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Date: July 25, 2004
If I were Lance Armstrong the first thing I would
say on the podium today is, “And, I only have half the balls
you do.” Armstrong has won the Tour du France three times
since I began my tour du monde. Perhaps he is ready to try a different
country like, Zambia.
I arrived at the second biggest tourist trap in Africa,
“The adventure capitol of Zambia”, one of the Seven
Wonders of the World, a World Heritage site, Mosi-oa-Tunya or Shungu
Namutitima (The Smoke that Thunders) -- Victoria Falls. All the
helicopters and planes circling the Falls reminded me of Ayers rock,
which reminded me of an orange cow pie swarmed in flies. The falls
are 1.7 kilometers wide and 9 million liters of water cascade down
100 meters drop, smashing into a rock wall before being funneled
through a narrow gorge. Plumes of vapor blow up the cliff side,
like smoke from a bush fire, an upside-down rain. Standing on the
viewing platforms was like viewing the falls from the inside: if
the rain didn’t get me going up, or swirling around, it got
me coming back down; and, the brilliant sun and clouds of vapor
made it difficult to see anything. Vibrant double rainbows were
behind and in front of people sending my depth perception as whacky
as my flip-flops on the slimy rocks.
Bicycling alone for eight hours a day, I have developed
the patience of an African waiting for the bus and often get stuck
daydreaming or pondering such things as the quantity of hippos and
crocs that get sucked over the falls (somehow they had gone from
the top to the bottom). Meanwhile, my Swedish friends du jour, who
are traveling by truck at ten times my speed, would grow bored and
disappear. The experience that is foremost in my mind is walking
down a gorge to see a giant whirlpool named, the Boiling Pot. We
trudged down a slope that alternated between stairs, mud and rockslides;
from a savannah into a rainforest created from the mist with vines
as thick as my legs. At the riverfront, I crept along the rocks,
swirling water rose and fell around my ankles, so that I could peer
between the walls of the canyon. Victoria falls rose majestically
towards the sky, a 100 meter wall of foaming water like a standing
tidal wave.
This side of Lusaka is more civilized, if square
buildings made of cement brick and tin roofs are more civilized
than round huts of mud brick and thatch roofs. Everyday several
overland trucks arrive “absolutely, fantastically chockers”
with English, contributing to Livingstone being the most developed
city I have seen in months, again, that is if having satellite television
tuned to cricket, and a restaurant serving beans on toast is civilized.
(African food is the worst in the world. Africans mash their food
together with their hands like children as if for fun. Likewise,
English food is hardly an improvement, and I theorize that they
eat with an upside-down fork in the left hand to distract their
taste buds.)
Tomorrow I will go to Zimbabwe to see the other 1.2
kilometers of the falls. Zim used to be one the most developed and
civilized countries. Now everyone, especially the overland tours,
avoid Zim, which is the exact reason I am going. The old salts have
told me it is still a good country and I theorize: A) the people
don’t change overnight and that people are fundamentally good,
B) the locals have to be eating something, C) I don’t need
any modern amenities like, petrol, D) The people’s grievance
is with the government and ex-pats, not a foreigner E) they will
be happy to see a tourist return. However others say they locals
are becoming desperate, as one woman said, “They won’t
hesitate to liberate you of a few things to feed their family, and
can you blame them?”
I thought, “‘Liberate?’ You mean
‘rob’, you bleeding-heart liberal. And, yes, I do blame
them. It is wrong and if they have a problem they should impeach
their government or, at least, plant a garden.” But I just
grunted, some people are just lost causes.
Well, I am stocking up on things like peanut butter
and bread (even in Zam, the power went out and the supermarket shut
down; soon after the power was restored a chaotic crowd of people
purchased every loaf of bread). Perhaps, I will get robbed in Zim.
As long as they don’t injure me, I am not sure I will care;
often I think the joke will be on them and I’ll walk to Cape
Town.
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