It was a quick drive to Kisane, the gateway to Chobe National Park. We would hear from several people down the road that this was the highlight of all of Southern Africa, but we couldn't enter with our motorbikes and had heard nothing up to that point to justify shelling out for a game drive. So our only real business in town was changing our pula before we crossed the border, since at that time we were not aware that pula was in fact accepted everywhere in Zimbabwe (and, incidentally, at a better rate than the actual exchange rate). The ultramodern Barclays Bank in the town center seemed like a safe place to change, but upon telling the teller how much pula we had to exchange, she randomly picked a number out of the air, which was about 30% off the actual rate, and refused to show us any sort of calculation that led to that result. I resolved to hold onto it and see how I could do with the black market.
At the border, we got stuck behind 15 Italians who were trying to transport a small army of jeeps to the falls for the day and weren't too thrilled with the $300 in fees that were levied against them. After an hour in line, we were charged $30 for a visa and $36 for the road fee and insurance for our bikes. We had intended to drive through Zambezi National Park to Victoria Falls, but soon found this to be 4wd only, and took a beautifully paved traffic-free country road instead. The grasses on the sides of this road were home to approximately 3 billion little yellow butterflies, and most of these flew out and smashed into our bikes and faceplates as we passed.
Zimbabwe, until quite recently, was a well-to-do tourist hotspot. And so, unlike much of the rest of the region, they have excellent paved roads that stretch to the country's remotest regions. Many of these are a single lane wide, twisty, hilly and make for awesome riding fun. Stunning rock formations, quaint little villages and roadside food vendors are common. Their national park system is reasonably developed and campgrounds and other facilities are easy to find. Since tourists don't come here anymore and most locals can no longer afford cars, the roads are traffic-free, and seeing another westerner is a fairly rare event. The infrastructure is gradually rotting away, but for the moment at least, is still fairly usable. If I were to do this trip again, I would probably head straight for Zimbabwe and spend the entire time playing in the mountains.
Victoria Falls is still on the radar but clearly a good deal quieter than in its heyday. We pulled into town and stopped at the visitor info center and were immediately approached by five different guys selling old Zimbabwean currency (at a rate of about 50 trillion to $1). They all played on the 'plight of the poor Zimbabweans' angle, and reasoned that we should support them. Like the other souvenir vendors throughout town, they commented on how much they liked our shoes and shirt and pants, and tried to work those into the bargain; this always made such transactions a bit uncomfortable. The info center guy gave us very convoluted directions to Victoria Falls Backpackers where we secured a tent spot for $9 each (including breakfast). We were the only guests there, possibly because the other hostel was only $5 and didn't require advanced orienteering skills to find. Somehow they were still able to support a staff of about 10 people.
We had two hours until sunset, so we headed for a nearby waterfall that some locals had told us about. Leaving our hostel driveway, we noticed a pair of warthogs rooting around on the lawn across the street. On the way, we stopped by the Big Tree, which was a large baobab guarded by two tourist police; they explained the history of the spot (which I would gladly relate here had I not neglected to remember any of it) and showed us some gourds that grew nearby which were traditionally used for penis enlargement. The park admission fee was $30 and allowed access to a number of lookouts that let you to take in the falls piecemeal, and often get soaking wet. The trails were full of poncho-clad Japanese and Zimbabweans. Considering all the not-so-water-resistant valuable stuff on my person, a $3 poncho might have been a wise investment. While the falls were awe-inspiring, none of the lookouts really provided an all-encompassing view, and the thick mist hovered over much of the trail. And it all felt a little too Disney Worldesque. At the risk of sounding like one of those people who, on principle alone, denies the validity of beaten track destinations even in the face of universal acclaim, I would say Rucana Falls (when the dam is open) is the better option, and, at the risk of sounding like an arrogant American, I'm going to claim that Niagara (in winter, from the Canadian side), is better still.
The park rangers advised us to steer clear of the trails through the town's jungles, since at that time of day we would likely be trampled by elephants or devoured by lions, and recommended that we instead walk down to the bridge for another viewpoint of the falls. We stopped by the Immigration office and got a gate pass rather effortlessly, walked through the troupe of monkeys and handful of warthogs that hung out at the border fence, and proceeded onto the bridge. No one was manning the bungee jump or gorge swing, so we hopped across the line into Zambia and subsequently raced back to the falls parking lot to collect our bikes before closing time.
Cheap food is not particularly easy to find in town but I followed a series of signs that shortly brought me to the local market. The restaurants were already closed but a line of blanket vendors were each selling piles of 15 sweet potatoes for $1. I tried to negotiate half that many for half the price, but as I would gradually discover, Zimbabweans are not big on change. Quarters, dimes and nickels did not make their way over with the paper currency, and so, at least in theory, Rand, Kwacha, and Pula are used to split the US dollar. However, most vendors don't actually carry any of these, and have no interest in obtaining them, and so most everything costs exactly $1. When I finally made the purchase, the woman was so eager to have my dollar and secure my future business, that she tossed five more potatoes into the bag to sweeten the deal. Back at the hostel, we prepared a feast of French fries, mashed potatoes, hashbrowns, and pancakes, had tons of leftovers for the next morning, and still had several potatoes to give away to the staff.
Interestingly, in Vic Falls, $1 is equal to 10 Rand. This is not true in South Africa, or even other parts of Zimbabwe (the official exchange rate is closer to 7.6), but here, if you buy something that costs 5R, you'll get a full 5R in change. This means that if you buy four 5R items from the same seller, it will cost $2, but if you were to buy the same four items from different sellers, using a dollar each time, you would end up with 20R in change, meaning that you actually spent less than 11R and you could afford to pick up a fifth item before reaching the same $2 total. If you then turned around and sold these for 5R each, you would end up with 40R, which will get you $5 and a bit of change at any bank. This will be a good fallback if my other career options turn south.
I was told that I would be eaten if I ventured out before dawn, and, at any rate, I couldn't very well skip out on the free breakfast, so I stuck around the compound to get my bran flakes and supplemented those with some more variations on the sweet potato theme. I went by all the banks to check on exchange rates and finally found one that would give me $40 for my 310P. A man in a suit and tie led me into an air-conditioned back office and filled out an extensive form in triplicate before handing me the two twenties owed. At the craft market down the street, I briefly pondered exchanging my disgusting jeans for a thumb piano, but wasn't a hundred percent on the local acceptance of westerners running around in their skivvies. Next door at the cultural museum, a Shona mystic gave me a free lesson on playing the mbira.
I returned to the market for lunch and managed to get a massive pile of sadza (hot corn mash) and some green stuff for $1. I found another group of blanket vendors selling roundnuts (similar to peanuts) at a rate of about 5 kilos for a dollar. I couldn't very well pass up a deal like this, so I bought a bag and returned to the hostel to boil them using every pot they had. We soon realized that we had no way of eating this many boiled roundnuts before they went bad, so we gave 2/3rds to the janitor.
When we finally got on the road, there was only enough daylight to make it 100km down the highway to Hwange. The autumn months had brought out a range of reds and yellows in the trees and it made for a beautiful ride. Though Hwange was a decently sized city, we shortly found that it had no guesthouses or camping on offer and everyone pointed us to the Baobab Hotel. This turned out to be a luxury establishment on the top of a mountain with $90 rooms. The receptionist was none too keen on giving us a spot on the lawn, but with enough prodding, she did refer us to a social club in town that she thought might be able to help us. This place turned out to be a dorm and bar for the power company, and they had no space for us, but the bartender eventually identified an employee who lived across the street and agreed to let us camp in his yard. We bought him a few drinks, went and chatted with his wife and children, and slept on grass far softer and fluffier than anything we had encountered thus far or would find down the road.
