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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