Category: Africa-2011

Forty Hours en route to South Africa – Lift off on June 21, 2011.

Just two days ago, Alisha, John and I were packing up my jewelry booth at the Vallejo Pirate’s Festival after a successful and spirited show.

Marty, John and Alisha at the Pirate Festival

John and I now sit in the Chicago O’Hare airport, waiting for our plane to London to depart. Our final destination, 30 hours from now is Johannesburg, South Africa.

I spend Monday in a flurry, working in my office and pass the Marty Magic baton to my husband Art and my assistant, Kat. John and I are mostly packed, but there are many last minute details to handle and we don’t pull out of our driveway until 8:30 P.M. several hours later than planned.
Art chauffeurs us to the S.F. airport and we sleep a few hours at the Holiday Inn before catching our 5:00 A.M. hotel shuttle to the airport. Our United Airline check- in and flight is easy and we doze most of the way to Chicago, but the 4 hour lay-over in Chicago is painful. The news report on the overhead television announces that Michelle Obama and her daughters are visiting South Africa this week, so we will be in good company.
We board our Chicago to London flight at 7:10 P.M. on Tuesday and after eating a tasteless, British Airway dinner, try to sleep. I manage an uncomfortable 4 hours, but John, his long body contorted awkwardly in the cramped economy seat, sleeps little.

London Tube – Mind The Gap!

John and the London Parliment Skyline

It is Wednesday, June 22nd and we arrive in London at 6:55 A.M, are quickly through immigration and on our way into London via the Underground. Both John and I are running on adrenaline and we easily navigate the “Tube” with just one line change, towards Westminster. An automated voice, announces each station, reminding passengers to “mind the gap.” An hour later, we arrive at Westminster station, feed our tickets into the exit turn style and climb the stairs up to street level.

The spire-studded skyline of Big Ben, the parliament, and Westminster Abby welcomes us. It is a familiar sight for me, but John is duly impressed and excited to be in London, if ever so briefly. The morning is cold and gray and we cross the Thames River via the Westminster Bridge to get another view of the impressive, Westminster skyline. The London Eye, a huge Ferris wheel, offering stunning views of London on a clear day, dominates the opposite bank and we drop down along its river front promenade in search of hot coffee and breakfast, but most of the eateries and shops along this touristy stretch of river are not yet open. We cross back over the Thames via the Hungerford Bridge, walking towards Trafalgar Square and choose Garfunkel’s restaurant for breakfast. The hot and frothy cappuccinos are excellent, but the two for one English breakfast leave much to be desired. The eggs are undercooked and gelatinous, the sausage odd and the fried tomatoes slimy and cold. Leaving the restaurant, we skirt around Trafalgar Square, popping into St. Martin-in-the-Fields Cathedral. Too late, I realize that it is the Crypt Café, below the church, where my friend Alison, recommended that we eat. We cut through the Victoria Embankment Gardens, turn away from the river and within a few blocks arrive at the covered, Covent Garden market. We spend an hour wandering these shops and open air craft market and then walk towards Neal Street. John finds a skate shop of interest to him, and a few other trendy men’s boutiques. We convert pounds to dollars and are shocked by how expensive everything is. One of my favorite shops in the area is Neal’s Yard Remedies, a skin care and aromatherapy boutique. Years ago, my friend, Alison, told me about this shop and whenever I am in London, I make a point of visiting this unpretentious, natural remedy boutique. John entertains himself sniffing and testing the many samples and comments on the wonderful scents. It’s been 5 years since I have been to London and I hope that the designer jewelry shop, the Crazy Pig, is still in business. We find the shop straight away and spend 20 minutes inside, looking at the outrageous skull, alien and animal jewelry. It is a small boutique and John and I look rather road weary, but no one greets us or asks if we need help and we are the only customers and obviously very interested. Strange, and not the Marty Magic way of conducting business.

The London Eye

Courtyard of Westminster Abby

We navigate back towards Westminster, walking mostly along the Thames. It’s the height of the season and tour buses are nose to tail, parked along the street, many regurgitating hoards of young back packers onto afternoon barge tours along the Thames. Double –Decker buses are taking other tourists on city tours and for John’s sake, I wished we had time for an overall city tour, but Westminster Abby is our destination. It is starting to drizzle when we arrive at the Abby and there is a very long line waiting for entry, but also a shorter line for cash only. Happily, I ordered pounds in advance from my bank back home and within a few we are inside this cathedral. (Thanks again to Alison, John has brought his student I.D. and the entrance fee for him is 7 pounds as opposed to 18 pounds.) We collect head sets, included in the entrance fee, and dutifully push each corresponding button and make our way slowly through this remarkable cathedral. John is fascinated with the many tombs and the “trippy” gothic architecture. We are in no hurry and spend two hours, intermittently sitting to rest and to absorb the magic of the place.

When we exit it is raining hard, so instead of exploring further, we dash towards the entrance of the Underground and buy our return tickets to Heathrow. An hour later, we are at international terminal 5, with another 3 ½ hours to wait before our departure to Johannesburg. The time difference and our lack of sleep is catching up with us and we want only to board the plane and sleep; but our gate will not be announced for several hours and I am afraid that if we sit we may fall asleep and miss our plane. We eat an overpriced airport dinner and wander in a daze, the maze of glitzy airport shops. I am stupid with exhaustion and check and recheck the departure board. I have in my mind that our flight leaves at 19:10, but when our departure gate is finally posted, I pull out the boarding passes and see that the flight is at 17:10. I panic, wondering how I could have been so stupid and rush to a British Airway counter. My blood pressure soars but the calm woman behind the counter points out that the boarding passes I am holding are earlier ones, for our flight between Chicago and London. We have not missed our flight after all. Earlier today, I mentioned to John how strange it was that three of our departure flights were at 10 minutes passed the hour and two of the arrival times were 5 minutes before the hour. We finally board and with the aid of a sleeping pill each, both John and I sleep most of the way to Jo’berg.

June 23, 2011. We pass through immigration easily and are relieved to be reunited with our luggage. When we exit customs, I scan the crowd, looking for someone holding up a sign with our names. Isiac, from the Lebo-Soweto Backpackers Inn is there as promised, holding the expected sign. He is personable and informative as he drives us through the terrible rush hour traffic of Jo’berg, to Soweto. The drive takes 1 ½ hours and he chooses alternate roads to bypass the worst of the traffic. We pass through the industrial outskirts of Jo’berg, buildings painted with graffiti, streets littered with trash. This area of the city reminds me of industrial parts of L.A. and the Tenderloin section in S.F.

John at the Sowetto Backpackers Inn

We finally arrive at the Back Packer Inn, situated on a gently sloping hillside in the heart of Soweto, overlooking a sprawl of industry and humanity. The tiny inn is colorful, simple and sweet; fenced with a private raked gravel garden, several outdoor tables, pool table, dart board and a self service, honor bar with little inside it. Our small room has two lumpy twin beds and a shared bath and all is immaculately clean. Cheerful murals are painted on the bathroom walls and the communal sitting room, equipped with a small T.V. and a single computer. It is now late morning and we are hungry and order breakfast for 45 Rand, about $7.00 each. One of the female staff busies herself in the kitchen, cooking up an uninspired, but much appreciated breakfast. It’s been two days since we have been able to shower so we gather up soap, shampoo and clean clothes and walk down the hall to respective bathrooms to clean up. I lie down and try to nap because in less than two hours, we will take a 4 hour bicycle tour of Soweto.

Marty riding through Sowetto I choose this inn because the bicycle tour runs from here at 1:00 P.M. 3 young student doctors arrive 10 minutes late, having been caught in traffic. They are in their late 20’s or early 30’s and are doing an internship at one of the city’s largest hospitals, after which they will take their exams. Two are from England and one from Australia and I am please that John will have their company on this ride. It’s a long and difficult bicycle ride uphill before we arrive at our first stop where locals of all ages are gathered in an open dirt field. There are several broken down cars, small food stalls and a corrugated tin shack.

Sowetto Scene

A few people are tending fires and there is an acrid smell in the air, a combination of burning plastic, urine and beer. We are invited into the corrugated tin house to drink beer. Wooden benches line the walls of the darkened shack and four men and one woman sit with plastic tubs of beer between their feet. The cardboard cartons of Jo’Berg Beer have a warning label; “Don’t drink and walk; you may be hit and killed.” Our guide brings in a covered, round ceramic jug filled with cold home-made beer. After much explanation, he takes a drink from the jar, grunts in approval and passes the jar to John. John takes a couple of sips, sounds the expected approving “aah!” and passes the container to me. I take two swallows of the cold and bitter brew, “aah,” and gratefully pass on the container. This ritual reminds me of drinking chicha the jungles of Ecuador with the indigenous villagers.

Sowetto Beer Drinking Shack

Sowetto Beer Warning Lable

John drinking home brewed beer

Empty Beer Cartons

Sowetto Bicycling – Marty

Sowetto Graffatti- Marty With our guide leading our way, we bicycle between a long row of small cement houses.Wide eyed children play in the street and swarm around us, most holding out their hands, wanting to touch ours.We “high 5” everyone as we ride our bicycles and for me it is a challenge to stay balanced with one hand. On several occasions, a child, grabs a fast hold of my hand and offsets my balance. One of the young doctors repeatedly lifts small children into his arms, swings them around and ruffles their hair. He is playful and genuine.

Sowetto Children

Sowetto Todler and Cannabis

Sowetto Interior

Young Sowetto Man

We are invited into one of the tiny homes by a smiling young man in his early 20’s. The house is about 12 feet wide and 20 feet long, consisting of only two rooms.The front room is the kitchen area with a small table, a large jug of water and a few pots and pans. An open archway connects the front room to the back where there is a neatly made up double bed, a single chair and a table with a television. Electricity is available and a young woman sits in the corner chair watching the T.V. A bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling and thin mattress leans up against the bare wall. The young man tells us that he is one of 5 who live here and our guide explains that he is lucky, since many of these homes, house up to 7 people. The residents in this area haul water from a central water spigot behind communal cement out houses. Each toilet is assigned to a designated group of 15; they are given a key and responsible for keeping their facilities clean. John is amused to look down and see a small pot plant growing at the edge of a building. Two small children stand on either side of it, curiously looking up at him and John snaps a photo. We ride through many sections of Soweto, many with less than adequate conditions for the inhabitants and others that look quite middle to upper class.

Sowetto Memorial

Nelson Mandela House

High Five -John in Sowetto

We arrive at the Soweto museum and visit the Soweto monument to the children who were shot down in 1976 when they marched for their rights to a better education. A large spray of white flowers sits at the base of the monument, placed there by Michele Obama just yesterday. I wish that we had been here for the ceremony but we are told that the area was cordoned off; swarming with secret service personal and the bicycle tour did not run.

John WS in Sowetto at dusk.

Young Doctors on the Sowetto Bicycle Tour

We have a late lunch of Kota in a simple local restaurant. The men go around back to use the toilet and wash up under a spigot. I am shown to the inside bathroom with indoor plumbing and pretty lace curtains. We eat the traditional Kota a front gravel garden. It consists of a 2 ½” thick slice of white bread, the center torn out and stuffed full of French fries, salami, ham and a fried egg. The center piece of bread is used to sandwich it all together. As hungry as I am, I can only eat half of it.

After lunch we bicycle to the Nelson Mandela house, a modest, contemporary, single level house, now a historical land mark. A few other tourists are taking photos of the exterior and a handful of local teen age boys are hanging out. They gather around us, interested in John and the young doctors. The afternoon light is slanted and golden and I wish to take many photos, but bicycling and photography don’t mix well. We return to our back-packers inn shortly after 5:00 P.M. John watches an hour of television and I send my first e-mail home. After two nights sleeping on the plane, a full day in London and a 4 hour bicycle tour in Soweto we go to bed at 7:00 P.M; exhausted.

Cecil the Lion on his morning patrol

Cecil the Lion

The safari vehicles are designed with three graduated tiered rows of seats so we all have unobstructed views. The sides of the vehicle are open, and study roll bars support a canvas roof to shield us from the sun. The morning is cold and biting and we bundle ourselves in the provided wool blankets and canvas ponchos. Our first sighting is a male lion, nonchalantly patrolling the road in front of us and not the least disturbed by our presence. The sun is directly in front, making photography challenging, but I take many backlit photos. The lion is nonplused by our presence and we follow him until he veers into the “ambush grass,” wanders 20 meters away, and lies down to bask in the morning sun. John focus’s his binoculars, leans out of the vehicle slightly, and drops his Ray Ban sunglasses in the dirt below. Brian is less than pleased, since retrieving the glasses with a male lion just 20 meters off is not a healthy practice. He curses softly, drives forward and then backs up, maneuvering the vehicle off the tracks of the road, and positioning it between Cecil the Lion and the fallen Ray Ban’s. With considerable drama, instructing us to keep a close eye on Cecil, Brian slips out of the vehicle and retrieves the sunglasses.  John feels badly about his blunder and is rather subdued for the next hour, until later in the morning, I lean out and my sunglasses fall in the tracks of the road. 

Monkey Business

Tail Gate Morning Tea

Three Elephants

Eland

Dingo

Sable at Watering Hole We will grow accustom to the camp schedule of an early morning game drive, returning for a late and elaborate brunch around 11:30 A.M; resting until 3:00 P.M. when tea is served and heading out on an afternoon game drive at 3:30 P.M.

Elephants at watering hole at sunset

Marty and John – Sunset Hawange National Park

We return to camp after dark and discover that three other families have arrived at Davison camp.  Mary, Tom and their 21 year old son, Michael from the U.S.A;  an extended family from Victoria Falls with a pretty 17 year old daughter, Jade and a family of 4 relocating from Brazil to the U.S.A. They are French and have a pretty 15 year old daughter, Claire.  Things are looking up for John and our evening meal is quite a party with the varied energy of our mixed families. Including our host and hostess and the several guides, over 20 of us share dinner and stories afterwards, as we stand around the fire sipping wine and other libations.  

View of the tent cabins from the dining area

John in front of our luxury tent cabin

Examining a Termite Mound

Davison Camp Walking Safari.


Alan and Annette are departing this morning and Brian will drive them back to the park entrance, 2 ½ hours away. Our guides today are Charles and Honest and we are going on a walking safari in the company of Mary, Tom and Michael. Both guides are carrying rifles with Charles in the lead and Honest bringing up the rear.  It is warmer this morning and we follow single file behind Charles, stopping frequently to examine footprints, termite mounds and animal dung. We approach a herd of Cape buffalo grazing in the distance, a lone bull standing off to the side. Apparently, Cape buffalo are quite aggressive and both guides are cautious.  We get within a hundred meters of the herd when Charles motions for us to get down and gather closely around him.  The intent is to look like a single large unit, not individuals. With nothing to stabilize my zoom, I take many blurry photos until instructed to lead a slow retreat to behind a distant termite mound. Returning to the vehicle, we head back to camp, stopping to watch a jackal and families of wart hogs along side of the road. 

Walking Safari

Lion Footprint

John and Michael

International Friends

John is good at making friends and during the afternoons rest period, he instigates a game of cards in the open air lounge area, including Michael, the two girls and Claire’s younger brother.

Cape Buffalo

Sundowners at Hawange National Park 17 year old Jade abandons her family and sits between John and me during our afternoon game drive. We are fortunate to see many giraffe as we follow the edge of the trees along side a large open plain. As 5:00 P.M. approaches, we drive out onto the plain to enjoy our late afternoon sundowners, gazing at herds of grazing wildebeests and families of giraffes browsing on the trees at the edge of the forest.

Wildebeests-Hawange National Park

Giraffe in motion

Three Giraffes at Hawange National Park

Flight over Zambia

Zambezi River Paradise

It is June 27th as I write this entry, sitting at the edge of the Zambezi River in the remote luxury of Ruckomechi Camp.  This segment of our adventure began yesterday when after breakfast at Davidson Camp, we were transported an hour to the remote airstrip, Linkuvasha, for our flight here.


The morning’s temperature is 1 degree centigrade as we huddle around the fire circle, holding tin mugs of hot coffee, warming our extremities and waiting to depart Davison Camp. At 8:00 A.M. bundled warmly, we bump along the rutted dirt road to catch our plane. Upon arriving, Brian our guide races our vehicle along the grassy airstrip to clear the runway of a flock of ground hornbills in preparation for the incoming plane. We wait patiently, soaking in the morning sun and enjoying the solitude when our vehicle’s radio sputters to life.  Our plane has been delayed an hour, so in the interim, we hop back into the vehicle and Brian takes us on a short game drive.  Returning to the Linkuvasha airstrip we watch as a small silvery speck in the sky takes the shape of a tiny bush plane and lands on the grassy runway.  After brief farewells, we climb onboard the 4 seated air plane and are immediately bumping along the runway for takeoff.  We are the only passengers and we catch our breath as the small plane lifts off, shudders, banks, and stabilizes. The teak and acacia forest below becomes a melody of fall colors and as we gain altitude, I see the curly grey smoke from many forest fires clouding the horizon.  The landscape soon changes from sparse forest to a patchwork of monochromatic farm land and I am lulled by its monotony.  Initially, our pilot busies himself with control dials and radio, and I am beginning to relax until I realize that he has begun texting on his Nokia cell phone and is paying little attention to our flight path.  An hour and a half later, we land safely at the tiny airport of Kariba to refuel.  John and I enter the bleak terminal to use the facilities and John gazes longingly through the closed grill of the snack stand at several ancient and certainly stale packages of cookies.  The second leg of the trip takes just 30 minutes and the flight is spectacular. The ground below is sculpted by canyons and dry curving river beds and when we reach the Zambia River we fly low along the river, a maze of islands, lagoons and marshlands, studded with pods of hippos. 

Zambezi River Hippos We touch down on another barren airstrip and are met by Champion, who offloads our baggage into a Wilderness Safari land cruiser to drive us to Camp.  He takes the scenic route and we are delayed by the Ruckomechi version of a traffic jam; two female elephants with their babies, foraging contentedly in the middle of the road.  We are delighted to wait and watch until they move off road to forage elsewhere.  The camp is situated along the banks of the Zambezi River and when we pull in we are met by JuJu and Carl who hand us cool wet towels to wipe the dust from our faces and hands.  We have missed the official lunch but two places are set in the open dining area, at the far end of a long plank table and we enjoy a late lunch of cold cuts, salads and fresh fruit. The staff hovers over us, attending to our every need but mostly, I just wish to marvel and the hundreds of hippos, inhale the river view,  and refuel in peace.  After lunch we are briefed on the safety regulation and escorted to our room.  There are 10 tented rooms, 5 fanning out from either side of the center dining and lounge area. Ours is number 4 and we are escorted along a long raised boardwalk skirting the other bungalows to our palatial tent, overlooking a river clogged with hippopotamus.  Our screened and curtained bungalow is 15 feet by 35 feet across; the bedroom and bathroom partitioned by an iron meshed wall, filled with river pebbles. I give John the first shower and begin to settle in when I hear brush crackling and look up to see an elephant walking just a few feet from the screened side of our cabin; it turns and crosses along the front of our tent.  John exclaims his amazement from the shower, feeling perhaps a little more vulnerable than I do, in his state of nakedness.  Kevin will be our guide for the duration of our stay here and we depart for our afternoon and evening game drive at 3:30 P.M.  Each open safari vehicle has three rows of tiered seats so that all guests have good visibility. Silvie and Frederick, French newly-weds are with us this afternoon. They are in their 40’s, delightful and funny; his English is perfect and hers is considerably better than my French. We spot the usual suspects; impala, water buck, eland, wart hogs, baboons and countless birds.  Curious Impala  Cape Buffalo Kudu We have sightings of Cape buffalo from afar and enjoy “sundowners” at the edge of the Zambezi River. I surmise that the psychology of these safari camps is to keep the guests happy and warm, by moderately medicating us, even if the white Rhino remain elusive. We are well layered for warmth, but when night falls we wrap ourselves in the provided blankets, top it all with fleece lined canvas ponchos and are still chilled. Kevin is a patient and excellent guide and drives slowly, scanning the base of the tree line with an infra-red spot light. When we see a pair, or pairs of eyes shining back at us, he stops the vehicle and motions us to be quiet and perfectly still. He has perfected the sound of a wounded rodent and for minutes on end repeats this chirpy-squeal until a pair of eyes begins to move closer to investigate. A small spotted genet, a feliform and somewhat related to cats, moves warily towards the vehicle, obviously hoping to catch an easy dinner. Although it comes quite close to the vehicle, it is hard to see clearly, illuminated by the eerie red light. Tonight, the forest is full of eyes and we soon see an African civet, a much larger, spotted animal, crouching under a shelter of branches and at first, I mistake it for a leopard. Civets, genets and mongoose are all related and part of the viverridae family. Prior to tonight, I have never heard of a civet or genet and it is exciting to meet these nocturnal creatures for the first time. Sunset over the Zamezi River We get back to the camp at 7:30 P.M. to find that an extended family of 10, from Utah, have arrived during the afternoon. John and I dine with the family, at the end of the long table; they are friendly, but very autonomous, and we don’t find much common ground.  Silvie and Frederick have arranged for a romantic dinner for two and their table is set above on a rise, shining with candlelight and overlooking the Zambezi River.

Cheetah

Day Three at Ruckomechi Camp

When I awake, I find a small toad in the bathroom, so my game drive starts earlier than anticipated. I catch it gently and place it on John’s pillow as a morning surprise but even though he loves amphibians during waking hours, he grumbles crossly and pulls the covers over his head. I release the toad outside, but not before it has peed all over me.

Cheetah

We have a private morning game drive with Kevin and immediately sight two honey badgers leaping across the road, having been caught out late (or early) as they head for the safety of their borough. They have a wide white stripe along their backs and look somewhat like a cross between a skunk, a sloth and a badger. Our sighting is brief, but impressive and we learn that the honey badger is a member of the mustelidae family (weasel) and is a fierce predator with powerful jaws and claws. Moments later, two slender mongoose race across the road, making this the third species of mongoose that we have seen on our trip so far. We have seen the white tailed mongoose on our night drives and several days ago we watched a troupe of dwarf mongoose scurrying for the safety of their boroughs.  Prior to this trip, mongoose were not on my radar, but I am quite amused by them and am not surprised to find that they are related to the  meerkak. Did you know that a meerkat is a mongoose, but a mongoose is not a meerkat? We have our best zebra sighting to date and watch a small group of these elegantly striped equines graze at the edge of the scrub forest.  We see the backside of many skittish warthogs, their tails pointing straight up as they jog their retreat into the brush and John jokes that their tails are the antenna for a remote control and twiddles his fingers in a well rehearsed pantomime.  This morning is rich in game and we see eland and kudu and herds of the ever present impala.

Curious Impala

Zebra Herd

Monkey Business

Foraging in a Misty Forest

John up in a Hollow Tree

During today’s siesta break, I write and John sits in a canvass deck chair reading Jurassic Park and drinking a beer.  18 is the legal age in Zimbabwe and Zambia, and I am doing my best not to be too much of a mother.  John has never been an avid reader but this is his second book of the trip. For graduation, his sister, Alisha, gave him Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and without the distractions of television and the internet he zipped through that book. When I glance across at John, I am struck with the perfection of the moment; my son, now a young man absorbed in his reading, the Zambezi River reflecting the afternoon sunlight and the inundating cacophony of bird song and hippo grunts.  

Lunch with Tom, Mary and Michael

Writing my Blog at Ruckomechi

Earlier today, cheetahs were sited on the concession and it is Kevin’s agenda to find the two cats. During break, he has communicated with other guides and he apparently has an idea of their whereabouts. After bumping along the dirt road for 30 minutes, we come to an abrupt halt and he points at two cheetahs, lounging 30 meters away, at the edge of the underbrush, overlooking the road and the clearing beyond. One rests on a slight rise, somewhat obscured by a rotting log and a clump of brush and the other is behind the mound, with only his ears visible. Initially it is exciting to watch them, but their only movements are the flip of a tail, or a turn of a head.  Kevin has a powerful zoom on his camera and I suspect would prefer to wait patiently for a spectacular shot but after watching for nearly an hour in the fading light, John and I are ready to move on.

We stop for our sundowners in a pretty Mopani forest, golden with slanted afternoon sunlight; continuing afterwards on a chilly and unmemorable night drive. It is our last night at Ruckomichi camp and the dinner of roast pork, potatoes and grilled vegetables is excellent but the evening winds down early. We are all a little subdued and although there are new guests at the camp, Claire the geologist has a cold and the elderly newlywed couple head for the privacy of their tent.

Sunset over the Zambezi

The Mana Canoe Trail – June 30 – July 3.
We will depart for our three night Mana trail canoe trip this afternoon, so John is taking a sleeping safari this morning. I too hoped to sleep in but I wake at dawn, walk down to the platform overlooking the river and sit alone by the small fire and write. The other guests straggle in between 7:30 -8:30 and Tom tells me he has received a reply message from Art on his phone. All is well at home, but I have left at a busy time. Art is working on a small consulting job and Barbara Streisand needs 12 more tree frogs.  I type my reply and for the first time on this trip, worry about business and my family back at home.  We vacate our tent at 10:00 A.M; enjoy a delicious lunch of coconut curried chicken skewers and write and read until after tea when we embark on the canoe trip.

At 2: 00 P.M. a land cruiser pulls into camp depositing Laura, Helen, Debbie and Jessica; three doctors and a lawyer, our traveling companions for the next three days on the Mana Canoe trail. After a safety briefing and signing indemnity wavers, we drive down to the inlet, sort out our gear and climb into the canoes. John and I are in one canoe, Debbie and Jessica in another and our guides, Henry and Matthew pair up with Laura and Helen, one taking the lead and the other bringing up the rear.  For the first time in days, John is impatient with me when I cause our canoe to spin backwards and navigate us against the bank. Although John may differ in his opinion, I soon learn the art of paddling and once out on the river the going is easy and we paddle with the current on the wide and gentle river. We glide past hundreds of hippos basking on the river banks and immense crocodiles slip shyly from the edge of the muddy banks into the river as we pass by. The hippos also take to the water and dozens of hippos taking a plunge together is an immense splash, sounding like a near-bye waterfall or impending rapids. Earlier today we learned that one must not come between a hippo and its deep water channel but we are far out in the middle of the river and in little danger of having our canoes capsized by a hippo and becoming a crocodile snack.

John Canoeing the Zambezi River

Hippos along the bank of the Zambezi River

Evening paddle on the Zambezi River

Arriving at our first tented camp

Several hours later, around a bend in the river, we see our first campsite pitched high on the embankment.  We beach our canoes and climb the bank to inspect our home for the night. Four two bedded tents are erected along the embankment, each with a riverside view. Each tent has a back door zipper that opens onto a triangular canvas enclosure, open at the top with a gravity fill shower suspended on poles. Within minutes, the camp crew pours hot water into our shower bag and John and I take turns washing off the day’s river grime. The floor to our shower annex is mesh so that the shower run off can seep into the ground and a small metal pot sits conspicuously in one corner.  I soon learn that this pot is for any nighttime necessities, although there is a more than adequate out house, complete with a real toilet seat, for our daylight needs. The outhouse is enclosed on three sides with a view of the river below.  A white tin cup sits on a peg at the entrance to the toilet.  When the cup is on the peg, the outhouse is vacant and the protocol is to remove the cup, step inside and take care of business, not forgetting to admire the view.  A pile of sand sits alongside the toilet and we are instructed to scoop up a cup of sand and scatter it down the hole to cover our waste; exit and replace the white cup on the peg for the next person. After years of using port-a-potties at the art festivals, this is 5 star camping.

Our Tent Camp

John inside our Tent

The Out House

It is past dusk when we have showered and dressed and walk to the fire circle. Carlie is our camp hostess and takes our drink orders.  I usually stick to wine, but two of the four doctors order gin and tonics and I recall an earlier conversation today when the doctors were advocating gin and quinine as the traditional drink for Africa.  Not wanting to ignore doctor’s orders, I too request a gin and tonic. Carlie is in her early 20’s and charmingly orchestrates the fireside conversation, passing hors d’oeuvers and refilling drink orders until dinner is formally announced by our camp chef, complete with white chef’s hat.  We dine under the stars at a candle lit table adorned with leaves. The pork chop, potato, peas and carrot dinner is remarkable and the wine flows freely, followed by a custard dessert.  At some point during dinner paper votive bags, weighted with sand, have been place around the camp and these votive sacks illuminate the pathway to our tents.  

The Camp Cook and Kitchen

Sundowners at Camp

Day Two-Mana Canoe Trail. We wake up at 6:00 A.M. to the sound of water being poured into a portable canvas basin outside of our tent.  John and I dress quickly and as I am washing my face in the warm water, I trip on a leg of the tripod to the basin and spill the water onto the ground.  No harm is done, but I feel badly, since an obvious effort was made to provide us with hot water for our morning wash.  We are on the river by 7:00 A.M; canoeing alongside the hippos and crocodiles on this beautiful  morning. At 9:30 we head to shore to stretch our legs and take a bush walk. We see impala, water buck, strangler figs and termite mounds. We learn that a certain moth lays its larva in the dead antlers of antelope and the larva feed on the keratin. We learn about the cambium layer of the trees that contains xylem and phloem that distributes nutrients to the tree. I wonder if there will be a test? 

Sunrise Dragonfly

Morning Eland

A Pod of Hippos

Stork in Flight

Lunch Break

Aground on a Sandbar

Canoeing the Zambezi River

The Hippo Obstacle Course – Day Three -Mana Canoe Trail. We wake to the sound of our canvas washstands being filled with hot water and a gentle knock on the canvas of our tent. It is 6:00 A.M. and the sun has not yet risen.  I dress quickly, wake John and we move groggily from our tent to the warmth of the fire circle. Carlie is waiting and quickly rises, offering us coffee. We have finally resigned ourselves to being waited on and gratefully accept hot tin mugs of brewed coffee, fixed to our likings. We stand by the fire, drink the coffee and watch a sliver of sun pierce the horizon, rise and seemingly float, a glowing red ball, against the grey dawn. Breakfast is an array of hot and cold cereals, fruit salad, toast and muffins. At 7:03, bundled tightly against the cold, we have all climbed into the four tiered, safari vehicle for a morning game drive. We are lucky today and first off, come to a large bull elephant who gives us quite a show, standing on his hind feet with raised trunk to pull off acacia branches from a tree. A smaller male follows him, picking up left over branches that the bull leaves behind. The smaller male poops and pees for our entertainment and we are all very amazed by the length of his extended penis that reaches the ground. Our guides see a Cape buffalo herd in the distance; we drive closer, park the vehicle and approach in single file, flanked on either end by our two armed guides.  A lone bull buffalo, standing away from his herd, watches us warily.  Henry watches back, gathers us in a tight circle and after several minutes, instructs me to lead the retreat, single file back behind a large termite mound.  We continue our drive towards two of the four Mana Pools, several miles inland from the Zambezi River and fed by the river through underground springs. The first of the pools is blanketed with water hyacinths and a troupe of baboons sit at the shoreline, picking and gnawing the lush foliage. A second, much larger pool, further inland, is more arid and large crocodiles bask on the sandy bank and hippos muck about in the center. We see herds of Impala, families of shy wart hogs and countless birds.

Bull Elephant

Very Male Elephant

Cape Buffalo

Returning to our campsite, we find it gone and Carlie watching over our luggage and today’s picnic supplies. Left unattended, the baboons would make off with these things. Yesterday’s camp has already been dismantled and is moving in the truck by the support team of five and I expect that the new camp will be set up when we arrive later this afternoon. Carlie will drive the safari vehicle down to tonight’s campsite while we paddle the canoes downriver. I am expecting another relaxed and uneventful paddle, but Henry and Matthew are looking anxiously at the river. Apparently a dam has been closed and the river is much lower today which may present some navigational problems. We push off in our four canoes, following the lead canoe closely as Matthew seeks out channels deep enough for our canoes to navigate. The change of water level has disrupted the hippos since their familiar, deep water pools are now too shallow for them and they are moving to other parts of the river. We know that we must not come between a hippo and deep water or it will feel cornered and in an effort to reach the safety of deeper water, it may charge and injure or kill you. I have no desire to infringe on hippo territory, but today, deep water is at a premium and we must somehow navigate down-stream. Pods of hippos are everywhere, both in the river and basking on the river banks. As we near, they plunge into the river for safety, their combined splashes as loud as a significant waterfall. Depending on what guide book one reads, hippos can stay underwater between 6-10 minutes, so Matthew in the lead canoe, must watch, time and wait for them to surface in order to know their whereabouts. At one point, there is no hippo safe channel for us to paddle on the Zimbabwe side of the river and we must paddle upstream and around a large sandbar to access a channel on the far side of the river. The river is not terribly swift, but I am anxious about this maneuver and grateful to have John’s paddling power to propel us upstream. When we reach the up-river end of the sand bar we reverse directions, traveling again with the current, but the water is less than a foot deep and it isn’t long before all of the canoes go aground. Our guides, John and Laura all get out, wade, and pull the canoes off the sand bars and into deeper water. Although the water is quite shallow, I worry that one of the many large crocodiles we have sighted, may be lurking out of sight and take a bite out of someone’s feet. For several hours we are challenged by unsettled pods of hippos, sand bars and crocodile worries. I am looking forward to relaxing at lunch stop, but when we near the usual site, it is occupied by a lone bull hippo. As anticipated, he plunges into the water and we wait the appropriate amount of time in order to determine his whereabouts in the river and safely beach our canoes. We are entertained during our lunch break by a territorial fight between the bull hippo we chased from our picnic spot and another bull hippo already in the river. Our picnic site is only 10 feet above the river and the hippo challenge is less than 20 feet from the shore.  I caution John to stand back, worried that the defeated male may take to land, but our guides seem confident that it is safe to observe them from above.  They rise, clash and roar, submerge, rise and clash and roar in another spot and repeat this sequence for nearly 15 minutes.

Tent Camp on the Zambezi River

The afternoon paddle is relatively easy and we arrive at our final campsite at 5:30 P.M, just as the sun is setting.  After showering in our gravity filled shower stalls, we sit by the campfire, enjoy “sundowner’s” and listen to our guides tell hippo stories; ones that would not have been advisable to hear, prior to the end of our trip.  Eventually, Carlie places a grill on top of the coals and barbeques long coils of sausages, steaks and chops.  Having enjoyed fine spirits during our sundowner hour, we are all in good spirits and enjoy our final dinner together.

Marty and John Sunset on the Zambezi River Hippo Trivia: What we have learned about Hippos to date is that they are very dangerous and cause more deaths in Africa than any other animal. They are shy and have poor eyesight and breeding females are very protective of their calves and the bull hippos, protective of their females.  Although they spend much of the day mucking around in the river and basking on the river banks, at night, they wander inland to graze and the males mark their territory with massive sprays of dung. They eject their feces and at the same time, vibrate their tails at top speed to spray the dung over as wide an area as possible; the shit literally hits the fan. Over 1200 hippos were counted at the last hippo census, along this 80 kilometer stretch of the Mana Pool National Park and their grunts, gurgles and territorial roars are the music of the river. We know that we must not come between a hippo and deep water or it will feel cornered and in an effort to reach the safety of deeper water, it may charge and injure or kill you.      Mana Pools to Victoria Falls –July 3, 2011.  Our wake up knock is not until 7:00 A.M; we dress and pack quickly and sit by the morning camp fire enjoying our final mugs of coffee along the Mana Canoe Trail. Last night, three tip envelops were placed on our camp cots and I give one each to our guides, Matthew and Henry, thanking them profusely for their part in our experience. I give the third envelope to Carlie who will distribute the amount between the 5 support crew members. The support crew is busily breaking down camp, even as we finish our breakfast. After breakfast, we take a morning game walk from our campsite, following the single file protocol and see the usual impala, wart hogs and water buck, grazing in the early morning light. An hour later, Carlie intersects our walking route, picks us up in the safari vehicle, reuniting us with our luggage and takes us to the bush airstrip to wait for our plane. It is no surprise to see an elephant grazing on the runway and Carlie roars the engine, establishing our dominance, and the elephant spins towards us, flaps its ears and makes a backwards retreat into the hide of trees. The other four guests are also flying out, but to a different destination and we wait together, in the still morning heat, alongside, the red dirt airstrip. Their small aircraft arrives first and we listen hopefully for another plane. Ours eventually arrives, but an hour late with a father and son already on board, having just come from Richimuchi. We are squeezed into the tiny plane, take off land to refuel at Kariba, take off land again at______, finally arriving at the Victoria Falls airport at 2:30 P.M.

View of the Victoria Falls Bridge

Victoria Falls Hotel Wart Hogs

We are met by a Wilderness Safari representative, taken to a waiting van and delivered to our hotel. We pass jungle lodges and flashy tourist hotels, but when we drive through the gates of the Victoria Falls Hotel, we know we have arrived. The historical hotel was built in 1905 and is straight out of a movie and we take time to wander the grounds and explore. The hotel’s veranda overlooks an expansive lawn with stunning views of the Victoria Falls Bridge, a haze of mist billowing from the gorge, the spray from the falls. Our room faces the inner garden, overlooking two large and formal lily ponds. It is not one of the more luxurious rooms in the hotel; but it suits our needs, with twin, four-poster, beds, a television that doesn’t work and a vintage bathroom with a tub. John’s priority is to swim in the pool and mine is to take my first bath in over two weeks.

Back Side of the Victoria Falls Hotel

Swimming Pool

30 minutes later, I walk down the elegant curved stairway, through the great room and out onto the veranda. Three wart hogs graze on the hotel’s lawn and I pull out my camera and take the best wart hog photos of to date.  Who needs to go on Safari, when they roam the hotel grounds at large?  When I arrive at the pool, John is just getting out and we share our delight in the wart hog experience watching the male rolling on his back while the female nuzzles his belly. They seem very tame and John wonders if he could pet one and I firmly caution him to stay back. A moment later a young woman, with similar thoughts, reaches towards them, over the low cement wall and jumps backwards as the warthogs snap and grunt their warning.

Spiral Stair Case

Regal Pose

Regal Drawing Room

Its 4:00 P.M. and time to explore the small town of Victoria Falls, just a 5 minute walk from our hotel. We pass along a park where baboons and velvet monkeys roam and rummage in trash cans on our way to the two block strip of tour outfitting offices. John wants to research the bungee jumping options available to him tomorrow and compares prices and options.

Dancing to the Beat

We return to the hotel at dusk hungry and tired and make a quick turn around and walk back out to dinner. We pay one of the hotel guards $2 to escort us through the park to the recommended restaurant. We sit at an outdoor patio and watch a Zimbabwe Folk Dance. Neither the food or the dance is memorable.

John and I hurry away, needing to offload our purchases at the hotel before walking to the falls.  We stop quickly at the A.T.M. hoping to refuel our cash supply, but the digital message on the screen flashes “closed.” Back at the hotel, we grab our jackets and are soon walking down the path-way leading from the bottom lawn of the Victoria Falls Hotel to the entrance of the park. It is 4:55 P.M. when reach the entrance and I present my credit card to pay the $60 entrance fee; $30 each for foreigners. It is cash only and for the second time today, I dip into John’s extra cash.  We print our names and entry time into the park ledger, don our semi water proof jackets and set off  towards the falls.  The park closes at 6:00 so we have just one hour to make the circuit. If there was a map available, we do not receive one and I assume that the trails will be clearly marked. The sun will set in 30 minutes and I want to take as many photos as possible in the slanted afternoon light. The Falls are indescribably glorious and powerful, with spray so intense that at times, we cannot see across the gorge, but only hear the thunderous roar of the cascading water. We walk quickly from one vantage point to another, aware that we must complete the circuit within the hour. We see only a few other visitors on the trails, and have the park almost to ourselves. The vista points are precariously close to the sheer cliffs and have only knee high chain barriers between the pathways and oblivion. The paths are slippery and mossy from the constant spray and we find ourselves walking through a mysterious rainforest, when just 20 minutes earlier, we were jacketless and trekking over dusty terrain.

The final rays of sunlight on the edge of the Victoria Falls

I take several movies, scanning the breath of the view from each look-out point.  We come to the end of the pathway, double back and take a fork in the trail leading along the edge of vertical cliff.  It is just 5:30 and the sun is a red ball dipping behind the trees, shrouded in mist. As I raise my camera to shoot this sunset photo, my battery goes dead and I rummage through John’s backpack for the camera case containing newly charged batteries. To my dismay, I visualize it on the bed back at our hotel.  I manage to squeeze two more shots from the depleted battery and accept that I will have to commit the rest of the trail to my memory.  There is another fork in the path and John leads, choosing the one following the perimeter of the cliff.  We are in another world, the spray pelting sideways, parts of the pathway submerged in water and all slick with slime and mud. I note a sign post at the fork, but most of the lettering is washed away from the spray and I wonder where the pathway leads? The micro-climate becomes even more intense and further along, John takes a few steps off the path, presumably to get a better view?  I scream for him to come back, but he cannot hear my cry over the thunder of the falls. He must sense my panic, and turns, following me away from the cliff along the pathway.  It winds inland and within a couple of minutes we are standing on dry ground, looking at the Victoria Falls Bridge, but from the opposite side.  I can see our hotel beyond, a pale white in the fading light.

I look at my watch, noting that we have just 15 minutes to get back to the entrance, but when we proceed the path suddenly dead ends.  We must retrace our steps back to the mystery fork in the road.  We have not eaten since breakfast, all of our muscles ache and our feet are soggy and tired, so we walk more briskly than ever and turn at the earlier fork in the path, hoping that it will lead to the exit.  The park closes in 5 minutes and the forest is growing dark.  John growls for effect, reminding me of the wild animals that may be lurking in the surrounding forest.  My heels rhythmically click the rocky path and at 6:15, I finally see the faint light of the park entrance, ahead. The park is closed but several attendants sit eating dinner within the confines of the gate. Raising their cups of tea or coffee in our direction, they jovially ask if we will join them for dinner?  I mutter that we took the wrong path, and we exit into a barren parking lot.  An hour ago, this area was bustling with vendors and taxis waiting in anticipation of a sale. There is no chance of a ride back to our hotel now, so John and I cross the dimly lit railroad tracks and hike even more quickly up the darkening pathway, through the bush, towards our hotel.  I mutter to John that this is exactly what I promised Papa, we would not do. 10 minutes later, we arrive at a closed gate at the lower lawn of the Victoria Falls Hotel.  I reach impulsively towards the fence and John hisses at me to stand back, telling me that the fence is electric.  Barbed wire curls along the top of the fence and John carefully maneuvers the various pins and locks at the bottom of the gate, managing to swing one side of the gate open.  We enter the safety of the hotel property and slip up the side stairway to our room, avoiding the watchful eyes of the diners on the patio beyond.  15 minutes later, we are seated at a candle-lit table for two, overlooking the edge of the veranda; John enjoying one of the best cheeseburgers of his life, (at $14) while I dine on a chicken and mango entrée, (at $16) John is of legal age here and we share a cheap bottle of South African wine and recount the days adventures.

Painting of Victoria Falls at the Victoria Falls Hotel