A gentle rumble wakes me from sleep. After a few moments of coming to my senses in
the dark room, I discern three different types of rumblings. Funny, the morning before they had been
commenting on the snoring of the others.
I search the bed for my phone, as I’ll need the light to get out of the
upper bunk. It’s only 5:30 but sleep seems
impossible on such an important day. I
decide to take my book and a blanket out into the common area of the
backpackers and leave the snoring trio to their harmonies.
The temperature difference between the cozy bedroom and the
open-roof common area is surprising. I
find a group of cushions, fashion myself a warm area to read, and take in the
area. What was full of young men and
women the day before when we arrived is now empty, except for two felines who
take no time in snuggling up to me and my warm blanket. After a time of reading, I see the sky
brightening and decide to head out. The
room is still dark when I retrieve my bank card, and I depart without
disturbing anyone.
The streets of Livingstone are almost as desolate as the hostel
common area. The two and three story
buildings block the eastern sky as I walk towards Barclay’s to take out money
for the trip to Victoria Falls that day.
In the bank parking lot I gain a clear view of the sky as the sun starts
painting the clouds on a beautiful morning for what is sure to be an
extraordinary day. When I get back to
the hostel, the trio are up and moving about.
We order a large breakfast, and I have two cups of coffee, which I
quickly realize is a mistake when my hands begin to shake.
Our cab ride to The Falls is short but informative. Drivers here learn a lot to try to impress
their customers and gain repeat business.
Many elephants wander this area, apparently. Most of the words pass through my head like
flies through a cavern as I anticipate The Falls. One thing that sticks, however, is the
warning about baboons, who don’t fear humans, are numerous in The Falls area,
and have been known to steal wallets, among other things.
Once inside the outer gate of the park, we see a group of
baboons lazing about a small clearing of grass.
They’re somewhat large, but not surprisingly, and their butts really do
look strange. They seem quite content
looking for food amongst the trees. This
wouldn’t be the last group of baboons of the day. We pass by a sort of market on our way to the
inner gate and the normal hassling ensues.
We assure the venders we’ll stop by on the way out and continue to the
inner gate.
Our tickets stamped, we enter the gate and gaze on a map of
the park. We decide to leave the
up-close view of The Falls now for the roundabout, western trail. The trail offers some sheltered views of The
Falls, but is spectacular because of the rain forest within the canyon. While the terrain around us is mostly dry,
the ravine below hosts a sea of green ferns and palms spotted with browns of
rock and dirt. Across the ravine and 100
meters down, the River flows through a crack that lends a sliver of a view to
The Falls. Not wanting to spoil the main
course, we move on. The trail gives
nothing to get very excited about and we make our way back to the main
crossways of the park.
On reaching the crossways, the ladies decide to take The Falls
View trail and I take the steep Boiling Pot trail. A minute later and I’m alone walking through
the forest. The solitude is refreshing
but short lived. A minute later and
baboons are everywhere. Between the
presence of the baboons in the trees and the caffeine in my blood, my legs
tremble as I step down the trail, so I grab the rail for a bit of
stability. Moments later, a baboon jumps
onto the rail 20 meters behind me and nearly causes my heart to explode out of
my chest. I look at him. He looks at me. We both continue on our way.
They call it the Boiling Pot trail because of the ruckus and
bubbles created as a stream coming from a cavern in the side of the ravine tumbles
down boulders to meet the Zambezi River.
The sky is open and the sun creates ideal conditions for a bit of
boulder jumping. Finding a large rock at
the edge of the river, I sit and think.
The bridge between Zambia and Zimbabwe is 100 meters above me and as
traffic passes over the bridge, the water passes below. At that moment, a woman leaps off the
bridge. Her screams echo off the canyon
walls as she plummets towards the River.
Moments before she hits the water, the bungee cord comes taut and she
springs back towards the bridge. The
thrill entices me, but the price repelled me from buying a ticket. Instead, I sit calmly in the sun, watching
the mighty Zambezi.
I’ve been reading a book about the life of a Buddha called, Siddhartha. In the book, Siddhartha spends time living
next to a river as a ferryman and he has a realization that the river is not
just in front of him, but in the mountains, at the source, in the prairies, and
at the sea all at the same time. He
realizes his life is like the river; that Siddhartha the boy is also him, that
he is the old man, and that there is nothing real separating them. The river is eternal and yet every moment the
river is different than the moment before.
I try to process these ideas on the edge of the largest river in
southern Africa.
After some time, I start the trek back up the trail. Sweat quickly pours out of my body as the
heat has increased and the walk up is more difficult that the walk down. I stop to watch a group of adolescent baboons
wrestle amongst the hanging limbs and dry leaves. Feeding a pair of infants in the background,
a mother sits atop a large rock surrounded by her family. I leave them to continue my quest to The
Falls and am shortly back at the crossroads.
The Falls View trail appeals most strongly and I decide it’s time to
face the natural wonder. Within a
minute, my feet stop on the edge of The Falls canyon.
Gazing into the roaring, swirling mists of eternity, I stand
on the brink of reality. Few times in my
life have I experienced such an intense, indomitable nothingness. It’s as if the act of taking it all in at
once is too much for my brain, and its reaction is to become senseless. Having stood through epochs of time, juts of
basalt thrust out of the edge of the Zambezi as unquantifiable amounts of water
plunge over a hundred meters into the canyon below. The Falls was witnessed by the dinosaurs and
hosted the predecessors of man some 800,000 years ago. Did they look out with the same wonder and
reverence I feel now? How could they not
have?
The Falls stretch a mile wide. The ledge I stand on is covered by a green
grass, nourished by the mists that erupt from the depths by the force of the
crashing water below. The cool mists
collect on my hot skin as I lean back my head and smile. Utter bliss.
Leading to the rock-pillar island, the walking bridge lends
a view of both The Falls and the canyon where the River passes. A double rainbow gleams over the Boiling
Pot. I cross the bridge and encounter
Rhonda and my mother, who tell about a baboon trying to steal my mom’s
soda. From Danger Point, at the far end
of the island, you can get a feel of The Falls’ vastness, but still can’t see
the far edge. After taking in the views,
we decide to move to the river above The Falls.
At this point in the year, the River is low because of the
lack of rain in the past months. In the
plane of the River, you see rocks, plants and even trees. We take a seat on the rocks to cool our feet
in the River. I watch as a man crosses
the River on foot, wading through pools on his way to the edge. I feel a tinge of jealousy. However, a short time later, the same man
comes to me and offers to take me to the edge of The Falls. I am hesitant at first, but after some
insisting, he has me convinced. I leave
my camera, as I’m uncertain of my footing in the River and know not to trust a
man I just met with my camera. Feeling
like a toddler, I hold Alex’s hand as we make our way slowly across a dike
upstream. He tells me he lives nearby
and has been doing crosses like this since he was 10 years old. After making
our way across, we head downstream to The Falls. He offers to hold my hand as I lean out over
The Falls. Again, after 10 minutes of
knowing Alex, I’ll trust him with my dryness, but not my life. I find a dry rock on the edge, lay down and
shimmy my way out.
It’s hard to discern the distance of the drop because of the
varying sizes of the strangely vivid boulders below. The water takes both a long time and yet a surprisingly
short time to reach the bottom. The
mists appear somewhat clearer from this point, yet a double rainbow gleams
again. After taking in the rare view, I
get up and Alex and I head back. Upon
reaching the shore, the ladies and I decide it’s time to go.
The cab ride back seems shorter than the ride to The Falls
and we’re back in the hostel quickly. We
go out for a traditional Zambian lunch.
I devour the large fish, but my companions are a little less than
impressed by the xima and anchovy platter or the bitter greens. After lunch we go back to the hostel and have
a nap. When we wake up we have a few
drinks, order a couple pizzas and take an easy night before travelling to
Kruger the next day. As I fall asleep to gentle rumblings, I think, “After such a day,
how could tomorrow, or the rest of this trip compare?” Man, if I only knew.*
