Lucky Break

Wednesday - 08/05/2013

I set off on foot this morning after having breakfast for the first time since leaving Sweden, consisting of a mix of wheetabix, bananas and peanut butter, it would be needed as I was to endure a 20hr bus journey to Windhoek later in the day. My aim was to walk over the border into Zambia and from there get a taxi the next 10km into Livingstone where I was to catch the bus at midday. Looking even more like a pack horse than before as in addition to my bags I now had a plastic shopping bag loaded with supplies for the journey. These included half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, bananas, juice, left over box of wheetabix and a bag of peanuts.

Crossing Victoria Falls Bridge.

By the time I got to through Zim boarder post and on to the bridge over the Zambezi joining Zimbabwe and Zambia all I had left was the bag of peanuts. The rest had given in to the relentless requests of the locals for me to trade my food with them for various trinkets they had on offer. Not wanting to add to my load I just gave them the packet which resulted in a jovial wresting match among the traders as they grabbed what they could. By the time I had made it across the bridge the bag of peanuts was gone and in its place was a Nyaminyami necklace.



Damp from the fine rain mist from the falls I continued on to the Zambian border, the entire journey must have been about 3km and provided plenty of entertaining interactions along the way, there was even a group that wanted their photo taken with me. My favorite though was the fella who muttered to his with, "tourist" as I overtook them on the bridge. To this I turned back and said "traveler, not tourist." This resulted in a briefly extended explanation about where I was from and that a tourist is someone who has a home to go back to after their stay in a foreign land, while a traveler is someone who continues to move from place to place, with no specific place to go back to. He was happy with this explanation and we both chuckled as I left them behind to contemplate the definition further.

Mist from the falls rains down on the bridge.

As I stepped through the Zambian border control I spotted an Intercape bus being loaded with bags, this struck me as odd since the lady on the phone the previous day distinctly said 12pm in Livingstone across from Barclays bank, it was 11am. Before I could even formulate my inquiry to the staff members loading the bags one of them came running up to me and in a pant asked if I was going to Namibia and where my friend was. With a curious look I said yes to the Namibia question and gestured that I was traveling alone, he wasn't paying attention anymore as was already taking my bag off my back and loading it on to the bus. I explained that I did not have a ticket, to which they said no problem I can pay on the bus. It would be R520, I explained that I only had USD on me or card, they said I could not pay on card, but would be able to change money at the border post and should just get on the bus. Not 5 minutes after I got on the bus we were rolling away leaving the thunder of the falls to the tourists. One of the bus staff came and sat down in front of me, turned and said, "lucky break my man." I don't know if it was me or another they were waiting for, but I certainly got a lucky break as the next bus was only in 4 days time.

Stopping at the Namibian border post.

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Victoria Falls

Tuesday - 07/05/2013

Victoria Falls Station

From the moment we stepped through the gates at Shoestring backpackers we knew we were more likely to be getting high over a few beers at the bar than having high tea looking over the falls. It would do though, we just needed a place to lay our belongings so that we could set off to explore the smoke that thunders. We took the morning easy; I enjoyed a swim in the backpackers pool it seemed I was to only one staying there foolish enough to risk the murky water, while Will and Debora relished the first warm shower they had had in months. After lunch we took the short walk down to the falls.

The Falls has its own rain forest climate. 

Entrance to the falls was $30 for foreigners but if you could provide a South African passport you could pay $20, I had left mine at the backpackers and my attempts at proving my South African nationality with my UK drivers license were in vein. It was a $30 well spent, the falls were magnificent. Since it was the end of rainy season they were in full flow and even walking down the path to the entrance gate, about 1km away we were cooled by the fine mist they produce. At the park gate we were greeted by a barrage of vendors trying to rent out ponchos and warning us of how wet would get if we didn't take them, we opted out as we naively thought that our rain macs would suffice.


We spent a couple of hours wandering the damp paths which crawled through the engulfing rain forest, stopping at each view point to steal views from every angle. The further along we got the thicker and heavier the mist became until we reached one point where standing in the mist was more akin to standing in a torrential downpour. Soaked through Debora and Will trudged back to our home for the night whilst I hung around the falls to see what the magic hour held in way of photo opportunities. Finally the damp got to me too and used the last of the sun's warmth dry out a little as I strolled the path back to Shoestring.

Will getting soaked.

Will and Debora post soaking. 

After the non stop drinking week in London and then the liver destroying experience in Harare I had promised myself that I was not going to drink until I reached South Africa. It was a feeble promise and the influence of traveling in warm climes and staying at a backpackers with and inviting bar overwhelmed it easily. Will and I passed the evening effortlessly. Perhaps it was our common interest in windsurfing that provided the connection that allowed us seclude ourselves in conversation near the relative calm of a lonely fire while the younger patrons of the establishment got giddy on life fueled by travel and cold beer.

The Majestic Falls

Does this mean there are two pots of gold? 

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Romantic Rail

Monday - 06/05/2013

Since I had a couple of hours to spare before the train to Victoria Falls was to depart and I didn't have a cent of viable currency on me, I took the opportunity to take a brief stroll into Bulawayo city center to see if I could find an ATM or even an exchange. My search was short lived as the sun would shortly dip beyond the dirty horizon and I was not yet comfortable with my Africa travels to be walking around at night looking like a pawn shop with all my belongings on me. I gave in to fact that I would be going hungry for the night and returned to the station platform where I collapsed on bench.

Platform Entertainment

I couldn't have been sitting there longer than a few minutes when a fella dumped his bags next to me and asked if I would mind them while he went to the loo. Whilst he was gone I started to ponder the question, "If someone trusts you, should you trust them?" Upon his return he sank down next to me and we struck up a conversation. He was a wire artist and was heading to the Falls since there was better business there due to all the tourists. Our topics ranged from the political state of Zimbabwe, him stating that the best thing for the country would be change, to how he learnt his trade and the fact that there was even an association of wire artists in South Africa. Once we had exhausted topics he took his leave to make his way to platform 4 where our train was being prepared, leaving me contemplating my question and wondering what would have happened if I had left my bags in his care.

The waiting game

A short while later I decided to join the trickle of passengers passing me by on their way to platform 4. Reaching the end of the platform I walked smack into the middle of a still standing stampede waiting to find their seat on the 19:30 to Victoria Falls. Stuck in the middle of this herd I rather enjoyed the jovial nature of my fellow passengers and shared a few brief interactions with them, most of them amused at my hefty load. Around 8pm the station guard gave the okay and the fidgety stampede broke loose down the platform while I stood and let them fight for the best seats. As the dust cleared with the fresh evening breeze I found my carriage and dropped my bags before introducing myself to the travelers in my neighboring cabin.

My Cabin

Will and Debora were working at a mission together in Zimbabwe, Will from England was spending 2 months in Zim as a doctor and Debora from the Netherlands had been at the mission for 3 months. Friendship was solidified with a peanut butter sandwich and discussions of our travel experiences, after which I retired to my cabin, fortunate to have it to myself though at the same time lonely in not be able to share the experience with someone close. 

The journey itself was fantastic and I encourage anyone who finds themselves in Zimbabwe with time on their hands to jump aboard and enjoy the romance of rail travel. I was in 1st class sleeper which cost $12 and consisted of a single cabin with two beds, the lower which converts from a seat and the upper which folds down when needed. There is also 2nd class sleeper at $10 which has an extra two beds per cabin. Beds are sold on an individual basis, so if you want to ensure you have the cabin to yourself you should book all the beds or you can take your chances as I did. Shortly after we left Bulawayo, delayed by about an hour, the guard came around asking if we needed blankets and linen. I had my sleeping bag with me which was perfectly cosy at this time of year. I've traveled by train enough to know the one thing that always soils the experience is the toilet, since I had not entrusted my fellow passenger earlier on in the evening with my bags I had to make a visit early on in our journey. I found the toilet in clean order, though since it is of the long drop type, I can only assume that as the journey wore on its state would not hold up to western ideals. 

Spotless

An invitation to join the sleepers club.

The train made a number of stops through the night, these appeared to be at random points, possibly requested by passengers but this just added to the novelty of the journey. With each stop the train would blow its horn to signal it was on the move again, at some point during the evening I stopped noticing these and enjoyed a good night's rest. I deliberately slept with the blind open so that I would be woken by the sunrise, which I think was around 6am. As the world outside stirred to life I was the only one on the inside moving about and so stumbled down the empty hallway to inspect how bad the toilet had become overnight. To my surprise it was once again spotless, so much so that I had to grab my camera to capture some proof. The morning light made the last few hours of the journey magical as most passengers, including me, couldn't help but poke their heads out to let the soft warmth bathe their skin as a fresh breeze washed the sleep from their eyes and the majestic landscape passed by with the click clack of the train.

We arrived at an iconic Victoria Falls station around 8:30am the following morning feeling as if were the lords and ladies of a colonial past about to enjoy the grandeur of high tea overlooking the falls. It was a brief feeling of wealth which was snatched away from us as we found ourselves at shoestring backpackers.

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Glamping

Final Namibian Sunset

After another stunning sunset to signify an end to my Namibian road trip it is unforeseen circumstances again that sees me stumble upon another hidden gem.  

After 8hrs driving today, I was intending on staying at the Hardap National Park, leaving the 3hrs further to Windhoek for tomorrow morning.  Though when I got to the gate I found that it was closed for camping, the closet place to stay was just down the road, I had already passed it on my way.  Reluctantly I turned back and now find myself at Bastion Farmyard.  What a fantastic find it is, for N$80 I get my own little "camping" area complete with my own hot shower, kitchenette and toilet. 

Glamping.

What is best is they even have free wi-fi. So finally I am connected and can use the opportunity to make a few posts of the events over the past couple weeks. They are scheduled to publish over the next few days and include details of wet n wild fun, sleepers club and busing about, so come back and check to see when they are up.

Time now to turn in for the night and snuggle up in my trusty stead which has doubled as my home for the past few days.

The stead.

Processing photos in bed. 

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A familiar place

With an just over an hour's wait on Lusaka runway before the final hop over to Harare, looking out over a tarmac that ends abruptly in Savannah, my mind dwells not on the adventures that lay out there ahead of me but the past week in London.

When I was sitting in Stockholm Arlanda finishing the last of an expensively cheap bottle of whisky, I looked down at key ring.  It is the first time I can recall not owning a single key and it gave me a sense of homeless freedom.

Flying back into London, following the line of the Thames as if it were a vein and our plane was a blood cell pulsing along mindlessly behind those before it, easily spotting all the familiar sights. I couldn't help but get annoyed at how excited fellow passengers were at sighting this or that stadium, some confusing Twickenham for Wembly.  I looked upon Richmond bridge almost as if I was going to mindlessly make my way back along the Thames to the place I spent so much of my time in London.  Stepping out of the arrivals hall to have a familiar face waiting for me, a rare occurrence in my travel over the years, I realised that I was not home but I had plenty of homes.

My first day set a precedent by sharing a bottle of goldwasser at 10am and ended in the happy haze of margaritas and green gauccamoli with a grasshopper thrown in for good measure.  Through the week London continued to open her delights, days were lazy and hazy spent absorbing much needed sun while nights were consumed the happy chemicals produced long days in one of the worlds greatest cities. Maybe that is just the romance of not having demands on my time talking, I certainly realised how unsustainable it was by the end of the week.  It was a dizzying mix of socializing with friends, colleagues, new acquaintances and lovers past and present.  Though all through the week there was the underlying knowing that no matter where we all end up, the connections we have made in London means there will always be someone with a smile waiting at a terminal for us when you need it.

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More of the same

Monday - 06/05/2013

I arrived at Harare International airport on Thursday evening not knowing what to expect, but expecting the hassle of other African airports. To my surprise it was a painless affair. Traveling on a South African passport meant there was no need for a visa or to stand in the payment queue, one of the few benefits of having the little green books. My bag was ready and waiting form me when I got through passport control so I could breath a sigh of relief that I was not going to have to answer the question on the Barclays adverts lining the customs hall: How long do you wait until you accept your bags are lost?


Stepping out terminal building I expected to be hit with muggy air and the hostile barrage of taxi drivers trying to secure my business. Neither occurred, the air was cool and refreshing, the evening light making it welcoming and the few taxi drivers around appeared content to wait for business to come to them. It had been arranged that a friend of a friend would pick me up at the airport, though I had not spoken to her since we agreed this and that was a week and a bit ago, so when half an hour had passed I concluded that it had taken too long to get through customs and she had left already. I turned on my UK phone to attempt to call her, but nothing, apparently 3 does not work in Zim. Popping back into the terminal building I found a prepaid cellphone counter and the friendly lady there quickly had me set up with a SIM and mobile internet to boot.

That is when lesson one of Africa travel came in and I realised just how westernised I am. I had the number for my lift in a Facebook message though when trying to access it I discovered just how flaky mobile internet here is and there was no getting the number. Later this would also prove a problem when trying to access the pin codes for my travel money cards. So lesson one is : Don't rely on technology, it will fail you, use a pen and paper.


Shortly after my failed attempts at contacting her, my lift arrived and my bags were thrown into the back of her car as we zoomed off leaving the airport and my 13 hour flight a pleasant memory. Our zooming lasted all of 10 minutes which is when I experienced Harare's drivers reactions to traffic lights being out. It can be likened to driving in India only with about 100x less people. Despite our hold up, it could not have been more than 35min between leaving the airport and having my first beer in my hand. My welcome to Harare was to be the HIFI festival, which entailed music performed by D list artists from around the world and copious amounts of drink. The rest of my stay in Harare followed suit and saw me at various bars and clubs culminating in some bar on Saturday night where a glance around revealed that the average age of the patrons could not have been above 16. Despite the whiskey in hand, sobriety came fast at the realisation that all those around me where half my age. It was time to move on and make my way to Victoria Falls.

The whiskey from Saturday night dictated that I missed the bus to the Falls on Sunday and instead spent it lazing about my host's house, which to be fair wasn't the worst place I could be and I got to make a dent in Stanley's - How I Found Livingstone, which I thought appropriate considering the next leg of my trip.

 On Monday morning it was up early to the bus stop to sort out the journey to the Falls. The bus I needed turned out to be two busses and was going to cost me more than I had anticipated,  luckily one of the guys spending the night in the house was heading to Bulawayo which was half the way there, so I hitched a lift with him. The journey was pleasant and entailed much conversation about Zimbabwe and down south (South Africa).  We arrived in Bulawayo that evening and decided to check when the train was going to the Falls, as it happened the next train was in a couple hours. I jumped at the chance and got the second last ticket in sleeper class. Sheepishly I had to ask my lift to spot me a dollar as the drinking in Harare had seen me use up all my dollars and I was having trouble getting hold of more, it didn't matter, I had a ticket to the Falls and would be leaving in a couple hours.  

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An ominous start.

I had every intention of starting this post along the lines of : I am sitting a bar x enjoying the sunset while I wait for my flight to continue my adventure.
Instead I will start it with a picture:
I was fortunate that I decided I would get to the airport with ample time to spare, I intended to write this post before my flight to Harare. The picture is the queue to get on the shuttle bus to the north terminal. My adventure was to begin at the airport already. From what I could gather they found a suspicious vehicle in the parking lot and needed to do a controlled explosion. This meant that no cars were allowed in or out of the north terminal and the train between the two was shut.
Upon reaching the terminal it was a bit like scenes from 24 days later, we all had to get off the bus and trudge up an on ramp under the watchful glare of blue flashing lights to make it into a deserted terminal building.  I made it to my gate 1min before it closed, so much for my relaxing start.
With one leg done and 3 movies down, I now sit on a blistering Dubai runway waiting to take off for the second time. The flight seems rather empty and being one of the first to board, I have been afforded the opportunity to observe the other passengers as they pass. What strikes me is the number of Chinese people on the flight.  Thinking back to a trip to Swaziland in 2006, I recall making the remark then at how much China had invested in the country.  Which makes me look at my fellow passengers and think how I am on a plane with the new super powers. Step over the west, the east is fast on its way to take top spot again. The question is how will we in the west respond to this?

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