Coming into Botswana from Namibia, the Botswana side has a noticeably larger amount of wildlife; there are more insects on the ground, more animals everywhere. The roads are incredibly new looking paved and marked asphalt. And the trees and wilderness is perfect postcard African savannah and brush. And a giant shock to me - no minibuses or taxis waiting on the other side of the border.
"You cannot walk to Kasane and the ferry to Zambia," a border guard told me. Since the road to the ferry goes straight through Chobe park, one of Botswana's premiere attractions. He suggested that I walk up to the entrance to the park, about a kilometre from the border post, and try to hitch a ride.




It was shocking for me when I was actually turned down; the people of Botswana are obviously much better off than either the Namibians and the Zambians. I had seen tourism ads which proudly proclaimed that Botswana is the only African country without a foreign debt. The question in my mind was: how did they do it? All I see on the Botswana map are a bunch of parks everywhere. It's not the cheapest country down here either, but I found no explanation for that.
I finally managed to get into a truck with one of the rangers at the gate, since he needed to get a letter to the other side of the park. I don't think they would have let me go with them if it weren't for the ranger asking them to take me. Along the way I saw several animals, as well as a big fluffy Africa elephant. I hesitated to take a picture, since of course I was grateful just to get a ride.
The road was amazingly good all of the way, and definitely the best road I had encountered since arriving in Africa. I was dropped off at the Kazungula ferry by the fellows in the truck, much thanks to them, and then sat down along the Zambezi river and watched as the rickety ferry floated across. The only connection from Botswana into Zambia. It costs about US$0.05 in admission to cross, so budget accordingly.
And back into Zambia, where I was welcomed with Zambian roads: completely shredded mud, with giant semi-trailer tire tracks gouged deep into the earth, and after about a hundred feet it turned into a potholed road. Ah, Zambia. You cross the river and suddenly everything changes.
And a minibus at the border - at least here the people are poor enough to need one. Not everyone has their own vehicle like in Botswana. After about an hour and a half on a paved but badly potholed road we arrived in Livingstone, the bustling southern town of Zambia. It has a western layout to it, but feels about sixty years in the past. I stayed at a backpacker's lodge here, and signs on the walls provided omens for the massive tourist trap I would soon be entering: Victoria Falls. It looks as though it has been abused and bastardized to its absolute fullest. I am very afraid.








A group of us dumb tourists went to the river to watch the sun set; to the south of us were the falls, about six kilometres away. And I saw something in the sky. "Is that a balloon?" I asked the girl who drove us to the river.
"Yup," she said, "right now World Heritage is trying to get it down."
Uh oh. I'm worried. In Livingstone I saw some bona-fide, non-resident, overweight, we-look-stupid-and-we-like-it-that-way tourists wandering around. And I think it's only going to get worse from here. But I guess it's okay to be reconnected so often to the tourist track - I certainly enjoyed the roundabout method of getting here, instead of the typical way of coming straight here from Lusaka. I am returning to the road most travelled, and I am not sure if I like it. And tomorrow, I visit the entire reason that these foolish tourists are here: to look at the spilling water.





Victoria Falls, in Zambia, Zimbabwe, & Even In Between
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