Windhoek to Lusaka

So we made it. We are in Lusaka, after a mammoth journey marked by both discomfort and tragedy. Let me warn you now, this blog will leave you reeling.

I suppose I should get the disaster out of the way first. The first rule of disasters is that you should not talk about disasters, but this one is so disastrous I can’t help my self. Simply appalling. It is my sad duty to report to you the death of Nigel, the Nikon lens – he found a name (much like Bob Lebowsky) in death, an opportunity cruelly denied him in life. Upon arrival at Victoria Falls I tripped over an uneven paving slab. Nigel was undone by his own awesomeness, the torque produced by hitting the ground being enough to break the mount. He is otherwise unmarked. I hereby open ‘Edd’s orphan children missionary camera lens replacement fund’ (disturbingly, the money would be better spent than most ‘aid’). Nigel would have wanted it that way.

So we said goodbye to the Millwards (with much blubbing by the lassies – us men are far too tough for such sentimentality) and travelled from Windhoek to Livingstone, on the Zambian side of the Victoria Falls. We had picked the Intercape bus, a South African company which was reputed to be brilliant. It wasn’t. The bus stopped the first time with the warning ‘10 minutes, and if you are late we go without you’. After that the bus stopped with monotonous regularity, at which point the conductor and driver would disappear with us being left to wonder ‘do we have time to go to the toilet?’ And even though there was no traffic on the road whatsoever we were 5 hours late! This meant that (irritatingly), the Millwards arrived in London before we arrived in Livingstone. We were very grumpy by the time we reached our destination.

We had a very happy time pottering around the Falls,  which are remarkable. Apparently there was a large volcanic eruption which laid down a huge, massive, beast of a slab of basalt (wouldn’t be allowed these days due to global warming). This cracked as it cooled, just like the Giants Causeway in Ireland – but don’t think for a moment that the Giants causeway even compares because these cracks are 100m deep, 100m wide, and a kilometre or two long. So, as cracks do, they eventually got filled in by mud/sand/other rock, and it is the length of one of these cracks that makes the falls (the river runs perpendicular to them). As all the cracks are linked by other cracks, a whole series of zigzagging and nearly parallel 100m wide gorges have been carved out over the years through which the river, which you should remember is 1km across above the falls, runs (and yes, it really runs, boils, etc – in fact whatever adjective you care to use). To add to all this, the narrowness, height, and just sheer volume of water flowing over the falls creates clouds of spray which ascend many meters into the air and restrict visibility to a few hundred metres along the  falls, making them disappear into the distance and adding to the cracks general awesomeness (and this is the dry season, in the wet season there is 10 times as much water). In case you are wondering, the Zimbabwe side is better, having more water (but no monkeys or baboons – have they all been eaten?).

And I know you are all dying to ask me - ‘what is better, Iguacu or Victoria Falls?’ Well let me answer you now – and my answer is that they are both different and so both amazing in their own right.

But Iguacu has toucans. QED.

We also went for a cruise on the Zambezi. And I am sorry but we went for the more refined sunset cruise as opposed to the booze cruise. It is complimentary drinks on both, but the description we were given of the booze cruise rather put us off (‘it’s brilliant. Everyone got so drunk that we couldn’t find our way home and we all got lost’). This is a simile for ‘we are getting old’ – and on the same token we didn’t do all the exciting activities, such as bungee jumping, white water rafting, or helicopter rides that were on offer. That and general poverty (I mean $145 for 2 hours rafting – are you kidding?). As befits our geriatric status, we found the cruise ‘relaxing’.

And so (regretfully – Jo stated after we booked the bus tickets that she would have gone rafting if we had stayed for another day) we travelled to Lusaka and to a warm welcome from the Arkillas, another Finnish family, but this time with only two children. Jorma (dad) gets unreasonably excited over remote controlled helicopters - just like me. We also get to cook for ourselves (!), and we find we have forgotten what to do.

But the really telling difference between Namibia and Zambia is the toilets. Now this might sound a strange thing to say but the toilets are almost a metaphor for both countries identities in their entireties.  In Namibia, an old German colony and a desert with permanent rivers only on the borders, the toilets are utilitarian and functional and dispense the barest minimum of water with a startling and parsimonious efficiency . The Zambian toilets on the other hand – wooah. Chaos and profligacy. The flush flushes with such force and power that one is obliged to leap out of the way in order to maintain podiatory dryness. It’s good to be back in ‘the real Africa’.