Zambia
A simple, yet satisfactory rule in choosing a location for a rest break outside Sudan, involves two criteria - (i) availability of decent food and (ii) proximity to water bodies. Any cuisine is fine with me, and any lake, beach, or river is generally suffices. East Africa's beachers are a dream, but it was time to go south. In Zambia, there is the Victoria Falls which I thought shouldn't be too disappointing.
Dr. Livingstone - the first white man to do so - saw the falls in 1855. And after that, wrote up various project proposals for the empire to fund him to come back to Africa repeatedly. I say that there is a simple explanation for that (though at one point, he did propose to find the source of the Nile, but what he was doing down in southern Africa I cannot tell you ...) which is that English scenery does not exactly compete with here.
Suffice it to say that these falls are massive, because there is no way for me to impress upon you their magnitude with words or magnitude. First imagine a plunge which is so vast that its dimensions are irrelevant, and then you have to overlay on that, water crashing along it from an endless source ... pouring with the laws of gravity and with the power of nature. 500. Million. Litres. Water. Per minute.
The plan was to stay close to the falls, so upon arrival in Lusaka, we travelled straight to Livingstone for the week. Vic Falls is on the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, 8km from Livingstone - the closest town. Anyone who can afford a hotel at the falls, has very little to worry about in this mortal life and as that wasn't our case, we stayed in Livingstone. The Zambezi river defines the border - the Falls are symmetric on the border. As we took a morning shuttle to the falls - we drove along the national park that lines the river. The falls are inside the Mosi-oa-Tunya park and which you have to enter to approach the cataract on foot. As you drive, a rumbling sound becomes louder, and above the tree-cover a convincing white smoky mist rises at least a 100 feet and is visible miles away. This is the upspray of the falls.
The park entrance is an unassuming ticket booth. As you walk through and enter the tree cover the paved walkways slowly tip downwards. Apart from the pebbled walk, the environment is natural, and minimally developed. The sound, by now, is a medium roar and resembles water. The first glimpse of the Eastern Cataract appears through the trees, at eye level on your right, within minutes. Your gaze gets sucked into the speed of the water, the white of the foam, the height of the spray, and the depth of the noise. Somehow the flowing water and the thundering noise does not add up. Sight and sound completely pulsates with the life of the plunging river - the farthest right edge of the sheet of water is visible. Continuing down the path which is on the edge of the gorge opposite to the falls ... rental raincoats present themselves, and I took one. If the lip of the falls is where the water runs over, then the opposite edge of the gorge is where the walkway has been built. An ingenious trail.
As the path becomes parallel with the face of the cataract, the raincoat has to be donned ... the viewing ledge gets closer to the water, the volume of water thickens ... February is the perfect time - the days are clear, bright and wonderfully sunny, so getting wet is a treat. The trees are all drenched, and there's a slight drizzle - the sky is still a cheery blue, so the rain seems to come from midair. Through the misty rain, the falls are visible. And simply magnificent. The upspray of water rises as high into the sky as the cataract drops below. Following the pebbled path, the occassional vantage points - railed off with nothing but a wooden fence - gets daringly closer and closer to the ledge. The trees glisten, the path slips, the rain falls, and the falls just stun. My toes curl when I bend over the rail to make out the rocky bottom - a solid white smoky mist blocks my range of sight pretty close up, so I can only see down upto a few metres. Not knowing how far the water falls can be obscurely terrifying. And it promises incredible power.
The ledge ends, and you must go on to the next peninsular gorge to continue walking along the cataract face. The path continues over the Knife-Edge bridge which, if you are standing on it, offers you the comfort of nothing solid - between you and the cataract, is just mist and rain. The foaming foot of the falls is not visible for the mist. There are of course the rainbows in strange corners.
On the next ledge, you enter the 'atmosphere' of the falls. The heavy smoky mist from the water hitting the bottom and rising upwards, envelopes you. You enter into the mist and continue walking on the path - the falls are on your right but you can hardly see them. The sound of the falls next to you is ... utterly complete. There are no other sounds in the universe ... and there are no other sights ... you have the pebbled walk under you, and a notion of the wooden railing nearby ... rain pours, and the sky is not not visible anymore ... you are at one with the mist. No camera can capture the void that you are walking. I sat down on a rock, and took off my raincoat.
The falls are 1.7km wide, and in the wet season there is even more water. Standing at any point in Zambia, it is not possible to see the whole waterfall - from edge to edge it begins in smoke and ends in smoke ... leaving a lot to the imagination. It is not something you can wrap your mind around ... it will overwhelm you, and fill up your entire consciousness. You can step in to the atmosphere of the falls, but you cannot stay long. Shivering, I continued my walk, and emerged from the mist. Unlike inside, the sky was perfectly bright and the sun was still making little rainbows everywhere. I realized that have to find ways to keep coming back here.
Photos http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=wcv2d57.adxtvtzr&x=0&y=ydmd7o
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