Where 4 countries meet…

So here I am sitting in the only place in the world where four countries meet. Why sitting? Because I’m on the mighty Zambezi in a small boat dodging its way between other small craft and the crowded ferries plying non-stop between the banks.

 

Behind me is Zambia, to my left, Zimbabwe, to my right Namibia, and straight ahead Botswana. I’ve just crossed the Kazangulu border post in Zambia and am heading for Kasane and the Chobe river.
This is my second visit to Zambia since January. This friendly welcoming country, once the poor relation of its neighbours, has become the Belle of the Ball since Zimbabwe started its downward slide.
“We’re probably the only country in the world to love Mugabe!” laughs my Livingstone guide. “Because of him our tourist industry has flourished.”
Most visitors go to Livingstone to see the Victoria Falls or Mosi-oa-Tunya – the Smoke that Thunders (both names are recognised on the World Heritage List) or to feed their adrenaline habit. This charming little town, once Zambia’s colonial capital, has now become one of the major global adventure destinations for adrenaline junkies.
Try your hand at helicopter or microlite flights over the largest sheet of falling water in the world (1 708m wide and 108m high), go kayaking, whitewater rafting (some of the best and most dangerous in the world), tiger fishing, elephant back riding, quad biking, jet boating, abseiling, swinging…and of course, bungy jumping. (The recent plight of the Australian girl whose rope snapped seems to have deterred no one. The queues of wannabe jumpers was long, if a bit jittery.)
But take time to explore Livingstone’s history.
The small but imposing Livingstone Museum has a unique collection of the Doctor’s memorabilia, including his peaked cap, his medical bag and lots of his letters.

Kenneth Kaunda’s iconic motorbike is parked nearby. Outside is the Chipmunk aircraft used by the RAF to train the Zambian airforce in 1951.
Bright blue taxis lurch their way past the old Capital Theatre, built in 1931, which still shows movies. The first supermarket dates to 1912, the Marimba market still pulses with life, and the headstones in the Jewish cemetery pay tribute to the once thriving Jewish population.  If you’re a railway buff then head for the Railway Museum, although the old train which used to cross the bridge between Zambia and Zimbabwe has recently started running again, but only for tourists. You can now once again take afternoon High Tea in the middle of the bridge.

My first night reinforces Livingstone’s colonial past. The elegant River Club is identified by rolling green lawns, croquet, cucumber sandwiches in The Summer House, and chalets which hang over the rushing waters of the Zambezi named after the soldiers and adventurers who played a significant part in Zambia’s history. It’s all rather like staying in a favourite uncle’s home. I’m in the Cornwallis Harris room, a famous mid-Victorian explorer who was the first to record the Sable antelope and even shipped one back to England.
Toko Leya, further upstream, couldn’t be more different. It’s a secluded wilderness camp of tents and wide wooden decks overlooking the swiftly flowing river, where hippos snort and chuckle all night.
Birding scores me an African finfoot and loads of other water birds, and after the obligatory sunset G&Ts, the sun begins to dip behind the horizon and the Vic Falls prepares for night.
A Pel’s fishing owl screeches, a baboon barks, a robin winds down its evening song, Stars pierce the sky, guinea fowls softly clatter. The moon rises. The smoke that thunders, thunders on.
The next morning I plant a waterberry tree and do my bit for Zambian conservation.

Royal Chundu Lodge lies 80km upstream from the falls, also on the Zambian side, book-ended by rapids. This is where you’ll choose to go when you win the lottery. River Lodge has 10 suites, but I stay in one of only four suites at Island Lodge upstream on a private island. This is luxury supreme, including a candle-lit, perfumed bubble bath waiting for you on your deck when you chug back from the day’s activities.
Here I get more active. Tiger fishing at dawn (lots of bites and a snapped lure), whitewater canoeing (but let me ‘fess up, I wasn’t doing the paddling), mokoro rides (the mokoro or dugout canoe is still the main form of transport for the local fishermen and villagers), a visit to Maluka village (a working village not a tourist trap), birding, back to the island, and then to the boma at the main River Lodge to watch the Makishi dancers – the Zambian National Dancers – perform ancient songs and ritual dances.
Late that night on the boat back to the island, I marvel at the stars blazing in the sky and on their glittering reflections shimmering and trembling on the river’s surface.

But now it’s time to move on – from Zambia and where four countries meet – to the Zambezi Queen, a stately houseboat moored in Namibian waters across from Botswana on the Chobe river.

From the outside the boat looks rather drab and unglamorous. But when you step inside, the understated beauty reveals itself. The top deck with 360º views, shelters armchairs and sofas in creams and browns, nguni cattle rugs, a friendly bar, an elegant dining area, a sun deck and pool. You feel cocooned in unpretentious comfort. The stunning artwork is outside – the wide Chobe river in all its colours and moods. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of your spacious cabin you can watch the rosy dawn give way to bright midday, then, as egrets fly to roost, and the hippos begin to wake up, the first star of the evening glows in the western sky.
If it’s Chobe, then it’s elephants.
The houseboat, skillfully managed and run by Wayne Badenhorst, a former yacht skipper from Cape Town, and his right hand man, Vincent from Namibia’s Impalilo Island, is moored opposite Chobe Game Reserve which is on the Botswana side. Accounts vary, but between 70 000 and 100 000 elephants are said to roam there. We certainly saw hundreds.

One evening, we embark a two-tiered boat for a sunset cruise. In the middle of the river, deep in the channel, a small herd of a dozen elephants are feasting on the long soft river grass. Only their backs and the tops of their heads are visible. It’s a privileged sight.
On the banks of the reserve, elephants come and go– big ones, teenagers, mothers and babies, lone bulls – an endless procession of drinking, dunking, paddling, trumpeting, batheing pachyderms.
Maribou storks stake themselves out in random clumps, water birds of every description forage, wade and hunt, water lilies begin to close up for the night, massive crocs plop into the water from their sandy daytime banks, fish eagles dot the tall riverine trees. The water slaps against the side of the boat in a rhythmic lullaby.
You just can’t beat an African river. 

Finally, from the Zambezi Queen, through another three border posts, my travelling companion Coral and I, enter the bustling little town of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe.

Coral hasn’t been here for 15 years but decides that little has changed. The town, although a bit shabby, is buzzing with tourists, the adventure activity offices are thronged, and visitors still walk safely up and down the main street to the Falls as they have always done.
Our destination is the sumptuous Stanley & Livingstone Hotel set in the Victoria Falls Private Game Reserve, about a 20-minute drive from the Falls. Its lush, manicured gardens which overlook the reserve slope gently down to pristine bush and a busy water hole. Built by an Arab, it is the epitome of late Victorian splendour – gold taps, scores of paintings and pictures covering high walls, tartan carpeting (Queen Victoria loved tartan), brass stair rails, dramatic busts of Stanley and Livingstone, leaded window panes, heavy drapes held back with robust gilded cherubs,, suites much bigger than my cluster house – even the gloomiest of the Tennysons would have felt at home. 
And the Falls? Well, there’s no gainsaying it. The view from the Zimbabwe side is unparalleled. The giant statue of the world’s most famous explorer still stands sentinel at the entrance to the narrow stone walkways which wind between the rain forest and the cliff edges. Flimsy branch fences line the 100m drop to the rushing gorge below and the spray drenches you no matter what rainwear you are wearing. Nothing has changed here for decades. And that is part of its great beauty and charm. The Devil’s Cataract continues to hurtle over the edge, rainbows still dance at Rainbow Gorge, and the spray comes down in sheets at the slippery edge of Danger Point.
At the end of the km-long walkway we watch the bungy jumpers hurling themselves into space from the iconic bridge.
Dr David Livingstone, missionary and explorer, the first European to sight the Falls, who travelled thousands of miles on foot with a handful of servants and porters, who bartered for supplies along the way, with only a couple of guns for protection, might just have felt a little sceptical.

 

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