The weather was magnificent. The road, like a red arrow, cut through the jungle. It sped towards the banks of the Zambezi River, where the border control point between Botswana and Zambia was located. After crossing the imaginary border, we boarded boats and, pushing off from the dock, sailed towards the opposite shore.
The boat was tossed and lifted by the waves. However, everything was according to the fairway. Soon we docked on the shore of Zambia. There were no customs or border guards, just crowds of black traders and money changers. We didn't need to figure out what to do next. The driver of the bus that was meeting us took care of everything; we just filled out a simple form and collected 40 dollars each. In about ten minutes, the visas were stamped in our passports. We could go.
Now, outside the window, the jungles of Zambia stretched out. It took us about an hour to reach the city of Livingstone. But we had another ten kilometers to go. Hidden in the jungles surrounding the city were several dozen beautiful hotels, also called lodges, just like in Botswana.
Our dock in Zambia, "Stanley Safari Lodge," was nestled in the dense jungle. Narrow paths among exotic flowers and plants connected ten amazing cottages with the main complex, which housed a restaurant, a swimming pool, a lounge, a museum, and other shared infrastructure.
The complex is situated on a hill. Each room is a separate chalet with unique architecture. From the facade, the building resembles a typical house. However, behind the door, the natural landscape continues. Views of the vast jungle and the Zambezi Valley open directly from the bedroom. The same enchanting views are available from the bathroom. Beautiful viewing terraces and platforms invite relaxation and contemplation. Some of these rooms are designed in two, sometimes three levels. Naturally, they come with all the service amenities corresponding to a star hotel.
As I mentioned, there are a huge number of hotels in this part of Africa. Each is a true fairy tale, a symbiosis of nature and the highest standards of comfort. The owners are mainly English, who have created a world of luxury and dreams in the surrounding reality of the aboriginals' blatant poverty. This world owes its birth and development to Victoria Falls—the greatest natural phenomenon on the planet. This world extends around, covering an area with a radius of up to fifty kilometers from the waterfall. The country has two capitals, which arose solely due to the waterfall: the city of Livingstone on the Zambian side and the city of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. Both cities have international airports. This region attracts about half a million tourists a year. And this is despite the constant political and social clashes among various layers of society.
The kaleidoscope of tourist services here knows no bounds. You can visit Livingstone Island, perched on the edge of the waterfall, swim in the "Devil's Pool," and enjoy a picnic with drinks and exotic snacks. You can fly on a hang glider over the roaring waterfall or circle in a helicopter, participate in rafting through the Zambezi canyons, or indulge in abseiling. I want to pause on this entertainment. A participant in the attraction, harnessed with special belts and devices, attaches themselves to a cable firmly anchored to the cliffs on the opposite sides of the canyon. The gazebo or harness is easily controlled. If desired, you can hover over the abyss or descend smoothly while observing the flight of birds. You can, by loosening the grip, dive swiftly into the shadowy space of the canyon and land at the bottom. Naturally, before starting, one must undergo a simple course on mastering the abseiling technique.
But the scariest attraction is the "zip line," or "bungee jump": a jump from a bridge into a hundred-meter abyss, being tethered to a rubber cord. The jump is made over the Zambezi River in close proximity to the waterfall. The cost of this pleasure is one hundred dollars. There aren’t many willing participants. However, according to statistics, over the years of the bungee jump's existence, about 60,000 people have jumped.
Interestingly, before such a feat, one must write a note roughly along the lines of:
“I am not quite a normal person and therefore decided to make this jump. If I suffer a heart attack or a spinal injury, or any other injury or illness, I ask that only I be blamed, because I clearly understand that this jump is a true folly.”
So the bungee jump is not an entertainment for everyone. There are significantly more balanced amusements here. There’s something for every taste and wallet! And how many restaurants and bars, how many folklore groups and souvenir shops! And all this thanks to Victoria Falls. It is primarily for it that numerous tourists come here, and one can understand them: after all, the waterfall "Smoke that thunders" is the greatest creation of nature!
David Livingstone, a Scottish missionary and doctor, was the first European to see the waterfall in 1885. He named it after Queen Victoria. A great explorer, he traveled 2,700 kilometers along the Zambezi, which he hoped could become "the way granted by God" into Central Africa. Descending the river in a canoe, he reached the waterfall on November 16. Noticing the clouds of mist, he landed on a small island near the edge of the waterfall...
Here’s what he writes in his book "Journey to the Zambezi":
“We landed at Garden Island, which lies in the middle of the river, at the very edge of the waterfall. When we reached this edge and looked down from a dizzying height, we were presented with a wonderful and extraordinary sight of the majestic waterfall.
To attempt to describe it in words is a hopeless endeavor. Even the greatest artist, making several landscapes, could only give a weak reflection of this majestic sight. It seemed that the water disappeared underground. The opposite edge of the chasm, where it vanished, was only eighty feet away. I did not understand this until I crawled fearfully to the very edge, peered down into the vast chasm, and saw that the flow, a thousand yards wide, plunged down a hundred feet and there compressed to 15 or 20 yards. The entire waterfall is simply a crack in solid basalt, running across the river from the right bank to the left bank and continuing further from the left bank for another 30 or 40 miles through the hills.”
The next day, Livingstone returned to the waterfall. Observing the water's fall from the opposite edge of the chasm, he was impressed by what he saw and literally wrote the following:
“...The entire mass of water, spilling over the edge of the waterfall, transforms into a monstrous curtain of snow driven by a blizzard. Water particles detach from it in the form of comets with flowing tails. Perhaps this is caused by the dryness of the air. But whatever the reason, each drop of the Zambezi seems to possess its own individuality. It flows from the lips and glides like beads across the smooth surface, like drops of mercury on a table. Here they appear in their mass, each drop with a continuation in the form of pure white vapor, until it disappears in the thick mist below.”
During his second trip to the waterfall in August 1860, Livingstone had the idea to measure the depth of the chasm. For this, the researchers used a rope sounding line with a piece of white cloth tied to it. In a canoe, the researchers again, as five years earlier, docked at Garden Island.
“One of us lay with his head hanging over the cliff, watching the cloth, and only when the assistant measured 310 feet did the weight drop about 50 feet above the water, and the true bottom was even lower. The white cloth now appeared the size of a coin of one crown.”
The helpful hotel staff bowed and wished us a good excursion to the waterfall. On the way, we climbed a huge ancient baobab, which has a viewing platform. This ancient tree surely remembers the times of Livingstone and Stanley and could tell a lot about that romantic period. But we hurried to see the waterfall as soon as possible.
Livingstone is a fairly large city. The central square, occupied by souvenir trader stalls, is a local attraction. The waterfall is nearby. Clouds of white mist swirl, rising straight from the jungle. It all looks somewhat strange. You realize that these streams of water vapor are born above the waterfall. However, the surrounding landscape is a flat plain covered with jungle as far as the eye can see. I think it may not seem strange, but personally, the word "waterfall" is invariably associated with mountains for me. And there are none here.
Where can the water fall? We enter the park area and walk along the paved path past the monument to Livingstone towards the growing roar of water. And suddenly, unexpectedly, we emerge on the riverbank. This is the Zambezi. For now, it is calm, as nothing in the surrounding landscape indicates the drama approaching it. There are about thirty meters to the waterfall. Suddenly, before we can relax, it plunges down in a solid stream across its entire width. But where? The valley is visible through the veil of water spray and mist, and there, further on, the continuation of the valley is visible again. And the river seems to be gone; it has plunged, disappeared into the depths of a giant chasm. The sight is indeed astonishing.
We walk along the bank to the edge of the waterfall. The path dives into a tunnel of jungle and for a moment hides the place where the river drops. The roar is so loud that talking to each other is pointless. Therefore, sharing impressions and marveling can only be done with oneself.
For a moment, the jungle parts, and the waterfall comes into view again. More precisely, part of the waterfall. A grand sight! An immeasurable amount of spray crashes down into the areas around the waterfall. The refraction of sunlight in the water particles creates bright rainbows. And this is a chaos of rainbows! Large and small, they sometimes form shining tents, breaking apart under their weight and collapsing with the spray into the depths of shadows.
Lost in these magical games of nature, I completely forgot about my camera, which hung peacefully on my chest. Streams of water literally drenched us, as they say, to the full program. It was pouring an endless rain of the waterfall; the smoke born from the falling water not only roared but also poured down in continuous streams. When I remembered the camera, it was already too late. The shutter did not respond at all. Neither persuasion, nor requests, nor pleas helped.
Meanwhile, the waterfall, as if mocking, shed its milky-white robes, revealing itself in all its beauty. It soared above the jungle with smoking water whirlwinds. And fell, dispersing golden dust over the emerald expanses of grateful jungles. In this sea of mist and spray, the path suddenly hangs over a narrow chasm, into which the flow of the Zambezi gathers again after its plunge. This part of the waterfall is called the Devil's Throat. Here, it constantly pours rain, powerful streams rush in from above, from the sides, from below, and generally from all directions simultaneously. The mist from the crashing streams is so dense that sometimes nothing is visible except for one’s own feet.
To get a true sense of the waterfall's layout, I recommend taking a helicopter tour. Thirty minutes of fantastic flight over the waterfall and canyons cost 270 dollars per person... At first glance, quite a large sum. But believe me, it is worth it. The helicopter has six seats. The flight program is meticulously planned, and I must say, the pilot executes it perfectly. Upon reaching the waterfall, you immerse yourself in a world of fairy-tale beauty and parallel worlds. Smoothly approaching the cascades, the obedient machine circles over the waterfall back and forth, revealing the most "intimate" spots.
Descending into the canyon behind the Devil's Throat, the helicopter demonstrates slalom through the river's zigzags. The nearly vertical slopes of the gorge allow you to see the details of the basalt slabs' structure. After several turns, the machine rises high and flies over the islands stuck at the very edge of the cliff. Then further up the Zambezi above the jungle. Returning, it again soars over the waterfall, rising to the peaks of the moisture-losing smoke ribbons. I have never seen anything like it. Thirty minutes in one breath in a completely different dimension! This is a separate life and theme, revealing not only the beauty of the waterfall but also its geological history.
From the height of flight through time, I saw a vast frozen lava lake, 300 meters thick, that erupted as a result of volcanic activity 200 million years ago. This was long before the Zambezi appeared here. Cooling and solidifying, the rock cracked, forming a network of fractures. Over time, the cracks filled with softer rocks, leveling with the surface. About half a million years ago, the Zambezi River appeared here; it stumbled upon one of the cracks. The water began to erode the softer filling of the crack, creating a collapse. The river bubbled and rolled in clouds of spray until it found an outlet where it could plunge down. Thus, the first waterfall appeared. But the process did not end there. The flow of water from the top of the waterfall began to erode the rocky edge where it was weaker. The furious streams gnawed at the weak point, destroying the channel above the waterfall until a new gorge formed, angled to the first.
Thus, Victoria Falls is constantly retreating. The current waterfall is the eighth in the zigzag path of the river over the last half a million years. Each waterfall appears in a collapse at the river's bottom, formed by the frozen lava, which is cut by fractures. The river washes away the softer rocks and plunges into the void it has created. And immediately begins again on the weakest fracture, cutting the edge of the chasm until it reaches the next transverse fracture.
The weakest point of today’s cascade is the Devil's Waterfall, located on the western side. Here, the edge has already been cut 30 meters below the main level and will continue to deepen until the entire Zambezi rushes into this chasm.
In the evening, sitting on the terrace of my room, in the intervals between sad thoughts about my lost camera, I pondered the waterfall, Livingstone, events, and the fates of people. My thoughts took me back to distant geological epochs. And I clearly saw and felt how huge volcanoes, spewing clouds of smoke and ash into the sky, shook the earth. Through the enveloping mist of the volcanoes, a ruby stream of lava poured down the slopes and filled the valley. In my mind, I saw ancient Africans beating drums and dancing in an endless dance on an island hovering over the waterfall. Their swaying silhouettes stretched as shadows, silhouetted against the rising smoke from the abyss.
But then the magical scene fades, and I imagine Livingstone lying at the edge of the waterfall, peering into the roaring mist. In the white foam, trembling from the gusts of wind, the makeshift measuring line is discernible. Perhaps it was at that moment that Livingstone thought to name the waterfall after Queen Victoria.
Of course, I have nothing against the name; it was Livingstone's will. But the waterfall had previously been called Mosi-oa-Tunya—Smoke that thunders. This is how the mocololo, who have lived in these places since ancient times, referred to it.
Interestingly, Livingstone himself always advocated the rights of local African tribes throughout his missionary work and consistently fought against the slave trade and slavery as such.
“Mosi-oa-Tunya”—what a beautiful name. Not only in the language of the mocololo but also in Russian—“Smoke that thunders.” How figuratively it speaks of the visual impression of a person who first saw this rare phenomenon.
By the way, the word “Niagara” in the Indian language means “Height of the fearsome roar,” and this is also very figurative, I agree. First, the rumble and roar are heard, and only then, through the thick foliage, the unprecedented miracle appears—a water flow rearing up, falling into the abyss with a roar.
Centuries have passed since then, and the water still falls into the abyss. And there are no longer any virgin forests or ancient silence. The noble red-skinned owners of America, the noble Indians, are no longer there. Only the name given by them remains. Like magic, it paints for us the traits of the spirit of its creators, their purity of soul and sensitivity to nature. Niagara was named by sound. Mosi-oa-Tunya brought sight.
The manager of the "Stanley Safari Lodge," a prominent and self-assured Englishman named Rich, is friendly and, like all Englishmen, not very talkative. His manners and ability to appear and disappear quickly revealed him as a hereditary Afrikaner. I never understood where this interesting person lived. He would receive calls and immediately appear, like a genie from a magic lamp.
This time, Rich appeared to fulfill our next wish. It was simple: to visit a real African village far from the city. Saying, “At your service,” he clapped his hands twice and vanished. Then a car arrived, and we sped east of Livingstone, parting the jungle.
The village was called Boma, and the main population was the Bantu people. I will say right away that our Kyrgyz yurt seems like a palace against the backdrop of African dwellings. The plan of an African hut is a circle a few meters in diameter, on which a clay wall about two meters high is built with a thatched roof. On the sides, it protrudes so far from the wall that it descends to the ground at half a human height. An oval opening, less than human height, serves as the entrance to the hut, which has no doors, windows, or chimney. The walls of the hut are carefully plastered or smeared with clay mixed with cow dung. The floor is also smooth clay.
The huts are arranged in a circle, in the middle of which the livestock is kept. Some dwellings are surrounded by a reed fence. Interestingly, if there is no such reed fence around the hut, it means that an unmarried owner lives in the house.
A road leads to the village, and all the space is cleared of any plants, except for a few tall palm trees. So around and inside the village, the reddish sand is exposed, giving it an exotic appearance.
The center of the village serves as a spacious area under a thatched roof. Here, the villagers carve figures and objects from various types of wood. It’s a workshop of folk craftsmen. And across the road, behind a tall clay fence, is a market where these artistic creations are sold. Of course, Boma village is largely a "product" of tourist interests, where one can observe almost the real life of the aborigines, buy beautiful souvenirs, and, of course, capture more than a dozen beautiful shots for the camera.
In the evening, we sailed upstream on the Zambezi towards the northwest. A three-hour excursion with snacks and drinks. The beautiful nature is enchanting. The boat travels along the right bank, overgrown with dense forest. Sometimes viewing platforms rise above the treetops, located in tourist lodges hidden under the jungle canopy.
Rich talked a lot about the special beauty of the local nature and especially about the vibrant sunsets—the main spectacle of the excursion on the Zambezi.
Somewhere after six in the evening, the sun rapidly rolled down, breaking through the massive towers of dark blue clouds that obscured the horizon line. In short, a wide strip of screen formed between the horizon and the clouds. A moment passed. And then the sun stepped onto the screen. Nature froze, and only the boat continued its slow movement towards the sunset. The performance was brief, without an overture. Everything mixed together very quickly: clouds, storms, reflections—all twisted into a tangle, flared up, and smoldered with blue-ruby colors.
There was something in this sunset. And yet, the deep philosophy and beauty that were still strong in memories of the Kalahari, of course, I did not see or feel here.
After sunset, we turned back and headed down towards the waterfall. Where just a moment ago the captured sun was fluttering in the clouds, shadows hung. It seemed that the Zambezi flowed out of the twilight, as if fleeing from the night. A huge strip of sky in pale pink tones still blazed, illuminating the streams of smoke that roared skyward. Birds flew towards them in a smooth wedge, bathing in the magical light.