Tuesday, July 12, 2011
At 5:30 PM, I left work almost on time. By 6:30, we were on the road, only ninety minutes later than our original plan. The trip to St.Louis was okay, though slowed somewhat by heavy rain. We check into the Crown Plaza near the airport to get the free parking for two weeks.
Libby did not sleep much (too excited, I guess), but I slept okay. I awoke by 6:45, though, and headed downstairs to the gym to exercise. I knew that I’d be doing a lot of sitting in the next two days. There was a “My Name is Earl” marathon on the TV, which I took as a good omen.
After a good breakfast, we just missed the 9:00 shuttle to the airport. However, the scheduled 9:30 left a little early when we did get ready, just for us. We had no problems at the airport check-in, but had a slight delay at the TSA X-ray, as I forot to remove my little leg-wallet where I had stashed my passport to keep it safe from pick-pockets… and from my own memory, as well, apparently.
Our plane from St. Louis to Dulles in Washington D.C. had a delayed departure, as it was late leaving Denver, but we arrived in plenty of time to reach the gate for our trans-Atlantic flight at 7:30PM. The South Africa Airlines plane was already there waiting, and so was Melissa, despite being re-routed on her own flight from Louisiana. She has been traveling since 2:00 AM.
It was great to have Melissa join us. Adding just that one person to our group doubled the fun of the trip. She is a party looking for a place to happen.
We thought our seats were in a “cross-over” row in the middle, with extra leg-room. They did have the extra leg-room, but faced a galley bulkhead, so no underseat storage was available in front of us. At first I was annoyed by this, as I had planned to get into my carry-on bag pretty often, and now it must be stored overhead. We did get a compartment right over our seating, our little row of four. The extra space in front of us proved a Godsend, as mechanical difficulties forced a 2-hour delay in our departure from Dulles, and the air conditioning was non-functional for much of this time. We were able to stand and stretch and fan ourselves, and most other passengers were not.
The hours of sitting had already begun to tell on me. My back had been a little sore at home, and this wasn’t helping. The longer I sat, the worse it got. Short walks helped some, but I was awfully glad to have the extra room to get up and stretch occasionally. When we landed in Dakar, Senegal to refuel and re-crew after 8 hours across the pond, I used the space to lie down on the floor.
Our immediate neighbor on the plane included a Bea Arthur type and a group of four friends who liked to tell jokes and riddles. Melissa is always a good audience when you need laughs, and we could use some. Again, while fine in flight, on the ground the air conditioners were non-functional. One of these folks was a Scouter, just finishing his Wood Badge course (I was traveling in a Philmont t-shirt) and one was a former barbershop quartet singer.
The food served was quite good – tasty, good choices, plenty of it. Our first meal was 8:30 PM, Kennett time, about one hour after takeoff from Dulles, and about 12 hours since we had eaten breakfast. We had snacked on stuff from home, but no lunch. It was about this time that we started to think about making the adjustment to Zambian time, and set our watches ahead by 7 hours.
We landed in Dakar about 10:00 AM Zam time (and all future times will be Zam time). I had managed one hour of sleep, but read Water for Elephants, cover to cover, plus one Science News, and an Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine. The buildings you could see from the airplane looked bombed-out, like Dresden after World War II, but we thought it might have been the architectural style. We were able to glimpse the controversial heroic statue (49 meters high) I had read about in the Wall Street Journal last year. The transition in re-loading and re-starting the airplane was smooth (other than the lack of air conditioning), and we were soon airborne again, with breakfast being served at 11:00 AM. After breakfast, I managed another couple of hours of sleep. I had not used the video entertainment options at all yet, but the rest of the folks were watching movies.
The next leg of the flight was to be nearly eight hours to Johannesburg, and the two-hour delay in leaving Dulles made it likely we would miss our connecting flight to Lusaka (capital of Zambia). Indeed, we did miss it by over an hour. While waiting to see what SA Airlines customer service would do for us, we saw our first sign that we were in Africa: a near life-size wire-basket elephant, advertising Amarula liqueur. It took about two hours to get situated and arrive at the Garden Court Holiday Inn where SA Airlines was putting us up for the night in Jo-burg.
Rooms were very nice. It was a very high-class joint, as they used to say in the movies. The in-house restaurant was a “Spur Steakhouse”, with an American southwest motif in décor: pinto-pony upholstery, cacti, little Indian boys out of the 1950’s. This seemed really weird. Though we had recently had supper on the plane, we ate again at the Spur, as the airline was paying for it, and our time sense was a little off by this time.
Friday morning, we were up relatively early. The hotel had a breakfast bar that was unbelievable. Décor was reminiscent of the Grand Floridian at Disney World. The buffet included fresh fruits, cold cereals, hot cereals, many hot entrees (including baked beans, which we later found to be a common breakfast food in these African countries), pastries and beverages.
A shuttle took us to the airport, and we had minimal difficulty in getting new boarding passes. We did not to have remove our shoes in the security lines at check-in. The Joburg airport is a huge, modern structure with lots of high-end shops, including a Ferrari store. It could be anywhere, except for the “Out of Africa” shops and others with native crafts, ostrich eggs, and zebra hides.
Traveling
07/31/2011
Chapter One: Hello, Blair! (or “Welcome to Lusaka”)
Friday, July 15, 2011
We made the two-hour flight to Lusaka without incident. When we landed, we could tell immediately that Zambia’s big airport just wasn’t in the same league as Joburg. There were several smaller personal planes visible off to the side of the main runway. These planes and the hangars nearby looked like those you would see at the Kennett airport at home. We had nothing to declare at Customs, and they did not apparently look through our luggage. If they did, they left no trace, much less a note. We waited in line for about thirty minutes to get our passports stamped and buy our entry visas. Libby had claimed our luggage and loaded it on a cart while waiting for Tom and I to get through. Then it was a few steps to the outside, where Blair was waiting for us. She looked great!
Blair had secured the service of her regular taxi driver, Donde, and a friend, as we needed two cabs to haul all of us and all of our luggage. While we waited for the cabbies to get organized, Melissa remarked, “Blair looks different.” And so she did – appearing totally comfortable and in charge, she radiated confidence and self-reliance.
It was a short ride to the Protea Hotel, which was deluxe even by U.S. standards. I’ve rarely stayed in such an upscale place. Of course, most of my vacations have involved tents at Scout camp. Blair had enjoyed our room the night before when we failed to show up. She would share the room with Libby and Melissa, while Tom and I shared a second room.
Tom fell asleep while Libby, Melissa, Blair and I walked out into the Arcades Shopping Center/mall. This is an outdoor shopping center that is adjacent to the hotel. We went to a big, modern grocery store so that Blair could stock up on some staple items. This would be the only time in the foreseeable future that a car would be going directly to her village. Thus, we bought a lifetime supply of toilet paper (among other things), as cases of paper are a bit difficult to transport by bicycle and backpack.
While in the store, Melissa decided to examine a package of kapenta (small minnow-sized dried fish, sometimes called fresh-water sardines). Blair had remarked that they smelled nasty and Melissa wanted to see for herself. When she picked the package off the shelf, she was startled to see all the little fishy heads and eyes looking at her, and tossed the package into the air with a yelp. Unfortunately, the package had been opened a bit previously, so that this scattered a goodly number of tiny fish into the aisle.
Blair also bought a new French press, as her old one had just been broken, and she is a coffee junkie. As we checked out, I noted a member of one of the various private security people who guard the mall (or something). At home, we would be unlikely to see someone in fatigues with an AK-47 slung over their shoulder in the next line buying crackers.
We needed spending money, so the next item was a trip to the ATM, where we drew out three million kwacha (about $300 U.S.) Then we went back to the Protea, woke Tom, and had a nice dinner at the Mint Gallery, a nearby restaurant.
The original plan had been to spend Friday recuperating from the trip. While this didn’t exactly go according to plan, we missed nothing but the rest period. Saturday’s departure for the village could proceed as scheduled.
08/01/2011
Chapter Two: Mkushi and the ATB Lodge
Saturday, July 16
The Trip to Mkushi, Mkushi Market, and ATB Lodge
We arose at 6:40 AM, and enjoyed an elaborate breakfast bar at the Protea, almost as good as the one in Joburg. The Protea is very much a modern luxury hotel. By 7:00, we are packed and in the lobby, ready to roll. Our driver is expected at 7:15.
He shows up late, around 7:40. His name is Charles, and Blair addresses him as Ba Charles. Ba is an honorific, sort of like Mister or Mistress, but conveying more respect, and used for both sexes. It is a matter of politeness as much as anything, and is often used even between close friends.
We expected a 7-passenger vehicle, but he showed up with a 5-seater Toyota Land Cruiser, which barely has enough room for all our luggage. It crowds four of us into the back seat, so seat belts are not an option. Libby shares the front seat with Charles. With the Cruiser packed to the gills, we begin the four-hour drive to Mkushi. Mkushi is the nearest town to Blair’s village that has businesses, stores, post office, electricity, indoor plumbing, etc.
We drive on the Great North Road, one of two major paved highways in Zambia. The other runs east and west. It is two-lane blacktop (tarmac in local parlance). There is a lot of foot and bicycle traffic. There are many bicyclists hauling charcoal to town to sell, carrying three baskets over the back like a saddle-bag. Each basket is about three feet long and weighs around 40 pounds.
There were many roadside stands selling honey, as it is the harvest season for that. There were also lots of vegetables for sale: beans, bananas, but mostly piles and pile of tomatoes.
Ba Charles’s driving is a little scary when passing other cars, but not too bad. We had smooth sailing until we were nearly to Mkushi, when we found the road blocked by the burning wreck of a large bus. We were able to backtrack a little and find a one-lane dirt track to bypass the blockage. We were not delayed long, but there was some difficulty when meeting semi-trucks coming the other way on this turn-row sized path.
We arrived at Mkushi before noon and stopped at the post office to pick up Blair’s mail. The Peace Corps Volunteers in the district share a common post office box.
We visited the veterinary office of Dr. Amy Kingdom. I had met her through Veterinary Information Network when trying to get kitten husbandry information for Blair last year. She was raised in Zambia, went to high school in England, and to university and veterinary school in South Africa. She practiced for a year in England before returning to Zambia. Her practice is mostly livestock oriented, catering to the large farming operations of the well to do white farmers. She has a big dispensary of livestock medications in her front room, and was taking inventory when we arrived. Otherwise, she would have been closed at noon.
She sees dogs and cats only rarely, again for the white farmers. She does maybe two dog spays per month, performed on a small wooden table in the back office.
She has an associate veterinarian who is a black Zambian. He makes farm calls with his materials strapped on to the back of a small motorcycle. She has a small SUV that she uses when needed.
Her two small boys were playing on stacks of animal feed and throwing 10-pound sacks of dog food at one another. One had broken open and was all over the floor. Their nanny was supervising them, but not restraining them.
We purchased dewormer and rabies vaccinations for two cats that are in Blair’s village compound.
Next stop was the grocery store to purchase eggs, but none were to be had there. We headed to the market place. There are people selling produce in baskets along the road. The market place is a dirt street lined by small, bathroom-sized shops of all descriptions. Haggling is expected, if not mandatory for anything you buy. When the ladies bought chitenges (long strips of brightly patterned cloth used to make dresses, carry babies, you name it), Blair haggled. When we took them to the tailor she patronizes so that garments could be made, she haggled. Mom was distressed, thinking the price was low enough already, but it is the Zambian way, and Blair does it easily and naturally and effectively. She had a great time in the market.
“Suits” of top and skirt were ordered for Libby and Melissa, a shirt for Dad, and pants for Tom. They would be done in a week, and Blair would collect them later and mail them to us. The tailor has a picture of various styles on the wall and you select by pointing to what you like. Then he takes your measurements. He has sewing machines, but they are operated by foot-treadle power.
We purchased eggs, onions and a pineapple in the market. We spent a lot of time walking it from one end to the other. It was very dusty, so I suspect it is a muddy slough during the rainy season. There was trash underfoot everywhere.
The fish market area had piles of fish out in the sun. The whole market smells of garbage and car exhaust and dust, but worse near the fish market.
The shops have crazy names like the “Only One God Saloon” (a beauty salon), a milk bar with “ten years experience in sour milk” (which is apparently enjoyed by many Zambians), and sometimes just crazy spellings – tarven instead of tavern, and germstone instead of gemstone.
We only encountered one unpleasant beggar, a drunk outside the tailor shop. The tailor and Blair ran him off.
Returning to the more “conventional” part of town, we stopped so that Blair could buy an ice cream cone. She carried on in Bemba with the proprietress who complimented her fluency, telling her it was much better than her friend Missy’s (best PCV friend, also in the Mkushi district). We stopped in another store to buy bottled water, and she fended off a marriage proposal while there. She seemed so comfortable and at ease in this arena. I couldn’t wait to get out of Mkushi, but she seemed always in good humor, smiling and confident, upset by nothing.
On our way from the airport to the hotel in Lusaka, Melissa had asked Blair, “Do you love it here?” “Yes, I do. I mostly love not being in America.” I don’t think this was a dislike of America, but rather pleasure in being in a different part of the world. She takes such pleasure in every experience and in every interaction with people.
We had purchased extra groceries – flower, eggs, powdered sugar – so that the wife of Blair’s good friend Ba Lewis could bake a cake for us when we would visit them for a meal later. After a LOT of dirty tramping in the market, we ate at a hole–in-the-wall café. It reminded me of the old Bea’s Café in Senath, but with an outdoor dining area. The food was interesting, but good. There were two PCVs that Blair knew eating there at the same time. Also a group of nurses from the U.K. who were there on a medical mission.
We met our driver and purchased two quarts of oil to bring the cruiser’s dipstick up to showing. A half tank of gas cost $80.00 U.S.
One price is supposed to cover the car rental, the driver’s services, and all the driver’s per diem expenses, but we pay for the gas. I asked Charles if the car always burns so much oil, or if we had started out low, and he replied the latter.
After gassing up, we had to go back into Mkushi to hit the ATM again. We spent too much on gas and chitenges and groceries and had not enough left for our hotel expenses. Then we drove on to the ATB Lodge, about twenty minutes and 6km away down a pretty decent gravel road with a lot of red dust.
The rooms at ATB are decent, though a bit shabby with age and wear. It is a lodging favored by the PCVs when they are traveling. There was no heat in the rooms (pretty standard throughout the country, unless you’re in the Protea in Lusaka), but adequate blankets for the 50 degree nights. A Gideon’s bible was out on the night-stand. The showers had hot enough water, but not much pressure. There was a T.V. with satellite dish in the lobby, and Blair and other PCVs watched movies and music videos. On Friday night, Blair had shown us a music video on her computer, and videos of a group of PCVs re-enacting it at their district house in Serenje.
We ordered dinner on our arrival at 5:30, but did not expect it to be served until 8:30. By that time, all except Tom had showered. He fell asleep on arrival. Melissa was a little upset by a lizard in the shower, but she and Libby also fell asleep while awaiting dinner.
Dinner was served around 8:45. Blair dined on the Alford’s Barbecue meat we had brought all the way from Kennett. I really thought that despite dry ice and cold packs we would be bringing her a box of garbage. The freeze-thaw cycle had altered the taste a little, but it was still good. She was delighted (and surprised) to have it. The rest of us enjoyed the local cuisine, which was quite good. A spider on the wall upset Melissa again, but not too much.
08/16/2011
Chapter Nine: Flight to Mfuwe, and Tribal Textiles
09/01/2011
From Mfuwe to Livingstone
Saturday, July 23, 2011
We slept in, arising around 8:00 AM. We ate a late and leisurely breakfast. Since our flight was to leave about 1:30, we ate hearty in lieu of lunch. We settled our bill before returning to the chalet to pack our bags.
I assumed that we were through with our wildlife experience, but as we were packing around 10:00, a tardy hippo passed right by our chalet on his return to the river. At 11:00, our guide Geoffrey came to load our bags and take us to the airport. We were leaving much earlier than necessary, as the ladies wanted to revisit Tribal Textiles. Melissa just needed to pick up a T-shirt. While we were there, they spent thirty minutes and bought jewelry, more pillow covers, a purse, and (for a wonder) the T-shirt.
Then it was on to Mfuwe International Airport. We had to wait fifteen minutes for the ticket and baggage check-in personnel to open for business. They do X-ray everything, but you don’t have to remove your shoes. Passengers walk through a simple metal detector (like we used to back home), not the full-body X-ray we experienced at Dulles.
While we waited for our flight, a television broadcast news of a bombing in Norway over the Al Jazeera network.
We boarded the same type of twin-engine turbo-prop plane as before, though this one was more highly decorated with giraffe spots. The flight was pleasant and uneventful, though our seats were just forward of the engines, so were more noisy.
On landing in Lusaka, we had to reclaim our luggage and recheck it on to another plane. We also had to secure a waiver of the travel tax. This didn’t cost anything, but took nearly as much time as paying the tax over again. We scurried about quite a bit during the process and Blair ridiculed us for worrying about missing our connection or losing our bags. We thought we only had twenty minutes to make the swap, but our departure for Livingston was delayed by another twenty minutes. Here in Lusaka, the television blared CNN with Barack Obama talking about the U.S. debt crisis.
We boarded a new and smaller turbo-prop plane for the flight from Lusaka to Livingstone. Here I was seated just aft of the wing, and could see nothing out my window. I read over Libby’s shoulder instead. The flight was only about an hour, and we landed at the Livingstone airport without incident.
I was surprised to see a cat walking around inside the airport, but wasn’t at all surprised to see baboons outside. One rarely sees a stray dog or cat. Perhaps the ubiquitous baboons eat them.
While we recovered our luggage, Blair went ahead to negotiate for a taxi. We needed two, as usual, to carry all the bags.
The ride to Jolly Boys was not long, and we were there by 5:00 PM. We checked in and received two rooms that were quite far apart. Jolly Boys is basically a hostel that caters primarily to young travelers like Peace Corp Volunteers or backpacking tourists. Accommodations range from a place to pitch our own tent in the courtyard, to 16-bed dorm rooms, to 8-bed dorm rooms, double room with no bath, double room with bath (Tom and I), and four-to-a-room double bunkbeds with bath (the ladies).
To and I had plenty of room in “Mukango”, but the ladies were a little cramped in “Livingstone”.
Jolly Boys is really quite a bit larger than one would think, just driving by. It is enclosed, like most places in the city with anything worth stealing, by a heavy security fence, mostly concrete block, and topped with spikes, barbed wire broken glass. There is a heavy security gate with a guard on duty 24/7.
They also have a bar, restaurant, swimming pool, hot tub, pool table, ping-pong table, gift shop, internet café, outdoor dining, and a huge “chill zone” – a big conversation pit full of pillow-covered benches.
We dumped our stuff in our rooms, and while we were planning our next move, the electricity went off. We proceeded back to reception and the power came back on. We were studying their notebooks full of information about all the tourist attractions and activities in the area, when the electricity went off again. We studied a bit by flashlight, and the power came back on. Since we needed to get more Kwachas from the ATM, we decided to hustle on over to the nearest one before looking for dinner. No electricity equals no ATM.
Luckily, we had no trouble using the old debit card. Then on to Olga’s for Italian food – “The best pizza in Zambia”, according to Blair. [Surely not the only pizza in Zambia, but the only pizza we ate there. I thought Olga's would have Swedish food.] Olga’s also helps to support the Youth Community Training Center, selling their handicrafts and donating some proceeds.
The dinner was excellent, though far from “fast food”. The open air dining area was heated by several charcoal-burning heaters. We used our wait time to work on planning our two days of activities in the area. Since this was Blair’s third trip to the Victoria Falls area, we tried to plan around getting some activities that she had not yet experienced. Fortunately (for us), she had already done the Lion Encounter, bungee jump from the Zambezi bridge (tallest in the world), and micro-light flight over the Falls.
Her previous trips had been only on the Zambian side of the Falls, so a trip across the bridge into Zimbabwe was a priority. We would see the Zim side of the Falls, then go into Victoria Falls town for lunch. If possible, time permitting, we would then see the Zam side in the afternoon, leaving Monday free for other plans, as yet to be determined. After our dinner, we walked back to Jolly Boys and talked to the booking agent.
The booking agent was a bit skeptical of our plans to see both sides of the Falls in one day. She felt it would be more than we could enjoy, but we resolved to try it. It had been a long day and we headed for bed. I spread my mosquito netting and went to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
09/09/2011
Victoria Falls – Zambia Side
Sunday Afternoon -- July 24, 2011
We visited Customs, and once again, our passports were stamped and we made our way back across the bridge. Passing through Zambian Immigration on the other side, it was a very short walk to the park entrance on the Zam side. Again, there were spectacular views of the Falls and the perpetual rainbows. We rented ponchos for a dollar to better enjoy our traverse of the wetter areas. It was much too wet for my little camera in these places, but I managed a couple of shots by snaking my hand up into my hood via the neck opening. Even with the ponchos, my lower pant legs were soaked, which eventually funneled some water into the top of my boots. The Gore-tex lining will keep water inside the boot, just as easily as it will keep it out when wading. Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to bother my feet much.
As we made our way back to the park entrance, Tom was running down the trail and slipped on the wet rocks, getting a pretty nasty set of gouges in his forearm. Though all had brought first-aid kits on our travels, I was the only one carrying it at all times (“Be Prepared”). I took a few moments to flush the wounds with my water bottle, then applied antibiotic ointment and a series of band-aids. We attracted a small crowd. One lady pointed out that Tom had blood in his mouth, indicating more serious injuries. However, the blood was merely a function of severely chapped lips. She seemed disappointed.
We stopped for a photo op with Dr. Livingstone’s statue on the way out of the park (as we had on the Zim side with their statue of the good doctor). Then we returned to the bazaar and bought a few things, letting Blair do the haggling. Steve really wanted to talk to me instead of to Blair. He wanted ME to name a price, but Blair persistently demanded “Nishinga?” [How much?]
Melissa, Libby, and I all bought a few items, and even Blair bought a couple of things. She said, “I know that someday I will want some things for my home and this is a good time to get them. You can take them back to America and keep them for me.”
Tom wanted to purchase masks. Long after the rest of us were ready to leave, he was still looking in each and every one of the thirty-seven stalls, at each and every mask. After looking at who knows how many, he decided on three. He did some of his own haggling, reducing the asking price of one from $75 to $15. Blair helped him secure two more for $5 each.
At long last we caught a cab back to Jolly Boys. Melissa was too tired to leave again, having some sort of leg problem. Her left thigh had a sensation of “pins and needles”. The rest of us headed back to Olga’s, as Blair was craving more Italian food. We took a cab this time, instead of walking as we had on the previous night. Unfortunately, Olga’s was really crowded. A party of thirty were still having their orders taken. We wound up being there for nearly two hours. Then we got a “take away” (Zambian for “to go”) pizza for Melissa, and caught a cab back to Jolly Boys. The cab allowed us to deliver it to her while still hot (and we had had enough walking for one day).
The booking agent helped me get set for my outing at the Gorge Swing for the next morning (abseiling, which we call rappelling, a zip-line, and the drop swing into the Zambezi gorge). We let her know that she had been correct in saying that both sides of the Falls would make rather a long day. Nobody needed much rocking to get to sleep that night.
09/16/2011
The Gorge Swing
Monday, July 25th
As the rest of the party had made no specific plans for the morning, they saw no reason to rise early. The only definite plan for the day was to rendezvous at the Royal Livingstone Hotel at 3:15 PM. We were booked for a boat trip to Livingstone Island for a tour, and High Tea on the island.
I ate an early breakfast on my own, as the Gorge Swing operators were scheduled to collect me at 8:30 AM. They were nearly thirty minutes late, so I was there to greet Blair when she went out to purchase her bus ticket for her trip back to Lusaka. The bus depot is only a couple of blocks away. On her first trip to Livingstone, she didn’t know where Jolly Boys was located, so she took a cab... for two blocks. She was “new” then (as opposed to “used” now – “used” meaning used to things or accustomed to things).
Mathias, the Abseil driver, finally arrived at 9:00 and I mounted a bench in the open safari-wagon type truck. Things got pretty breezy on the open road. I had on a sweater and windbreaker, which was fine sitting still. At 60 F and highway speeds, I got COLD. We stopped by their in-town office so that I could pay by credit card. It was next door to The Fawlty Towers hostel (for all you British comedy fans).
I was the only passenger on top, along with Bupe [Boo - pay], an employee of the business. We drove quite a ways out to the Waterfront Lodge, where we picked up a group of ten young women from “assorted U.K. countries”. Bupe and I had the sorority-house experience for the rest of the ride.
The Gorge Swing’s operation is on a dry section of the Zambezi gorge. You can see the river, but it is actually several kilometers from the site.
There was another group of ten people already there when our truckload arrived. They were by turns getting rigged in body harness, cheering each other on, and making the drop in the gorge swing (by far the most popular of the three attractions on site).
The staff sorted out who had come to do what, then gave us a fun pep talk/warning about what was to come. Next step: everybody signs a waiver of liability. Then it’s off to get harnessed up, or as an Aussie lady said, “Get all this kit on”.
The first group had about finished their swing outing. The ladies I had ridden in with were divided between swing, tandem-swing (two harnessed together for the drop), and the zip-line. They all wanted to see their friends jump off and scream, so none of them wanted to go to the zip-line (aka “flying fox”) right away.
Since I had no companions to share with, I went on to the zip line. I decided to try it in sitting position first. I found there was a huge friction drag in getting the pulley started. You really had to run hard and jump to get rolling and out over the gorge. While there is a down-ramp to get you started, there’s no slope in the line, thus no gravity-assist in getting across. I only got about halfway across. Then a worker reels you back to the starting place.
For a second run, I switched over to the “superman style”, with the pulley attached to my back. Again, it took a lot of effort to get started, and running down the ramp I had my attention more on getting a good push off than on the height (about 80 meters down to the bottom of the gorge). Really, I was looking at the other side instead of down – you go where you look, and I was trying to get farther. I did, but not by much.
Since there was nobody waiting, I elected to give Superman a second run. This time I got about three fourths of the way across. The zip-line at S-F Scout Ranch doesn’t have such a view, but is a more fun ride – gravity sends you flying down a full hundred yards. There’s no running to take off, and no stopping in the middle. The plus side here is that after working so hard to jump off the edge, the leap into the abyss is easier when you get to the other events.
At the gorge swing (featured on the CBS television program, “The Amazing Race”) you have a choice of leaning over backwards, or stepping out forward. I decided to go for broke and step off forward the first time. It wasn’t so hard, but about halfway down the 3&1/2 second free-fall, I briefly called on my maker. There is a bit of a jerk when you hit bottom and go into the arcing swing across the gorge. You are still a good 15 meters from the bottom. When my momentum dissipated, I found myself twisting around and around for some time before they lowered me to the dismounting platform. This spinning gave me the only motion sickness that I experienced,
Here is a short video of me wearing my Buddy Holly athletic glasses on the jumps.
I found my friend Bupe at the bottom waiting to free me of my harness. The crew at the top lowered a canvas bag with some water for Bupe. He placed the harness in the sack, clipped it to the swing rig, and then the upstairs crew winched it all back up to the top for the next victim.
Bupe told me he was the only worker at the bottom of the gorge for all the day long. I rested a bit, and then began the hike back to the top of the gorge. For a fair stretch, you are just walking on the bottom of the gorge. Then you begin to climb up a dry wash. This mostly looks like random boulders in a trench, but the path is not bad as such things go. In some areas they have cemented the loose rocks together to stabilize the path. When the climb gets really steep, they have mortared the rock to form flat (albeit small) steps for safer climbing.
There is a water stop and shaded rest area when you finish the long steep section of the climb. There is a five-gallon cooler and four stainless steel tumblers. It is obvious that you are sharing these with all of the other participants, but at that point, you certainly do not care. You need a rest and you need water. This is after about ten minutes of steady climbing. It only takes about another five minutes or so to make it the rest of the way to the top and back along a path to where you started.
I went on to abseil, and this was scarcely different from my experience at the Scout ranch, except for the amazing scenery and the length – 56 meters, versus more like 20 meters at S-F. At the bottom, I found Bupe awaiting me once again. He is a busy young man, as this site is a good ten-minute walk over mildly rough trail from the gorge swing site. It is mostly downhill for me, which means that Bupe came mostly UP hill to meet me.
So now I have a 25-minute hike back to the top. This time I take more rest periods on the way. At the top, I find that the last of the girls have swung and will soon be going back to town. I hiked down to the abseil site again and rigged up for the rap jump, aka “angel rappel, or “Aussie Style”.
One is supposed to be bounding down the cliff face, face first. As it happened, I had to actually pull the rappel line to feed it through the belay device and keep myself going down. It was maybe more work than thrill. I told Bupe that this was going to be my last hike out of the gorge today. Since there were no others to rappel or swing (a “small day” for the workers), Bupe accompanied me out. I’m sure he did not need to rest as often as I did, but he stayed with me.
I found that he had left his village at age twelve and gone to Livingstone. At first he had worked in a metal fabricating shop. Then he had been a barber, shaving heads – the most popular male hair-style in Zambia. Thieves stole his bahbah machines (barber machines, e.g. hair clippers), which forced him to look for a new job. Three years ago he began working for the Gorge Swing business. He is now twenty-four years old.
At the top, lunch was waiting and it was pretty decent. I had paid for a full day, which was only $10.00 more than a half day, and included the lunch. Though they assured me that I could swing or abseil as long as I liked, I assured them that I did not think I could climb out of the gorge again. I was done for the day. When I finished my lunch, I took a few pictures of the rigging for the Scouters at home and then the driver was back.
I had told him earlier that I needed to meet my family at the Royal Livingstone by 3:00. He got me there by 2:30, though we made a detour by Jolly Boys. He had picked me up there and tried to take me back there. That meant about 30 or 40 minutes of wasted travel time, but the drive wasn’t bad.
10/08/2011
Epilogue: The Vacation is over, but the trip lingers on.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
We ate breakfast with Blair, and with tearful (Mom and Dad) farewells, saw her off on the bus to Lusaka.
Dad spent an hour at the Livngstone Museum (only two blocks from JollyBoys) while the others finished packing. They had seen the museum on the previous day while Dad was at the Gorge Swing.
At 11:00 AM Zam time (4:00 AM Kennett time), we got in the taxi to the airport and began our journey home.
Security was a lot more involved when leaving the Livingstone airport that at any time since leaving the U.S. Apparently this was because we were beginning an itinerary that would take us back there. It was the first time since leaving the U.S. that we had to remove our shoes in security.
Our flight from Livingstone to Johannesburg left on time, and was pleasant. We had a scheduled 8-hour layover in Joburg. While we knew it was winter there (in the southern hemisphere), we didn’t realize that it would be cold inside the whole terminal, shops and all. The temperature was in the fifties inside. Shop personnel were wearing coats. I’m not talking the magazine and candy kiosk, either. These were upscale shops like Ferrari. We were a bit underdressed and it was not a pleasant wait.
In Johannesburg, we encountered an increased level of so-called security checking. This is apparently required of flights with a U.S. destination. Even though all our belongings had previously been X-rayed, all passengers were required to undergo another check ninety minutes before the flight boarded.
This time we were required to take off our shoes again, and the agent put his hand inside the shoes and shook them. Then every single passenger got the full-body pat-down treatment. This was absurd, as the guy noted that my pockets were full, but just patted around the junk like it wasn’t there. I was bulging with camera, wallet, passport, chapstick, Purell, change purse, pocket watch, pill bottles, gloves, keys and so forth. They never asked to see any of it.
Then another agent “inspected” my carry-on pack. He didn’t dump it, just sort of picked through it randomly. He required me to move my toothpaste to a ziplock bag, but never even noticed my first-aid kit, medicine bag, etc. The whole thing was a farce.
When we finally boarded our flight to Dakar, it was a very nice change to get warm again. We had our same bulkhead seats again, which was good. Other than the length of the flight and difficulty sleeping, it was a great flight.
When we stopped in Dakar to refuel and re-crew, everyone had to claim all their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments and beneath the seats. Then an inspection was made to see if any unclaimed items were on board.
All this unaccustomed brouhaha made some of the first-time travelers (like us) think that there must have been some international incident, disaster, or terrorist threat. However, a frequent traveler from South Africa informed us that this was standard procedure for international flights into the U.S.
On leaving Dakar, the flight attendants fogged the airplane with insecticides, presumably to prevent the transport of disease-ridden insect pests out of the country. “The World Health Organization has determined that these insecticides are safe for use on the airplane. If you find them irritating or unpleasant, cover your nose and mouth with you handkerchief.” We did; it was like being behind the mosquito-fogger truck.
South African Airlines fed us very well again, both on the flight to Dakar and on the Trans-Atlantic leg to Dulles.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
We felt pretty good when we landed at Dulles around 10:30 AM, and looked forward to getting home again. While we had nothing to declare, and no contraband, we were delayed considerably at Customs. More than one planeload of passengers entered at the same time. Fortunately, Melissa had gotten into one shuttle ahead of us and she did make her connection. With three inspectors for about 500 people, it did not go fast. It went so slowly, in fact, that we missed our flight to St. Louis. Ninety minutes was not enough time to clear Customs and reach our gate, even though we had stopped for nothing and skedaddled as fast as we could.
Having missed our flight, we headed to Customer Service (about a quarter mile back the way we had come). There we found that the only confirmed seats available to St. Louis were on a 10:00 PM flight – a ten-hour layover. This would get us home at about 4:00 AM Thursday, instead of Wednesday at suppertime. This was not so good for getting to work on time Thursday, as we had slept only about six hours out of the last thirty since leaving JollyBoys in Livingstone.
We confirmed those seats, but also decided to try for “stand-by” on the earlier flights at 3:28 and 5:20. We would just have to hope that several other folks had suffered the same misfortune as we in order to make some seats available. It would also cost an extra $75.00 apiece if we made it, but we decided it would be worth it. We gave the lady our credit-card number and headed back to the gate to await the next chance for a flight.
The 3:28 flight appeared to be completely full, but we decided to wait and see what transpired. At 3:20, I called my office to tell them that I would not be making it back as planned. At 3:26, as we were gathering our belongings to move to the 5:20 gate, the clerk called out “Mobley, party of three”. I sprinted to the counter. “We have two seats available”. No good, we are three. “There is one more seat whose owner has not appeared. If he is not here in one minute, you can have it.” He wasn’t, and we did.
The flight to St.Louis was uneventful, as was the drive home. We got out of the car in Kennett after 41 hours of grueling travel, and ten amazing days in Zambia. What a ride!
