St. Lucia, Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa

The air outside is soft and warm.  There is a light tropical breeze blowing and the vegetation all around us is lush and green.  There is the sound of thunder, and light raindrops are beginning to fall.  In the distance is the sound of the surf of the Indian Ocean.  Barb and I are on the balcony of our suite overlooking the pools and grounds of this Four Star bed & breakfast.  To the right is the swimming pool, and to our left are two pools of some very large goldfish. 

What is most unusual is that just outside the fenced property are the grounds of a very large park and animal reserve.  There are elephant and hippos that will come right up to the fence.  Last week, there was a leopard that jumped onto the roof of the house next door.  We have been warned of hippos on the road if we walk into town (“Just go to the other side of the road.  Don’t confront them.”).  This B&B is situated in a small town called St. Lucia, on the Northeastern coast of South Africa,   It is renowned for its estuary, its nearby beaches, the whale and bird watching, and many outdoor activities.

Yesterday we were in the large, very modern, city of Johannesburg with its 10 million people and its mile high, central plains, climate.  We spent last night in a very basic, 60's vintage, airport hotel, so that it would be easy to catch our early flight out.  Jo-berg is modern enough to have hours long traffic jams.  Plus, my cousin Cate is renowned for the fact that she is directionally challenged, which injects great uncertainty into any scheduled arrival time.  Barb and I have fun watching, but are afraid to tell her how incredibly talented we can be at getting "lost".  Actually, we are never lost since we usually know where we are, but may have no idea how to get to where we want to be.  Talents like Cate's and ours can randomly add the spice of confusion (and humor) to any journey, in addition to the extended journey time.

On the road... again.

This morning was like any travel morning.  I am lugging Big Bertha, our EXPEDITION sized bag, plus two duffels that are plenty large enough in their own right.  There is the usual wrestling match at the airport with an eager helper who wants to carry them all for me.  He finally concedes the match to me when Barb tells him that her favorite Cheapskate has no change to give him.  Before that, strictly in the interest of furthering international relations, I was letting him win.  After all, I really didn't need help and was perfectly happy to watch someone else grunt and groan with the 1,000 essentials we have packed.  I know that the Mountaineers only recognize 10 essentials, but the unimaginative guy that can come up with only ten has never traveled with my very delightful companion.

As we are on final approach at Durban International, I look outside to see the low overcast of a humid, seaside, tropical climate.  The terrain is low rolling hills, with red dirt beneath the vibrant green vegetation of low trees, shrubs and grasses.  It immediately reminds me of Kauai, one of my favorite places on the earth.  What is missing is the high volcanic terrain of the islands, and the wonderful beaches that are always close there.   As we drive away from Durban, we notice that the feeling continues with one major exception.  Unlike the islands, this rolling terrain goes on and on and on.  Outside of Durban has got to be some of the best agricultural land around.   And as we drive North towards our destination, we just see more and more.  One of the odd crops are the large stands of Eucalyptus trees being grown for logs and pulp.

Drive north from Durban - it's lush and green!

 Barb and I had intended to visit a local mall in Durban to have her new camera checked at the Sony Centre.  This DSC-100V is a great camera, but it had a really bad day while we were at Elephant Camp. First, it wouldn't take movies.  Then it would only take movies no matter which button you pressed.  The screen blanked and other malfunctions seemed to occur randomly.  When we finally figured out how to check the malfunction codes, there was a very long list.  The recommended fixes for each consisted of various verbiage that I will sum up as "turned the D@#%ed thing off and hope it works when you turn it back on".  It works great now, and we think that it was just too hot that day (which it definitely was).  However, after congratulating ourselves on finding the N2 Toll Road on the very first try, we failed to find the exit to the Umhlanga mall although we tried for about 40 extra kilometers.  Of course, after you have missed the exit, going just a little bit farther only means that it takes longer to get there when you finally turn around.  We circumvented that problem by deciding that the camera was working just fine now, someone trying to fix it might really break it, and we didn't real want to go there anyway.

So, we wandered up the highway for another three or four hours towards St Lucia.  I know I've said that this is a large country, but driving from Durban to St. Lucia is like going from Seattle to Salem.  There is a great four lane toll road for most of the way.  The drivers are mostly expert, and seem to be more predictable in their actions when I drive on the wrong side of the road just as they do.  We have seen very few accidents, although I may have caused a few.  This statement was reinforced today because we did reverse course once for about 10 miles.  When we came back there was one single car accident exactly where we had driven before.  During the drive, we took a short detour to Richards Bay, which turns out to be a totally charmless, but economically vital industrial city.  Every country needs cities like that, but no one, including us, wants to vacation there.

St. Lucia has charm to spare.  It is small, with lots of restaurants and B&B's.  Ours is very comfortable and the nicest room on the premises is a large suite which costs about 130 USD.

It's time to quit.  Barb just got totally surprised by a huge clap of thunder.  I will get her off of the ceiling as soon as I finish this blog.......

Sat: 29 Oct  St Lucia to Phinda

Today’s entry will be short.

St. Lucia B&B

This morning there was a delightful breakfast on the open patio.  The object of much discussion for Barb and I was how to describe the VERY loud sound of the frogs that sang to us  all night.  It seems to be some combination of a woodpecker rat-a-tat, yet it also reminds us of the child’s clacker toys that never ceased as long as you spun them around.  The B&B owner laughed at our description, but agreed with it.  For the record, we think the stories of hippos in the street and leopards on the roof are myths perpetuated by the locals for the tourists.  In other words, we didn’t see any.

Dipping toes into the Indian Ocean.

But after breakfast, Barb and I added another “notch” to our travel belt.  We went wading in the Indian Ocean.  It’s another one of the Seven Seas of the World, and neither of us had ever been near it.  We drove to the local beach, walked across the sands to the big surf, and dipped our toes.  There were lots of fishermen, van loads of school children, 4WD trucks, and walkers all along the shore.  But although plenty were wading, no one was swimming or surfing.  The surf is plenty good enough, and I don’t know about the shark situation, so the reason why is not yet clear.

One of the things in Africa that is difficult for me to deal with is the use of young children for hawking souvenirs, and selling “services”.  Today, they were selling ornaments made of small gourds.  They have a sad wistful look, and limited language.  It is hard not to buy from them.  But just out of sight, sitting on a hill in the shade, is an adult incongruously wearing another of the semi-uniforms.  There are children around him also.  They leave him and go to try to sell their goods.  Other children are in the parking lot wearing orange reflective vests.  Just as we were leaving, they came up to us and wanted money for having provided security for our parked car.  Paying not to get ripped off is common in many parts of the world.  So, their request is not surprising to me.  And it’s often a good investment.  But this is the first time that it has been so obvious that there is a “manager” for these children.  I was not tempted by their wares or their “security”, but had been tempted to just give them some of our change.  Seeing their adult supervisor sitting on the hill made me decide not to contribute.  I am too suspicious that the children will get to keep little or nothing of what they are given.

Indian Ocean at St. Lucia

Road into Phinda

After the ritual Indian Ocean dip, we drove to our next destination - Phinda Mountain Lodge (pronounced “pinda”).  It is another of Cate’s luxury lodges set up in the NE corner of SA, near Swaziland and Mozambique.  Located in a private game reserve, it is home to all of the Big Five and more.  Although it is just off the major highway N2, even Google Maps can’t accurately find it.  Only the directions given by the lodge were correct.  After driving many miles down rough dirt roads, we come to a very large and official looking gate.  Some of our border crossings have seemed less official.  The gate guard confirms that we are expected before he allows us to enter.  He gives very precise instructions for the 15 miles left to drive on even rougher roads than before.  Our poor little Toyota Corolla rental probably would rather turn around at this point.

Some of Phinda's welcome committee.

However, on the rest of the drive to the lodge, Barb sights and photos Zebra, Giraffe, Oryx, Springbok, monkeys, warthogs and more.  It is a good start to our two days here.  This evening will be a game drive, followed by dinner.  Then tomorrow morning at 0500, there is a wakeup call for the early game drive.  Barb’s primary objective here is to see a Leopard in the wild.  My primary objective is to charge batteries, download many Gigabytes of pix and movies, and write blogs.  Since I get to go with Barb to great places like this, eat wonderful meals (all vegan), and drink good wines, it’s all worth it.

Leon & Barb in Kwa-Zulu Natal

Safari's End at Victoria Falls + Luxury Sojourn at Elephant Camp

At Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe

LEON:  A lot of days have gone by since our last Overland Safari entry.  We finished our safari at Waterfront Camp and Lodge on the Zambezi River in Livingstone, Zambia.  Then Barb and I transitioned to a resort camp just outside of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.  After three days there, we flew to Johannesburg, commonly known as Jo-Burg, to visit with Cate and Heather, and to begin the next phase of our trip.

After crossing the Zambezi River, and entering Zambia, we drove a short distance to Livingstone, Zb.  For the details of that day, see African Border Stories.  It was a hoot and a half crossing the border from Botswana to Zambia.  Livingstone is an obviously modern town with supermarkets, strip mall shopping centers, and people everywhere.  Zambia has a vibrant spirit about it.  But its still hot, dusty and dirty.  There are churches, and public buildings, and schools, and lots of people.  Inflation is a serious issue for the economy.  The official exchange rate on the Kwacha is about 5000 ZbK to one USD.  Every time you deal with someone on the street, they will try to make some money off of you on the differences.  In the hotels and established businesses, they stick very close to the official rate.  It is the type of town where you are not sure if anyone has  had more than a 3rd grade education, yet in fact most people speak English, the pharmacist we dealt with is obviously educated to international standards, and people seem to be busy.  What is also obvious is that there is an underground economy that is a major part of the local culture.

Our campsite is at the Waterfront River Lodge.  For once, we pitch our tents on grass.  Of course, no one mentioned the monkeys.  Barbara is immediately captivated by the oh-aren’t-they-cute horde of monkeys, and becomes unable to perform the Overland Safari Tent Dwellers tribal dance.  In other words, she spends the first hour or so taking pictures of the oh-aren’t-they-cute primates while Leon erects the tent.  There is a great story with that and  I will let her tell it herself.....

The monkey’s antics are obviously just games to them.  A tent pitched near us is the basic three-person mountaineering tent with a rainfly over the inner shell.  The monkeys love to run under the rainfly, up the inner walls of the tent and slide down the other side.  They are so fast it is hard to se them do it, and the way that tent is shaking, it looks like an attack by poltergeists.  The antics of the OATC monkeys manage to tick off one of our neighboring campmates. She immediately chases them away while loudly voicing her dissatisfaction with their actions.  When she turned back to her tent, the monkey she was chasing turned around quickly and bit her on the ankle.  Off to the hospital for the first of her now mandatory Rabies shots.  From this I learned that there is a pre-rabies shot one can take that lessens the need for shots after being bitten.

Overlanders are flocking to the pool where the prelude to our own antics begin.  This is the last official night of the tour.  Many of our companions will begin to depart the following day.  Others will stay in the local area for a few days, or begin their travels to other parts of Africa.  Jeff and Meghan are off to Zanzibar for their wedding. 

Leon at the bar on the booze cruise.

Tonight there will be a final animal game cruise on the Zambezi river.  It is also traditionally a booze cruise.  I wish to go on record that lots of hippos were seen, as well as alligators, buffalo, and other animals.  I also wish to say that after a while, very few actually cared.  The highlight of that cruise was a birthday cake for Jeff, and his willingness to chug-a-lug a celebratory drink.  That night, Old Farhts (doesn’t adding the “h” seem more sophisticated?) like me are getting up for our first relief of the night, as the younger participants are noisily struggling to find their tents.  There seem to be a few disagreements about who resides in which tent.  Many just give up and go back to the bar to resolve any conflicts in a more diplomatic manner.  The monkeys sleep through all of this.

Hippo on the booze cruise.

Leon and his good Navy friend Dan comparing cameras on the booze cruise.

You'll need to go around...

BARB:  Leon is so funny, and too macho, to admit that those monkeys were adorable, especially the babies.  I have to admit though that it was a little disconcerting to walk from our camp site to the pool and bar as you had to go through a pack of the little darlings.  We were told that ‘one eye‘ (he’s partially blind) can be a little mean so I was always on the lookout for him and gave the monkeys the right-of-way on the paths.

One day, I was getting ready to leave our tent so I unzipped it (you have to keep the doors zipped up or you’d have at least five little monkeys jumping on the bed), and put our backpacks just outside the tent door.  I was still inside and noticed that there was a group sitting very near so I grabbed my camera, knelt down in the doorway, and started to take some photos and videos.  While taking a video, I heard a crackling sound nearby.  After wondering what the crackling sound was, I looked down and saw a monkey running away with a bright green packet of hand sanitizing moist wipes - that were in my backpack’s front flap just a moment before.  Needless to say, it startled me because he easily could have joined me in the tent since I took my eyes off the now unzipped door.  After hollering at him, and Leon retrieving the now dropped wipes, I went back to more important things - continuing with my video of the cute and adorable monkeys.

Hang on

Another day, I was walking by the pool and there were lots of adult and baby monkeys so I pulled out my camera (you never walk around Africa without your camera always at the ready) and started to watch them.  The parents are very protective of their babies and if one leaves it alone, the other will grab it and hold it close.  It was unusual for the babies to play alone but I did catch one sitting on a lawn chair and heard a loud cry when he slipped of and hung by the chair’s edge.  There were several adults right there to catch him so he didn’t fall to the ground.  I wish that I had my video running for this as the squeal/cry was so cute but did get a photo.

Momma & Baby on lawn chair by the pool

The taste of independence...

Help me!!!

I'm better now...

Victoria Falls

Victoria Falls is one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World and is where our 21 day Overland Safari tour would end, in Livingstone Zambia.  But the Falls are also on the border with Zimbabwe in the town of Victoria Falls.  Our last tour group outing was to visit the Zambia side of the Falls.  We had seen photos of Victoria Falls and expected to see a huge wall of water rushing down the sides of the gorge because it is attributed as the largest sheet of falling water in the world.  However, we had been told that it was pretty dry so we might not see much water.  It was really dry!  People pay money to see this?  They come halfway around the world?  OMG.  Yougottabekiddingme.

Victoria Falls from Zambia's side.

When we crossed over the border to Zimbabwe, for our time at The Elephant Camp, we visited the Falls again.  This time we were really surprised to see how incredible it was.  As we walked the park’s path, the view got better and better, and because it was afternoon, we had a spectacular rainbow, once even a double rainbow.  It was a typical very-warm-African-day but because it was in the ‘rain forest’, the Fall’s mist kept us cool and damp.  A few times, you might have seen us with our arms open wide doing a little water dance.

Victoria Falls from Zimbabwe

The Elephant Camp

Barb and I leave our friends after lunch the next day.  For the interesting tour of No Man’s Land, see African Border Crossings.  The Victoria Falls hotel is a wonderful old hotel set on lush, immaculately maintained grounds.  It has been an oasis for weary travelers for over a hundred years. I highly recommend a visit.  But Barb and I are not staying there, although someday we might.  We are headed out to a resort lodge, about 10 minutes away.  At the Vic Falls hotel, we are met by Jonathan, the incredibly friendly host of The Elephant Camp.  His concern for us allows me to immediately begin to relax.  I am exhausted by our border crossing adventure.  As we drive out of town, the climate seems to become more arid, and the vegetation reflects that.  As we enter the grounds of our lodge, it is once again evident that security is an issue, and that it is well addressed.  The lodge sits on a hill overlooking rolling terrain, with some large gorges cut into the earth.  The trees are low and green, and the grasses are yellow and brown.  The low roar of the falls can be heard in the distance when all else is quiet.

As we drive in, the assistant manager Kim, and one other of the staff are waiting as the car pulls in.  As we see them both standing at the entrance to the complex, with our drinks in hand,  Barb and I both think of the opening scenes in the TV series Fantasy Island.  And we will live our fantasy for the next few days.  There will be clean sheets, hot water, incredible food, and a wonderful staff that allows us to completely relax form our Overland experience.

There is one thing that will not change.  We have lived and slept in a tent for the last three weeks.  Here at Elephant Camp, we will continue to sleep in a tent.  But it is not your ordinary tent.  Outside, it looks like a small, khaki circus tent.  Inside are three large rooms, conventionally and luxuriously furnished like a fine home, complete with chandeliers in each room.  There are sliding glass doors to our deck and dipping pool.  There is even an outdoor shower should you want to bathe out doors.  Transportation is provided to any activity, but Barb and I are there to relax and enjoy all that they have to offer.  The main building offers a bar, reading library, and dining room, plus a full sized pool which we will not ever use, because we have our own pool.  Jonathan and Kim are the kind of people that you wish you had time to get to know better.

Our deck with dipping pool.

Not a bad view from the bathroom...

≈One of the highlights of the stay is a pet Cheetah named Sylvester.  He comes each day to visit and Barb will pet him.  Once I see that his displays of affection to the handlers include cuffing, and biting, I decline.  He never seems to hurt anyone, but one can’t be too cautious.  Barb of course loves cats and sees that he gets plenty of affection.  Wild Cape Buffalo, who have a reputation for being mean, smart, and vicious, roam the unfenced grounds during the nights.  Guests are escorted between buildings by the staff.  In the morning there is a new bird whose call is some combination of a crow’s cawing, and a dog’s barking.  Platoons of baboons will come ambling through, as will other animals.  A group of elephants live nearby and come down to the waterhole in the evening.

Sylvester the Cheetah, in the wild, running to greet us...

Sylvester's handler telling us about his life at Elephant Camp.

 
Our three days end too quickly.  Barb is ready to move in, in spite of the increasing summer heat.  I am ready to stay also, but that is because I am too intimidated by the idea of packing our bags again.  We manage to get it done though.  Somehow, when we left Bainbridge, we had only two large bags and one small one.  Now we are using another large duffle which means there are three large bags.  But it’s almost not enough.

Barb and I say our good bye’s to Kim and Jonathan.  I give Jonathan a hug since Cate had made me promise to do so.  Well, he deserves it!  It’s a great place.  And after all, it’s Cousin Cate’s menu that we have been eating.

The Elephant Camp offers rides and I fed several after their hard work.

22 Oct - African Border Stories

Barb, are you sure we have enough stuff???

Barb and I have been touring Southern Africa for about a month now.  Hotels, tents, tree houses, and lodges have been our shelters.  We have had episodes of the traveler's disease, lost the use of two credit cards, been in a howling sandstorm, and a raging thunderstorm, and much more.  Along the way we have had the great good fortune to see the things that we have tried to relate to you in our blog postings.  But, "This is not Kansas, Toto!"  We are not seasoned or experienced Africa travelers.  Fortunately, our guides provided that element for us.  I am a world traveler, and have now been to about 60 countries.  Even so, there are two things that stand out for me as I look back at our time here.  No, it's not the roads that I tried to describe for you.  Near the few cities there are good roads.  But quite often, what is marked as a major highway here would be shown on our maps as dashed lines.  And it's not the heat as we moved into the tropics.  I grew up in Louisiana, and have spent many years working in the high deserts of the western USA.  The people have been great, but I have already mentioned the people we have met and am still favorably impressed.

Due to the nature of the business I was in, most of the time that I dealt with immigration and customs was in major airports.  As frustrating as they were, they are amazon.com efficient compared to these African crossings by bus or car.  Touring in Southern Africa, we have crossed the borders of countries four times now. 

Changing vans before crossing SA / Namibia border

Our first crossing on the tour was South Africa into Namibia.  Namibia was once administered by the Germans; later by the South Africans. There was a war for Independence in the mid part of the 20th century.  But one can’t simply drive to the border.  Life in Africa is complex.  Our company truck is not registered in South Africa, but in another country.  Therefore, it cannot carry passengers across the border.  One hour from the border, we meet a van, unload all of our gear, re-load it into this van.  This van is properly registered and can carry us all through the border.  Once in Namibia, we can again join our overland truck.

Leaving South Africa

To leave South Africa, we stopped at the crossing office, exited the bus with our passports, filled out the forms, and then walked to the next office for more approvals and paperwork.  All in all, we needed to see three officials in three different offices to LEAVE South Africa.  Then we got into our bus/truck and drove about 200 yards to the Namibian Immigration offices.  Here all of the paperwork could be completed in one office.  Although we needed to fill out forms, show our passports, and await for documentation approval.  Fortunately there were not too many others there at the time, and the process entering Namibia could have been completed in about half an hour.  However, there was one of our travelers who required an entry visa.  That needed three days to obtain, and she could not continue on with us until then.  And now, even re-entering South Africa would take some time since we had all already officially exited.  All of this was later resolved (it did take three days as stated).

When we left Namibia, heading into Botswana for the Okavango Delta and Chobe Game Park, it was much different.  The border crossing from the Caprivi Strip of Namibia into Botswana, was a very sleepy place.  The buildings may have been only a few years old, but in the tropics things age quickly.  It was hot, and dusty with almost no one else present.  People in semi-official looking uniforms were standing around outside the Namibian border building.  Inside was a small area with three windows to pass documents and forms to the two clerks with about 4 assistants and/or supervisors.  There is some air conditioning, and there are computers that help speed the process.  This crossing is surprisingly quick.  And it seems just as quick to negotiate the bureaucratic two-step on the Botswana side of the border.  The border itself has only a single guard operating a lift-up pole that is the gate barring your way.  Except for the usual speed bumps and tire shredders embedded into the narrow road just beyond that gate, it is a step back in time to a simpler age.

Leaving Namibia for Botswana

One of our habits to help deal with these delays is to throw the frisbee.  Chuck has brought one with him, and with his normal enthusiasm for these things manages to get others playing with him.  I am one of the participants and am slowly remembering how this is done.  The wind varies greatly causing the frisbee to suddenly rise and fall as it flies through the different currents of air.  And of course, in several cases, we have been using the spaces between parked trucks to find a playing field.  It's not Ultimate Frisbee, but it does have its challenges.

Trucks waiting at the Botswana / Zambia border.

Botswana / Zambia Borde

These two crossings with their delays and bureaucratic dances were merely the prelude to the next crossing from Botswana into Zambia.  When we leave Kasane, Botswana on the Chobe River, we head North and East to cross into Zambia.  The road to Chobe had been awful with much construction causing the use of alternative dirt roads paralleling what will someday be a two lane paved road.  The road to the border crossing isn't much better, even without the construction issues.  Beginning some miles from the river crossing, we begin to see a line of tractor-trailer rigs with two and sometimes three, trailers attached.  There is horn honking and some sort of priority system that is unintelligible to us.  Although some trucks go by us, we mange to get to the river ahead of many others.  The border crossing is done by ferry over the Zambezi River.  That was expected.  But we did not expect the ferries that we saw.  There are only two of them, one belonging to Botswana and one to Zambia.  They are similar, but the Zambian one is even more decrepit than the Botswanan one. 

Zambian ferry fully loaded.

Let me try to describe them.  They are small, open, barges with crude but sturdy, ramps attached at each end.  These ferries are a little longer than a triple tractor-trailer rig.  They are narrow in width, able to hold only two cars side by side, and really only one large truck or bus.  In length, they can hold one tractor-trailer and a few cars, or as in our case, one bus.  Fully loaded, these barges have only about a foot of freeboard.  What propels these river ferries is quite amazing, even ingenious.  Welded to each side, in about the middle of each barge, is an "island" that juts out over the water.  Mounted on each island is a large diesel engine of the type that you might see being used for electrical or hydraulic power at a construction site.  The Botswanan ones are firmly attached to the island, and the Zambian ones are actually on skids, sitting askew, and not attached at all.  These units provide hydraulic power to retractable and steerable propellor drives.  These drivearms are about 12 inches in thickness and 8 feet in length.  It looks crude, but seems efficient and easily repairable.  If your portable diesel breaks, just bring another one on board and the send the broken one for repairs.

Ferry motor

Trucks carrying beer and liquor to 'run' across the border.

But, even more amazing is the scene we get to observe as we wait on the Botswanan side.  There is apparent chaos to us who do not understand the system.  But our bus moves forward with some priority.  There is of course, a petty official with even more petty underlings, directing who gets to load their vehicle on the ferry.  There is yelling and horn honking.  Does money change hands?  I don't know, but it might have.  Sitting off to the side are semi uniformed people, probably customs officials.  We have already done the official exit paperwork about half a mile back.  As we are playing frisbee among the trucks, we notice the lines of trucks and vans parked far off to the side near the officials.  There are runners from those trucks carrying cases of beer and alcohol to one of the ferries.  These runners are amazing, some carrying up to five cases of beer at a time, and moving very fast as they do it.  They seem to have to wait until the ferry is almost loaded and the ramp is about to raise; then they begin throwing cases on board to others already on board.  As the ferry leaves our shore, we see a line of Mokoro canoes paddling from the up-river shore on the Zambian side.  In our minds, these are two un-connected events.  But then we notice that the Mokoros meet the ferry about mid-river and all of the cases are unloaded into the canoes, then taken somewhere for off-loading.  It is the most blatant and systematized example of smuggling that I have ever seen!  Someday, in the next few years, this ferry will be replaced by a modern bridge.  But for now, it is an unforgettable African scene.

Vans carrying alcohol waiting for the ferry to arrive to start the transfer.

Mokoros arriving at ferry to start offloading alcohol.

Alcohol being offloaded onto the mokoro canoes.

Leon and Stan discussing the booze runner process... they went that away.

Zambian ferry arriving in Botswana.

Whistling Willie driving onto the ferry for the Botswana / Zambia crossing on a Botswana ferry (nicer).

Our group filling out immigration paperwork - again (Ausie Jeff in foreground)

The trip across the river takes 10 minutes at most.  Here, on the Zambian side of the river, the scene is even more chaotic than before.  There are rows upon rows of big rigs parked trying to get their entry paperwork authorized.  Dutifully, our crew of Overlanders troops into this office to fill out our forms.  This scene, which is again some combination of mid twentieth century and modern 21st century bureaucratic process, has become almost normal for us.

Sign at Zambian immigration office.

 What is immediately noticeable on the Zambian side are the loud and energetic merchants selling their wares to anyone they can approach.  They call out to you in numerous European languages, offering to sell wooden artifacts of great value for just pennies - or kwachas - or pulas - or any currency you might have.  Only one word does not seem to be in their vocabulary - NO.  They never take no for an answer.  If you say you don't have money, they offer to trade for your shoes; or your wife (I glanced at Barb but she said no). Now imagine this energy on a hot, dusty, windless 100+ degree day.  This vibrant market, filled with trucks and people, is on the parking area of an obscure border crossing on a river you may have never heard of.  It has no charm.  It is annoying, and yet exciting.  It, too, is Africa.

Zambia to Zimbabwe......

Two days later, our Overland tour is over.  Barb and I are excitedly heading off to Zimbabwe for a three day stay in a luxury resort (THANK YOU, Cousin Cate).  This time, we must cross from Zambia to Zimbabwe.  In Zambia, we are in the major city of Livingstone.  Once in Zimbabwe, we will be in the scenic town of Victoria Falls.  The currency in Zambia is Kwachas (5000 ZbK to 1 USD).  In Zimbabwe, they use only the USD.  Unable to control their inflation, they cancelled their currency, and everyone now operates on USD. 

Zimbabwe immigration sign - USD is official currency.

 At our camp lodge, we try  to arrange for a taxi to the historic Victoria Falls Hotel in Vic Falls, Zimbabwe.  Livingstone and Vic Falls should be sister cities, but it seems impossible to get a taxi from Livingstone to Vic Falls.  Okay!  We are told that the taxi will drop us off at the border, then after a short walk, we can get another one in Victoria Falls.  No one tells us about "No Man's Land". 

No Man's Land - Victoria Falls Bridge Zambia / Zimbabwe

At the camp lodge, I stuff our luggage into the small taxi.  Somewhere along the way, I am certain that we have acquired the kitchen sink I left at home.  Somehow our two duffels and our EXPEDITION sized suitcase are stuffed into the impossibly small trunk.  The hotel rate for this trip is 40,000 ZbK, but our nice driver offers to do it for 10 USD.  Even at the bank, 10 USD is worth 50,000 ZbK.  Everybody tries to make money off the exchange rate differences.  They need to make money off even the most marginal differences.  It will get  even worse on the Zimbabwe side.

No Man's Land - Zam / Zim border - Victoria Falls bridge

 Our driver takes us to the Zambia border crossing office.  I begin to question the "short walk" description.  There is no sign of the bridge to the Zimbabwe side, nor can I see the Falls!  Our driver helps me with the three bags.  I give him the 50,000 ZbK and then some.  He tells us to take only the Blue taxi to the next offices.

Zim / Zam border - entering No Man's Land

Inside are the usual bureaucratic forms, processes, and people.  And the usual wait to get through it.  But everyone is polite about it.  It's just another fact of life, for the workers and for us.

Outside, there is a blue taxi and another unofficial van, each offering us a ride to the next station.  I choose the Blue one as recommended.  He wants 5 USD or 20,000 ZbK.  I opt for ZbK, but give him 25,000 (which is the 5 USD he asked for, but now I'm tipping.)  Let me say that it is not a SHORT walk.  On an early morning stroll in 75 deg weather, it might be considered short.  In 102 deg heat, with all of our luggage, it would have been a 1 mile trek down a hill and across a bridge to the Immigration offices.  This is one of the best $5 that Mr Frugal here has ever spent. 

On the Zimbabwe side, it is even more impossibly bureaucratic.  Here, they have all of the computer technology that you may have seen on your travels in other places.  But they also still have the forms and stickers from the older time.  When was the last time, you saw someone using carbon paper to make copies?  Here they still have ink pads, and rubber stamps!  When the forms are manually filled out, the rubber stamp flies repeatedly between the ink pad and the paper (bam-bam, bam-bam).  The carbon is removed from the paper, and I am given a copy of the form.  The other copy is then put on the large pile between my official and the next one (did I mention the busload of Japanese tourists ahead of us?).  That official is handwriting all of the entry stamps that will then be placed into our passports.

Barb is standing watch on our luggage.  There is hardly space for her in this room.  Besides the ordinary travelers, there are the people with bags of shoes trying to get them into the country (for resale?), and others.  A nice young man, who just happens to have a car available, has struck up a conversation with Barbara.  At the same time as she is obtaining his life story, she negotiates a 10 USD rate to the hotel for us and our luggage (only a 200 yard walk we had been told).  She has seen the look in my face.  I am maxed out.  Pooped out. Wasted.

We are finally out of the building and I can see the taxi.  I go straight for it.  NOT SO FAST!  We must go to the left, to what looks like a group of old cronies sitting in the shade chatting.  In the middle of the group is an African "big man", three times the size of his friends, and incongruously wearing an UC Berkeley t-shirt.  To exit, we must show a small white paper that looks like a receipt.  Which darned pocket is it in?  Why, of course, the last one I think it will be.  I hand it to a lady in an official shirt, and she shows it to the "big man" who does not smile, but grunts his approval.

Zambia / Zimbabwe border

I am ready to drop the 135++ pounds of luggage and run to the car.  This $10 taxi ride will prove to be the second best buy of the day.  The hotel is NOT 200 yards away, even by the very direct dirt trail that we could have used. 

Those are our African Border tales.

Leon and Barb in Zimbabwe