Victoria Falls, Day 1

View of the bridge over the Zambezi from our seats while enjoying high tea.

We're in Zimbabwe!

Before we started our post-Ethiopia planning, I don’t think we ever imagined that we’d be going to Zimbabwe. Images of Mugabe-created chaos - wheelbarrows of hyper inflated money, angry folk violently reclaiming land from descendents of colonialists, uncertain stability - placed Zimbabwe on a list that also included other probably beautiful places like North Korea, the various Congos, and Iran. But, here I am, sitting in a comfortable bed with a view of the bridge over the Zambezi river and the tumultuous rising steam of Victoria Falls, at the beginning of a most unexpected blog post.

Steam from the Falls

We are staying at the Victoria Falls Hotel, a 1904 hotel built in all of the splendor afforded by the height of colonialism. It is situated on top of the Zambezi river gorge maybe one kilometer from the falls. A marvelous ironwork bridge spans the gorge between the hotel and the falls. It is stunning as a still-life, better when a train rumbles over, and even better when some poor soul bungie jumps from the center of the span. The hotel has a “Stanley Bar”, a “Stanley Terrace”, a “Livingstone Room”, and a “Jungle Junction” restaurant. It also has wi-fi. While that part feels a bit out of place, I guess Stanley and Livingstone were modern travelers in their own time. We all have our own required travel equipment.

The view from our window

In the courtyward

This is the first part of our trip that has been arranged by an agent: we have vouchers and everything. The handholding is nice (especially in Zimbabwe) but seems a little over the top. This morning, we were met at the Jo’burg airport and escorted to the check-in desk and then up to security. While the escort gave us some good information about Victoria Falls - don’t drink the water - the check-in help seemed a bit silly. However, it was nice being picked up at the Victoria Falls airport and not being required to navigate the taxi system here. In addition to the driver, there was a representative of the local tour operation in the van with us. Her name is Edna. In the process of explaining all of the activities that her company offers -- the aforementioned bungie jumping, day trips into Chobe, guided visit to the Falls, etc -- she stated that the local currency is no longer: it hyper inflated itself out of use. Therefore, we could pay her in any of the “Big 5”. She then iterated the “Big 5”. Remember the word “Big”. (1) Pound sterling, (2) Euro, (3) US Dollar, (4) South Africa Rand, and, the biggest of the “Big 5”, (5) Botswana Pula. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Botswana Pula is now in the same league as the world’s reserve currencies and the denomination of the most economically powerful country in Africa. (We signed up for the sunset cruise on the Zambezi for tomorrow. We will be sure to pay for it in Pula).

After a swim this afternoon, we were walking back to the hotel buildings in our nice terry cloth hotel robes. At the prime picture taking spot on the property, we ran into an Australian woman we had met waiting in line at immigration. We talked for a while and then turned to go up the steps to the lawn in front of the hotel. We stopped. Making its way across the immaculate lawn was a big ole’ wart hog, tusks and all. We followed in stunned silence for a while until it lazily made its way across a little bridge and past a troop of monkeys frolicking on the lawn. There are monkeys here? “Kate! Let’s go look at the monkeys!” “Andrew, how about we go put clothes on first.” “But, Kate! Monkeys!” We went and put on clothes and then spent 30 minutes watching the monkeys climb and eat and play.

Sidebar: Maybe we worried unnecessarily about Zimbabwe -- or maybe Victoria Falls isn’t the ‘real’ Zimbabwe -- but we have found people extraordinarily friendly here. Especially the immigration officials. We had a good laugh with them when I was given an extra day on my tourist visa since the officer’s son shares my name (Kate insists that it’s our birthday that we share).

At the base of the flag pole (upon which the Union Jack once flew)