Seventh Wonder of the World

We arrived at the falls around 4 oclock in the afternoon after a taxing day. We strode up to the gate.... and were astonished to find that entry would cost us 50000 kwacha! Or 10 dollars. You know you have been in Zambia for too long when you are getting out right fired up over 50000 kwacha. We grudgingly paid our dues and entered the park. We were absolutely brought back to life. The minute we entered the gate we noticed the moisture in the air... it was literally the first form of precipitation I had felt since setting foot in Zambia. See in their winter, there is no rain. But as we got closer to the falls, the air became dense with water... When we finally were able to see it, it felt as though rain was coming down from the heavens. Along with thunder. We were being splashed by from 500 feet below. 

Vic Falls is absolutely amazing. With the water at a fairly high level, it is reminiscent the mississppi river... if it ran over the san andreas fault. The gorge is maybe 500 feet deep, and the falls are roughly a mile long. We did the once over, taking pictures and basking in the radiance of the sight. The afternoon sun played tricks on us, constructing rainbows everywhere we looked. The falls is viewed from a peninsula across the gorge. One the other side of the peninsula is a bridge that leads from Zambia to Zimbabwe. "Built by Cecil Rhodes", a drunken Zambian told me. Thats something to take heart in... Cecil Rhodes of colonial Rhodesia fame. That was a while ago. We walked to the other side of the peninsula to view an activity taking place on the bridge... Bungii Jumping. I was initally struck by how manageable it looked... And then the person I had my eyes on continued to free fall for about 6 seconds. I became more nervous as we watched person after person huck off this concrete object. At the same time, however, I became more sure I would make the plunge as well.

We walked to the falls side of the gorge, the river before the descent. Jack and I were entreated by a young Zambian. "Hello, would you like to walk across the river on a concrete path to the islands in the middle?" "Yes", I replied. 

We walked up the river a bit before we saw another gent who appeared to be bounding on the water. As we got closer, it became apparent that his feet were maybe 8 inches under the water. He was on a concrete embankment, 200 feet long and maybe 8 inches in girth. He held my hand and I followed him on to it, Jack behind me. His friend offered to hold my shoes. I said no. As we shuffled slowly on this ledge, I looked down river. Maybe 100 yards away the Zambezi cascaded untold feet to the rocks below. I resolved to love life more than ever and be a good Christian if God let me off the ledge alive. It was not the final time that weekend I make that resolution. We finally crossed to the other side, after an ordeal that featured Stan getting wet up to his waist holding his camera above his head and deciding, wisely, to turn back. 

We reached an Island, and continued to Island hop. We took pictures of the sun, the view, ourselves and our guide. Our feet got dominated by sharp rocks that African feet don't flinch at. Our guide entreated us to go further, but as the sun set, we realized we should return back form whence we came. 

We reached the Island that lead to the concrete embankment. Our guide froze... "A Hippo has used this path!" He exclaimed. Wonderful. I scurried like a little girl through the 30 yards of foliage and high tailed it along the walk of doom back to the mainland. Our guide then asked us for 5000 kwacha. Or one dollar. We felt he had earned it. 

We returned back to the Fawtly Towers to refresh. We dined on maybe the best Indian food I've had in all my days and called it an early night because of the jam packed day we had on the horizon. Bedtime was 2 am. 

We rose around 630 to prepare for our 730 departure for white water rafting. I felt horrible, suffice it to say, but I sprung out of bed infused with nervous energy. Ok thats not true but I did eventually get out of bed and took an english breakfast from the cafeteria. 

Jack and I had a truly Zambian experience yet again as the cab we enlisted to take us to the ATM broke down and then indignantly asked us to push him up a hill. Being good midwestern boys we lent a passive aggressive push and continued on our way, as we had no time to spare. 

We hopped in the bus and arrived at "The Waterfront", the jumping off point for our Zambezi rafting experience. The Zambezi is considered one of the best rivers in the world for kayakers and rafters. This time of year the current is stong and certain rapids rage, but the water level is high enough that people don't usually die. Good news for me, as I like to spend as much time out of the raft as in it. Bad news for me is that the Zambezi has crocs in it. 

Our fellow clientele included some dorky spanish people who COULDNT SPEAK ENGLISH! jeez. The nerve. Some british family with a 75 year old man and his porky buy lovable 14 year daughter. fishy. and some other british guy who proved himself to be a certifiable coward. oh, and I forgot to mention the other 40 patrons... British Schoolboys! Wonderfully tart.

Ours was the first raft and I cannot say Stan Jack or I was impressed with our crew. The old brit and his daughter, the cowardly brit (though we didn't know his MO yet), and a dutch man who looked like flaccid penis. He was even bald. 

After the how toos and a few simple rapids, we embarked on our first class 4. I was in the front across from Jack. The boat lurched up, his side far above mine. My side emptied into the churning water. I stayed strong. That is until Jack used me as his personal support bar. The pictures we purchased afterwards show it, it is an opinion but a statement of fact. He pushed me in. No matter, I held on wisely to the safety rope and loaded myself back into the boat. 

The rafting continued, only heating up. We were allowed to float some rapids ourselves, a fact that became a bit unnerving when we glimpsed crocodiles basking on the rocks next to the river. We were also able to jump rocks next to the river that in higher season would have constituted the river bed. Crazy huh?

Karma is a bitch, and Jack Gray found that out the hard way. On double trouble, the 17th rapid, he bit the dust and had to float the final 150 yards in his life preserver, taking mouth fulls of water while laughing hysterically.

Stan got into the act on of the final rapids, losing control and falling in. No one has to know I also fell in on that rapid.

A vendetta arose when another boat, filled with little british gits, splashed us repeatedly. I replied with well placed splashes, but I could tell by Stan's pensive demeanor that he had more in store. What was in store was on display as we paddled into the cove to finish our trip. The offending boat bumped against ours and Stand sprung into action, evincing a deep understanding of aquatic and amphibious combat. He leapt from his seated position into the water and in a quick maneuver grabbed the guide of the boat and dragged him into the water. The guide was stunned and alittle nonplussed, I imagine, but he acknowledged defeat and so did the rest of the gits. 

Soon after this display of leaping ability, Stan would take up the stakes... and so would I.

TBC