The first weekend I was in Africa we decided to go to see Victoria Falls. The thing about being in Africa is that it’s bloody huge; for us in the UK a drive to the nearest town is usually about 15 minutes, whereas from Katima pretty much anywhere you want to go is at least a 2 hour drive. With Jem and Glenn’s car still being at the garage (after the head gasket escapade on the way to collect us) we had to use a taxi. Although it is not comfortable sitting in a car with 4 other people in 40 degree heat with no air conditioning, at least the taxis are a lot cheaper than I’m used to. We headed off on the Saturday morning towards the border of Zambia, which is only about a 10 minute drive from Katima. My first experience of going through the border was quite interesting, but even a week into my trip the novelty had worn off, although I still don’t mind gaining more stamps in my passport. As UK citizens you have to pay $50 US for the privilege of getting a VISA to go into Zambia, I’m not entirely sure why but I wasn’t going to argue with the big black man behind the counter. The border posts have come to be a bit of a running joke between us as every time we go to one there is something amusing going on. The first time I went through the Botswana-Namibia border the lady behind the counter was dressed in a glittery blue evening gown. Although she looked very pretty, I didn’t think it was really appropriate attire to be wearing in the day in an office. One of the other times we went through on the way to Zambia we had forgotten to bring our own pens (as you have to fill in a form every time you cross) so we asked to borrow one from the office. The reply we got was that they were using ’the’ pen at the moment so we would have to wait. The most amusing thing about this is that there were posters up everywhere stating that the Namibian Border Control is striving to be the best in the World; how they’re going to achieve this with only one pen is beyond me.
Once past the Zambian border town there is nothing but miles and miles of very straight road, bush and mud hut villages. About an hour into the journey you reach what I can only describe as a forest; huge looming trees surrounding every inch of the view either side of the road, but at that time of the year they looked pretty dead. The land hadn’t had any rain for a good few months so the leaves just don’t grow, even the soil is black in places where it has been scorched by the sun. When I went to Livingstone about a month after this when the rainy season had started, the forest looked completely different; all the trees were green and surrounded by lush bush and grass.
Driving this sort of distance in a typical African taxi is definitely an experience to be remembered. Aside from the fact that the windscreen is cracked all the way from roof to bonnet, you get tangled in the door seal whilst trying to get into the car, things fly off the parcel shelf into your head when the car breaks and we were squashed in the back with 3 fully grown adults, the roads are also full of pot holes so the car swerves from side to side to avoid them. Not long after we’d started driving through the dead forest the car starts veering (more than usual) and the driver announces that we have a flat tyre. No problem we think, we’ll just put the spare on right? Wrong. The spare is also flat. The driver tells us that he’ll just get a taxi to the next town with the spare tyre and get in pumped up. He flags down the next vehicle, jumps in and disappears leaving us with his car. By this point we’ve already drunk the drinks we bought for the journey, and it’s bloody hot. There is pretty much no shade as it’s nearing midday and besides the dead trees don’t offer much protection anyway. We sit for what seems like a decade (but was actually only 2 hours) in the 40 degree heat reading our books whilst shifting every so often in the hope that we will find a spot in the car or by the side of the road that is slightly cooler. Eventually the taxi driver appeared again in a much nicer taxi than the one he’s driving, newly pumped up tyre in hand. We decide to make use of the nicer car that’s appeared so pay the flat-tyre driver and clamber into the other car. Feeling a lot more comfortable than we have for the last 3 or 4 hours we head onwards to Livingstone. We had booked into a backpackers lodge called Fawlty Towers for the night; I’m guessing they just liked the John Cleese series as it bared no resemblance to the actual Fawlty Towers. The rooms were basic but clean and the lodge had a couple of bars and a pool so it was definitely a good choice. The rest of the evening we mostly drank, swam and played pool, ready to head to Vic Falls the next morning.
Having decided not to get up at 5.30 am to go on the game drive (which mostly involves driving round hoping to find some animals) we left Fawlty Towers at a normal-person time, narrowly avoiding being hit by the falling mangos on our way out (due to the men in the trees shaking them down). Victoria Falls is on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe, with the actual town named Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwe side. On the way into the reserve, lots of black men warned us about carrying shopping bags in because of the baboons. Mum and I looked a little confused by this but Glenn pointed out that he knew what he was doing as he’s African so we headed to the entrance.
Words cannot describe what it’s like. The path is really high (about 100 meters) above the river (the Zambeze) so you get an astounding view of the rapids rushing below you and the water falling to fill them. We went in low season so there is not much mist, meaning you get a really good view. I’ve been told than in high season when the amount of water falling is massively more, you can hardly see anything as a lot of it is thrown back up into the air as mist. Whenever you go, the humidity is 100% so within minutes you have sweat dripping down your back, not to mention a bright pink face (it’s hard to tell whether it’s due to the heat or from sunburn). The path in places is a little less secure than I would like (being completely freaked out by heights), so at some points I was practically edging along as far away from the drop as I could but even so the whole walk is breathtaking. At one place there is a gap between the cliffs so a wooden bridge crosses to join the path. Although the bridge is pretty sturdy I had to take it at a run to avoid freaking out, much to the amusement of Mum and Jemma. Mum actually put a photo of me crossing this bridge on Facebook with a comment that ‘it’s only a little stream’, which in fairness it is, but 100 meters below. You walk along the cliff tops with the Zambeze thundering along below and the view of Zimbabwe opposite you. There is not much else I can say to describe the view, it’s something you just have to see in real life.
Once past the Zambian border town there is nothing but miles and miles of very straight road, bush and mud hut villages. About an hour into the journey you reach what I can only describe as a forest; huge looming trees surrounding every inch of the view either side of the road, but at that time of the year they looked pretty dead. The land hadn’t had any rain for a good few months so the leaves just don’t grow, even the soil is black in places where it has been scorched by the sun. When I went to Livingstone about a month after this when the rainy season had started, the forest looked completely different; all the trees were green and surrounded by lush bush and grass.
Driving this sort of distance in a typical African taxi is definitely an experience to be remembered. Aside from the fact that the windscreen is cracked all the way from roof to bonnet, you get tangled in the door seal whilst trying to get into the car, things fly off the parcel shelf into your head when the car breaks and we were squashed in the back with 3 fully grown adults, the roads are also full of pot holes so the car swerves from side to side to avoid them. Not long after we’d started driving through the dead forest the car starts veering (more than usual) and the driver announces that we have a flat tyre. No problem we think, we’ll just put the spare on right? Wrong. The spare is also flat. The driver tells us that he’ll just get a taxi to the next town with the spare tyre and get in pumped up. He flags down the next vehicle, jumps in and disappears leaving us with his car. By this point we’ve already drunk the drinks we bought for the journey, and it’s bloody hot. There is pretty much no shade as it’s nearing midday and besides the dead trees don’t offer much protection anyway. We sit for what seems like a decade (but was actually only 2 hours) in the 40 degree heat reading our books whilst shifting every so often in the hope that we will find a spot in the car or by the side of the road that is slightly cooler. Eventually the taxi driver appeared again in a much nicer taxi than the one he’s driving, newly pumped up tyre in hand. We decide to make use of the nicer car that’s appeared so pay the flat-tyre driver and clamber into the other car. Feeling a lot more comfortable than we have for the last 3 or 4 hours we head onwards to Livingstone. We had booked into a backpackers lodge called Fawlty Towers for the night; I’m guessing they just liked the John Cleese series as it bared no resemblance to the actual Fawlty Towers. The rooms were basic but clean and the lodge had a couple of bars and a pool so it was definitely a good choice. The rest of the evening we mostly drank, swam and played pool, ready to head to Vic Falls the next morning.
Having decided not to get up at 5.30 am to go on the game drive (which mostly involves driving round hoping to find some animals) we left Fawlty Towers at a normal-person time, narrowly avoiding being hit by the falling mangos on our way out (due to the men in the trees shaking them down). Victoria Falls is on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe, with the actual town named Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwe side. On the way into the reserve, lots of black men warned us about carrying shopping bags in because of the baboons. Mum and I looked a little confused by this but Glenn pointed out that he knew what he was doing as he’s African so we headed to the entrance.
Words cannot describe what it’s like. The path is really high (about 100 meters) above the river (the Zambeze) so you get an astounding view of the rapids rushing below you and the water falling to fill them. We went in low season so there is not much mist, meaning you get a really good view. I’ve been told than in high season when the amount of water falling is massively more, you can hardly see anything as a lot of it is thrown back up into the air as mist. Whenever you go, the humidity is 100% so within minutes you have sweat dripping down your back, not to mention a bright pink face (it’s hard to tell whether it’s due to the heat or from sunburn). The path in places is a little less secure than I would like (being completely freaked out by heights), so at some points I was practically edging along as far away from the drop as I could but even so the whole walk is breathtaking. At one place there is a gap between the cliffs so a wooden bridge crosses to join the path. Although the bridge is pretty sturdy I had to take it at a run to avoid freaking out, much to the amusement of Mum and Jemma. Mum actually put a photo of me crossing this bridge on Facebook with a comment that ‘it’s only a little stream’, which in fairness it is, but 100 meters below. You walk along the cliff tops with the Zambeze thundering along below and the view of Zimbabwe opposite you. There is not much else I can say to describe the view, it’s something you just have to see in real life.
On the way out of the reserve we headed to the markets to take a quick look. With Glenn and Jemma slightly ahead of Mum and I, we got a brilliant view of a baboon bounding down a tree, running up to Glenn and grabbing the bag of drinks from his hand. It happened so quickly that I was left standing speechless with my mouth gaping open and no time to warn Glenn. It was absolutely hilarious. The baboon ran away looking quite pleased with himself while we stood trying very hard not to laugh at Glenn, for not listening to the advice the men gave us on the way in. To make it even more amusing, these men felt the need to say ‘I told you so’ as we passed them again on our way out. The baboons at Vic Falls are quite used to people due to the amount of tourists and have figured out that they can steal food quite easily. Usual baboons however are not to be messed with; they are surprisingly big, aggressive, scary creatures and can move at an alarmingly fast pace. You’d have a job to outrun one. Apparently they are scared of men but not women. We did spend a while trying to work out how they knew the difference, but gave up after a short while.
We stopped at the bridge café to regain some energy and try to rid ourselves of the mighty headaches that had appeared (from the sun). I spent the next two hours or so debating whether I had the guts to do a bungee jump for my birthday. As most of you will know, every year since my 21st I’ve done some form of adrenaline sport to celebrate my birthday. Glenn had offered to pay for me to do a bungee as a present, which I had gratefully accepted. It seemed like such a brilliant idea until I was actually there. I had come to the conclusion that I just didn’t think I could do it, when the moment came to choose and I agreed. I’m not entirely sure what happened over the next 10 minutes as it’s all a bit of a blur, but I appeared on the bridge between Zambia and Zimbabwe with my weight, jump number and a smiley face written on my arm in red marker pen. The staff that strap you up ready to jump are really friendly. I think they were highly amused by my terrified face, but were still very reassuring. Having been asked to step onto the platform hanging off the side of the bridge, I was told to sit down while they secured the ropes. The platform itself is a grate, so you get a lovely view of the rapids 370 ft below. I did my best to look up at Glenn and not down at the drop as by this point I was already shaking a lot. The guy strapping me up wrapped what looked a lot like an ordinary bath towel round my ankles, then secured it with a lot of straps and ropes etc. There was a camera man trying to chat to me during this process, and as you can see from the video I didn’t really respond to many of his questions. He very quickly decided to give up as I was clearly in too much of a state to chat to him. I was then told to stand up. I felt the immediate urge to grab on to the nearest thing, which happened to be the camera man (much to his surprise). I had to shuffle to the edge of the ledge, looking out at the glorious view of Victoria Falls beneath me. I was shaking so badly I don’t think anybody thought I would actually be able to do it. I held my arms high up above my head and on the count of 5...4...3...2...1...bungee! I jumped.
Well jumped may be a little strong, I actually half heartedly lurched off the ledge. The feeling of falling face down towards the Zambeze is unbelievable, and not in a good way. It happened so quickly and I was spinning so fast that all I could see was a blur off river, cliffs and sky. I can’t even describe the feeling. The first few seconds after I had jumped it actually felt like I was falling to my death; I think my brain could just not comprehend what was happening. I was brought back upwards with the sharp snap of the bungee and proceeded to bounce up and down for quite a while. Once I’d slowed down a bit it was a lot more enjoyable as I could actually see what was around me. I wasn’t sure what to do with my arms so kept holding on to my harness, then letting go, then holding on again. Once I’d stopped bouncing so much a guy on a harness was lowered down and clipped himself on to me. The first thing he said was “you can stop shaking now”. I was pretty speechless at that moment so he shrugged and started to pull me upwards back towards the bridge. I was lowered onto a ramp on the underside of the bridge which felt like a rickety old thing that would collapse at any minute. The man that greeted me there also felt the need to tell me to stop shaking, to which I replied “I don’t like bridges”. In actual fact it’s not the bridge that scared me it was the fact that the bridge was 110 meters above the Zambeze flowing beneath us. He told me some instructions about getting back up to the top of the bridge which I was too nervous to listen to and sent me on my way. Finally I reached the steps up to the far side of the bridge where Glenn was waiting for me and we walked back to the jump platform to give my harness back. I was still in shock at this point. The staff were so amazed that I had actually jumped after being so terrified that they offered me a free jump, which much to Glenn’s disappointment I turned down. It was definitely an adrenalin rush and possibly the scariest thing I’ve ever done. It was enjoyable in hindsight and I would probably do it again, but the falling facedown was something I never could have imagined.
We were greeted back at the café by Jemma and Mum who were amazed I had done it too. Jemma and Glenn decided to do a tandem bridge swing so Mum and I watched from the café while they did it. I think the bridge swing would be really good fun because you get a good view, whereas with the bungee you’re falling and spinning too fast to really see anything. We all bought the videos and photos of our jumps as a keepsake and headed back to Fawlty Towers. The videos are hilarious. In mine I scream all the way down whilst flapping my arms, perhaps in an attempt to reverse. You can clearly see the painful point where the bungee snapped me back up. In Jem and Glenn’s, Jemma makes a strange rumbling noise all the way down which she said was from the pure G force pushing against her face. After a relaxed afternoon back in the pool we got a taxi back to Katima. Thankfully the journey home was a lot less eventful than the first one.
No comments:
Post a Comment