After our two wonderful safari venues in Botswana, the last few days of our family safari were in the famous Victoria Falls area of Zimbabwe. That brought back memories for me and Stacy, having gone on our first safari together in 1998 which was entirely in Zimbabwe. At that time Stacy was in the midst of her two-year United States Peace Corps service in Gabon, West Central Africa, so we planned the safari for her “R&R.”
While I was looking for my old printed photos from the 1998 trip, I also came across my travel diary. So reading that has further amplified my memories to describe in this post.
In addition to touring around Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, we stayed in two bountiful safari camps. Lake Kariba and Hwange National Park bookended our visit to Victoria Falls, where we got up-close and personal with the falls in more ways than one. Our transportation from Lake Kariba to Victoria Falls was a small private charter plane. Upon my inquiring about aerial views, our pilot got permission to divert our Cessna directly over the falls to take us on the famous “Flight of Angels,” circling several times over the magnificent and enormous falls as he dipped the wings from side to side. Quite a spectacular experience, with stunning views of the falls, the spraying mist, and the snaking gorges made by the Zambezi River.
Once settled at Victoria Falls Safari Lodge, Stacy and I experienced the impressive mile-long falls from ground level, walking along the rim and stopping at various viewpoints, getting intermittently splashed by ricocheting water, while also being distracted by meandering baboons looking for handouts.
Meanwhile, our travel agent had scheduled a Zambezi River rafting adventure trip for us for the next day, which proceeded below Victoria Falls. Having enjoyably been on other rafting trips, I still had some cautionary concerns so I stopped by the booking office in town for reassurance or possible cancellation. I was assured that the trips were going regularly without issues and the river was flowing with appropriate volume.
The next morning we convened with about two dozen more rafting enthusiasts of varied ages and nationalities, for an orientation and review of all the dangers for which the operators would not be responsible, as we signed our life away on disclaimer documents. We were informed by group leader John Barnes that we could choose to be in a raft where we paddled or were simply passengers while the oarsman guided the raft. However, if we chose to paddle, we would be much more likely to fall out of the raft. As much as I realized that strong competent Stacy would have preferred to paddle, I did not like the paddling odds, which Stacy kindly understood.
Four other Americans grouped themselves with Stacy and me: couple Jonathan and Tara who lived in London, and friends Jewel and Lottie from Texas. John Barnes, a confident muscular African, picked our group to be the passengers in his raft. That was either our best luck of the day, or more likely, according to Stacy, intentionally chosen for appearing older and less fit than others, herself excluded.
Outfitted with wet suit tops, jackets, snugly attached life preservers, and helmets, we tackled our first challenge of the day, walking down from the canyon rim to the rocky river bank 300 meters below. The path was very steep, descending on slippery rocky “steps” with minimal hand-holds. And that’s when I was just 47 years old, way before I had bad knees.
I kept thinking that if the tour operators were sending us down this precipitous and treacherous path, what other dangers might they be leading us into?
John Barnes directed us where to sit in the rubberized raft from which he would wield oars in the middle. He assigned Tara and portly husband Jonathan to the front of the raft, two Texan women behind JB, with Stacy and me in the far back.
John Barnes told us to crouch lower and hold the rope when we crashed through large rapids. And crash we did! I fearfully followed JB instructions to a tee. River waves cascaded over us such that I could not even breathe under them. It was frightening! These were the most intense rapids I had ever experienced, much larger than the relatively large rapids on the Rio Grande River near Santa Fe, New Mexico, where our family had rafted in the past.
Our trip started at rapid #4, a class 5 and was it ever! We were bouncing around while holding on for dear life.
And the rapids just kept on coming. We viewed crocodiles sunning on the banks of the Zambezi River, and they were not what scared me most about the journey.
Was I ever frightened after the first few rapids. I lost track as to which numbered rapid or which class. All I wanted to do was to hang on. Thankfully, John Barnes had unbelievably great control of the raft, while all the others were flipping, especially the paddling rafts. One guy that we rescued from another raft was totally freaked from being sucked down in the swirling water.
Meanwhile, Jewel kept up an annoying constant stream of wise-cracking and verbiage, perhaps from nervousness. Despite my typically verbal inclination, I was relatively quiet, too scared to talk. I just shut up and followed John Barnes’ hopefully life-saving directions. This trip was not for the faint of heart!
About the 3rd big rapid, jaw-flapping Jewel flipped out of our raft but managed to hold on to the rope. Desperately yelling for help, she was eventually fished back in by John Barnes. But while frightened and flailing, Jewel had badly banged her ankle on a rock. Not so chatty anymore, she was in a lot of pain, made worse each time we went through another rapid section.
As we charged down the river, John Barnes announced the disconcerting name of each upcoming rapid, such as Devil’s Toilet Bowl and the Muncher. In the back of the raft amidst rushing rumbling waters, I could hardly hear him or understand his accented English, as he described each rapid, ending with his cheerful declaration, “Leave it to me! Hoo-ha!” But having felt nearly drowned in the raft several times, all I really wanted to know was how many rapids were left before we landed for the lunch break. Yet I was too afraid to ask, fearing an unfavorable response. I just kept saying the instructions to myself over and over, squat, keep down, and hold on for dear life.
We even had to portage around rapid #9, named Commercial Suicide, a terrifying class 6, which was no easy task on slippery rocks, as John Barnes piggy-backed injured Jewel. After rapid #10 (which I fortunately did not know was called Commercial Suicide), I was greatly relieved to see rafts being dragged onto a beach head. Hallelujah! At lunch I found out that we were the only raft that had not capsized. With a likely broken ankle, Jewel was lashed onto a wooden board and carted out of the gorge. Most of the other rafters also left after lunch, opting not to finish the river trip. I would have left too, but John Barnes assured me that the worst was over. So I figured if we made it this far, I might as well finish the entire trip and secure my “red badge of rafting courage.” And as promised, rapids 11 to 18 after lunch, despite names such as the Terminator and Oblivion, were thankfully not as scary as the earlier ones. Of course, we fully credit our savior John Barnes for our river survival.
But we still had one last challenge: getting out of the gorge, by first climbing over steep slippery rocks to the “trail/ladder” of even steeper logs and rocks, a very long haul uphill.
Fit Stacy was among the first to nimbly reach the rim. Slow and steady, I also managed the rigorous climb. We were delighted to drink the celebratory beers atop the rim of the gorge, and gaze at the beautiful and less frightening faraway view of the river and falls below.
However, when overweight Jonathan was having heart palpitations and couldn’t handle the climb, John Barnes brought him out by piggy back!
Only after the raft ride did I naively learn that the Zambezi River is renowned for its powerful whitewater rapids, with sections classified as Grade 3-5, and even some areas considered Grade 6, making it a challenging and thrilling destination for whitewater rafting. Apparently, I didn’t read the fine print in the tourist brochure.
So I lived to tell the tale, but suffice to say, I would never ever go Zambezi whitewater rafting again! Fortunately, that activity was not on our family safari visit to Victoria Falls. We had lots more mellow but delightful activities in the area.
We took private ground transportation from the northeastern corner of Botswana to cross the border into nearby Zimbabwe to arrive at our final safari camp.
On the way, our driver told us about tourist activities in the Victoria Falls area. When Cooper heard cheetah encounter, he was hooked, and his parents felt compelled to comply. We had yet to see a cheetah in the wild, although the cheetah has been Cooper’s favorite wild animal for quite some time. At 5 years old, Cooper was already drawing cheetahs, even a pregnant cheetah mother with her unborn baby visible.
We were booked at another fabulous luxury safari venue, the Old Drift Lodge, located in Zambezi National Park overlooking the Zambezi River, the calm part before the falls.
The lodge decor, interior common spaces, patios and our tented suites, were all warm and inviting.
That afternoon we had our first Zambezi River safari with guide Richard, complete with snacks and sundowner beverages. In the photogenic light of the setting sun, we saw hippos and crocodiles along the river banks. This wide lazy river was curiously the same body of water that further downstream thunderously cascades over a cliff, famously known as Victoria Falls.
As at our other safari lodges, we were well-fed delicious meals with local specialty selections. Nana had exotic warthog steak for dinner, even though Nana would never order pork under normal circumstances. Well, when in Africa …
Waking early, we were greeted at the lodge by the orange glow of sunrise over the Zambezi River.
The Fiji parents made Cooper’s dreams come true, booking an early morning visit to the cheetah experience, where Cooper met and walked with cheetahs. They returned with delighted descriptions and photos of the up-close and personal interactions with cheetahs. We were all glad to learn that the attraction involves a productive breeding and educational program. Cooper was in seventh heaven, well worth the expensive price, which does support a worthy mission.
There was still time in the morning for another family boat safari, filled with lots more hippo and croc sightings. Nana highly preferred this calm and relaxing type of Zambezi River experience to river rafting the life-threatening rapids. However, Stacy still thought we were almost too close to a crocodile when I asked her to face me for a photo op with sunning croc in the background. Fortunately, no body parts were endangered.
This day just kept getting better with a special lunch with a view at Lookout Cafe. Nana couldn’t resist the crocodile kebabs, and checking out the gift shop where she found a cheetah T-shirt for Cooper. He approved!
After lunch, the piece de resistance: a comprehensive viewing experience of Victoria Falls along the rainforest walk, providing various vantage points of the falls, complete with rainbows and misty showers. The scariest part this time was climbing slippery rocks for photo ops with the best falls background. Nana and Papa declined but Nana photographed the Fiji trio for posterity.
At Old Drift Lodge dinner our family was invited to a special riverside, sunset setting, to once more celebrate Nana and Papa’s recent 53rd anniversary
The last morning we enjoyed the lodge’s breakfast and facilities, including more chess for Cooper and his dad.
We said goodbye to Zimbabwe, departing the Old Drift Lodge and Zambezi National Park, on our way to the Victoria Falls airport. Locals dressed in native costume memorably performed for departing visitors, in which Cooper enthusiastically participated.
Our family group traveled together to Johannesburg airport, where there was admittedly a crush of passengers to clear passport control. But we fortunately were admitted to South Africa in time to retrieve our luggage, both airline checked and the pieces stored for the safari duration, and check in for our separate international flights. Meanwhile, Nana and Papa’s flights had been delayed and re-booked just that morning, creating another layer of hassle, but that’s another long story.
We separated with lots of hugs and kisses, knowing we had shared a trip of a lifetime to be filed in our most fond memories of family experience. Nana especially hoped that grandson Cooper will always remember his first African safari with his grandparents and parents.
And there was one last hurdle to end the Fiji family’s Africa trip: the very long and tiring journey home.
