The downside of staying at a tour-group hotel without a tour group is that you fall outside the norm. The factory isn’t built for you, so you need to figure out a different path along the conveyor belt.
Like this morning at A’Zambezi River Lodge, when we’re informed that the buffet breakfast will be a whopping US$30 each so we instead elect to order off the menu. And wait for the twenty to thirty minutes while our meals are painstakingly prepared.
They are very fine meals:
And a fraction of the cost of the buffet, but this means that we need to rush out the door to make our Victoria Falls tour.
Fortunately, the A’Zambezi reception called last night to inform us that our request for late check-out had been approved. We would be able to keep one room until noon and the other until 1:30 pm. No extra charge, either, which is very much appreciated.
This is ideal, as our airport transfer doesn’t depart until almost 3 pm – and so the kids will get enough time for that swim they were hoping to have yesterday, before the skies opened up.
Our guide from Wild Horizons is early, which is always a nice start – except when we’re running late. He looks at my footwear and cautions me that we are likely to get quite wet while at the Falls. I’m planning to abandon my almost-destroyed shoes here in Zimbabwe, so I pay his warning little heed.
My wife approaches with the last of our stragglers, and we are aboard the van. We stop briefly at a more than 1,200 year old baobab tree – very impressive;
There is naturally a market right next to it, which we decline to visit. This is perhaps my least-favourite of all the tour guide hobbies – taking unwitting travellers to various tourist traps in the hopes that they will buy some junk (and likely earn a commission for the guide in the process).
Our guide does not press, thankfully, and we are soon off to Victoria Falls, also known as Mosi-oa-Tunya or “the smoke that thunders.” One of the largest waterfalls in the world, identification of Victoria Falls is often ascribed to missionary David Livingstone – though it was of course well known to local inhabitants for a very long period prior to his arrival.
Our guide outlines the various vantage points from which we will be viewing the different aspects of the Falls, including the Devil’s Cataract – so named because it was used by locals to perform ritual sacrifices. (Though not to the devil, though it may have seemed so to missionaries for whom everything new and unknown was the work of the devil.)
Parking here is limited, though thankfully our guide is able to get a space without any issues. Ponchos are included as part of our tour, but we decline – we’ve brought our own raincoats with us.
There are local dancers and musicians playing – offering to take photos with us if we so choose – but we politely decline. Victoria Falls seems very similar to Niagara Falls in this regard – heavily visited, and with the touristy businesses to prove it.
As well as the garbage monkeys:
We walk past a display that has various animal skulls in it. The most impressive is definitely the elephant:
Then we carry on to the statue of Livingstone, who most definitely was not the first person to discover the Falls:
We then carry on from one viewpoint to the next, each more impressive than the last:
Stills don’t really do it justice. Video gives a much better sense of how heavily the Falls are flowing:
We carry on further along the Falls:
And a brief pause for an artistic short:
Around the point when we reach the horseshoe, however, the spray gets to get heavier:
Eventually we reach a point where the spray from the waterfall is absolutely pounding against the path we’re walking. I manage only this terrible photo:
We wish we hadn’t gotten quite so wet – our guide mentions traditional beliefs about the Falls washing us clean, and the renewal that comes with it. But it’s hard not to think about the massive hassle associated with packing up all these wet clothes and bringing them home with us.
Our tour guide didn’t mention this, so I’m telling you instead – here’s the turnoff for you to avoid, if you are so inclined:
To be fair, the term “Danger Point” should have meant something to us – but that’s why we hired a guide! Also, it took me far too long to realize that the sign read “Abseiling” and not “Arse fling”
I carry on to get a quick snap of the bridge:
Everyone else doubles back. They’ve had their fill of tours.
The drive home is filled with soaked silence. It’s difficult not to conduct an informal review of the mistakes made, and how we could’ve done it different – I could’ve passed along the guide’s warning about the shoes, we might have taken the ponchos, or simply doubled back when the water came in too hard.
But there’s no time for that now. We’re here, we’re soaked, and we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it.
I still tip the tour provider, because that’s what you do – and because he did warn us that we were going to get wet. But I don’t think you really need a guide to enjoy Victoria Falls. I think a driver alone is plenty.
Back to our room to shower, and to figure out which items of clothing to leave behind and which to attempt to dry. Everyone’s shoes but mine have their insoles taken out and are put up on the balcony. I dispose of a pair of particularly damp socks, but otherwise lay everything out to dry.
The backpacks got the worst of it, which is challenging because we’ll be carrying them on a transatlantic flight. So they get put out on the balcony too.
Off to the pool with the kids, where we play more round of skip ball.
My son invents a new game entitled Whack-a-Mole in which he sits still and we have to attempt to hit him with the skip ball. I somehow manage to drop the ball immediately in front of him, getting water up his nose in the process. In the distance, vervet monkeys dash across the hotel’s lawn.
I try to focus on this final ration of family time, and not the sodden backpacks.
We get perhaps a half hour to swim and play before it’s time to head back to shower and pack up the first of our rooms. Other than having to hand-carry the contents of my still-damp backpack, it’s a fairly straightforward process.
Off to lunch.
The orders again take thirty minutes, but we’ve planned for it – so we take some time to go up and down the shoreline, looking for crocodiles and watching the vervet monkeys playing:
The end was always going to be anticlimactic – and irritating, as air travel so often is. But I’m glad we’re getting these few moments to enjoy the Zambezi River as a family
And I think ultimately we’ll be glad to have visited Victoria Falls, and the Great Soaking will fade from our memory, or at least become a humorous anecdote.
Who knows? Maybe it will represent some kind of renewal.
Lunch arrives. I have the bacon cheeseburger:
And my wife has the warthog baguette:
Both are worth the wait.
Off to the rooms to finish packing up. Moment of truth – still some wet articles of clothing, but my backpack is dry enough to use. Phew.
We shuffle everything down to reception, and the staff puts our bags into the storage closet while we wait for our driver. I put my backpack out in the sun and it finishes drying in record time.
I check out, and the total restaurant bill comes to USD$200 for the past day. Not bad considering that represents three restaurant meals for four people including drinks and desserts. I’ve tipped cash as we’ve gone, but add in an extra USD$20 as a resort tip and a further GBP 20 to thank the reception team for getting us late check-out.
There are several chairs in the main reception area, but it’s starting to get busy with people checking in – so we retreat further into the resort and find the Corner Room, which has a nicely stocked library and several comfy chairs.
And the final verdict on A’Zambezi? Would we return?
Probably, unless we found a resort that would be more of a destination in and of itself or provide us with access to tours we couldn’t find here.
A’Zambezi represents a very economical staging ground and – much as we felt that there were a lot of guests – they really did have everything we want in a resort. Even the laundry prices were reasonable, not that we had the chance to take them up on that.
Wild Horizons then picks us up from A’Zambezi to take us to the airport – it’s the same guide as this morning. We arrive in record time.
We have some trouble finding the Kenya Airways desk, and then they run into some issues when their software won’t load. But eventually we get the bags checked, with no weight issues this time around – we managed to book a business class return on points so we have a whopping 70 pounds weight limit per bag. We could most certainly get used to this.
Through security and then immigration, one after the next – essentially no line for either. We then head to the Khami lounge, which provides lounge services for Kenya Airways:
It’s not terribly impressive, as lounges go. The fans are plugged into loose power bars, and not all of them work. We attempt to charge our phones but power is intermittent. Drinks are mix-your-own. But they do have Doritos, which will likely ensure that it’s in our children’s Top 5 All Time Airport Lounges.
(Just kidding. Kids have stated that a lounge needs to have a pancake-making machine to crack the Top 10.)
We hang out for about an hour – in which I attempt to catch up with blogging.
Our tickets say that boarding will commence at 5:25 pm – almost an hour before departure. I’m skeptical, so we wait until 5:20 pm before heading to the gate.
There isn’t even a gate agent. 5:25 pm seems wildly optimistic.
Time ticks on. Not only isn’t there a gate agent, there isn’t even a plane.
Eventually it lands. We check FlightAware – looks like we’re running about 20 minutes late.
This normally wouldn’t be an issue, but we have an extremely tight connecting flight in Nairobi. So fingers are firmly crossed that there are no further delays – or that the other flight is also delayed – so that we can board in time.
At least that second flight is also on Kenya Airways, so at least they know we’re coming.
Boarding is called shortly after 6 pm, but there’s another interminable delay as we wait for the green light from the air crew. Thumbs up, on we board – joining a flight that originated in Cape Town.
We wonder if we’ll be able to find room for our carry-on suitcases, but no issues – we’re soon set to go.
Business class is very comfortable. They aren’t lie-flat seats, but there’s enough room that I stretch to reach the pocket in the seat in front of me. There are also leg rests that lift up. I’m not planning to sleep on this flight, but fingers are firmly crossed that the seats on the next leg will be equally comfortable.
Champagne is passed around, and we’re given a kit including socks, a comb, moisturizer, chap stick and a pen.
I’m always amazed by what these kits include – and how none of them ever seem to be the same. The cotton sleep masks we received enroute to Ecuador remain my favourite. I still use mine daily.
Pre-departure champagne, followed by airborne hot towels. Meal service comes around – they talk a good game:
But the reality is nothing to write home about.
Coconut cake in lieu of mousse, but the champagne is helping round off the edges.
They even bring through a port and cognac cart:
But that’s a bit too ambitious for us right now. We’re only on this plane for three hours, at which point we’ll need to make our connector that’ll take us to JFK airport in New York.
I ask the flight attendant whether our connection will be tight, and she assures me that there are at least 50 people on this plane who are also making that connector. So we should be just fine. We will, however, have to go through security again – but not immigration.
Hello, Nairobi!
Plane lands, and everyone piles out. Connecting flights are well marked, and there are even airport staff out to assist with redirecting everyone through security.
We are stuck between someone who apparently has never gone through security in his life before, and has to unstrap various pillows and other do-dads from his bag before it can go through the scanner. We also have to take off our shoes, which remains my least favourite security measures.
Onward to the gate, where we have to clear security again – and go through a hand-search of one of our carry-ons – before we reach the gate.
We never did figure out what the problem was with that bag, but they definitely didn’t like the children’s ziploc bag of art supplies which includes multiple pens, pencils, erasers, pastels and plastic rulers. After it gets opened and passed around to at least three different security agents we are finally on our way (with the art supplies).
Our plane is already boarding, so we walk right on. We’d expected that our business class seats would be similar to what we’d had on our initial leg from Victoria Falls to Nairobi – larger seats with leg support but not fold-flat. We were mistaken!
These have to be the largest seats I’ve ever seen on an airplane. They make Air Canada’s and Delta’s business class pods look positively microscopic.
We’re not able to keep our bags at our feet during takeoff, but there roughly 1,000 little cubbies and niches where we can story various eReaders, iPads, etc..
It also helps that this is a Boeing 787-8 – the Dreamliner. The headroom inside is enormous.
Pre-departure champagne is passed around, as are our menus:
I like the idea of the midnight snack, while the kids are in favour of anything that involves cookie ice cream.
I stay awake long enough for the thai chicken curry:
While our son has the beef:
The dessert is as-ordered this time – a very tasty lemon tart.
With dinner having wrapped – and it now being well after midnight – it’s time to recline the seat into the fully flat position, lay out my mattress, pull on my blanket (buckling my seatbelt over the blanket so the crew wouldn’t wake me event of turbulence) and get some sleep.
With 15 hours flight time, there should be plenty of time to rest.