Day 20 - Border Disorder

11:30
I write this from the back of a 9 seater minibus, wending my way from the Zimbabwe border to the city of Victoria Falls. The border crossing has been interesting, to say the least.

I’m up with my alarm at 06:40. A couple of coffees and some jiggery pokey, and the truck is packed up, and ready to be dropped back to Bushlore’s Botswana depot. I’ve been a little anxious about the drop-off. Both tents are broken - not my fault, for sure, but definitely broken during my stewardship. There’s a MASSIVE new chip in the windscreen, from a 9 seater that was driving far too fast on a gravel road. The screenwash container has continually become detached from the pump mechanism, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a couple of kitchen utensils.

I needn’t have worried. I attempt to show the dude at the depot the tent damage, and he tells me it’s fine - they break all the time. Thanks for that depot dude. The screenwash issue is well known, and the windscreen chip is not my fault. TIA. The only slight snag is that a piece of paperwork I was given at the Botswana border is no longer present, as no one told me I needed to keep it. Depot dude says I’m a long way from the first person to have made this mistake, so it really doesn’t matter. If it happens that frequently, perhaps - I don’t know, a word of guidance at the border post would be useful?

A driver turns up to take me into Zimbabwe. At least, that’s what I think is happening. We pass through the Botswana border without issue. Arriving at the Zimbabwe outpost, the paperwork side of things is actually pretty straightforward. Mr Matemba (for tis his name) spends more time asking me about the meaning of my tattoos than he does interrogating my purpose and duration of stay. We agree that haiku is a beautiful form of poetry, and when I explain the meaning of the haiku I had inked after Micky died, he looks at me with deep sorrow in his eyes, fist-bumps me, and says, “Deep words, man,”

It’s after the paperwork is concluded that things start to stray a little off-course. My driver, Rabs (for tis his name) says that we must wait for a vehicle to arrive from the Zimbabwe side to take me to Vic Falls. I’ve not been advised of this, but TIA. After 30 minutes waiting at the border outpost, I ask how much longer it’s gonna be. It’s yet another roasting hot day, and I’m starting to get a tiny bit tetchy. He tells me he doesn’t know - we’re waiting for another tour group. I was also not advised of this. I ask if he can give me the number for his office HQ, so I can follow up with them, and he declines. I suspect infamy. He disappears off, and starts talking to other drivers awaiting transfers. Suddenly, ‘my driver’ has arrived. We must wait 20 minutes for a group just transiting out of Botswana, then we’ll be on our way. Remember I said the other day I’d not done many land border crossings in recent years? Well, this was a border crossing on foot. Very exciting - especially when all my belongings are in truck/bag mode. I have my big rucksack, a small backpack and a day-sling = very normal. But I ALSO have about 4 shopping bags full of what can best be described as really useful crap that I need on a pretty much daily basis. I must look unhoused, and increasingly unhinged. Happily, ‘my driver’ has the engine running, and the A/C blasting. The other tourist group arrive about 30 minutes later, and they’re clearly not expecting to share their transport. “A stowaway!” they cry. It transpires they’re a very kindly Canadian couple, I suspect in their 70s, and on a once in a lifetime journey through much of sub-Saharan Africa. So, my Botswana driver has clearly made some kind of a deal with a random Zimbabwean driver to take me to my hotel. At least, I hope that’s what’s gonna happen… TIA.

While we’re driving along, the driver (whose name I don’t catch) tells us a little about Zimbabwean culture. I don’t listen to all of it - but hear bits and pieces, and particularly the part about how infertility in a marriage is traditionally handled. If a couple are trying to conceive and can’t, and it can be shown to be the guy that has the fertility issue, his brother is expected to bang the first guy’s missus until pregnant, which is a WILD approach. I ask if the same is true of the sister of the wife, if the wife is infertile, and am told that no - that would be ridiculous, because the sister would then have to carry the baby for 9 months, while the brother can just wham, bam thank you ma’am and be done with it - AND AIN’T THAT JUST THE FUCKING TRUTH.

Hopefully, we’ll be in Vic Falls by midday. Hold tight for feedback.

12:30
Well, I’m checked into my last accommodation of this trip. I’m doing my utmost not to turn to sadness that it’s nearly over. Still a couple of days to go, and much to see/do.

The drive through the national park was fairly uneventful. We did spot some elephant at one point, but my Canadian brethren were fast asleep for most of it. I speak briefly with Jack (for tis his name) as we’re arriving into Vic Falls. Sounds like he and his missus had a late, boozy one last night. There were 3 South African sisters staying at the same lodge as them who were on a bit of a tear-up. Jack reckons they got to bed around 02:00, and after WAY too much red wine and Klipdrift. If you don’t know Klipdrift, it’s a South African made brandy, most commonly consumed as part of a Klippies and coke. Firewater. Potent. Best avoided. Jack is suffering today. He and the aforementioned missus are spending ten days in Zimbabwe, before heading overland up through Zambia, and finishing up in Tanzania. I’m utterly jealous of the trip they’re taking.

My room at Bayete is beautiful. It has a deep bath, which I’m deffo getting in later this afternoon. It doesn’t have a fridge, which makes it just as well that I drank my last remaining room Savanna this morning while I was waiting for my ride to the border, and while the Savanna was still cold. I pitch up at Bayete’s bar, in dire need of a cold Savanna, and getting really pretty peckish.

16:30
A lunch of several Savanna, and a brilliant butternut squash salad with some blue cheese, toasted nuts and salad type greens. I ask Chris (for tis his name) the barman for his advice about food, and trying some local cuisine. He says that my salad, whilst not a traditional local dish is a good example of modern Zimbabwean cuisine. He recommends to me a restaurant in town called Mama Africas, and says that I will do well there. I quickly reserve a table for this evening.

My plan is not to have much of a plan today. I’ll mooch into town later this afternoon, but try and avoid the falls until tomorrow. I’m heading out on a tour of the falls first thing, and then planning to take a sunset cruise below the falls tomorrow evening. I don’t wanna try and cram too much in on my last day, and I have something super special planned for Friday morning.

After my salad/Savanna combo, I repair to my room for some cleanliness. I have the most dramatically wonderful bath - deep, hot and accompanied by my book and a rum + mango. The rum has been my constant companion since my flight into Windhoek, and it’s only today with a couple of these rum/mango concoctions that I’ve defeated the bugger. I’ve a bottle of South African Merlot from a family I know well that I must also drink over the next couple of days, but that feels like a tomorrow problem.

My bath leaves me clean, steamy and in urgent need of a nap. A deep, dream filled hour of snooze sets me up for the evening.

22:00
I head out around 17:00 to downtown Vic Falls. It’s not a big town, and its heartbeat is maybe 2 blocks of bars, restaurants and shops. My reservation is not until 19:00, and by 17:30, I’ve basically covered the town centre. I pitch up at a pub called 3 Monkeys. They make their own gin in-house, so of course I do. It’s good. London in style, but with some African botanicals sprinkled throughout.

At 19:00, I womble over to Mama Africa’s, which is apparently now known as GOAT. Whether this capitalisation is to highlight one of their meat sources, or to suggest that they are the GREATEST OF ALL TIME, I cannot say. What I can say, is that the staff are incredibly warm and welcoming, there is a not bad covers band doing warbly things, and they have local cuisine on the menu. I ask what’s good, and my wonderful server, Tadiwa, tells me that today’s ‘hunter’s pot’ features a really good piece of kudu. I’ve had kudu before, and it’s bloody lovely. A slightly gamier version of our UK venison. Sold.

The stew is delicious. Fork tender kudu, a rich braising sauce with some subtle spicing, some simply steamed rice, and a particularly awesome spinach side dish. It has a lot in common with sukuma wiki, an East African braised greens dish. The stew is served in what I know from time in South Africa as a potjie (pronounced poy-key), but I don’t know if the name persists in Zim. It’s beyond brilliant. The best thing I’ve eaten on my entire trip. Feels a *bit* strange eating a hearty stew while the temperature is still up at 32C, but I cope.

Back at my lodge, I’m torn between bar and bed. I’ve not got a particularly early start in the morning, but bed still wins…Read more