From behind a filthy window at the airport lounge we peered down at the people in arrivals, trying to determine which of the white women was the one we sought: Heidi's sister Amy. After hedging our bets we made our way downstairs for the joyous reunion. Following an affectionate sisterly embrace Amy scrambled back to customs, with the (mandatory) information on our accommodation during her time in Zimbabwe.
The three of us stayed with the Giddens' for one night, before catching a coach
the following morning to a stop near Hwange National Park, where we would embark on a safari. The bus ride took about seven hours and included two boxed meals from "Chicken Inn," consisting of one piece of fried fowl and a bunch of greasy & soggy fries.
After getting dropped off we were met our driver, who would take us the additional 90 kilometers to Miomba Lodge. On the way we made a quick detour, as we met up with a safari vehicle in hot pursuit of a lion. We spotted the animal, from a couple of hundred meters, near the Hwange airstrip where Amy snapped a couple of pictures from afar.
Upon arriving at the deserted lodge we realized we were the only guests, and it seemed as if very few visitors frequent the place. Later that night, however, we were joined by four other Americans (including three from Saint Louis Park) who camped on the grounds for the evening.
We were waited on by Gladys and Tokes, who were meek yet welcoming and hospitable. The two of them whipped up some lovely meals for the three of us, as we were far from any other dining options.
We stayed in the most basic accommodations offered, which consisted of three single beds with en suite bath. Comparatively, it was a fairly good bargain but also much less extravagant than the tree houses, which are elevated and look out into the bush, giving guests the opportunity to spy wild
life from the comfort of an armchair.
The next morning we were met by Steven, our safari guide. Our chariot for the day was an old 4WD pickup, with elevated benches across the bed (for better game viewing). We loaded in and rumbled down the road to the park entrance, where we each shelled out $20 before being allowed to enter.
The park was fairly devoid of tourists, but Steven explained things were beginning to pick up after the low point, about two years earlier, when international headlines about hyperinflation, food shortages and election violence all but killed the industry. In the early 90's the area was enjoying its peak of activity, with as many as 100 safari vehicles, fully loaded, in the park every day. Nowadays, Steven seemed content to get a small group, like us, once a week!
The safari started out rather slowly, with very little wildlife on the horizon. After
an hour or so we stopped at a picnic site, to use the restrooms, where we were, at least, able to capture some photos of various skulls of animals native to the area. When we headed back out things started to pick up a bit...
After only spotting some impala here, and a partially submerged crocodile there, other fauna began to emerge from beyond the thick foliage which had previously camouflaged them. Through
a dense grove of tress we were able to catch a glimpse of the light spots of a young giraffe, followed by another. As we moved on two bull elephants could be seen feeding off in the distance. The man-made watering holes were not teeming with fauna, as they are during the dry season when the life-giving resource is only available in a few spots throughout the park.
Eventually we came upon a group of pachyderms feeding alongside
the dirt road Steven was driving us down. We stopped. Slowly, more and more of the multi-ton giants emerged from the thicket, uprooting and munching vegetation as they walked. More than a dozen of the beasts crossed our path, front and back, taking little notice
of their admirers fervently snapping pictures. On the other side of the road they drank from large puddles and sprayed dirt on their thick skin, in an attempt to cool off from the midday heat. For minutes we watched in silent awe, snapping myriad photos, as newborns and adults alike went about their daily business. (At more than 40,000, Hwange boasts one of the largest elephant populations in the world.)
Before
leaving the park we came across zebra, warthogs, baboons, ostrich, distant wildabeest, a crocodile, giraffe, elephants and unknown number and species of birds; enough, at least, to make any Audobon Society member green with envy. All in all, it was an excellent safari, especially given the time of year (wet season), although I left a bit disappointed, as we were unable to spot the illusive king of the jungle, who we had teased us with its presence only a day earlier.
The following day we were transported back to our City Link bus pickup point: the Halfway House Hotel (aptly named, as it is nearly equidistant between Victoria Falls and Bulawayo). When we arrived, around 3pm, were were promptly informed that the bus company had phoned to inform us that the coach would be about 4 hours late, arriving around 9pm. We grabbed some food and tried to pass the time with card games, conversation and reading. Nine o'clock came and went with no sign of the bus. "It will come," we were assured by numerous local men who had taken interest in our plight. At 10pm a hotel employee informed us that everything would soon be closing and we would have to decide whether or not to take a room (as the only thing at Halfway House is the hotel and adjoining bar & restaurant). We convinced the understanding staff to give us until 11pm to decide, as we feared the coach would arrive the instant we shelled out $80 for the room. Around 10:40pm, as the witching hour approached, the bus arrived and we frantically sought out the security guard to unlock the gates, lest we get left behind. We scrambled for seats among the other travel-weary passengers (some of whom left Harare 15 hours earlier) and were off.
We pulled into Victoria Falls around 1am, got a taxi (which an apologetic bus employee paid for out of her own pocket) and arrived at our hostel minutes later. There the guard roused the manager, who sleepily led us to our dorm. As we apologized for our tardiness she shrugged it off with an expression we have fully come to appreciate: "This is Africa!"
Victoria Falls is an adrenaline junkie's dream, with activities revolving around the magnificent natural wonder
for which the Zimbabwean town is named. There you can have your choice of bungee jumping, whitewater rafting, lion walks, extreme zip lines, elephant-back safaris and helicopter rides...all for very steep prices. To offset those expenses many people seek out budget lodging, of which our hostel is one of the cheapest. As such, these very same adrenaline junkies are pounding drinks and listening to heart-stopping bass until midnight every night, making rest beforehand nearly impossible.
We spent a day or two just chilling before going to the main attraction, but those days weren't without their stresses. Almost as soon as we left the safety of our hostel we were consistently bombarded by street touts and hustlers, offering everything from carvings to late-night booze cruises to cocaine. Moreover, a simple "no thanks" will not suffice with these lads, as they follow you down the street inquiring, "But, do you know how much I am asking?" Otherwise, they offer to trade for your sunglasses, shoes, cap, or shirt right off your back. (One day I wore my now tatty knockoff Manchester United jersey to some curio shops and was asked by nearly every shopkeeper to trade it.) All the while these salesmen are making statements contradictory to their actions, such as, "No pressure," "free to look," or, my favorite, "Hakuna Matata" (which is Swahili, a language not native to the area). One kid actually accused me of not buying from him because he was black, to which I had to take issue. After all, would I really travel across Africa if I had a problem supporting black business?
Christmas Eve Day was spent at Victoria Falls, which was only a 20-minute walk from our lodging.
All the way we could see the mist and hear the thundering roar produced by the falls. While plenty of street entrepreneurs hassled us along the way they quickly disappeared whenever a police officer came into view.
It's $30 to enter the falls, which is on par with Iguazu in Argentina, although this park is far less developed with fewer facilities and unprotected cliffs with drops in excess of 100 meters. We spied a couple of monkeys and a kudu, although the real draw is (obviously) the falls themselves. While Iguazu Falls is wider it is also broken up
into a series of numerous different falls, so Victoria Falls holds the claim of the largest waterfall in the world, on account of the longest single curtain of water. The day we toured the falls was during the dry season, which meant a better visual experience, as greater quantities of water create a mist which so dense it nearly completely shrouds the beauty of the falls.
The entire walk, along the Zimbabwean side of the falls, took about two hours. It truly was some amazing scenery, with beautiful rainbows and heart-stopping drops. That being said, I think I was more impressed with its South American counterpart, if for no other reason than the greater number of catwalks affords the visitor many more vantage points, providing for a fuller day (and, in doing so, giving the budget-conscious traveler more bang for their buck).
Christmas was spent at Shoestrings Backpacker's Lodge with dancing and drumming, performed by a ragtag group of boys aptly named the
Tin Can Kids. Their percussion instruments consisted of old cars
springs, metal cans and plastic jugs. The kids, although not overly impressive, were very cute nonetheless, and performed for donations, proceeds of which would go towards education costs. We were also entertained with some traditional dance and even sang Christmas carols by candlelight...after which the
program returned to the club standards of Rihanna and Young Jeezy.
The day after Christmas a City Link Coach brought us to Bulawayo, a rather unimpressive city with the second largest population in Zimbabwe. There we found a moderately well-appointed triple room and passed a few days by eating Chinese take-out, taking Amy souvenir shopping (at a cool co-op where all of the crafts are created by artists with disabilities) and arranging a day trip to Matopos National Park, known for its intriguing balancing rock formations, millennia-old Bushmen cave paintings and a rather impressive rhino population.
Driven to the brink of extinction, due to the ridiculous price a horn fetches in parts of the Middle East and
Asia, the rhino has recently thrived in Matopos, thanks to new security measures, including de-horning and an armed ranger patrol. These men, equipped with well-worn Kalishnakov rifles, numer about 50 and are free to shoot suspected poachers on sight. While the Parks Service no longer reports rhino population estimates (so as not to entice more poachers) it publishes any case of a suspected poacher being shot. Signs warn visitors to remain in their vehicles, except at selected viewing platforms, in order to avoid being mistaken for an illegal hunter.
Becks, our guide, brought a couple of loaves of bread to the rangers at the gate, explaining that they are, essentially, stranded for weeks at a time and really appreciate such gestures.
In the game park we immediately came across a group of hippos
frolicking in a large pond. As their skin is extremely sensitive to the sun's rays, they spend most of the daylight hours submerged in murky waters. As such, we would only catch a glimpse of the beasts when they came up for air; even then we were able to spot only the tops of their heads. Nonetheless, it was pretty cool to see them interact, all the while making funny, and seemingly jovial, noises.
Next we went in search of the rhinos, of which both white and black meander throughout the fenced in park.
Along the trek we stopped to check out rock formations and also spotted baboon, antelope and giraffe. After a few hours our guide gave up, explaining that the dense vegetation hindered our luck. Upon leaving a ranger explained that the rhinos recently moved deeper into the park, as the result of some recent poaching incidents.
We rumbled over to the historic side of Matopos where diamond magnate and colonialist extraordinaire Cecil Rhodes is buried meters from ancient cave paintings. The San are a nomadic people (popularized in the 80's with the comedy
The Gods Must be Crazy) who once roamed Zimbabwe and Matopos, now displaced to parts of Botswana and Namibia (and fighting for land rights there...especially since a large diamond reserve was discovered on some of their Botswana territory). Now the only evidence of t
heir former presence here are the ancient cave paintings, carbon dated to be 3,000-6,000 years old and created by mixing blood with a particular tree bark.
The result of a lack of preservation, many of the paintings have worn away due to overzealous tourists seeking "great" pictures of themselves touching the sacred artwork. Our guide managed to show us two fairly well-preserved paintings, one of which was quite off the beaten tourist path. The paintings illustrated hunting parties and the prey which sustained their people, namely large cats and rhino. It was quite an experience to trace the footsteps of a people who had been in that same spot thousands of years before Christ walked the earth.
With a little more time in the day, and a desire to show some Americans how most Zimbabweans live, our guide took us through the oldest ghetto in Bulawayo. Within walking distance of the Central Business District, it was built decades earlier so that working-class blacks could more easily get to their
jobs, no doubt serving privileged whites. The neighborhood is a ramshackle collection of concrete homes and tenement housing in very poor condition with yards of dirt strewn with litter. While there, we stopped at a store, had some soda, and snapped pic
tures of curious kids, delighting them with miniature likenesses thereof, on our LCD screens. While most people were friendly and amused by our presence, we certainly got some scowls as well. Upon leaving our guide explained that the neighborhood is plagued by alcoholism and drug abuse; two problems which seem all too prevalent in ghettos the world over.
The lack of energy in Zimbabwe was no more obvious than it was in Bulawayo, where many gas stations simply had no fuel, while those that did had lines, of more than a dozen cars, snaking around the corner and into traffic.
We spent our last two nights with Amy at Boulder's Creek Lodge, a once thriving hostel and campground on the outskirts of Harare. When overland tours regularly came through, prior to the turn of the century, the place hosted 50-60 guests nightly. Now they are lucky to receive a handful of guests every month. In 2001 the owners were forced to shut down for a spell, when any sort of food became extremely scarce. Since, they have reopened, but not without their share of difficulties. The government (of Zimbabwe) has, on two occasions, seized all of the assets of the company's foreign currency deposit accounts. And while some government small fish have made attempts to seize the property from its white landowners, those were short-lived after a call to one of the establishment's investors: a nephew of President Robert Mugabe.
Our stay was an enjoyable respite from the hustle and bustle of Central Harare, although some local people showed up on New Year's Eve and partied until the break of dawn, making Amy's last night in-country less than restful.
We said our goodbyes to sistah at the airport, where a Customs official completed her sendoff with a $100 fine for overstaying her visa. Some confusion, during her arrival to Zimbabwe, led to her only being granted a seven day visa, while most tourists receive 30.
The next day, after what seemed like and eternity, Heidi and I hopped a bus out of Zimbabwe and into Zambia. Along the way we hit numerous check points, where greedy traffic cops seek bribes as zealously as a babe searching for its mother's teet. Two women on our bus were each fined $20 for peeing in the bushes at one of the stops, and one of them got slapped with an additional $20 for protesting. (Apparently, being a traffic cop is a very enviable position in Zimbabwe because one can earn $200-300 daily in "fines" [e.g. off-the-record bribes].)
with train travel in Eastern Europe I knew that our proximity to the loo would lead to some olfactory discomfort as the trip progressed.
revelers passing by. Nearly 12 hours later, as we were all sleeping, the train lurched forward and we continued our journey, with a new locomotive, well behind schedule.
outside of first-class passenger cars begging for nearly anything. "Give me money. Give me your shirt. Give me bottle," they pleaded to the foreigners sitting in their, relatively, comfortable compartments. Doctor Tatyana even went as far as making some kids dance in exchange for an empty water bottle. While she thought it amusing, I perceived it to be more than a little humiliating and uncalled for.
