Vic Falls, Continued

Okay, back to my Fourth of July.

When I got back to the hotel on Friday night, I checked out the restaurant. It's a buffet, and I just didn't feel like a full meal at very high Zambian prices. The snack shop was closed, so that left me with room service.

It's not a huge menu, and the only thing I could find that looked even marginally tasty was a cheeseburger. Natch, it comes with fries and a side salad, and they could not understand why I wouldn't want the side salad, because, as the operator said, “It comes with it.” Okay. I get a bottle of mineral water, too. It all comes in good time, and when the waiter gives me the tray, he says, “Please call when you are done so we can pick it up.” Huh? Can't I just leave it outside the door, the way it's done, like, everywhere else?

Then I see the tiny card they've put on the tray: “Please do not leave your tray outside your door, as it will attract baboons and monkeys.” Oh. That explains it. The hotel is really a complex of buildings, with the main reception desk and dining facilities in one, the “activity center” and shops in another, and the rooms split between maybe 4 two-story buildings around the pool area. The bar is snug up against one side of the pool, but I don't know if it counts as a “swim up bar.”

Because the two hotels are on a reserve and are gated, and because, I suppose, the weather is fine all year, security for each of the buildings with rooms is nonexistent. It's not really motel-y—there are inside hallways that reminded me of Kay's building in Brooklyn Park, but more brightly colored--but there is no security door to each building. It's just wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide open, and that's why the baboons and monkeys can get in to steal the food off your plates. My "welcome" letter, which I read while I ate, had a whole paragraph devoted to not leaving food outside your door, to not hanging laundry out to dry on your balcony ("The monkeys will take it"), and to not leaving your windows or doors open at all, ever. There was also a little card on the “armoire” warning guests not to open the sliding glass doors, because animals will wander in. It seems as if this is a fairly new problem, or they would have thought about it when they built the place. It really was a shame, because the view from the window was lovely, and it would have been nice to have some fresh air overnight.

Saturday morning the sun was not out, and there was a definite chill in the air. True to Atilla form, though, I had booked 2 activities for myself that I figured would take up a good chunk of the day. With a spring in my step, knowing adventure was just around the corner, I went to the restaurant for breakfast. It was, of course, included in the package.

I must say it was an impressive spread. There were three kinds of sausage and Canadian bacon (or, as my Canadian friend calls it, “ham”), waffles, eggs, breads and pastries, and just a load of stuff. What struck me as odd was that there was no dry cereal. I don't know why, but I always eat cereal on vacation. Huh.

I was given the option of a table with a view of the kitchen or a table with a view of the coffee stand. I chose the coffee stand. Such is the Plight of the Lonely Diner.

My first guided tour was scheduled for 10:30, and I had time to head for the Falls. It's a short walk through the hotel grounds and then through a bit of the reserve. The paths are all well-marked and paved (paving stones that get kinda slippery when wet—not a good thing), but there are no handrails until you get to the overlooks or the really steep stairs. Sometimes the path is steep, and sometimes there are moderately steep stairs, and sometimes there are hugely steep and unevenly worn stairs. I figured I was on my own but not exactly alone in the wilderness, so I ventured a ways but not all the way.

It's impossible to describe the presence of the Falls and the impact the whole place has on your senses. You can hear the Falls from just beyond the hotel complex (the path starts between a room building and the bar). The closer you get to the actual Falls, the damper everything gets; the damper everything gets, the greener it gets. The sound goes from a distant rumble to a deafening roar in 5 minutes. And the quality of the view entirely depends on the direction the wind is blowing, because the spray can make the whole thing a big blur.

When I started out, it was cloudy and the wind wasn't favorable to a clear view.

(At the top of the path where this overlook is, a guy has set up a stand where he sells rain ponchos and flip-flops. I pshawed the idea when I saw the completely tame conditions at the top. This was not my brightest moment.)

I followed the path down along the Falls, and I was kind of amazed at the wusses who were swathed in plastic and had their cameras in baggies. I did begin to wonder if my Clarks (closed-toed) would keep me upright, because the path definitely got wetter and wetter and wetter. The wind shifted, too.

A very nice guy took my picture and then lined up his family right in front of me (backs to the Falls) to take their picture. I can't imagine the tip of my hat didn't make it into their “Hello from Victoria Falls!” greeting card.

The path split a few yards off from this, and I took the landward route. The canyon is impressive, but I don't know if these pictures do it justice. I was getting a little nervous, because there were no railings and the path was very slippery. I must have looked like an idiot, walking very gingerly and staring at my feet. There was no one on this side, though, and I had no idea how long it would take for someone to find me if I fell. Plus, the Falls are so loud it would be a superhero feat to hear someone calling for help. Yup. No one can hear you. On the path. By the Falls.

I made it lower and came around a corner to this:


The Falls really are there in the distance.

I looked at the time and decided to head back up. I have no idea how far down the path goes. When I got to the next scenic overlook, the wind had shifted again.

The lower you get, the harder the mist. It turns into a steady rainfall, and when there isn't water coming off the Falls directly (when the wind shifts), then the trees drip as if there'd been a sudden, torrential downpour. The upshot, of course, is that, by this time, I was soaked. My shirt was just dripping, and I was truly grateful that the hat had kept most of the water off my glasses.

I went back up to the hotel property line, and I was a little surprised at just how dry it was. It's so incredibly lush near the Falls, and then it's just sere an eighth of a mile away. There is a statue of Livingstone on the grounds. I took a picture while a Japanese tourist and his son stood by, arms crossed and practically tapping their toes for their turn. Fine. I snapped and splooshed my way back to my room, stopping by the shop to buy a new shirt on the way.

Garn! Too little time, way too much to tell!

I'm back in Cape Town, and I have part of my Vic Falls continued written, but we went to a gawdawful play tonight, and then something jumped into my eye, so now I'm all bleary and puffy and cranky from the play and oh so tired after the coffee shop tried to kill me by slipping me a macadamia nut croissant this morning....

And time's definitely running out. I'll be back in the States in a little over a week. That is totally weird to think about.

So, apologies, but I really have to log off for the moment. I'll finish up Vic Falls tomorrow before we go to the Cheetah petting zoo.

Jo'burg . . . or Vegas?

I made it to Jo'burg and was greeted by a very pleasant man who guided me through the labyrinth that is the JHB international airport. Asking for the escort service was the smartest thing I've done yet on this trip--it has saved me a hundred headaches and many tears.

We found the hotel shuttle, and he carefully explained that there are three hotels here at the Emperor's Palace (formerly Caesar's Palace). I am staying at what must be the mid-priced, business-y hotel. It looks like a Hyatt on the inside, and the room is spacious but nondescript.

I decided to take a walk around the joint. The three hotels are connected by a casino and "emporium" complex that makes me think maybe I don't ever have to go to Vegas. It's entirely enclosed, of course, with a beautiful blue sky painted on the ceiling (puffy white clouds and all), "brick" flooring, central fountain, a bunch of restaurants and three spokes leading off the central hub. Each spoke is lined with eateries from the fine (with a waterfall) to the huh (Wimpy's) and ends in a noisy (if not noisome) casino. Wimpy's, I guess, is big here. There's a coffee shop that is one of a small chain here in SA (Mug & Beans), and, if I hadn't had that delicious beef stuff on the plane, I might have stopped.

Remember, please, that the only casino I have ever been in was up near Bayport, Wisconsin. It was run by some indian tribe, I think, and I only went in there because it was the only ATM for hundreds of miles. Let's just say it didn't make much of an impression--or it made a huge impression. It was no more than a double-wide trailer with walls covered in blackout curtains and a few slot machines along the walls. I may have tripped over a pool table, or it could have been the bar--who could tell? It was very, very dark in there. I couldn't even tell if they were open.

Now I see that casinos are a little bigger, a little flashier, but still, somehow, not me. I did not go in to the "adult" palaces, but I did wander around the kid's corner. Not a casino, to be fair, but an extremely noisy arcade with a dull-looking roller coaster and some unbelievably bored "ride jockey" types hanging out by the token machines.

I wandered back into the main concourse, and two things struck me: The place looks like a souped up Waveny (a care facility for Altzheimer's patients with a careful layout that gives the people there a sense of freedom but keeps them safely inside the building), and there are no people around. I saw a few people in two or three of the dozen+ restaurants, passed a guy on his way to the adult casino (he didn't look like a worker), and saw the same woman at the ATM each time I passed in the 30 minutes I spent in there.

It should also be noted that you can't find a toothbrush to save your life. I have a toothbrush, but I was looking for other sundries (like batteries), but nada. Rien. Niente.

The business center is in one of the other hotels, and it is a hot little room that must have been a coat closet at some point. The chair is as high as it gets, but the desk is so high that my elbows almost need to be shoulder high to type. The screen is even higher, and I can feel my neck cramping, so I will say adieu until Sunday. I'm supposed to be back in Cape Town late afternoon.

Oh, by the way--I am going out of order here (not continuing the Victoria Falls saga) because Day 2 has many pictures. Cheers!

The Home Front

While I was having a grand old time in Livingstone, it rained and rained and rained in Cape Town. For a glimpse of the effects, see the lead article in this morning's Cape Times:


There has been flooding in what the paper refers to as "temporary settlements" and, we're pretty sure, in areas like the township where the school is. The city is putting up shelters and trying to keep people warm and dry, but rain is in the forecast until Thursday. And it's been pouring. We all woke up to thunder and lightning this morning, and then, at lunch, we dodged the drips from the canopy over our table at the restaurant. Outdoor restaurants are not really prepared for this kind of weather. They have heat lamps installed (and one really good one right by the hostess stand, presumably to lure people in), but there's not much they can do about the rain coming in around the plastic flaps that act as walls.

Some of the apartments have been dripping, too. Poor Leslie didn't sleep at all last night because she thought the whole place was going to flood.

At my house, though, there was a little different kind of worry. My roommate Brooke broke her fibula Friday night. They thought it was just a sprain, but when she woke up Saturday morning in real pain, she called Prof Price and they took a trip to the emergency room. She's in a plaster cast over her knee. Today she went to an orthopedic surgeon, and it turns out she'll need to have it reset and re-casted on Friday. She's also got a cold. So she's very, very blue. She and her roommate Julia moved into the room next to mine so B doesn't have to try going up the stairs on crutches. Oh, they aren't regular broken leg crutches, either--they're polio crutches, with the arm brace and the hand grips? Not under your arms. She is just exhausted going from her bed to her bathroom.

Alas, Julia has been in the bathroom, for she ate some tainted fish last night and has been ill ever since. This is the same restaurant, it seems, that Aaron ate at the night before Cape Point. It was Aaron who was so sick he had to go home in a cab? I thought it was just a hangover, but it was some bad fish. So Julie and Brooke are looking quite awful, and the rest of us are trying hard to entertain them. When they're awake.

Because it rained all weekend, many people are getting down. Leslie was so tired of shopping and sitting inside that she was practically begging someone to go to a museum with her this afternoon. And it didn't help that she slipped and fell on the wretched sidewalk this afternoon. She was okay, but it didn't help her mood any.

Getting Brooke around will be a feat. The dean of students was here to visit, and she authorized a cab to take Brooke to class next week. Oh, and one person may go with Brooke to carry books and help out. I thought that was a fairly condescending remark.

Brooke has been on the phone with her safari organizer, though. She is not missing that.

Vic Falls - End of Day One

I don't even remember where I left off...something with the giraffe. Ahhh, yes. The resort.

There are two hotels in the resort: the Royal Livingstone and the Zambezi Sun. They are both less than 10 years old (there was an older hotel on the reserve, but they either tore it down or it fell down, and they decided to build these two), and they are very different. The Royal Livingstone is a little more formal, a little less kid-friendly. It is also right smack dab on the river.

So when you drive up to the Royal Livingstone, you are met by these guys:


At the Zambezi Sun? Met by these guys:


doing this (but not on their sides--it's a camera thing):







I'm sorry there's no sound. There was much singing and dancing and drumming and greeting of guests. I admit that I just about jumped out of my seat when the one guy came up to the van to open the door. He seemed to be the "head man," and he kept asking me to come over to dance with them and calling me "[something something] mama" (each syllable in "mama" is equally accented), which they assured me meant "beautiful queen." I could not help but think of the Far Side of the Lone Ranger finally looking "Kemo sabe" up in the dictionary.

I had asked my driver if his company, Wilderness Safaris, could help me book some activities. He introduced me to his boss, who ran down the list of things to do with me. The sunset cruise sounded good, and he asked if I could be ready to go in an hour. No problem! I took my luggage to my room, locked the laptop in the laptop-sized safe, changed my clothes, and headed out.

It was just a perfect day. Hot but not too hot, breezy but not windy, clear blue sky . . . perfect perfect perfect.

It took a few minutes to drive to the boat dock, and I was dismayed to see that the company running the cruises is named The African Queen. I was on the African Princess, and of course I failed to get a picture. She's a three-deck river boat (not huge, and not a paddle wheel), with the first deck rigged out with tables and chairs, the second deck a large bar in the middle (with barstools) as well as fairly large chairs and cocktail tables pushed up to the rail. The third deck has the bridge and is not open to the public.

It's really quite lovely--dark woodwork, nice furniture--and felt quite gracious. And, of course, the booze and a light snack are included in the ticket price.

Craving sun after so very many days of rain here in Cape Town, I headed up to the second deck, where it seemed brighter. It was wall to wall people. There was one bar stool open, and every chair that wasn't occupied was being saved. It was so firmly packed up there that I was forced on at least one occasion to use my lethally sharp elbows.

I thought for a few seconds about just grabbing the bar stool and staying up there, but then I noticed that the majority of the guests were Vietnamese. If I have learned anything this summer it is to acknowledge my prejudices, and a big one (right up there with midgets and monkeys) is the Vietnamese language. When I'm on vacation, looking for a restful boat cruise, the sharp angles of Vietnamese just do not blend well. And this was a large group of obnoxious tourists to boot--for those of you who watch "King of the Hill," it was a deck full of Connie's parents.

So back down the gracious stairs I went to find a chair among The Family Set. This ended up working out just fine, thank goodness, but it took a few minutes for the man, woman, and young boy to do anything more than smile and nod at me when I asked if the seat was taken.

I need to insert here that the van on the way to the boat from the hotel had 3 people in it: me and a white American couple. We made some small talk for about 3 minutes on the way, and when we got to the dock they ditched me as quickly as possible. Up to this point I was not impressed with the tourists but was completely happy with the guides and hotel staff.

I sat down, and it turned out this family was part of a large group--3 families and a passel of children, varying in age from maybe 4 to 18. The kid at my table couldn't have been more than 5, but he seemed to have older siblings. They chatted among themselves and from table to table, and I was pretty much ignored until two things happened.

First, the waitress came and asked what we'd have to drink. The son had moved to the bench in the bow and was proud to order for himself. A minute later he came over to his parents and said, "Mom, guess what I'm having! A Sprite!" His mother looked at him and said, "I thought you were having a Fanta Orange." "Oh, yeah," he said and trotted back to the other kids. It was so cute I couldn't help but laugh. We started chatting a little after that, but things didn't really warm up until our hostess made her "Welcome" announcements.

This is the African Princess, my name is so-and-so, your crew is here to help you, yadda yadda, and the "inconvenience" is in the rear of the lower deck. We all kind of looked at each other and cracked up.

My family is from Cape Town, one family is from Australia, and the other is from somewhere else. My couple's wife left to sit with the kids after about 10 minutes, and her husband and I chatted some about Cape Town and so forth. Wife came back on and off throughout the cruise. The second husband was the Australian, and he was very, very friendly and funny in a wry sort of way. The third husband was Israeli and had an interesting accent, a booming voice, and a distinct disdain for the British. As the evening wore on, the best thing he did was to smoke a really elegant cigar. It smelled just wonderful.

Oh! The other notable part of the announcement was that the Falls are one of the 7 Natural Wonders of the World. What are those 7 wonders? The Falls, the Grand Canyon, some volcano in Mexico, Mount Everest, the Great Barrier Reef, the harbor in Rio (I always think of "Notorious," and Ingrid Bergman leaning over Cary Grant to see out the window of the plane), and the Northern Lights. Cigar Guy did not know what the Northern Lights were. Australia guy tried to explain, saying they can be seen in the Arctic Circle -- so I chimed in, "And Minnesota!"

Drinks had arrived, and everyone was loosening up some, but conversation didn't last long. Someone spotted some lumps in the water that turned out to be a bloat of hippos. (Trivia break: Yes, it's a bloat. The collective noun for fairies? A Herd.)


They were having a grand old time, and the African Princess and every other "booze cruise" boat on the Zambezi stopped to look. This was snapped juuuuuuuuuuust after the big guy bellowed.


I did not until a few days ago know that hippos cannot swim. They live in the water but stick to the shallows, because their big round bodies and stubby little legs are simply not suitable to water sports.

Elephants, on the other hand, can swim, and we were lucky enough to see a whole mess of 'em moving from one side of the river to the other. It makes sense, really, because they come with their own snorkels. I was just fascinated.




They made it across the river, wandered up on shore, and went wherever elephants go at dusk.





At some point we were served a truly delicious sample plate of meat hors d'oeuvre. I don't really know how it happened, but I ended up with two plates, and, yes, I ate it all. The sun set, and it was beautiful, but the pictures did not turn out at all. So we headed back to the landing, and my family's husband and I started talking about South Africa.

He said he had gone to private school and had not really noticed any racial trouble. He didn't have a big opinion of the ANC or Mbeki. And he didn't think that much would happen in 2010. He and his wife import skateboards and bicycles, so they've traveled to the States a lot. They mostly go to California, and they've found it pretty relaxed. Cigar Guy and Australian Guy asked if Americans were still driving their V8s with gas prices rising. I said yes, for the most part, the people in Minnesota with big cars were not giving up their cars but were complaining noisily about the price of gas. And we talked about how the price of gas can change from minute to minute and is not the same at every station. (I think I mentioned that it changes no more than once a month here, and all stations post the same price.) All in all, they seemed like nice people, and they certainly had nice, interesting kids (I told them about Quaker Church, but they didn't really get it.) But my Guy seemed like a fairly privileged White Man, who really didn't have a problem with Apartheid as long as it didn't shake his little world.

Cruise ended, I found transportation back to the hotel, and I then spent a good 90 minutes fighting the internet. Ahhh, well.

More tomorrow, if I get a chance. I really do need to study now, and I need to pack and organize for my trip to Kruger. I leave tomorrow (Tuesday) night and get back
Sunday evening. There's no internet, so the laptop stays in Cape Town. I will have to relearn how to put pen to paper. Yikes.

Back in Cape Town

Got back a few minutes past 10 pm, Sunday. The really sad part is that I had that same, sinking feeling when we landed: "Damn, I'm home again." I really do need to find a job that lets me go on vacation alllllllllllll the time.

Doesn't help that it's just pouring here and 50 F. It was 82 F in Livingstone.

So, before I keel from travel weariness, here are a few more pictures--not the Falls, but my room at the hotel. It was quite something.

First, the hotel room itself.

The beds:


The "armoire:"


Now, understand that I'm already having a little "Is this Zambia, or is this Disney?" moment. Then I go into the bathroom. Unbelievably, I have NOT altered the color in these pictures.




It's really that yellow. And neither the sink nor the bathtub have overflow drains. I found this out the hard way. (And, no, Miss Kay, I have not seen a single beignet in Africa!)

Finally (for tonight), here's the blurry giraffe I promised you before I lost the connection at the hotel. He's, like, my first wildlife on this trip, except some of the taxi drivers at the "airport." I have named him Seymour.

Livingstone

What I done today: I got to the Cape Town airport at the crack of dawn and managed to find my flight.

This was not easy, since, as I have mentioned, the airport is under big time construction. The driver (Boogie Bus guy, but in a modest 4-door sedan) dropped me at a crosswalk and assured me the airport entrance was just around the corner. Ayiyi. I cross the street and entered ... the parking ramp. Brand new parking ramp, mind you, and well-lit, but a parking ramp nonetheless. I see no signs. I ask. Some nice man points to the far end and says something about taking a left. I did find the entrance, but it was a full 10 minute walk from where Boogie Bus guy dropped me.

The main terminal is a mess, and it's almost all South African Airlines. No surprise, but it took some time to find the British Airways (sigh) check-in.

Now, I packed lightly, but I also packed my computter and the humongous converter pack. It didn't look as if I was over any size limit, so I asked if I could just take it on board with me.

Wellllllllll, BA has a weight limit (I'm lucky I made it on myself!), and my modestly packed bag was, no kidding, triple the limit. So I checked it.

Finding the gate was weird. I looked at all the signs, and nothing said "gates" anywhere. I finally spotted a small, black and white sign tucked to the left of all the airline and rental car signs that whispered, "Gates, this a way."

This is not a luxurious airport by any stretch of the imagination, and I walked and walked until I finally got to what has to have been a modestly converted hangar. If that, really. There seems to be some kind of superstructure, but just the bare minimum, and then someone has hung lights, and then they put up some drapery to make it look like you're under the Big Top. It does NOT conceal the fact that you're sitting in a big open space with a bunch of gate desks rigged up, some signs thrown up on the wall, and a few chairs scattered here and there. Every time the wind blows, it sounds and feels as if the whole place will come down.

The other thing to remember is that there is no such thing as a jetway in Southern Africa. You hop onto a bus, they drive you out over working runways, and then they unceremoniously dump you near a few planes, one of which is yours. You can tell because there's a guy standing behind two orange traffic cones right near the stairs to the door of the plane. Just one traffic cone and no guy? Not your plane. It's wild. And this morning it was raining and chilly, so when the woman in front of the line had trouble getting the handle of her lightweight carry-on down, a guy in an expensive looking suit actually pushed her to get up the stairs. Pretty. Takes me back to the "God, people are stupid" comment and makes me want to add "God, people are rude."

Flight to Jo-burg was uneventful. It was only an hour and change, but BA still fed us a full meal. AND the seats are spaced well enough to let me cross my legs without claiming a gymnastics medal.

The fun part came in Joburg. I was to be met by someone who would escort me to my connecting flight. It was another "board the bus, get out at some nameless door, wander through some enormous entrance hall with no signs" experience. I looked around, but nothing.

When I got out of the arrival hall, though, there were a bunch of people with signs, and there was a very pleasant-looking woman with a very large sign that said PETERS. I laughed pretty hard.

She took me on my camera battery errand and then got me to the check-in/security area. Man oh man am I glad I didn't have to do that myself. It's a big hall with a lot of lines, each with a tiny number that corresponds to some board waaaaaaaaaaaaay off in the distance, and it's jam packed with people.

Colleen figured out what line I needed to be in, walked me right up to the agent, and then escorted me to the less congested security and passport check. We shook hands and said our goodbyes, and I got my passport stamped.

I was going to buy a book on Zambia, but the only thing they had at the airport bookstore was a book about Africa, and that was, like, R450, which translates into, if I'm doing my math right, $50. Uh, no. So I found the gate. I walked and walked and walked, following the signs to gates 20-30. The last one pointed down an escalator.

There I was, in a huge auditorium, with a lot of doors with little tiny numbers over them, and a few gate desks thrown in.

The numbers all looked the same, and I thought I'd packed my "seeing eye," so I tried to wing it. Strangely, the numbers read right to left. When I finally found my gate (27), there was no one there. I looked at my watch. I looked at the gate number. I thought, Oh crap. So I turned to a couple of women standing nearby and asked if this was the plane for Livingstone.

Yes, said one, but it's bound to be late. Africa time, you know. Turns out they are English and have been on a train tour (famous train, but I can't remember the name) for a week or so. But the trian goes through Zimbabwe, and their agent would not book them through there. So they spent an extra day in Joburg and would catch up with the group in Livingstone. The rest of the group is staying on the Zimbabwe side, of course. And they said the Americans were not phased in the least, even though there are lots of warning up and there was something with the Embassy just last night. Okey doke.

The flight to Livingstone was fine. Short, again, but a full meal. And when we landed, I thought, "Okay, now I'm in Africa."

When you deplane, you end up on the tarmac in front of a one-story building that looks like nothing at all. The terrain is amazingly flat, and the temp was around 80, so it really did seem different. We all lined up outside a door to the building, and finally someone opened it.

Customs/Immigration is maybe the size of Annie's garage, and it takes at least 10 minutes to process each passenger. Americans and Brits have to pay for their visas, and most people didn't realize that. I saw a lot of arm waving and pointing and nodding and shaking of heads, and later I saw a lot of people come back with cash.

I was prepared, with exact change in hand, but it still took me 10 minutes to get through. I do have a visa, though--it's even a separate piece of paper! Way cool.

There were a bunch of guys waiting for people, and I don't know how I did it, but I walked right by an entire group of young Zambian men crying, "Gladys! Gladys!!" I doubled back and met my driver. I had sent a picture to the travel agent, so they all knew what I look like. But I gotta tell ya, "Gladys" with a Zambian accent is pretty funny.

We picked up a few more passengers, and our driver gave us a quick explanation of what we were driving past (and, apparently, the natives pronounce it "Livin-stohne"), and we made to the hotel complex.

There are two hotels on the extensive grounds: the Royal Livingstohne, and the Zambezi Sun. The property is beautiful, located on the edge of a nature reserve. Nature has kindly provided us with giraffe, zebra, deer-like thingies, and something else. Oh, and baboons.

I loved the driver. He was so kind. When we were just past downtown, he pulled over so we could see the falls.


And after he dropped off the other passengers at the Royal Livinstohne, he saw a giraffe by the side of the road, stopped, and led me to the best place to take a picture.

July 5: Tried to upload the blurry picture of some tall, indistinct shape among the trees, and the internet connection went away. It's not all that stable here, so I'm skipping the pictures for now. I'll take care of that when I'm back in Cape Town.