip a beer at the bar and consider the wonders we’ve seen and the wonder that we’ve just been part of. The frustrating elements of the parks remain stalking the pans and forests of Mopani back within those borders that seem so inconsequential but capture so much. Life goes on within these borders as it always has, we are but spectators to a history lesson that most of us have long forgotten or never knew, we have been for a mere five days able to witness it. We’ve always been on a course to retreat to our comforts, living this history lesson was never on the cards but witnessing it in itself has stained my mind as a privilege already as it has done Charlie’s from before he can remember where memories came from.

On this short whirlwind through Africa the ideas of a mythical real Africa has been ever present, whatever that means. Along with this philosophical ideal sits the language that seems common to so many people around the world that have been touched by this continent, I hear it all too often that Africa gets into your blood, and I don’t mean malaria. People talk of the romance that will never leave them, being unable to call anywhere else home once Africa has taken them, ideals shared with a knowing smile between those who have it in their blood. So I ask myself, do I know this rare language, the secret handshake? I have to say no. The bubblings of enchantment are there within me from our touch with the wild but I can’t help but feel a deeper soaking is required to enter the club. My blood does not yet bare of that African marker but just maybe my skin has a little burnished tint of a never ending African sunset.

April 10, 2015

While you were working – The Cycle, Moremi, Botswana

The sun rises and falls in a rhythm so much more present and tangible than we are used to, no curtains shield from a bright dawn and camp lighting is so feeble in banishing darker corners. And so it goes, our temporary reinvention to our less modernised selves sees us up at 5:30am in accordance with our new found affinity with the world around us. On the flat plains of this land the sun turns the distant horizon into a halo rather than a sunrise, the night chased away so gently. So far is the view that the procession of the sun forms long before the main event crests the sky to blaze the morning into a new day on a canvas bigger than seems possible.

We’re on a game drive but with the recent rain we’re lone souls greeting this grand morning, the animals scattered far and wide. We retain that little ball of anticipation we can’t let go of, the desire to see predators among these vast fields of prey. With a wrestle we turn our attention to the wonders that are just being in this part of the world, this tapestry of imagery no longer hanging on the animals alone. Our eyes are widened to the world around us on the flight of released expectation.

We’re taking the first day in one spot for this adventure into the parks and finally adopting the natural cycle of daytime rest. Tea, sleep and relaxation seem less guilt ridden in this world so unshielded from the elements around us. On the downward swing of this routine we call a day we’re off for a look into the Okavango delta, a natural phenomenon so rare in the world yet it makes up the view from our campsite. The Okavango is part of the fourth largest river system in Africa an immense body of water that so remarkably never reaches the sea, it never even gets close. The famed Kalahari desert sands drink up the entire flow of this immense river system as it subsides into the earth, natures greatest vanishing trick. What is left is a vast sprawl of marshland, swamps and river outlets that create one of the worlds premier wildlife sanctuaries.

Not content with viewing the delta from shore, we board a boat with Alex and Amy, two Canadian travellers we are sharing a campsite with to dash through the reeds to more open waters far beyond regular human accessibility. And dash through the reeds we do, on the flat based boat we whip through a tight informal channel of reeds edging further and further from land and safety, this is croc and hippo country and we’re very much out of our depth. Of course the rains come in, we’ve been looking at the lightning over the delta on this trip and now we’re into it, this land of abundant water from afar that sinks into the earth flushed with water from above also, water water water. Hippos, elephants and water lilies make up our romantic new world, the still water a looking glass into the heavens above.

At the furthest reach of our journey so far from land we are as far into the rhythm of this world as we can be; time, date and all other markers we usually use seem so irrelevant. Irrelevant until the boat breaks down that is. We’re stranded in hippo land and the radio back to the campsite is drawing nothing but the crackly static sound of radio desperation. It’s a short time really but the relief is palpable, ‘third bridge, third bridge’ comes the reply. Alex our driver beams his big smile, we won’t be hippo bait sleeping out here tonight.

Salvation arrives later than we should be out here, hippos become active after sunset and the first glows of this mornings opposing face begin to grace our world. We need to rush back but the chance stranding delivers us a killer of a sunset, the mirror into the heavens that is our world panning out a blazing fire of grace and beauty as we whistle home to safety. Like a fire the skies start slowly but in no time the raging embers engulf us burning the heavens and setting the water to the torch also. And on we flee from the ever burning world of water we find ourselves in, the tight channel through the reeds more reminiscent of a James Bond chase scene as we race to safety against the shadows of a quelled fire. Whipped by reeds this sombre romantic journey has turned into an adventure into Dantes Inferno, purgatory chasing us so close behind. We arrive, we’re in the car and no longer hippo bait, the Okavango every bit of the wonder it promised to be.

From a day opening in serenity to a day closing in adventure we roll through the cycle of life, slumber brings us back down to the passive cycle of a forgotten sun. Or so we thought, the sounds of wild Africa are never far away, literally never far away, a scuffle drawing attention just outside our tent. A fully grown elephant scratches itself on a tree just the other side of the mesh, the pulse rises and we’re not done with today yet. Just like the hippos and hyenas we know there is no immediate need for fright but four elephants that could crush us like a bug are within spitting distance. The full moon illuminates every detail as the grandest of the beasts turns and trundles towards us, directly toward our tent. We question that lack of need for concern, I don’t want the indignity of being naked when we’re found crushed.

Damocles couldn’t be more proud of our situation, we’re circled and manoeuvred around, it’s not for aggression we fear but for casual movement, a brush or bump could equally spell disaster. Damocles sword hangs for nearly half an hour but we remain intact somehow, our immediate superiors choose clemency over domination; we’re delivered to safety on the sight of an elephant bum. And so the cycle rolls, we rise we fall, we settle we enliven but so rare is it our choice. In our regular lives we dictate our world; air conditioning, lighting, temperature, the start and finish of the day but on the delta we are removed from such determination. The oft thrown away quip that control is an illusion always seems so intangible in a world we so adeptly control. How far away that seems, on the delta we don’t so much choose a philosophical relinquishing of control, it’s wrenched from us and we’re forced like water to ride with the flow or perish like the delta into the sands. The cycle is our master, we await direction in this new world.

April 10, 2015

While you were working – Looking and Seeing, Moremi, Botswana

After last nights excitement we’re pumped for another day, the wet mess that was our adventure into Chobe is slowly sinking away into the sands of Moremi. We now have the environment and atmosphere that we were searching for all this time, it’s just not quite where we expected it to be. Beautiful environments we now have yet the big ticket animals evade us, the rain sending them far and wide without the necessity to congregate around scant sources of precious water. A short hour game drive in the morning shows more marshlands with barely an animal in sight, this area has a grace all it’s own to explore so we wrestle ourselves to appreciate it for what it is. We let go of the goal of seeing big cats but the question remains, can we truly free ourselves from some shred of anticipant hope?

From the wistful romantic plateau that we find our minds wandering we are drawn back to the task at hand. Sunlight dancing off swaying reeds and open vistas that go on forever seem so far from murky sodden water and mud that swallows our legs half way to the knee. Mentioning the word bogged seems inappropriate, so much is this a part of driving here it barely seems a notable occurrence, again an unavoidable pool swallows our battler of a car that is punching above its weight. This time there are no guardian angels in sight so it’s shovelling muck out and wedging branches in under the wheels; does it even count as being bogged if we get ourselves out? The roads here really do need another name, they’re bush tracks and we balance the sense of truth that comes with genuinely venturing into the wild with the frustrating annoyance of battling so hard just to get anywhere.

On a mission not to get slowed down again we regularly venture out of the car to wade through muck testing out the best route through pools that we’re now never taking for granted, this really is the only way. Twice in these little swimming excursions we are stopped in our tracks by patterns in the mud. We take a minute to think, we ponder the patterns, the size, the glistening squelch of wet mud that is far from drying to a crust: lions. We mentally scan through the list of animals that don’t have cloven hooves, lion or leopard possibly, it’s a big cat either way and it was right at our feet in less time previous than it takes for a sliver of water to sink into sand. Is it watching us now? We’d released ourselves of expectation but it seems the jungle will not allow us to be rid of it entirely. We drive on pretending that we’re only taking in the scenery desperate not to make our whole experience about seeing big cats.

The drive evens out, there’s no further dramas for us today beyond the wrangling that is the otherwise simple act of driving in these parts. A stop by some hippo pools makes for a great deviation, the big beasts are joined by a host of birds much to Charlie’s excitement. Elephants and giraffe still warrant an appreciative look but it’s really the cats we want to see now despite our internal protestations. This internal wrangling is aided by our arrival at third bridge campsite, somewhat similar to yesterdays camp in that we now perch before a field of reeds masking water beneath, this time boasting an even more open view.

In the difficult two days that was our sodden experience in Chobe we had little else to focus on other than animals, the wonders of the environment remained largely hidden behind a screen of vegetation too formidable for our eyes. It’s in this shrouded environment that our fervour for animal sightings grew such was our desperation for a highlight to mark this much anticipated place of deflated expectation. The big cats remain an elusive goal we aim to let go of but are yet unable to, we can’t help but hope. Without the active chase to sight animals we are more able appreciate the place we’re now in, a headspace shift required to manage our over placed expectation. We’re living an African lesson appropriate to anywhere; like the forest for the trees we must not look if we wish to be able to see.

April 9, 2015

While you were working – Angels, Moremi, Botswana

It rains and it rains and it rains, our night spent in the tent has been punctuated by the relentless teeming of an out of season downpour. In a rare clearing we are up and full of vigour for the day ahead, eager to get away we are in the car, first stop the most essential of all, toilet time. Safe to say that we’re in much better spirits today which sees us up against our first challenge before we even leave the campsite, driving. The massive downpour that was our sleep sound machine last night has made the pools in the road far more than they were, attempting to straddle a high point through the mire the front right wheel plunges into a steep hole. I try to reverse but it’s a lost cause, were hopelessly bogged. Cue an angel with a smile, a big African smile. In no time the guys running the campsite have us towed out and we’re on our way; lesson learned.

Venturing out the same road that we took yesterday the puddles are pools and the pools are inland seas, at times the long straight road ahead invisible for the water that disappears around the next bend. This stretch of road we now know at least, no big elephant holes like at the campsite to greet us below the waters surface. If the road was horrid yesterday we can’t put words to what it is today, unrelenting concentration is required to get us through without a similar mistake. Our guardian angels left long behind at the campsite, we’re on our own now.

And on this day goes, plunging the car into water and somehow back up the other side over and over again through literally hundreds of pools we forge onwards. Free from the millstone that was years of built up hopes for Chobe I dive into a genuine off road driving challenge and all the fun that it entails. About six hours into this real life video game we get a small stretch of road that is easily drivable, and with it the wildlife of Africa come out to play. Where yesterday we were bowed to the frustration of the driving battle today the wonders that cross our road are again just that, wonders. Groups of Elephants, Zebra, Impala, Kudu and Giraffe draw excited expressions from us both, we’re kids again. This is a strange sensation to become used to, I’m driving and I have Elephants literally holding up traffic, it’s too weird to be used to, it will continue to amuse and amaze; only in Africa.

The fun is short lived, we descend back into a marshland depression so it’s again literally more water than road at most stages calling back concentration I’d happily let go of for a time. Getting a feel for the pools we dash through them in smooth repetition, I’ve been going for about seven hours and not a hint of getting trapped, so far so good. The battle with the road rages on as a vision appears, the pearly gates couldn’t be this welcome, a huge wide flat road with barely a blemish in it; I could nearly cry. Passing a truck we wave in excitement, we’re on our way and the battle with the road seems over.

This blessing of this road feels like a deliverance, a few pot holes and little pools add a little to the fun, barely rating a mention considering the hours of punishing driving we’ve been through so far. Passing the river Khwai we get a glimpse of the beauty of this area, the passive river is carpeted with water lilies, white flowers open to the sun conjuring images of a Monet right before us. There’s a few detours around small potholes but against what we’ve done already we plough straight through, the side tracks seem far tougher than the pools themselves. Nearly there another mire of a detour sits before one of the most innocuous pools today; innocuous in the way that an open cut mine is innocuous. We sink in with a thud, water pouring into the car, this is the definition of hopeless.

Salvation is nigh, the guys that we passed earlier comes up behind us, guardian angels in a bloody big truck. There’s not a word spoken, amid my embarrassment they’re out of the car, jeans rolled up and helping to reach into the water to find the tow loop on the car all the while with a big smile like it’s nothing at all. They’re dirty and muddy as we are and any notion of not helping seems to have never occurred, these guys deserve wings. On a slow pull our car is plucked from the mud along with just a little of my shame, we don’t need to walk to town it seems. Handing over some cash it’s best 200 Pula ever spent.

Eight hours of battling later we make it to the campsite, after driving successfully for so long I’m still despondent about getting bogged twice in one day. We wanted to experience wild Africa and that we are doing, my disappointment a slight blip on an otherwise fun challenge that has been getting here. We’re out of Chobe boundaries and into Moremi and this is what we had been hoping for all along, an open vista greets us from our campsite of a winding bend in the river dominated by tall swaying reeds. A gracious vista lays before us as the baboons tear fruit off the tree right above us. An Impala dances through our campsite as squirrels, mongoose and kingfishers grace a grand fallen tree before our space. One beer down and my disappointment is long gone, we feel like we’ve finally made it, this is the Africa we came to see.

A dinner of boervos, cous cous and Stellenbosch wine set for kings is our meal tonight, but it seems we’re not the only ones wanting in on the party. In the dark we hear a rumble in the reeds, this can only be Hippo’s, which means danger time. Sure enough a bloat of four Hippo’s strolls by less than ten metres from the campsite, we’re poised to dash to the car but we hold for a moment to watch the procession. Up so close the size of these monsters is truly intimidating, they couldn’t care about us but their mere presence has us on edge, these herbivores are Africa’s greatest killers of people after all and there’s a calf with them, a red flag for danger. This day keeps getting better, back to cooking but with a pulse just a little higher than before.

Finally food is up, a final stir draws a sharp ‘shit’ from Charlie, a Hyena is stalking about six metres away, shit indeed. Not one but four Hyenas are edging forward from the bushes, retreating only at the presentation of our torch. They’re gunning for my dinner and after today we’re taking no prisoners. Known to be scavengers only we’re fairly sure that we’re not going to be attacked but still, this is a nervy situation. We manage to shuffle the food to the car and serve our plates eating as we are circled and stalked by eyes from the shadows. Glowing golden sinister orbs from the darkest corners of the bush outshine any children’s story book monster. It’s not the relaxing end to the day we thought but it’s more than relaxing, it’s Africa.

It does seem fitting that to experience this barely believable setting we have had to push through some challenges, an easy ride to this place just wouldn’t seem right. As happy as we might be with ourselves it wouldn’t have been without the help of a few guardian angels and their big African smiles. At every point where we were vulnerable and defeated assistance found us in prophetic timing, good fortune accompanying good deeds. If this isn’t real Africa I don’t know what is, it seems fitting that it took a little help from Africans to deliver Africa to us.

April 8, 2015

While you were working – Take Two, Chobe, Botswana

Today is the day, after the thrills and spills that made our short jaunt into Zimbabwe we are finally making it into Chobe National Park. We’re thoroughly tuned into the sun so for now we barely need an alarm, we’re up, packed and off before 7am, quite a miracle for me. It’s with no small sense of anticipation in the air that we farewell Senyati camp; in planning this year long adventure Chobe was one of the first things written on the ‘must see’ list. For Charlie this is a return to a childhood, for me this is a first time so it’s onto the dirt roads for the long haul to Linyanti campsite for two nights.

The first winding tracks through the park deliver the images of Africa I might have imagined, masses of Impala grace the roadsides accompanied by a range of birdlife that has us flicking through the bird field guide at every turn. The shores of the Chobe riverfront slip past as we carve off slices of biltong and soak up everything that this road trip is meant to be. Hippo’s, Zebra, a million Impala and even more birds make up our first introduction to the Chobe riverfront, the same river we’re camping at tonight, safe to say we’re very excited. Crocodiles share the shores with the hippo’s and birds as we both clamber for the binoculars greedily soaking up wild Africa right before us, this is indeed what we came here for.

Still a way from the campsite the Mopani trees cramp the road to rob us of the vistas we enjoyed for the trip so far, enough game spotting today, now we just need to get there. On a road that is getting more and more unruly we battle sand and rutted tracks in what is for now more of a 4WD adventure than a game spotting one. Spinning wheels in a sandy mess require a little bit of shovelling and reversing before we’re on our way, leisurely posh glamping leaves us to our own devices on this adventure into the bush. This is the wild after all and the pulse racing sights we’ve seen mix with nature uncovering the bare bones of the bush, we’re in Africa now, no doubt about it.

Just to punctuate the point we are stopped in our tracks and not by the bad roads this time, the car is just fine. But a fine car and a clear road mean little to a big whopper of an elephant that wants to eat what is beside the road. pulled up less than ten metres from this beast we’re cautiously waiting very aware that he could easily make mush of the car and us inside it. He moves off a little, we advance, he changes his mind and now we’re stopped a little closer than we’d like to be, waiting. I’m in reverse with the clutch just catching ready to try my hand at reverse racing up the winding track. A tense standoff on our part is a piffle to the elephant, he eats his fill and finally moves off to clear our way. We finally breathe out and put the car into first gear once more.

Seven hours into our farewell from comfort we are at our campsite, we’re on the river but this is not quite what we were expecting. An open space of ground has a small glimpse of the river but is otherwise a cleared patch in the bush, we’d made the fatal error of allowing expectations to creep in mainly based on the price for this campsite which is quite exorbitant. We are in the boundaries of a famed national park and for that we have to pay the price so with shrugged shoulders we set up our campsite in the gloomy weather to look forward to another day. After an exhilarating start to the day we’re dead tired, serenaded by rain and hippos who sound like a hollow reverberating engine that won’t quite start we nod off to sleep dreaming of a new day.

The morning comes, the rain has passed and this trip into the wild is set to kick into gear. It turns out that there’s no genuine opportunity for game driving around Linyanti so we venture off to Savuti camp, only 40km away to do what one does in a game park, drive around and take in the beauty. And we do see beauty, a range of animals crossed our path but oddly enough today is more about the driving. We had thought the road yesterday was crappy but nothing compares to this mess, we don’t get bogged thankfully as we cross waterways that wash up over the bonnet and throw our poor car through more than a rental car ever should. In all we’re out for about six hours and over four of them are busy fighting like hell to get the car through this ‘road’.

On a cursed day we bunker in from the unseasonal rain that is meant to be long passed, we dash out to make dinner in the first break in the weather that presents itself. Strangely we’ve seen some great animals and even some Impala play boxing but we’re not as optimistic as we should be and we know it; this day feels a little more like a wrestle than the amazing window into the wild that we hoped for. Is it the weather, the horrid roads, the meagre campsite, the exorbitant costs, the underwhelming scenery? Yes it’s a little of all of these things but mostly it’s our expectations built up over years of dreaming of this place. Tomorrow is a new day and it shall start as a regular camping trip instead of the unclimbable mountain we built it up to be; expectations banished we’ll be back in the car and ready to charge headlong into the wild once more. As they say in show business; cut: take two.

April 7, 2015

While you were working – Lost Youth, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

We’ve been staring at the mist rising up from the falls for two days now, the falls themselves humbly waiting their turn in the line of incredible sights this town has thrown our way. But the wait is no longer, one of the worlds great three falls alongside Iguazu which borders Argentina and Brazil and Niagra also bordering the US and Canada. These three great falls share statistics of greatness with Niagra boasting the largest volume of water, Iguazu the broadest falls and Victoria by far the highest. Such a testament to this area that a natural phenomenon that is a global wonder is resigned to the latter reaches of our travel queue, the falls precisely the type of sight that springs to the front of our list in any other place.

Today also marks the end of our time in Zimbabwe, we head back to Botswana today, just one day away from possibly the main attraction in this African leg of the trip, Chobe National Park. Up early we fight against a soddy kind of day, the rain is just clearing as we drive through town and into the falls. The mist is now no longer in the distance but rising up not so far away nearly 100m into the air at a guess, it looks like a bushfire for all money, it is difficult to perceive it as water. Raincoats and ponchos on we feel more like we’re approaching a main stage at a festival, a roaring crowd awaits us beyond a line of trees. And just like a festival we charge forward in eager anticipation of our days entertainment.

We’re kids again gracing the mosh pit of our favourite band, we’re sweating like pigs in cheap ponchos lost in a deafening roar and blissfully oblivious of the inclement weather. A few party drugs and we’d be a fake tan away from a sad cliche. It’s in this lifting festival atmosphere that Victoria Falls greets us, there’s no place to casually watch the elegance of the falls, no VIP tickets, it’s in the throb of the roar or not at all. The weather has come over again forcing our hoods tight but we don’t care, it’s hard to catch a glimpse of the ‘band’ with all the mist roaring up before us, the smoke machines of this concert block the view of the stage for the most part casting us into more of an atmosphere than a visual spectacle.

After rounding a few bends we realise that the wether is just fine, this rain is only that mist returning to earth in a deluge reminiscent of a tropical downpour. These massive falls plunge to the Zambezi directly opposing a sheer cliff just metres from where they meet the frothy water below. In such a confined space the updraft is immense, this is not mist that we’ve been seeing but tonnes and tonnes of water lofted high into the air by forces we can barely get our minds around. We catch glimpses of the falls, a flat delta of water so serene meeting a tabletop edge to dash any sense of serenity it once had. Fleeting glimpses emerge and pass in the gusting wash of water flying skyward to meet us in a few minutes, this truly is an immersive experience as we feel the falls more than we see them.

We’re soaked and battered by just being close to these mighty falls, this really is more and more like a festival mosh-pit the longer this day goes. It’s time for us to hit the road and head back, where else but in Africa would there be two elegant antelope on the path that we walk within a few metres of. The cute little bushbucks are wild but couldn’t care less about us and we’re happy to see them too. What would a festival be without a few sideshow attractions, where is the gozleme stand?

We all know the scene, wasted youth leaving a temporary fenced arena custom designed to drag out every scrap of energy and appreciation they have to give. They leave drained, bedraggled and thoroughly delighted as they make hasty plans for next years return. It’s with this worn out elation that we leave dripping wet, looking like delighted messes from the festival that is Victoria Falls. It wasn’t for music that we came but we’ve been entertained, thrilled and wrung-out in the best possible way. We might not be planning for next year but our hasty plans for a return in the low water season aren’t entirely flippant. For now we float like lost youth all over again to our next thrill, Chobe we’re on our way.

April 2, 2015

While you were working – Genie in a bottle, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

As if rafting on the Zambezi wasn’t enough we just have to take one more close look at the mighty river, from above this time. Victoria Falls is somewhat of an adventure hub so it would be remiss to not partake in a little more of the fun on offer, wouldn’t it? Today it’s gorge swing time, and yes this is pretty much exactly what it sounds like, a really big swing, simple right? Well I guess we’re about to find out, we’re pretty comfortable with heights so this should be a breeze.

The mist from the falls rises up above the tree line like smoke from a bushfire but we’re yet to see them up close, the falls themselves aren’t the only phenomenon on offer here. After the falls the mighty Zambezi begins and it’s through a sharply zig-zagging run of gorges that this great river begins its existence. The river cuts back nearly onto itself nine times leaving a series of sharp blades of land nearly 100m high, like knives sheathed against each other. Each of these sharp spines of cliff have been the site of the falls themselves in times past before a preceding rift opened up to form the new falls. It’s in the sharp walls of these clustered gorges that todays fun begins.

Getting into our harnesses we are waiting near the platform for our jump, it’s a long way down but I can’t wait to go. There’s three guys in front of us, South African, and we barely resist a cricket jibe having just won the World Cup, very proud of ourselves for our restraint. On the jump the Saffas all squeal like stuck pigs on the way down and out over the raging river, this perspective gives a staggering scope of the Zambezi and its gorges. We’re nearly 100m up at this point and the breadth of the gorge is about 90m, the misleading ‘ripples’ of the Zambezi so far below are waves big enough to swallow houses. We tell ourselves that we’re still comfortable.

I’m up first and nerves aside I can’t wait, all the years of canyoning hold me in good stead, I’m strapped in and off I jump assuming the customary show off pose as I leap. The free fall is longer than expected, 75m, the feeling of falling is scary of course but mostly exhilarating; I feel like I’m flying even if I’m doing a very poor job at it. The slack takes and the free fall is quickly turned into a rocket out over the churning waves, this is no playground swing. On 90m of rope the slow swing takes about 5 seconds but I soar at breakneck speed, the tension on the harness pins me to my extremities. With adrenaline still coursing wildly through my veins I am allowed a few slow down swings and a once in a lifetime view of one of the worlds great rivers before being hauled to the cliff edge.

Charlie’s up next and I can’t help but play it down, ‘not as bad as I thought, just like a big drop and Kalang Falls babe’ a reference to a canyon in the Blue Mountains near Sydney. With visibly relaxed posture Charlie takes the stage, we’ve canyoned Kalang Falls twice before, this should be a snap. The trick works a treat, Charlie realises a little too late that it’s an immense drop and words that launch from that innocent mouth are not for this publication; hilarious. I snap shots as best I can while I’m wetting my pants laughing, Charlie does manage a fist-pump salute at the bottom, seeing him transposed against the river gives me an even greater appreciation of its immensity, wow.

Zambezi, nailed; Gorge, nailed; lunch, about to be nailed. We have done physically little but the hyper mood we’ve literally fallen into makes us ravenous. Past the descending hoard of hawkers we bash through to the local market, a delicious warthog ciabatta and chicken burger await, food for conquering kings. Downing our delicious food we’re surrounded by that big African smile once again, the chef even comes out to have a chat and see that we’re happy with things, the warmth of Africa is truly immense. Likewise the art on display, Zimbabwe boasts a thriving artistic culture, particularly for sculpture and it somewhat kills us not to be able to take something with us. This country of such poor repute shows us so much to admire from so many differing angles.

After the fall we’re floating, the gorge swing ensures the rest of our day is spent on a cloud. That is until we get back to the hostel, the Aussie guy we met who had been falsely accused of stealing from a hawker and sucked into a corrupt police extortion had to go to court. After being held in gaol he decided to plead guilty and pay $45 to get out, in this gaol no food was provided, a torturous situation he just wanted to be away from. Rather than being let go he was further detained and forced on the next flight to South Africa. This alarming situation may have more to it than we see but in any language is a blight on this country. He was in Zimbabwe volunteering in an anti poaching organisation, I imagine he nor his friends will ever return.

More sobered we venture out for a sundowner drink at the glamorous Victoria Falls hotel, a beacon of British frontier pomp. Stately rooms, manicured lawns and imposing facades sit snugly behind security in a town it so effectively hides from. The poor reality of this vibrant country is effectively kept at arms length as we sit in obscene luxury straight from our tent, we don’t fit in at all bit it’s a little bit gorgeous, another gin please. From our seat we can see the mist of the falls roaring into the sky, yet another twist in the tail of this place that seems to be so many towns crammed into one.

From natural wonders and the heights of a great fall we are brought back to earth by the obvious contradiction of this country; yes Zimbabwe has a fair bit of baggage to get through. Genuinely striking art, natural grace, captivating people and a grand history are so sadly cowed in the face of corruption, violence and economic mis-management. This shiny bubble we are in is a small pocket to show off to the rest of the world and even here the sad underbelly of a nation that could be shining so bright is tainted for all to see. Apparently Zim is on the upswing, many believe the worst days have passed, this land of dazzling wonder looking toward a brighter day. It’s easy to see how people get so captivated with Africa, surely a wicked few can’t keep the genie in the bottle forever, here’s to rubbing the lamp.

April 1, 2015

While you were working – Adaptation, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

After taming the beasts at the border we make our long awaited arrival into Victoria Falls; long awaited by us, not the population of this bustling town I’m sad to say. Parking the car and dashing out into the world after a flash-in-the-pan storm we charge out of the hostel in a heady humidity full of the smells of rain and earth. Immediately it’s clear that Botswana and Zimbabwe are very different countries. Barely a foot outside the door we’re launched upon by guys trying to sell the famed former Zim currency, bills of ZWD50,000,000,000 and apparently ‘no thanks’ is not an appropriate answer. The Zimbabwe financial meltdown is well known, these huge notes an obvious link to the farcical running of this country and the desperate situations these guys are no doubt in. Ironically they’re using the symbol of their plights cause to attempt to pull themselves up from the mess of that currency. Zeal they have, style they do not, we’ve been to Havana and that fortification leaves these poor fella’s in the dust.

We carry on through the town brushing off would be salesmen like groupies at a Bieber concert, where Botswana was a sea of that African smiles not the same can be immediately said for Zim. It’s easy to shrug off the people themselves but not quite so easy to shrug off the social reality that clings to your skin long after the people have been lost to sight, visual or moral. Out of mind, out of sight; not at all. The truth remains that relatively speaking, we are filthy rich so it’s with a shameful selfishness that we ignore the desperate sales approach; a shade of guilt lingers with us for our privileged good fortune. In our circumstances we can’t opt to carry heavy ornaments or carvings and the notes are just not an interest. But we know full well that the offerings aren’t the point, this has nothing to do with procuring a souvenir and everything to do with social conscience.

Walking streets of less fortunate people it’s impossible to avoid the imbalance of a rolled dice played out on a social scale; and yes, be it Peru, Bolivia, Zimbabwe, PNG or anywhere else it’s dumb luck pure and simple. There’s cases of all degrees but en masse it has nothing to do with work ethic, honest disposition or anything else, we’re just lucky to be born who we are, where we were and in the right time; not everyone is so fortunate. So why don’t we share? Are we just heartless, completely delusional? I’d like to think not, nor do we hide behind the reasonable but ultimately shaky ‘we don’t want to encourage this behaviour’ argument. For us this debate has one answer, after the 80th person the first day it’s just overwhelming. We realise we can’t help the whole world and the rush tactics that are effectively bullying are simply confronting. So we’re left with hopefuls in our wake and hopefully our wake of payments to local industry are our personal pass-out.

So as one does in this exhausting environment we head back to the hostel sadly kept at arms length from local interaction, the universal highlight of any travel experience. Crowded around a table of chain smoking social alcoholics with a collective IQ of an elephant fart we attempt to get on board with the benign talk-yourself-up conversation that seems the only gear on offer. Welcome to hostel urchins. They’re a rare type this lot, drifting aimlessly between shabby hostels their currency is a shared terror in adoption any form of responsibility, often living and existing in crap conditions in the desperate need to avoid responsibility in the guise of being ‘living free’ and ‘being a global citizen’. Disclaimer here: the vast majority of hostel staying travellers we’ve met have been intelligent, charming and thoroughly interesting, for all those people out there, I trust you also know the type.

Ironically while paddling in the shallow end of the traveller gene pool we do come across a guy, an Aussie none less, who has been arrested in town twice due to a bogus hawker. Offering to sell a wooden rhino he was accused of taking the hawkers money and the notoriously corrupt police were right in on the act, arresting and locking him up; An unsubstantiated story that sadly seems so true to us. This does in retrospect back up our hard line stance in these interactions whether it makes us feel better about it or not. Are these people corrupt and unethical; very possibly some; do they remain the unfortunate ones on the crap side of birth-roulette: indeed. Traveller conundrum yet to be solved and this one probably never will.

So we come full circle, we’re given an blinding social insight from those we would least expect on a community we so desperately want to see differently, indeed we want to see in whatever way as real as possible. To us it’s a bad-apple script of small percentages casting impressions, the truth remains that without opportunity that very human resilience and resourcefulness comes to the fore. So is it a neat case of better and worse off? A truly flat playing field for all a bit too idealistic? No doubt but the stab to the conscience remains none the less. We’re a far more amazing creature than we often give ourselves credit for and it’s the case in every ‘poor’ country we’ve ever been in, people will shave off the upper layers of ethics in the face of need.Moral corruption? I’d just call it adaptation, we are proud of this resilience and adaptation, maybe we just don’t like the outcomes.

March 31, 2015

While you were working – African Smile, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

It’s been talked about for so long, the famed mighty Zambezi river, the river itself but more pointedly rafting down it. A staggering volume of water is collected from the famous Victoria Falls and all that water comes pumping down the Zambezi, one of the wildest rafting rides in the world. And today we realise the main reason for battling over the border and fighting into Zimbabwe, I’m finally going to have my crack at the Zambezi. Up at 6:30am with bleary eyes we are picked up by the bus and we’re off for our briefing on a balcony overhanging the gorges of the upper Zambezi, steep walls of about 100m plunge nearly vertically in narrow slots down to the raging croc infested waters that will soon be our home. This day can only be one of a few shades of awesome, no dull outcome is possible.

But for a moment the Zambezi takes a back seat, we’re greeted by an African smile, a smile that is fast becoming the symbol of Africa to me. So many people so far have been truly beautiful, lean and strong with sculpted features and elegant postures but it all acts as a backdrop to that African smile that in most never seems far away. Our guide today is another African smile, all perfect white teeth; no wonder his nickname is Colgate. Getting into our briefing he pulls out another great expression, to check that we’re all understanding we get an inquisitive smile; a slight pause; then: “Are we together?” Our return smiles pale in comparison but we enthusiastically give them anyway. Yes Colgate, we’re together.

Soon enough Colgate has us all entranced and we are on the water getting into gear for the battle ahead. There’s eight of us in the boat, Charlie and I of course bundle to the front for the wildest ride, we’re ecstatic to see two other Kiwi guys, we won’t be the only ones rowing thankfully. In no time Colgate has us all whipped into line, “Are we together?” comes the call, Yes we are. Driven on by the emblem of Africa calling us forward we row out from our calm side of the river and into the current, we’re away. It’s high water season so the rapids aren’t as tumultuous as can be but instead we have a volume of water pulsing with power that flows, churns and whirlpools with greater ferocity than I’ve ever seen. Many rivers in Chile are a force of nature but they all need to bow to the mighty Zambezi.

“Don’t fall out on this one, there’s big whirlpools left and right, Are we together?” comes the smiling cry from the back as we plunge through the first rapid, “Creamy White Bums”. We can’t help enquire at the name. A gleaming white grill of teeth precedes the answer “Because when white people fall out on this one they always lose their pants so I have to look at creamy white bums all day, so don’t fall out. Are we together?” Do we have an option at this point; clearly no.

Through Creamy White Bums unscathed, past the O”verland Truck Eater” and into “Terminator 1, 2 and 3”. It’s a wild ride as Colgate reminds us “Don’t fall out, I don’t want you to be croc biscuits, Are we together”? we don’t answer we just paddle furiously and hang on. Well seven of us paddle and hang on, Charlie is out and we can’t see him. It’s all white water and there’s no Charlie. In what is probably just a few seconds but seems like an eternity, Charlie bursts to the surface on my side of the boat, he must have been trapped underneath. Trying to manage the wild rapids and get to Charlie at the same time I row like crazy calling on the other team members to put in big strokes, Charlie’s red life vest more lost in the churn than it is visible. We scrape close enough and I throw out my oar but it’s too late, a mountain of white froth swallows him and he’s gone again. A few moments later he’s spat up about ten metres in front of us, how the hell did he get there? We paddle like mad struggling to bridge the gap between us and Charlie which seems to be impossibly large.

Through a pulse racing series of rapids the river slows again and we are able to get over to the newest member of the mighty Zambezi swimming team. Thankfully he isn’t a croc biscuit and we drag him back on board all thoroughly out of breath yet still attempting to emulate the smile at the back. Mighty Zambezi: reputation intact. In better form we negotiate “Oblivion”, “The Mother”, “The Washing Machine” and “Surprise Surprise” among others with distinction, barely hanging on but somehow surfing this wild ride. At many occasions waves rear up above the boat and we plunge into a trough that seems to have no exit, it’s terrifying and exhilarating and each time we manage to get through, only Colgate knows how.

After about an hour of river wrangling the gorge opens to a gentle bay, we’re exhausted but we’ve made it. A short sharp hike up the hill and we’re enjoying a cold beer and a feast of a lunch laid out for us, what a day, we came with huge expectations and are leaving without a trace of disappointment. The mighty Zambezi has delivered.

The adrenaline still ebbs through us long after we’ve finished our crazy ride, we’re on the bus and heading back to town passing small villages and towns on our way. Often our bus is escorted by a host of African smiles in perfect school uniforms waving feverishly in barely contained delight. At what I wonder, but I guess that’s not really the point, why not just be happy for the sake of being happy. In a country where the political and economic situation has plumbed the depths of African disaster it could be easy to think that happiness and mirth must be in such short supply. Apparently more would be required to quell an African smile.

Those African smiles convey such a complicated story so layered in toil and hardship with effortless clarity. The freedom in abandonment of material good, the shuffling of priorities to a simpler and more robust way of viewing the world and our hopes within it are thoughts pondered for years by some. John Lennon at school famously submitted his hopes for what he wanted to be in life: happy. When told he didn’t understand the assignment he replied that the teacher didn’t understand life. Call it the triumph of challenge, the human spirit, enlightenment, wisdom; John Lennon’s philosophically complex proposition becomes simple at just one glimpse, of an African smile.

March 30, 2015

While you were working – Dangerous Beasts, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

It appears that all animals are not pressed from the same mould be they wild or not. Our slumber serenade from Elephants was all boisterous bluster, indeed the Elephants are known to be the destructionists of the wild here as a result of having little or no natural predators beyond us humans. This security creates a blasé nonchalance that this mornings viewing lacks. It is surely impossible to be bored while enjoying a casual morning overlooking the beautiful plains with a herd of giraffes grazing right before us. The repeating ideal jumps out again, they’re not behind a fence or a cage, they’re alarmingly sharing the same space as us, breathtaking.

Where the elephants seem to be the rugby front rowers of the jungle the Giraffes take the mantle of elegantly skittish prima ballerinas, all grace and fluttered eyelashes. Gracefully moving from tree to tree seeing the movement of these huge beasts in real life is a bizarre contradiction: they’re huge animals and not just tall, they’re a lot more powerfully built than their elegance of movement would seem to permit. They skirt the water hole before us never coming closer than 20m or so, gently scanning for possible threats I assume. We’re silent and restrict our movements but it’s a no go, the ballerinas aren’t confident so they glide away unwilling to take a risk at a potentially dangerous water hole. By contrast the front rowers barge in a little later in the day and every animal capable of doing so clears out. Both huge wild herbivores but what vastly differing dispositions.

In this journey north closer to and into the wild we are leaving casual game spotting temporarily behind, or at least adding to them, today we take on a wild of a different kind; we cross the border into Zimbabwe. We’ve been surrounded by wild animals unshielded and we’ve felt nothing but secure and at ease, today though we take on our greatest wild animal challenge to date and we’re decidedly nervous, humans. The border crossing to ‘Zim’ is notoriously awkward and it’s apparently easier than Zambia, this should be fun if nothing else.

Approaching the border we have our game faces on, these wide eyed innocent tourists desperate not to look too much like wide eyed innocent tourists ripe for the scam. Apparently there’s a lack of set pricing here so it’s a game of bluff your way through on top of the customary road block vehicle check to search for something wrong with your vehicle, and fine you for it. Exiting Botswana is a breeze, if Chile is the Germany of Latin America then Botswana is the Chile of Africa, the Zim’ immigration is where the game faces come on. We have our paperwork all ready and hand it over before being asked maintaining a nonchalant exterior. A little cricket chat goes a long way, it’s all smiles and ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’, so far so good.

The inevitable does come though, payment time. Plucking a fairly random number we think we’re about USD50 on the bad side but with an unofficial border helper to make things easier, probably his fee. A little conference that is only a part charade we guess that this is the price for not getting any more dramas, so we pay up feeling like we have paid a little more than we should but avoiding paying more than we could. Next stop boom gate and it’s bingo time, our helper has taken our paperwork through and it’s plain sailing, fifty bucks well spent I say.

High-fives too soon, we’re stopped about a hundred metres on, we’d heard about the bogus vehicle inspection. Stern predator in police uniform is greeted with impassive faces and not a spoken word more than necessary; yes we know this game and we’re not going to get taken lightly sunshine. A mini stare off feels like more of a brush with danger than we’ve had in the few days living with Africa’s wild animals, this one is far more dangerous. Stalking the car we hold our nerve and resist trying to make small talk and look intimidated; lights on, lights off a test easily passed. A nervous wait for a slow lap of the vehicle and back to the window, still we resist to falter as Charlie looks positively bored, still resisting conversation. Victory is declared as the predator slinks back to his roadside jungle hideout to wait for easier game. This time the high-fives aren’t premature at all, the notorious Zim border crossing fades behind us with barely the minimum scratch.

We surge onto the town of Victoria Falls, fittingly spotting some Kudu and a Sable on the road, some of the grandest antelope we’ll see this whole trip. After encountering the really dangerous animals of Africa, us, these beasts carry the bulky immensity of a small horse with the daintiness of their smaller more delicate relatives, Impala and Springbok. Nothing to say other than breathtaking. Seeing amazing animals on the road is now settling to normality, giddy excitement giving way to uncomplicated appreciation. This calm affinity may all change when we or if we see big hunting cats but for now it’s easy to feel more comfortable in the presence of beasts of the four legged kind rather than those on two legs. George Orwell comes to mind yet again, a commandment from the pigs of Animal farm: ‘Four legs good, two legs bad’. Maybe a little harsh Snowball, but I can’t entirely disagree.