| I should have known not to be so smug when we disembarked our
Qantas flight at Harare. But the surprisingly good behaviour of
my two sons on our long flight had lulled me into a false sense
of security. It was fortunate really that we arrived at our hotel
in darkness. I may have run screaming into the night otherwise.
The (by african standards) overworked guy in what could only be
called a reception cubicle was a little befuddled when I asked
for our family room. Apparently in the few months since my booking
our family room had been ‘remodelled’ and metamorphised into two
doubles. For one nanosecond my partner and I considered moving
on, but at precisely that moment number two son promptly vomited
over my duffel bag and four in a bed suddenly seemed kind of tolerable. |
| As I lay on my designated 10.5 centimetres of bed gravitating
in that weird zone between sleep and wakefullness the night was
pierced by the shrieks of a woman as the last hard core patrons
tumbled out of the front bar at some god forsaken hour. In a short
space of time the forecourt (located under our bedroom window
surprise surprise) was filled with hotel management, the hysterical
woman on top note and several policemen. Apparently a fellow reveller
had made off with her hand bag. The debacle lasted about half
an hour and to her credit hysterical woman didn’t say one swear
word. |
| (I was thinking of the kids) Hardly surprisingly when peace
again reigned, number one son let out a feeble ‘Mum, I think I
want to go home.’ So began our month of adventures in Zimbabwe. |
| To recount our whole trip blow by blow would obviously bore
you to a state of rigidity—suffice to make an attempt at recalling
some of our highlights….. |
| First stop Eastern Highlands—Vumba. Oh the unbridled pleasure
of a waiter to guest ratio of 4 to 1. No five star digs here however
just a cool motel in the mountains of seemingly untolled vistas
stretching all the way to Mozambique. No ‘KANGAROOS NEXT 20KM’
signs here, rather more exotic and dangerous urgings to: ‘WATCH
FOR FALLING PYTHONS!’ and ‘LANDMINES—KEEP CLEAR’. |
| On we chugged in our trusty Mazda, dodging baboons, broken down
vehicles and leaving non plussed pedestrians in our wake—on to
Chimanimani! Apart from the fact that I’m paradoxically fit but
lazy, we did little hiking in the hills. It was, after all, shortly
after a record rainy season and the vegetation was thick and impenetrable—apparently.
I was however thrilled to take the opportunity to accompany our
host, a Zimbabwean born woman of anglo origin who kept some ‘stables’
near the village. Now don’t get me wrong, I am an experienced
horsewoman, but borrowing an unknown nag is fraught with danger
at the best of times and here was I at the complete mercy of this
woman, knowing nothing of horse or trail. There is nothing like
the tell tale whistling noise of the air hissing past as frightening
speeds are reached. My trusty steed seemed to have two speeds—fast
and faster. When we weren’t going fast we were of necessity brought
to a more modest pace by the need to negotiate slippery banks
and fjord small streams. Startled villagers were forced to take
evasive action as we left them in our wake. |
| Eventually, some 2 hours later, in a state of complete disorientation
I was a little relieved when we popped out of the undergrowth
and emerged on the other side of the village exhausted but euphoric.
What a bloody fantastic ride! Next point of call was Lake Mutirikwe.
Apparently a cruise around the lake is the thing to do so I duly
booked a dusk cruise and we presented dockside around tea time. |
| The boat was piloted by a likeable fellow who had obviously
been drilled on giving every paying passenger the safety drill
which basically amounted to popping on a non safety standard life
jacket, jumping overboard and trying not to get eaten by hippos.
His right hand man was a young , efficient but expressionless
youth who later we deducted to actually be a female by the name
of Charity… or Faith ...or Hope. The highlight of the trip was
seeing her face come alive with pride when she was allowed to
take the helm for a precious few minutes. As the sun sank over
the still water I could think of few ways more pleasant to spend
an evening. |
| By the time we made Bulawayo we were hitting our straps. It
takes a while to get into the swing of this african thing. I’d
decided to take some guide book advice and hire a guide and vehicle
to do a day trip ‘round Matopos National Park. We weren’t disappointed.
A slim, confident young guy with a tracker beside him took us
on a rhino ride. Yep, we were the rhino spotting kings. We spotted
more white rhino that day than ever before. This young guy took
the kids under his wing, ‘hey, ya wanna ride up front with me?’,
‘hop on my shoulders and you’ll see everything’… It was family
safari heaven. We walked up to within spitting distance of two
rhino with the kids slack jawed and the long hot walk forgotten
in moments. Cool, way cool. |
| Things were fairly cruising by the time we got to Hwange National
Park. A nice drive down that morning, relatively unhassled permit
procedure. Completely fooled we left Main Camp with a toss of
our head and headed across park for Sinamatella Camp. This was
what we had waited for—big game. In a short space of time we were
up close and personal with elephants. It doesn’t matter how many
David Rabbit Burrow doco’s you’ve seen—aint nothing going to prepare
you for the sheer size of an elephant when you’re sitting in a
tinyMazda , neck craned, looking up, up, as several tonnes of
beasts saunters past within a matter of metres. It quickly became
apparent that I was, excuse me, shit-scared of elephants. My dialogue
with car driving partner went a bit like this: ‘Jesus, oh Jesus,
shit , bloody hell Rob, go back, for Christ sake go back will
you!’ This behaviour bordering on complete hysteria caused no
end of mirth for the three accompanying male family members. Elephants,
I soon realised were not the real threat to life and limb. The
real danger was Potholes. Yes, it was soon obvious that park management
don’t find road maintenace a high priority. I’m not talking your
average gravel road, annoying, small jolt causing pothole. These
were in the abyss range of pothole. Huge gaping spaces where bitumen
track used to be (maybe when Cecil Rhodes was a lad—okay slight
exaggeration). Maximum park speed is 40km per hour—baby if you
hit the killer potholes at 40kph you are GONE. In fact the killer
potholes were not just a hazard for us, I’d wager a Zambezi Lager
that the odd elephant or two has tumbled into one never to rise
again. We made Sinamatella—eventually– and the three days spent
there were just fantastic. Cruising around the park we saw the
works, wildebeest, impala, more elephants (!), zebra, giraffe,
hippo, crocs….the lot. But hadn’t seen any big cats. On our last
afternoon we pulled off a track to a small rest area to speak
with a couple of parks guys. These guys always have the word on
where the game is. So I hit ‘em straight up with the big question;
Had they seen any cats? ‘Sure’, they said, ‘a cheetah was here
before’. ‘What’ says I, this morning?’ ‘No, just now, he just
walked past here’ and with that he pointed to a patch of grass,
oh, about 12 feet away. (Keep in mind we are talking no fences
here.) Piling into the car, we turned back onto the track and
idled along, looking, looking….and then literally from nowhere,
as if on cue, out of the tall grass and across the track strode
the magnificence that is a cheetah, wild and free. We were happy—and
for a few moments I was stuck for words. From one amazing place
to another—Victoria Falls is all the tired cliches and overused
adjectives without the tiredness and overuse. Despite the number
of tourists, the Falls remain in all their splendour and they
are, I have to say, completely and utterly stupendous. Coming
to it as we did at peak flow time, the noise the falls make is
deafening. The sheer volume of water awe inspiring. Even my cynical
new age kids were dumbstruck. Lost for words. Blown away. The
looks on their faces will last me a lifetime. In a rather cavalier
fashion we shunned the waterproofs being proffered outside the
entrance and as a result became gratifyingly and wickedly soaked.
Absolutely drenched. And we loved every minute of it. Not even
a close call with a hovering cobra (truly!!) could dampen (pardon
the pun) our spirits, we left tired but exhilarated. |
| So came the end of our travels in Zimbabwe as we continued on
for a short sojourn in Chobe, Botswana before returning for a
second helping of Vic Falls and our return to Harare. But that’s
another story, or two. We had lived our dream. |
|
