Botswana & Zimbabwe Part 1

2 – 16 September
(Including Zimbabwe 7- 8 September)

Pula Please
The border crossing was quick and painless, taking no more than 20 minutes of smiling and helpful bureaucracy. Heading southeast on a good tar surface and in desperate need of pula (the Botswana currency) we stopped at the first town we came to, hoping to find an ATM that would accept our card. The area around the bank’s ATM was crowded, it was the only ATM in town and brand new; so new that bank officials were patiently taking excited clients through the process of using it, one after the other. We waited our turn and much to our relief pula bank notes came out of the hole in the wall. Glory be, money at last! 
The Veterinary Fence
Our next stop was at the ‘Veterinary Fence’. First begun some 50 years ago to control bovine foot and mouth disease (and secure beef exports to the EU), this effective but draconian measure provided a cordon sanitaire around the vast cattle ranching areas and disrupted the movement not only of subsistence farming livestock but also Botswana’s game. A boon for meat exports, as the system of fencing extended inexorably it became a well documented disaster for migrating game; hundreds of thousands, unable to reach their traditional dry season feeding grounds, died of thirst or starvation as they reached the fence. Never again would there be the magnificent sight of the mass migration, often in excess of a quarter of a million, of wildebeest across the Kalahari plains. For road travellers, reaching the fence had a less catastrophic impact; Boris went through a disinfectant filled trough and, whilst we cleaned the soles of all our footwear, worn or not, on a disinfectant mat, an official went through the contents of our fridge to ensure we had no uncooked ‘red’ meat.
Tsodilo Hills
Soon after the fence and at an impressively large sign for ‘Tsodilo Hills-World Heritage Site’, we turned off the main road onto a wide, blindingly white and dusty piste heading out into the Kalahari. Tsodilo Hills, a small isolated cluster of hills rising from the flat, parchment dry skin of the Kalahari Desert were a monument to a past age of innocence of the San hunter gatherer, the Bushman, for whom these dramatic 1300’ high rocky outcrops had such mystical and cultural significance that they were, quite literally, the centre of his universe. There are three main hills, Male, Female and Child; the San believe that the hills are home to the spirits of the dead and that the caves in the Female Hill are inhabited by gods who rule the world. As a result the hills house a rich library of rock art with some 4,000 paintings scattered around the rock faces.

 Male Hill and smoke haze, Female Hill left rear.Tsodilo Hills 

The hills have been occupied by man in one form or another for at least 30,000 years, lending credence to the claim for it being one of the oldest such sites in world. This, allied to Tsodilo Hills cultural and spiritual significance without parallel in the region if not the continent, led to the area being given UNESCO World Heritage site status in 2001. Despite all this the Tsodilo Hills are underwhelmed with visitors; with insignificant numbers of game and a location that is isolated, they are off the ‘here today and gone tomorrow’ compass of game seeking tourism. 
Female Hill
For our first night we stayed at the deserted Park Headquarters campsite and where the next morning we met up with our guide KT ...no, not John!.. and spent the morning exploring the Female Hill. 

 Enroute to the San rock art,Tsodilo Hills 

It had the highest concentration of accessible rock paintings; the age of the rock paintings varies from a few hundred to tens of thousands of years old and in the main they depict animals, such as rhino, giraffe, eland, zebra and elephant, and geometric patterns.

  (Left: Giraffe, Right: Detail rhino panel, logo of Botswana Society)
 Geometric Design 

KT was a fount of knowledge, describing the significance of the paintings as we came to them and, as we walked, introducing us to San folklore; that anyone who hunts or causes death in the hills will suffer a terrible misfortune at the behest of the gods; that, for the safety of her baby, a pregnant woman must never set eyes on a leopard, but for those going hunting seeing a leopard was a guarantee of success. And, as we passed them, he would point out plants, shrubs and trees and explain how they were used by Bushmen for medicines, tools, food and so on. It was a tour de force and absolutely fascinating.

 Liz & KT on a crag,Female Hill,Tsodilo Hills 

The walk involved a fair bit of scrambling to various viewpoints; the only disappointment was that, having made the viewpoint, a haze of smoke from the ‘controlled’ burning of yet more savannah reduced the visibility dramatically. Fortunately, Liz’s ‘gorilla knee’ didn’t play up too much and she survived the morning’s tour and was happy to go on a much shorter one that afternoon. 
Visit to a Sacred Cave
This time KT was going to show us the way to our home for the night, the isolated and little used Malatso campsite. There was really only room for one vehicle at the site which, shaded by a thorn tree, had absolutely no facilities and was very much a ‘bush campsite’. It was in the most magical position at the base of the Female Hill, several miles from the Park Headquarters, and could only be reached by a 4x4. The track there would take us past a sacred cave in the side of the Female Hill that always contained water, no matter how long the drought, and was home to a giant horned serpent; KT had suggested we visit it en route to the campsite, in part to ensure we had sought ‘permission’ from the serpent to stay at the campsite and were thus assured of a peaceful night. 

 Cave and lair of the guardian serpent god,Female Hill,TsodiloHills 

We all squeezed into the front of Boris and, after 5 minutes of ploughing through deep sand, KT brought us to a halt and we began scrambling up the steep side of Female Hill. Puffing and panting behind KT, we came to an outcrop of rock beyond which was the sacred cave. KT motioned for us to stay where we were; he walked forward, selecting a small stone as he went, and then began rubbing the stone on the rocky outcrop, chanting as he did so. As he stopped chanting, the stone was raised above his head and then tossed into the, as yet unseen, cave entrance. With the serpent placated we were beckoned forward; standing beside KT we stared down at the entrance to a cave that sank, like a well, vertically into the hill. The water was about 10 feet below us, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight and looking a rather nasty brown colour.
Bushmen around our Fire

 Thorn tree and setting sun,Malatso Campsite Tsodilo Hills 

It was such a very special night; just us, the stars and the Female Hill, towering behind us silver-grey in the moonlight. We felt deeply privileged to be there; becoming immersed in the San culture, imagining Bushmen sitting around our fire and then leaving us to begin a trance dance and so pass to the spirit world. Shadows began to move and the night time noises of the bush took on a human aspect; branches in the thorn tree groaned and the embers of the fire glowed bright orange as the wind picked up. Yes, it was a very special night.Leopard or Not
The 4 September we got up early to ensure we had time for a walk before we left for Maun. Despite the sun, it was still chilly when we came to an area of the Female Hill we had not seen the previous day and were surprised, after clambering over rocks, to discover a huge, wide scrub filled depression seemingly in the heart, or belly, of the hill. We descended to explore further coming across yet more rock paintings, then, breaking the deep silence around us, we heard a noise that sounded very much like the cough of a leopard! Liz climbed to the top of some rocks to see if she could see anything, not being pregnant we assumed this would be acceptable to the gods, but she saw nothing. Reluctantly we retraced our route back to Boris and left this enchanting and very spiritual place; to quote Laurens van der Post, this, ‘great fortress of living bushman culture’.

 Now where's that leopard! Female Hill,Tsodilo Hills 

Maun
We travelled most of the rest of the day through desperately overgrazed savannah, down roads lined with mopane trees and acacia covered in yellow and white blossom before arriving in Maun, the ‘safari capital’ of Botswana.

 Cattle shelter under flowering Acacia tree,enroute Maun 

There followed a depressing visit to the National Parks Office, where we were told that every campsite in every park in Botswana was fully booked and that they were now taking bookings for 2009! We retired to the ‘campsite’ at Riley’s Hotel; it was expensive for what it was, nothing more than a noisy, large, empty car park, but the ablution block had copious quantities of hot water so the 10 day back log of washing was soon hanging on a line hung between Boris and a nearby tree. The next day we restocked the fridge and food box, skyped every member of the family we could get hold of and then, over a cup of tea, agreed between us to ignore the ‘fully booked’ statement, determining to ask what was available at the various park gates as we came to them. We couldn’t turn back now!To KasaneBy nine o’clock the following morning we had left Maun and embarked on what would be a full day’s journey (and boring slog!) to the town of Kasane. Kasane, 380 miles away in the far north east of Botswana, was close Zimbabwean side of the Victoria Falls and the logical start point for a visit to the jewel in the crown of the Botswana Chobe National Park, the Chobe Riverfront. It was as we translated the cost of filling up Boris into sterling that we realised that, for the first time since arriving in Africa, fuel here cost about the same as in England. Factor in the exorbitant cost of the national parks and Botswana was going to be eye wateringly expensive!

On this boring journey we rediscovered the joys of listening to our iPods. (Note from Liz : This was the best farewell pressie you could have given your mother, thank you!). Having one each was a boon; Liz, much more the discerning iPodder and listening to spoken books and classical music was relieved to be able to ignore Peter’s generally awful and eclectic musical taste ranging from John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters, through Dean Martin, Dire Straits and The Dubliners to Maria Callas and Beniamino Gigli!

Our calm, if rather insular, iPod worlds were rudely shattered when we joined a road that was the main arterial route between Zambia and South Africa. Bang, wallop, bang-bang!! The tar surface was pitted with mine shaft like potholes. Swerving to avoiding them was often next to impossible as the road was chock-a-block full with huge trucks driven by maniacs for whom speed was the drug of choice. Fortunately for Boris’s navigator, driver and suspension, the road improved as we drew close to Kasane and the Toro Safari Lodge. The lodge was one of many in the Kasane area; importantly for us it had a campsite and was on the outskirts of Kasane closest to the Zimbabwean border.
Zimbabwe 7-8 September
An Ageing HippieWhilst in Namibia, at the hotel in Outjo and again in Etosha, we had come across a charming, self employed German taking a small group of assorted Austrian ladies around Namibia. He was in his late 60’s, lived in Johannesburg and was called Harry; he had slightly roguish air given substance by having spent the 1960’s in India and Goa and then time in Spain selling ice creams on the beaches there, before taking up bull fighting! This ageing hippy warmed to us and liked to spend time over a lager or two letting off steam about the Austrians in his charge. As an old Africa hand, he loved Africa in its unsanitised form and found it particularly galling in Etosha that his ladies spent most of the evening getting ready for dinner, rather than at the water hole. He came close to apoplexy when the leader of the group, one particularly precious individual, demanded he pay more attention to the danger of an animal attack by not joining other vehicles, ‘too close to water holes’ and ensuring that the windows of his VW van were, ‘closed at all times’!

Harry had also taken clients to the town of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. He had urged us, when in Kasane to go to Zimbabwe, visit Victoria Falls and see the falls in the dry season. Harry said the views from the Zimbabwean side were the best, by far, and particularly so at that time of the year when it would be possible to get close up to the falls without a cloud of spray obscuring the view and soaking us. When we queried the safety of a visit, Harry said that a short visit to the falls would be no problem; the Zimbabwe people, despite everything, would be welcoming and there was a steady trickle of tourists visiting the falls without any problems.Border Crossing 
We had altered our plans accordingly and so left Kasane on 7 September, heading for the quiet Zimbabwean border post only 10 minutes away. Entering Zimbabwe for only 48 hours turned out to be a most expensive crossing. Paying in pula, to avoid having to use the hyper-inflated local currency, we had to pay for visas, entry tax and a month’s car insurance. The officials were very courteous and never hinted at the official bias against Britain; one, a cheerful, chatty soul, did obliquely mention the current internal ’problems’; in this context we took a reference to a ‘hope that things change for the better’ as Zimbabwe after Mugabe.

The road from the border post, the only road, passed through the Zambezi National Park on its way to Victoria Falls and was devoid of traffic, a consequence of the almost total lack of fuel in Zimbabwe, leaving it free for large herds of elephant to cross with impunity and head for the river. Everywhere were the signs of the scale of this transit; piles of dung covered the road, whilst well trodden paths led the way through a mopane forest teetering on the verge of total destruction by hungry elephant. 
Victoria Falls
Once in the town of Victoria Falls we checked in at the Spray View Hotel; recommended by Harry it was quite some distance from the falls and could only have possibly lived up to its name were rains of Biblical proportions to have taken place in the weeks preceding our arrival! It was a little outdated and the hotel was showing all the signs of the effects of the implosion of the economy and tourist industry. We were two of only five guests staying at a hotel with over 50 chalet style apartments; everywhere was the need for maintenance refurbishing and redecorating. The price, in dollars, asked for the room was ridiculously high; we offered to pay half the price. Instead of this being the start of a round of bargaining, our offer was accepted with alacrity; better some dollars in the pocket than none at all.
The Falls
By now it was nearing midday, so we wasted no time and left in Boris to go and see the falls. Driving through the town and expecting the worst, we were surprised at, on the surface, how close to normal everything seemed to us, the casual observers; shops, largely tourist shops, open but few people shopping, cars parked on the roadside but few being actually driven, and tourist coaches but few in number and most coming from the Zambian side. A truer picture was painted at the parking area opposite the entrance to the Victoria Falls NP; here were stall holders and street vendors in rags and without shoes, desperate ...absolutely, terrifyingly, heartbreakingly desperate... to sell something, anything at any price. A few were lucky, but buying from them acted as a magnet for the rest and the crush became so noisy and so claustrophobic, we had no option but to cut and run; making a beeline for the park gates.

 'Dr Livingstone, I presume'.Livingstone statue, Victoria Falls NP 

Inside we followed a path to the impressive statue of a certain Dr Livingstone, ‘Explorer, Missionary and Liberator’, that overlooked the spray laden line of the canyon into which the falls plunged in a spectacular curtain of turbulent, writhing white water. The falls are over a mile long, about 800’ high and the water cascades, not over one continuous fall, but over a series of five smaller falls.

 Canyon View,Victoria Falls NP 

 Cautiously looking down at the Devil's Cataract & note the top of the range safety fencing! 

The first, and only yards from Livingstone’s booted feet, was the Devil’s Cataract and near which, sitting on a bench, we ate our picnic sharing the good Doctor’s view of the falls. That afternoon we wandered along a path that took us to the side of the canyon opposite the line of the falls.

 View along the canyon,showing Devil's Cataract entering bottom left 

 Jumping for joy at seeing more top of the range safety fencing! 

This path and its length, enabling the viewer to pass in front of all five falls, made the Zimbabwean view of the falls so much more spectacular than the much, much shorter canyon on the Zambian side. Added to which, closer to the Zambian side, the falls in the dry season...well they just don’t! Thank you Harry, you were so right!

 Spray rainbow from falls near Livingstone Island 

  Left: Less than impressive falls on the Zambian side; Right: Liz with the Zambia falls behind 

A Bungee Jump
Returning to the park gates brought us to a point high above the Zambezi River and a distant view of the bridge from which mad individuals were bungee jumping; some in silence, others uttering a blood curdling scream as they hurtled towards the river below!

  Victoria Falls bridge,spot the bungee jumper! 

What an idiotic thing to do... who in their right mind... well, as it turned out Peter was also ‘of an unsound mind’. We won’t dwell on the discussion that preceded the jump, suffice to say Liz was not amused and did not agree that it was a great way to celebrate Peter’s upcoming 60 birthday! Bundled up with cord and his ankles strapped together, Peter shuffled towards the edge of the 340’ drop to the Zambezi below... if a picture is worth a thousand words, here are a paragraph or two....
  

The jump over and Peter back on the top of the bridge, it was clear all was not well with our ‘idiot’ who was white faced, wobbly kneed and clammy to the touch! It transpired that after the jump and as he was on the first rebound, Peter’s (unnecessary) attempt to avoid the slack cord snaking towards him had only initiated a rapid spiralling motion .... for what seemed ages he then hung at the end of the rope spinning round and round, increasingly suffering from an overdose of motion sickness amplified by the adrenalin rush. Throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening, as Peter continued to suffer bouts of nausea, sympathy was almost as rare as hen’s teeth ... !!Spray View Hotel
Back at the hotel and Peter lying down in a darkened room, Liz spent time talking to the receptionist, who went by the memorable name of Phone, discussing the reality of living in Zimbabwe; it was just so very depressing and so much worse away from the area we were in, particularly in the countryside. With Peter feeling better after a good night’s sleep, we sat on a large terrace with over twenty tables laid for breakfast, how tragic it all was, and the lovely, smiling staff waiting for our order, how marvellous they all were. Breakfast reflected the circumstances, consisting of a small plate of savoury mince and tea but no milk. We really felt for these charming and noble people who were trying so hard not to let their personal standards slip despite the dire straits, personal and professional, they were suffering.

From our route back to the border we got a foretaste of what awaited us in dry season Chobe, a wonderful sight of probably a hundred or more elephants in the distance making their way across the floodplain and down to the river—marvellous!