Off the Couch and On the Road

I don’t think many have asked why the grass is greener on the other side, or understood that unique human ability to want what we don’t have.

Probably they just crossed a wooden bridge, looked back over to the hillside they walked from, pushed their spectacles higher up the bridge of their nose, nodded and mumbled, ‘Yes, yes. Definitely greener. Must write that down.’

The greener pastures complex is, I think, at it’s most defining moment when you’re overseas and alone, in countries where you can’t wander aimlessly down the street or hang out in a coffee shop, and where you have nothing but time to sit and think about the hillside on the other side of the bridge. It is interesting to note the things one does miss at this time (barring the obvious family and friends) – the once neglected car? Job interviews and suits? Washing and vacuuming? Cash machines and paved roads? Clean feet, like, all the time? Insane.

I have realised  it’s not a long term dilemma, usually the appearance of some newfound friends, being amongst hoards of tourists, an episode of CSI or emails from home eases the ache to fly home and start cleaning the bathroom. And then there are the moments you pinch yourself and find it amazing that you are seeing the very best of the world that is privileged to so few.

I have often replied to the question, ‘so why are you travelling overseas?’ with a wink and a wry, ‘Oh, it’s cheaper than therapy.’ But perhaps I should replace that with, ‘Well, there was a wooden bridge I decided to cross…’

Yes, yes. Definitely greener. Must write that down.

-Sarah

Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe was quite a strange place to visit – like a modern town that had suddenly vanished, leaving the empty shells of shopfronts, tiled pavements and streetside statues as a bleak reminder of what it had once been.

And ‘once’ must not have been that long ago – menus were still full of choices that weren’t available, shopkeepers still trying to stay in business – but their friendly greetings and apologies were full of the knowledge that they couldn’t help us with their empty shelves and bare coathangers, as much as we wanted to help them.

It was quite sad, and real, and there was hope that an upcoming election may change things, but most likely not. We ate at the hotel I was staying in post-tour, and had drinks down at the backpacker hostel, who could both afford to import food and drinks, though when walking at night we had to keep an eye out for wild elephants, apparently. I didn’t quite believe our tour leader when he said this, but considering both my close encounters with elephants on this trip have been terrifying, I thought best to lean toward caution.

The night after our tour officially ended, we made our way down to the river for a restaurant buffet meal and a performance of African music and dancing, which was beautiful, and relaxed with some wine (at $1.50 a bottle. A bottle. I thought it important enough to mention) before someone exclaimed that a hippo had made it’s way onto the lawn of the hotel and was munching away at the grass, minding it’s own business. It was huge, massive, and was apparently a regular visitor to the restaurant. We all mumbled about having had to pay money for the past month on cruises and hippo walks where we barely saw the animals, and here was a full-grown hippo out of the water, at the place we were spending $8 on dinner. Also, after seeing two buffalo in the Masai Mara, worthy of a dozen shots, we ran into a whole herd on the road back to our hotel. Typical.

I had a week in Zimbabwe after the tour ended, luckily with a few others that were staying a day or two longer as well, and spent my time on the internet, swimming, sunbaking and reading, until everyone else had left, and I was on my own bored senseless awaiting my flight to Cairo.

Which meant, of course, that I won Big Brother. Right?

‘Yes! You won, congratulations!’ a ‘housemate’ said to me as he left for the airport. I did always wonder what it felt like to be the last one in the house…

-Sarah

The following morning, everyone packed up the tents, with half the group leaving in the truck to cross the border into Zimbabwe and the rest of us staying behind to see Livingstone Island and the falls that afternoon.

We were told of the the political situation in Zimbabwe – the shop shelves were empty and people were crossing the border to get food – so we stocked up on essentials (read: alcohol and snacks) and then spent an hour walking arouind Livingstone looking for hot chips. As you do.

That afternoon we relaxed on the grounds of the Livingstone Hotel, a 5-star complex with beautiful green lawns speckled with daybeds and hammocks, enjoying the warm afternoon sun before boading a small boat to cross the Zambeze River over to Livingstone Island. There we were welcomed with a traditional African drink, stripped to our swimmers and jumped into the chilly waters at the very top of Victoria Falls. The current was strong, often running over moss-covered rocks, and it was a challenge itself to alternate between stumbling over rocks and swimming against the current to make it to the edge of the falls.

It was magnificent, a rainbow hidden in the mist to our left surrounded by the rush of white water up and over the 90 metre drop. We took turns laying over the edge, with one of the guides taking photos from a safe distance (my photo looks like I am laughing, but I was really screaming ‘hold on tighter!!’) before swimming back and being spoilt with a beautiful afternoon tea.

We made our way across the border as the sun was setting, to meet the rest of the group who had spent hours preparing a feast of BBQ meats and salads. We sat with a drink or two, ate and enjoyed our last meal together before each went their separate ways the following morning.

-Sarah

It was probably just as well I didn’t have time to think about the adventure activites I had signed myself up for, settling for mumbling to my tentmate, ‘mad, mad, what have you convinced me to do…,’ instead.

It turned out to be one of the best days, I abseiled down a 90 metre cliff both backwards and forwards (called rap jumping) which wasn’t so bad once you got the hang of it (hang of it? Geddit? Oh terrible humour, terrible…) – the catch being the 20 minute bush walk back up the gorge in the blistering sun. We only had the energy to do one of each, before trying out the flying fox afterwards, which initially scared me more than anything else as you had nothing to hold on to, simply strapping yourself into the harness, taking a running leap and jumping off the cliff. It was terrifying and exhilerating – flying over stunning views of the gorge, one of the tributaries of Victoria Falls itself.

After the flying fox, my tentmate and I braved the gorge swing as a tandem – famous for being showcased on the Amazing Race – and stood, our backs facing the gorge, strapped in so tight we couldn’t breathe much, holding onto each other side by side until my knuckles ached. Eventually the instructor looked at us and said, ‘are you ready?’ to which we kind of mumbled ‘ah, yeeeeeesss,’ and took tiny steps backwards until our heels were balanced precariously over the edge, counting to three and falling back. And down.

I didn’t realise until the jerk of the rope pulled us back up and reversed the intoxicating pull of inertia that I had my eyes shut the whole way down. It was one of the most awful feelings, as my tentmate described it, ‘like those dreams when you feel like you’re falling, except you can’t wake up’. But utterly awesome. And painful – we were strapped in so tight our thighs, waist and everything in between felt like it was being sliced open with razorblades, and it seemed like forever until the swinging motion across the gorge subsided and we were slowly lowered onto a platform where we were unstrapped and had to make our way back up the gorge. Again.

There was a cold lunch waiting, and we watched the video of all of us taking turns at the gorge swing with amusing screams, shreiks and yelps, before a few more jumps on the flying fox and a weary ride home.

It was hot, tiring, terrifying and painful. But an awesome day.

-Sarah

We arrived in Livingstone to a plethora of activity choices and everyone’s energy levels skyrocketed in anticipation of white-water rafting, bungee-jumping, elephant riding and flying in various forms of aircraft (or hung by a piece of rope) over Victoria Falls.

I, not being adventurous at all (despite the whole RTW thing), wasn’t planning on making any decisions when my exited tentmate convinced me to take on the gorge swing, abseiling and flying fox package, as well as a boat trip to the top of the falls, where we would jump in and swim to the edge and hope to God we didn’t go over.

‘C’Mon, it’ll be fun!’

‘Ummmm….ok….,’ I stammered, unconvinced. I didn’t have long to dwell on it though, as we left for our sunset/booze cruise that afternoon.

We liked to call the cruise, ‘The night the staff of the cruise put us on the wrong boat, sexually harrassed every female member on the boat and forced us to stop drinking so we could spend our energy pulling drunk girls away from staff so they wouldn’t get raped.’ Or you could call it, ‘The night we babysat and had staff scream at us when they felt we should leave, then had to get rid of staff/locals who followed us back to the campsite so they wouldn’t take advantage of aforementioned drunk girls.’

Needless to say it was a terrible night, and I and one other refused to pay – a decision which was justified a few days later when we found out that one of the staff had actually just done time for raping a client.

If I had the name of the company I would post it to spread the word, but the fact that the tour company will not use them again is, at least, a move in the right direction.

-Sarah