Zimbabwe: Victoria Falls

The very weary travelers arrived in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, about an hour and a half later than we had planned, so we unloaded our bags and started walking in the general direction of our lodge by the light of a nearly full moon instead of the sunset like we had planned.  Luckily, the Victoria Falls Rest Camp and Lodge was only about a five minute walk away.  The Rest Camp is well known in Vic Falls, and is a combination camp ground and lodge, so we checked in and made our way down to our little chalet.  It was pretty spacious, with two bedrooms, a kitchen stocked with cooking utensils and a bathroom.  Clean and serviceable, but nothing to write home about. Sam and I walked back down the road to what seemed to be the only thing still open- a combined Pizza Inn, Chicken Inn, and Creamy Inn, which is a common fast food chain in Zimbabwe.  We picked up a cheese and peri-peri chicken pizza that was delicious, grabbed some water jugs, and headed back to our house to eat and go off to sleep. 

The thing about the tap water in Zim is that you can’t drink it.  The Farm House in Motobo had a well, so we were fine there, but even at the Wharton’s we needed water in the bathroom to brush our teeth.  Luckily, our poor-college-student brains are still very adept at seeking out free things, and we had started hoarding water bottles from Harare and the PathFinder buses.  There are a few things like that are little reminders that we’re not quite in Kansas anymore, including the mosquito netting that have been artfully tied above our beds at every location outside of Harare (the elevation in Harare means less mosquitoes, especially in the cooler winter).  We haven’t been too concerned; Madison and I have been enjoying our princess bedding.

The next day, we slept in and then went the front desk to sort out the activities we wanted to do around the Falls.  Victoria Falls, also called “the smoke that thunders” in Ndebele, is a waterfall on the Zambezi River between Zimbabwe and Zambia.  It’s not the highest or the widest, but it is classified as the largest waterfalls in the world, about twice the size of Niagara Falls for comparison. 

Vic Falls is one of the biggest tourist destination spots in Southern Africa, so there are dozens of companies set up to help alleviate tourists of their money, and to help you experience a full range of adrenaline sports. 

Looking at the options, we settled on four- an elephant back safari, a sunset cruise, dinner at the Boma restaurant and a canopy tour for Madison and I and a gorge swing for Sam.  Before heading off to the first activity, we walked back down the road to another fast food place called Wok and Roll, which other then being an excellent pun was exciting because I had last seen/eaten at one of these when I was in Amsterdam on spring break two years ago.  It’s such a small world sometimes. 

After lunch, Sam headed off to the actual falls to shoot some video while Madison and I left to do our canopy tour.  To be honest, we weren’t quite sure what it exactly was, but we were imagining something like a series of rope bridges that we could walk through among the treetops over the river.  When we began to get strapped into harnesses and helmets, we started to doubt that assumption.  What it turned out to be was a series of ziplines strung between cliffs overlooking the chasm between Zimbabwe and Zambia, looking down hundreds of feet below to the swirling waters.  We had two very nice guides, Ryan and Knowledge (sidenote about names in Zim: sometimes there are odd names that are the translations of Ndebele or Shona words, the main regional languages.  We met or heard of Patience, Innocence, Lovemore, Big Boy and Big Brains, to name a few).  They helped us navigate our way through the platforms- Ryan even took Madison’s camera and shot pictures and videos coming across the lines.  The rides were awesome- pretty tame for adventure sports, but plenty for us- breathtaking views and just enough exhilaration to make you catch your breath.  Basically, you sit down in the harness and hold on to the rope with a leather glove, which gave you the ability to control how fast you flew across the gorge.  On our way through the trees, we encountered baboons swinging their way up besides us and warthogs playing in the mud on the side of the road.  (Warthogs! I’ll talk more about the animals when I get to Hwange, but warthogs man.  So cool.) 

When we had finished, we walked down to meet Sam at the Falls around 4:30, a little before sunset when the park closed at six.  A series of path connected different viewpoints, and they were just incredible.  Indescribable amounts of water going over these huge cliffs and creating dense clouds of spray that quickly soaked us.  

view of the falls with the perpetual rainbow

At one spot, a sign advertised Danger Point, a slippery section of rock that had no fence separating us from a long drop.  Sam said that when the Zambezi was low, you had the best view of the falls, but we were close enough to the end of the rainy season that the spray obliterated any kind of view.  Standing out there, it felt like it was raining harder then any thunderstorm I had ever been caught in- literal buckets of water poured over my head so that I had to shield my eyes to see my next steps.  The one video I took on my phone of Danger Point is basically just me giggling as I try to make my way through the water, touch the sign at the far point, and then scurrying back to more relatively dry land.  We left as the park was closing, drying pretty quickly but feeling chilled as the sun began to set.  Back at home, we quickly changed clothes so we would be ready in time to be picked up to go to the Boma. 

Sam had told Madison and I about the Boma back in the States- it was once of the things we were sure we would do.  The Boma is a large restaurant set under a thatch roof with many tables and several wonderful buffets of local Zimbabwean food, along with more recognizable treats.  The atmosphere was very fun, and at the end of the meal there was dancing and a drum show where every guest got a drum to follow along.  It was the height of tourism, but it was well worth the experience.  When we walked in, our dress code was fixed by getting colorful traditional attire tied around us and little dots of painted on our cheeks.  Upon sitting at our table we were served a portion of chibuku, an alcoholic drink that was described to us by several different people as “a drink and meal in one” that tasted like sour yeast wine, and then an assortment of appetizers.  Between the three of us we tried baby crocodile tail, roasted guinea fowl and impala pate. Then Madison and I followed Sam wide-eyed through the rows of food (following Sam wide-eyed could be the tagline for this trip) and piled our plates high with bread, potatoes, vegetables, spicy tomato soup, sadza (the cornmeal-grits-mashed starch that is the staple food in Zimbabwe) and then warthog steak, eland meatballs (an antelope of some kind), lamb, boerwors (I don’t even know, sausage apparently), buffalo stew and chicken kebabs.  We ate until we were full, and then we went back for more. 

And then there were the Mopani worms.  I have been hearing about these darned worms since junior year of high school, when Sam would gross me out in Physics about the weird stuff he had eaten.  I cam into this country of sound mind and firm convictions- I would not eat a worm.  I had my principles, and I would not falter. 

            Well.  When you are sitting under the roof of the Boma with drums beating and paint on your face and your two friends goading you on, you try and resist the pull of checking worms off your bucket list.  You might be a stronger person than I, but not, I think, a happier.  Not that they were good, mind you- it was awful and crispy and chewy and basically sated cardboard that I could not chew fast enough to swallow so I just had to stand there and try really hard not to think about what I was eating.  But as I’ve said before, I did not come all the way to this continent to say no to experiences.  I’m told the face I made was worth the effort. 

My drum and my worm certificate- "Congratulates!"

            After the worms, the only thing to do was to cleanse my palate with a frankly alarming amount of chocolate mousse, and watch the dancers and singers who had come out to start their show.  We pounded hard on drums, and between us and the rowdy Brits at the table next to us, our section was definitely the loudest, if not the most on beat.  We ended with medicine for happiness called ndowa, a mixture of vodka, lemon, honey and cinnamon.  We left the Boma with full stomachs, and went home to a bottle of wine and to catch up with each other after four years of communicating mostly through Skype and Facebook chat. 

            The next morning, we woke up with the sun in time to go off and catch our ride for the elephant safari.  Madison and I hopped up on a feisty 17 year old named Temba, who taught us very quickly that you can’t really tell elephants to do anything, you can only politely suggest and then wait for them to finish doing whatever the hell they want.  Temba snacked on branches and stripped leaves from trees all along the way, much to the annoyance of our guide. There were two young elephants along for the ride, one small baby and a younger teen who was too small to ride but just large enough to reach his trunk up to grasp at my back and arms, looking for the treats our guide had brought along.  Their trunks are very dry and rough and covered in coarse wire hairs, and ended in two very agile lips that could grasp and hold on.  Temba had little patience for this kind of activity, and once whirled around and chased him off for a few steps, which was terrifying and hilarious.  The little one kept his distance after that. We rode for about an hour, seeing impala, birds and even buffalo, one of the Big Five animals.  Afterwards, we feed our ellies treats and said thank you, and off they went. 

            We got back to our lodge in time so that we could catch our next transport back to where Madison and I had prepped for our canopy tour so that Sam could do the gorge swing.  The gorge swing is not so much a swing as it is a free fall for 70 meters off a cliff, and then if you’re lucky a rope catches you and swings you over the water until they can haul you back up.  Madison and I, like any sane people, kindly declined, but Sam signed up for his second go at the swing, this time fully equipped with his GoPro camera strapped to his chest, hoping to get some impressive footage.  I have a video of his jump that starts with Madison and I talking about how dumb he is that goes it to repeated oh my god oh my god oh my godsssss as he falls.  He fell and survived, we were very happy and went back to our lodge to change for our last activity, the river cruise. 

The gorge swing drops from the platform just to the left

            The river cruise was us and about ten other people on a small barge with tables and chairs that took us around a small portion of the Zambezi, scouting for crocodiles, hippos, and even a couple of elephants that had sum out to eat on a small island.  It was beautiful to be on the water at sunset, and would have been fun even without the open bar on board, but we weren’t complaining at that.  They also served a plate of snack foods including fried crocodile and chips, and we sat and drank and took pictures of hippo noses peeking up from the water. 

Zambezi River views

  When we disembarked, we got pizza and chicken and took it back to our rooms to feast for our last night. The next morning, we woke early again to finish packing and set off back to find our bus to Hwange. 

I’m currently posting this on our last night in Harare- tomorrow we are heading off early to Johannesburg, and the next day to Cape Town for the week, so it might be awhile before I have access to a computer to write up the rest.  The last leg of our journey has almost begun!  See ya later!

Zimbabwe, Part 2: Motobo National Park

Hi everyone. Sorry for the delay- wifi was thin on the ground during our adventure days, and I didn’t have a way to type up/upload that didn’t involve waving my phone around trying to get signal, so I decided just to write everything down and type it up when we were back here, at Sam’s parents house in Harare.  Therefore, I ask you to please excuse the switching tenses etc., as I wrote different parts at different times.  Also, this turned out to be like six pages long, which made Sam promptly declare that no one would read it, so don't feel bad if you need to step away.  Anywhere, we pick up with our three musketeers having just arrived in Harare the first time, fresh off the plane. 

            As the plane descended over Harare International Airport, Madison and I got our first look at Zimbabwe.  It was pretty brown, with palm trees, of all things, which seemed out of place.  Harare International has maybe about eight gates, so it didn’t take long to unload and make our way to the visa station.  Americans (and others, I assume, but don’t tae my word for it) have to buy a $30 visa to enter the country, so by the time Madison and I had finished doing that, Sam had retrieved our bags and we could make our way to the arrivals section. 

            Waiting for us was a car and driver, Alec, who was holding up a sign that said “SAM AND FRIENDS” which Madison quickly started to adapt into a theme song.  We loaded up our things and drove off through Harare to the Wharton’s lovely home.  The night that we arrived, the Residence was hosting a goodbye party for a couple who had worked in public health in Zimbabwe for over fifteen years.  After showering and getting dressed up a bit (nothing like getting out of the clothes you’ve been in for two days, huzzah) Madison and I felt very fancy and very out of place milling around the large living room and veranda amongst the crowd of embassy staff and health sector workers. 

            Here the thing about Sam- we’ve have been friends for a very long time, at least relative to my life.  Theoretically, I knew he grew up all over the place and in Harare for four years before middle school, and that he’s always been the son of diplomat, but he’s always just been Sam at school.  This was the first of many sides of Sam that we hadn’t really ever seen- where Madison and I were nervous and giggling, he seemed to start conversations effortlessly and keep them going and just generally be a very good ambassador’s son.  It seems funny but he fits very well here, especially compared to Madison and I.  The party was very fun to observe and flit around in (and the food oh my gosh we were so hungry and the food was so good, we basically stole a ton of food from the kitchens and then hid out eating it all) and luckily it didn’t last too long, so we could relax and hang out with the Whartons afterwards and meet some of the household staff.  We didn’t want to stay up too late though, as we had to be up early to catch our bus from Harare on the way to our week of traveling.

And so part one of our adventure begins.  Up nice and early, we left for Bulawayo on the Pathfinder bus, a luxury coach system that would take us through all the different legs of our journey.  It was pretty comfy, as bus travel goes, and so we settled in, seats reclined, to watch the scenery pass.  It was early enough in the morning to see people making their ways to school and work, so the streets were full of pedestrians.  There was also a plethora of different colored passenger vans packed with people riding to work.  Madison and I watched wide-eyed at our first look of life in Harare.  Almost everyone seemed to be in some kind of uniform or suit, and it was especially cute to see the kids walking to school, dressed head to toe in red, green, or blue.  (We asked about private schools, but the vast majority of children attend public school, which still require uniforms.)  As the traffic thinned out we saw several buses joining ours on the main road heading towards or back from Bulawayo.  AS we rumbled along, I tried to come up with the words to describe the landscape, but really, picture an African savannah in your head- it’s pretty much just like that.  Red sandy girt growing tall yellow grass and random short trees, occasionally accentuated with thatch roof huts and weird looking cows or goatherds.  Sometimes we would pass a restaurant or gas station, but for the most part it was just wide skies and blue fields. 

The bus itself was full of an assortment of passengers, and the attendant passed out drinks and fruit and then led us all in prayer for a speedy and safe journey as we passed through the city.  Then they ruined on the Christian contemporary radio station- Madison knew many of the songs and strangely, the accompanying dance moves. 

This part of the journey was scheduled to take about six hours, but that did not account for the roadwork being done all along our route.  The main highway connecting the first and second largest city was two lanes, one going each way, and for long stretches a lane was closed, which added about an hour and a half to our journey.  Annoying, but as my friends soon found out, if you can put me on a train, bus, or car, I can fall asleep.  Basically, if it rocks, I’m fading out after about fifteen minutes.  I slept off and on for most of the trip, which was perfect because as we pulled in to Bulawayo, I felt wide-awake and excited.  As soon as we disembarked, Alex, one of the sons of the owners of the Farm House, picked us up and we drove the 40 or so minutes out to Motobo National Park.  

Turning off the main road in Bulawayo, we started chatting with Alex about the Farm House, where we had booked rooms for the next two nights.  At the moment, his parents were actually in Harare, so the farm was run by 20 year old Alex with the help of his older brother Alistair and about six staff.  The Farm House is set on about 1,000 acres right next to Matobo.  The property had about a dozen chalets, a main building with the dining room and kitchen, stables, and a large pen that was empty but usually housed Alex’s ostriches.  Elsewhere, there were about six giraffes, baboons, vervet monkeys, and a herd of wildebeest and zebra (zehbra, not zeebra, you silly American) that roamed around the property.  After checking in, we moved our bags into our rooms.  Madison and I were in number four.  The doors opened up into a small sitting room, separated from the bedroom with two single beds and a bathroom.  It was adorable and cozy and we quickly made ourselves at home, which for me consists of opening my suitcase on the ground and spreading my various detritus around the room. 

We wanted to waste no time before starting our adventures, so within the hour we reported to the stables for a horse safari.  We arrived promptly at the stables- but there were no horses.  We waited for a little while, wondering if it was possible that we were at the wrong place or had gotten the time wrong, when we saw a horse shaped animal moving towards us through the trees.  AS it cleared the brush, we saw that it was not, in fact, a horse, but rather a zebra, that walked right around us to graze at the hay outside the stables.  Her name was Lucky Dube (zebra in the Shona language) and she was kind of a lone wolf.  She stayed near the buildings, grazing around.  We gave her a wide berth, but it was very cool to see her walking past our rooms at night or during lunch. 

The horses finally arrived, moseying in as a group untethered and finding us completely uninteresting until the grooms came out and started saddling them up.  The glory of a horse back safari is that the animals let you get much closer when masked as part of the horse.  We rode through the property, getting up close and personal with the wildebeest and zebra herds.

  Wildebeest are funny creatures.  A guide told us at one time that they had been created out of leftover parts, and they look like it.  The ride reminded me that I am not a horse woman- I like them a lot, but my fear of heights is just lame enough to make me nervous at the beginning, and then I’m sore at the end.  We rode through the sunset, and once that sun disappears over the horizon, the temperature drops, and so by the time we cam back from dinner we were cold.  Really cold.  Sam kept telling us that it was winter in Africa and that we should pack accordingly, but Madison and I didn’t really listen because a) it’s Africa, so it must be hot, and b) its June, aka summer, but as it turns out he wasn’t wrong and it is COLD here, especially at night.  Daytime is beautiful and breezy and 65 in the shade, 75 in the sun, but the sandy ground retains no warmth once it gets dark.  Madison and I wrapped up in as many layers as we could comfortably breathe in and made a little cocoon under the blankets, and I don’t think I moved until morning. 

DAY 2

Well, today was maybe the most adventurous of my entire life and it’s only day 2 of my safari experience.  This morning we woke up at 6:30 to go to breakfast, and then meet up with Alex out front to pile into his jeep to go on a rhino walk.  We drove into Motobo Park itself, a world UNESCO Heritage site and picked up a Zim guide, one of a special force specially trained to know where the animals are/will be. We were super hopeful to see rhinos this time because last time Sam was here with his family, they walked around for six hours and couldn’t find one.  We drive through the off-road trail and ran into an anti-poacher guard, equipped with rifle, who said he had just seen one so he hopped in with us.  At some point, our guide saw something that indicated a good place to start walking, so we follow him through the bush, snagging twigs and leaves in my clothes and hair.  I was focusing on the difficult task of watching where I put my feet wile simultaneously not get poked in the eye with a stick (which is more challenging then you might think) when suddenly our guide stopped us and pointed ahead.  It took  a second for my eyes to adjust, and then I saw- through the trees, about 50 feet ahead, was a rhino sleeping in a bush.  We held our breath and we started to move closer, and then she got up and ambled away reveling a month old baby trailing behind her! I basically died from cuteness.  We followed them for a little way, vying for a better angle, but it’s amazing how quickly something that large can disappear. We tracked for awhile (our guide tracked, I watched for snakes) and climbed one of the hills to get a better view of the park.  No sign of rhinos, but not a bad view. We walked down back to the car and started to drive to the other side of the park, when Sam spotted another rhino right out his window, this time with a 3 year old adolescent.  Within two hours, we had seen four rhino, when some people stay in the park for a week and never find them.  As Madison said, the uncertainty of it all makes the sighting even sweeter, since there’s never a guarantee that you’ll find what you’re looking for.  There’s always plenty of other animals to sweeten the deal as well- on that drive we saw mongoose, vervet monkeys, baboons and impala- things that had Madison and I pressed to the glass oohing and aahing, and that Sam kind of glances over.  “You’ll see hundreds more (insert animal here) they’re all over the place.”

When we got back to camp, it was only about 10:30, so we decided to explore a little before going to lunch.  We went behind the stables to where Alex’s ostriches were being kept, as just a few weeks ago a leopard had killed one and then just hung around for a few days while the bids went crazy.  Alex explained that we used to have seven, but that one had died from disease, one had been eaten, and when the Minister of Land Acquisition (“basically, the person who comes and takes your land away”) had visited the Farm House, he said he wanted two, and so they went.  We’ve caught a couple more casual references of the blatant corruption in Zimbabwe.  When talking about his adrenaline sports, Alistair mentioned how you could pretty much bribe anyone to let you do anything.  Sam explained to us about the land garbs in the 2000’s as part of an indigenization effort, when something like 90% of white landowners had their properties seized.  Since the majority of tourism was run by these same farmers, it was disastrous for the economy, which still hasn’t recovered.  The Farm House was lucky since the land is too rocky to be much use for farmland and its land is so close to the park, so the Burtons got to keep it. 

Anyway, back to the ostriches.  They’re freaking weird looking.  Obviously they can’t fly, but they have large wings that tuck into an egg shaped body.  When they flap or preen, you can get a glimpse of they rough tree bark looking skin that goes all the way to their feet, which are basically just one big toe.  Then you have the necks, which bobs and weaves constantly, up to a tiny bird head which houses a tiny bird brain that does not at all show thorough their blank, watery eyes.  I think they’re hilarious.

            After that, we still had some time to kill before lunch, so we decided to hike the rest of the way up the trail behind our chalet.  The trail has some serious boulders to navigate and we detoured off the path a lot to climb trees and rocks to find the best “on top of the world” perch.  For the most part, the trail stays on the east side of the hill, facing towards the camp, but then at the top it crests to the other side and you realize that as awesome as the previous view was, it doesn’t compare to the miles (excuse me, kilometers) of boulders and hills on the west side.  These rocks are huge.  You are absolutely dwarfed standing next to them and you can see way larger ones on the hills across the way.  You can also see klipspringers and rock dassies, which don’t sound like real things but are basically large hamsters and mini goat/deer things that clamber up and down the hills with ease.  We also heard the frankly terrifying screeching of baboons echoing through the valley, but that was less cute.  We danced around up there for awhile (edit: I’m sure Sam would want me to clarify that Madison and I did all of the dancing) and them climbed back down for lunch, and then had time to relax before our next adventure: abseiling.

            Abseiling, (or “abbing” as they call it) is basically the fancy name for rappelling, which is a perfect sport for Matobos and all of its cliffs.  Alistair spent six years in the British Royal Marines as part of the abseiling team, doing demonstrations and shows around England.  He led a group of us back up to the top of the trail, went through a safety spiel that basically terrified me, and strapped us in to our harnesses.  Now, I am not the thrill seeking sort. I don’t ride roller coasters, and my biggest fears are heights, falling, and being out of control.  So I wasn’t letting myself think too much about walking backwards off a cliff while a guy I had met 24 hours before held my life in his hands at the bottom.  But I did not travel to all the way to Africa to wimp out on adventures, so off the cliff I went.  We started on the practice slope, about 12 feet high where Alistair showed us how to go and how to break.  Basically, you have a rope that goes from the top of the cliff down to the bottom, and you kind of get tied into the top and just let yourself slide down, feet against the rock and body parallel to the ground.  Your left hand is in front of you holding the rope above your tie, and your right hand has the rope back by your hip.  Closing your fist creates enough friction to stop yourself, and loosening lets you drop.  On the first go, with Alistair leading from the top and Alex at holding on at the bottom, he showed us the four breaks as we descended-  “I can break you from up here, you can break by your putting your right hand beg=hind your back, Alex can break you from below, and the fourth break is when you fall and break your back!” Ha. Ha. 

            We graduated from the practice slope to the nursery slope, about 25 feet where we could practice letting a little more line go and jumping down rather than walking.  From there, we went to Big Tasty, our final 60 foot vertical cliff. After getting down once or twice, Alistair deemed us proficient enough to undergo the ominously named Confidence Test.  The deal is that you get strapped into a chest harness, rappel over the cliff edge, and then Alistair breaks you from below and you hang, feet on the cliff and hands on your head, until he counts to three.  Then you jump off the rock, and he lets you fall.  Then he pulls on the rope, you come back to land on the cliff face, and then you fall again, and again.  I’m proud to say that my hands did not leave my head and I caught myself on my feet each time, but I suspect that had more to do with paralyzing fear then any indication of natural skill.  After dinner we celebrated our death defying feats with drinks at the bar.  I mainly listened to Sam talk to the locals about current Zim news.

the nursery slope

            We came back to our rooms to call our parents- the time difference makes after dinner the best time to reach the other side of the Atlantic.  It’s weird looking at calendars and hearing news from home because we’ve only been gone a few days but it feels like weeks already.  It’s funny how a place can feel familiar already, but it does.  We all agree that we could spend much more time at Motobos and the Farm House.  It’s not just that the landscape makes you want to disappear off into an adventure, but its also the friendly people and the cozy atmosphere of our little house.  Madison and I became very attached to our rooms, Lucky Dube, and the beautiful views. 

            Alas, we had to leave the next day, so we woke up early to climb the trail and watch the sunrise from the top.  It was very circle of life, watching the sky lighten a little at a time, illuminating the different layers of mountains until the sun spilled over and everything was golden again.  We had brought up blankets, and watched until the sun was well into the sky before heading back down.  We had time to do one last activity before driving back to Bulawayo.  After breakfast, Alex took us out on a bush walk around the property to see some cave paintings.  AS we walked, he pointed out some of the different plants- there’s a ton of birch looking trees that seem to be flaking its bark off like its sick, but actually has seeds in the bark. There’s the bushman’s blanket, a bush tree thing tat has fuzzy soft leaves that grows on disturbed ground, either from something like a fire or a nesting ground.  It gets its name from the fact tat when the leaves are pressed together, they stick like Velcro, so a bushman could theoretically make a blanket.  Since the leaves are the size of my thumbs, I’m not sure how practical that is.  We snagged other leaves that released a lavender scent when crumpled, and then ones that gave off a more bitter citrus scent.  We walked under cliff over hangs to look at a seemingly blank wall.  Then, when you blink, your eyes adjust, and the paintings appear, distinguishable from the rocks and water stains.  Men with spears, women with baskets, but mostly animals- giraffes with their long necks and legs, impalas with their curvy horns, and a carefully sketched out black rhino, rather than the more (relatively) white rhinos that we saw.  When the paintings were found, all the rhinos had long since been hunted out of the area, but then the discovery of the art was convincing enough to convince the park to reintroduce rhinos into the area.  It’s kind of cool, that little bush people (they were actually quite small, I’m not being condescending) drawing thousands of years ago helped to influence the preservation of their home land today.  I like to imagine that some of the drawings were done by bored teenagers, or moms wanting a little decoration for her cave walls, but there’s no real way to know.

an impala with its curvy horns

            We walked along the fence of the property, which was pretty much tall sticks wrapped with wire.  Alex explained that it worked well to keep the giraffes, zebras, and wildebeests inside the Farm House property, but it had to be low enough for the impala to jump over, because they’d try anyway.  Along the way, we came across a wooden ladder straddling the fence that we climbed over to find more caves and paintings before heading back to main camp to pack up. 

            We were sad to leave Motobo, but before we knew it, we were back in Bulawayo boarding another bus.  Or rather, waiting to board another bus.  The construction had made our bus late, and then when it did get there, the air conditioning didn’t work.

            I’ll sum up the six hour ride to Victoria Falls this way: it could have been worse.  The heat of the bus became less oppressive as the sun went down.  There’s not much else to say- we entertained ourselves by watching the driver flick his brights on and off at oncoming traffic.  It was that kind of boredom.  We took a quick break at a lodge on the edge of Hwange, where next to the watering hole just off the property the misty dark shapes of elephants could kind of be seen.  Then back on the bus, speeding through the dark towards our next destination- Victoria Falls.

Africa: Part 1- The Journey

Hello again!  I'm pulling this blog out the darkness so I can share my adventures in Zimbabwe and South Africa!

Looking down from Africa from the height of the plane is surprisingly not the same as looking down at America or Europe, where the distance renders most distinguishing features meaningless.  The land falls away into highways and a patchwork quilt of farmland.  Here, it’s just a brown expanse, with the occasional pool of white sand and some darer brown spots that Madison thinks are trees- at least it does right now over what the little digital airplane on my entertainment screen says is Zimbabwe.  We’re not stopping though; we will fly on to Johannesburg, with about an hour left now out of an 11 hour flight. 

In the transit part of traveling, it’s hard not to count the whole experience as one long drawn out day.  However, this has definitely been my longest travel time yet- I’ve slept two nights on a plane.  Still, it’s hard to think that its Tuesday for most of the world, when my brain still tries to insist it must be Monday.

Three adventurers left my house for Dulles International airport at 7pm on Sunday night.  At the airport, after kissing my parents goodbye (“Have an amazing time! TAKE YOUR MEDICINE!!!!), we pushed through security, practically skipping for joy and murmuring, “Is this really happening? How is this real?”  This trip, in several different iterations, has been in the works for anywhere between three to seven years in the making, depending on your distinction between “wild improbable dreaming”, and actual “where-are-we-gonna-sleep/how-many-shots-do-I-need?” planning.  I had the great privilege of going to hear Ambassador Wharton’s Senate confirmation hearing the summer after our sophomore years of college, and since then my Adventure Fund has had a concrete direction.  Last Thanksgiving, Sam and I went up to Philly to stay with Madison to sketch out an itinerary, lovingly penned on to a Starbucks wrapper that’s still floating around my room somewhere.  The plan that we enacted Sunday night is almost the same as that original- to spend three weeks in Zimbabwe, visiting national parks and chilling at the Wharton’s in Harare, and then finishing off with a week in Cape Town, South Africa.

The planning began in earnest after our respective spring breaks, and continued right up until the day before the departure.  I, as a notorious Type B traveler (I dislike details), can take very little credit for any of these adventures, other then providing, I don’t know, moral support via endless enthusiasm.  Sam, with his prior knowledge, did most of the heavy lifting, especially through the invaluable help of a travel agent friend of his, who helped us navigate through the inconsistencies of Zimbabwe travel.  Madison also did a ton of research and presented a wide range of options for activities at each location during our Skype dates.  I, as per usual, played a lot of Candy Crush and agreed to everything (except worms.  I put my foot down about the worms, but more on that later).  So after a few months of making plans and listening to the Lion King soundtrack, we were finally sitting in the airport, sending our last emails and texts before losing the comfort of American cell service, and giggling in that nervous/excited way before a major trip into exotic wilds unknown.  Madison and I had booked most of our seats together, so with Sam in front of us we set off for the first flight.  Flight 1 was six hour ride to Paris, where we had purposefully scheduled the 13 hour layover so we could go explore the city.  I, of course, had spent one of the best semesters of my life in Paris two years ago, and so was excited to return and show two of my best friends around.  Through a stroke of luck and possibly good karma, the one day we had coincided with not one but two more of my best friends being in Paris as well.  My college roommate Kortney was halfway through a backpacking trip with her sister and a friend, and then Aubrey who I studied abroad with and have kept in close contact with had arrived the same morning to start her own tour of Europe.  Through the magic of the Viber app, we had all made tentative plans to meet up at the St. Michel fountain in the Latin Quarter, a familiar meeting place. 

I had done the DC-Paris flight a coupe of times by now, and we’d been happy with out 9:30pm flight time, hoping to sleep most of the way.  As anyone who has taken long flights knows, once you put on that sleeping mask , your world narrows down; the rest of the plane falls away (unless you’re unlucky enough to be near a screaming baby- that one stays with you) and all that exists is just you, the thin airplane blanket that only seems capable of covering one and a half limbs,  and your unyielding seat.  In the daze of half-asleep, you’re just conscious enough to feel the pull of various muscles who are all unhappy regardless of position.  Still, between meals and movies I got about three hours of sleep, and we touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport at 11am local time.

We had checked the majority of our luggage, so we disembarked, bought our tickets for the RER into Paris, and settled in for the 45 minute ride into the city center.  We all agreed that we would be fine unless we sat for too long, so we were determined to push through the mental fog.  The meeting at St. Michel was easy- within minutes of finding Kortney and co., we spotted Aubrey making her way through the crowd.  Yay for joyful reunions.  We made our way for gyros and crepes for lunch, trying to simultaneously hear two travel stories while also relating our own.  Unfortunately, we all had different agendas, so after too brief a time we parted ways.  We toured Notre Dame, rode the Metro to the Louvre and waited out a brief rainstorm under the mini Arc d’Triomphe.  We walked down the Tuileries Gardens and past the Place de la Concorde and the Pantheon, and ten rode the Metro (really, one of the most nostalgic things for me) back to my old neighborhood, just a short walk to the Eiffel Tower in all her glory.  We walked down the lawns to Rue Cler and sat at a café, resting our feet and using the Wifi.  Afterwards, we moved back to St. Michel and ate crepes (cinnamon sugar for Madison, Nutella for Sam and I) on the banks of the Seine, waving to the tourist barges float by and waving to the people.  Then, we went down and boarded our train back to the airport.

Seeing something I love so well through new eyes is always a treat, I’m pretty much the world’s worst tour guide.  My friends had many intelligent and interesting questions, very few of which I could answer.  A lot of my commentary ran “look at that thing it’s a church, or maybe it’s not I don’t know”, or “that bridge is important for reasons,” or

Sam: *Walking past the Louvre * So, who lived there?

Me: Um. A King. Of France, probably.

Sam: No duh.  Who?

Me: Uh, Louis.

Sam: That’s Versailles.

Me: There were like 85 Louis I’m sure one of them lived there at some point.  (Turns out, Louis XIV.)

Eventually, it became a game to see how quickly and convincingly I could make stuff up- “what’s that monument for?” “Ah yes, the little know tribute to Archibald De Vivant, champion of the War of Flowers in 1656, who lost an arm and both eyes in a tragic sword demonstration”… and so on. 

Paris is a city immune to schedules and time frames.  My four months in Paris wasn’t enough, let alone a week that my friends had, so seven hours didn’t even compare.  No matter how much time you have, there’s always more to do.  This layover was just a teaser, and hopefully enticing enough that Sam and Madison want to come back.  I know that I could never get my fill.

Back in the airport, we killed time by lying on the floor in a corner by the gate and making up yoga poses to stretch out our sore muscles and feet.  Madison walked one foot up and down my back.  Our flight was slightly delayed due to an air conditioning malfunction, so by the time we boarded our double-decker flight it was 90 degrees in the cabin.  Not a great start, but then when they closed the doors we realized the plane was practically empty.  We each moved to have a row to ourselves, basically in the lap of luxury.  And then the rain started, followed closely by fierce lightening.  At first, we were sure we’d be grounded, but we still took off as the sky was streaked constantly.  Madison and I spent the first hour of the ride with our noses pressed against the window, me giggling (I often have inappropriate reactions) ad with Madison behind me calmly stating, “This is the most terrifying thing ever.  How is this plane in the air.  This is insane.  Cool, but terrifying.”  When the worst of the storm had passed, dinner was served, I put on Ocean’s 11 for some familiar and clever scheming, and then curled up to sleep.  Seven glorious hours later, I was awoken by the attendant trying to serve me breakfast, after which I started writing this post  Between then and now, we landed in Tambo airport in Johannesburg, rechecked our baggage for the next flight, ate a rather sad ham and cheese sandwich in front of an excellent view of landing planes, and then boarded our final flight to Harare.  It was an easy 2 hour hop to Zimbabwe’s capitol, and am now typing this out as quickly as I can from the Wharton’s lovely home- we have a long day of adventure in front of us!  Next post: Motobo National Park!