Zambia

Zambia: The border crossing

We came across the border from the Botswana town of Kazungula. The Botswana customs were on one side of the Zambezi and the Zambian customs on the other, no-mans land being a ferry ride between the two.

With the rainy season well under way, Zambia was impressively rich with greenery which contrasted with the bright orange soil. The first noticeable difference between Zambia and Botswana was the roads! Pot holes would be better described as small craters which made for an interesting ride to the pick up point to Jungle Junction

Jungle Junction

'Like no place you've ever been' announced the fairy sitting on a toadstool - the Jungle Junction advertising poster. And it turned out to be one of those rare occasions when the hype lived up to the reality.

We were taken to a little village of no more than fifteen huts and Rondavels on the banks of the Zambezi and introduced to the guys who would be poling us, in Mokoro's, (dug-outs) across to the island. The dug-outs were original hand crafted vessels and the feeling of instability as we moved across the fast flowing water, for me still dressed in moto-x kit, was a little unnerving. Swimming I don't mind, all our kit was in waterproof bags but the Alpinestar boots would make for a hair-raising doggy paddle. The polers gave me knowing grins, well accustomed and openly amused by my apprehensive behaviour. Lucy sat in another Mokoro behind us looking a little more relaxed - having sensibly changed into her shorts and flip-flops!

The island on which Jungle Junction is found is sub-tropical and so covered in dense forest. As we approached, we saw the woven sides of bamboo huts peeking out from the low hanging vegetation. The poler beached us in a small clearing and we made our way through the vale of palm branches into the hub of the JJ leisure area. All the building on the island is undertaken by the local villagers - the accommodation, the bar, kitchen, showers and toilets are all thatched-roofed with bamboo sides. Tom introduced himself and took us off on a brief tour, ducking and weaving as he lead us through the labyrinth of rat-runs that cut through the undergrowth connecting the different sections of the island.

Our hut was on a bank facing onto a shaded stretch of the Zambezi, with its own hammock swinging over the water's edge. As we sat on the end of our mosi-net draped bed looking out on our private view of the river, a small monkey plonked himself on a low branch in front of us. He tucked into a piece of freshly fallen fruit and then hurried off into the branches to find his next course.

We took a stroll round the island and discovered hidden huts and isolated hammocks at the end of each path - obviously Jungle Junction was built for pure relaxation! Fortunately the island is only a few hundred metres long, keep walking and you'll find a landmark eventually - otherwise it would have been very easy to get lost in the tangle of small, overgrown pathways. Before long we found ourselves, needless to say, in the bar - a thatched open-sided structure with a similar hut adjacent to it providing a dining room and a smouldering camp-fire between the two. This was to be the setting for Christmas and New Year and a finer location we couldn't have found.

Our time here was spent swinging in hammocks, lazing in the 'swimming pool' (a small section of the river fenced off from the more harmful occupants of the Zambezi) and propping up the bar wearing the most ridiculous headgear the staff could muster. A finer selection of ludicrous hats you will not find in Africa.

I was feeling a little homesick as this was my first ever Christmas away from home, it needed to be good, a memorable occasion, and I wasn't disappointed. We left Jungle Junction with a true lifetime memory, an unforgettable experience forged with unforgettable friends, both staff and guests that we both sincerely hope to meet again.

Livingstone

Back to the real world! We finally left the island a couple of days after New Year. A final farewell dinner with friends turned out not to be the last - one island occupant after another went down with malaria, including Goose! Fortunately the Larium we are taking reduces the symptoms and with the right medication, he was almost fully recovered after only a week.

While Goose took it easy I went off for a whitewater-rafting trip down the Zambezi. This was one of those compulsory sport activities - "you haven't seen the Falls properly if you haven't gone rafting!" - and also one of the more nerve-racking and exciting experiences of my life! The gorge down from Victoria Falls is certainly dramatic - over 700m high, made of a dark grey rock and covered with a rich, green vegetation which hangs down from the jutting cliff edges. We caught a glimpse of the falls as we set off down rapid number one but once round the first bend in the river, the high walls of the gorge obscured any view.

Our day's rafting took us over 21 rapids, all bubbling viscously with waves up to 10ft high and dips and whirls pools that left your stomach behind. Each rapid had a name that was meant to give you some idea of what to expect - and with names like "Stairway to Heaven", "The Washing Machine" and "Overland Truck Eater", not much is left to the imagination! At the end of the day, feeling bruised, battered and with aching limbs we parked the rafts up on a small beach with a sense of achievement and a sigh of relief - until I realised that we still had to climb the 700m out of the gorge!!

Lusaka

We set off early on the Sunday morning to avoid the heat of the day. The sun had only just come up and actually there was still a bit of a chill in the air. But the road from Livingstone to Lusaka was already filling up with people walking or cycling to church all dressed in their Sunday best.

Lusaka, we had been told, had a high rate of car crime so we left the bike at our B&B and walked the 2km into the centre. It was the first major town on our journey so far where we went for the whole day without seeing a white face - which gave it a distinctly African (as opposed to colonial) feel. Since it offered no real tourist attractions, our main reason for being there was to organise a visa for Mozambique - we had decided, after much thought and news-gathering, to ride across Zimbabwe.

While walking through the city, waiting for our visas to be processed, the street ahead suddenly became crowded. People were shouting and running - although everyone seemed fairly relaxed about it! It was unclear if a riot or a street party was about to begin! We went into the tourist office and asked a woman there what was going on. She told us that the President had just announced that all women must wear skirts. As a result a group of men were running round the city centre booing at any women wearing trousers!! We saw a couple of bemused women standing in a doorway while a group of men rushed past shouting. Then suddenly it was all over as quickly as it had begun.

Maybe Zimbabwe wouldn't be so bad after all!

Photographs

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