Friday, January 20, 2017

Devil's Pool

It's been a while since Choma and the tobacco farm, so I'll do a little recap. Currently, we are driving back to Lusaka from Botswana.

Murray and his wife waved us off, and we set our course to Livingstone. Believe it or not, Livingstone is wild. It's a place for the young, adrenaline-seeking crazies drawn to this city for that very reason: crazy adrenaline seeking activities. There's bungee jumping, hang gliding, white water rafting, Victoria Falls, zip lining, and last but not least... the Devil's Pool. Spoiler: I did the Devil's Pool. More to come.

Victoria Falls is one of those places you HAVE to go. This time of year is the "low season," so apparently there isn't that much water tumbling off the cliff, but to me it was more than enough.

Although the thundering waters were at a low, this meant the Devil's Pool was in prime season. Right now it's actually the last month that guides take people to the pool because in a couple weeks even the strongest swimmers would be swept off the edge. Lucky me.

Basically, the Devil's Pool is a tiny ridge protruding off the top of the falls as it collects with water. It's like one of those swimming pools hanging off the side of a rooftop billionaire bachelor pad. It was pretty rad. Honestly, the most dangerous part is swimming across the Zambezi River to get to the little connecting piece of land attached to the pool.

The guide led myself and five other dare-devils to the river. As he put his arms forward in a diving motion he paused, looked back, and said, "Wait, you guys are pretty good swimmers, right?" We nodded and looked around at each other.

I knew the tiny Japanese woman was going down, so I decided to sit back and maybe experience a casualty. She jumped in and was immediately taken by the current. Luckily, it wasn't Melvin-the-guide's first rodeo, so like a black mamaba he shot down stream, threw her arms around his neck, and swam across the river. Go Melvin.

Conversing with Melvin, near the depths of despair
That was by myself, so my uncle and I went rafting while the rest of the posy had high tea at some safari-sheik lodge. Besides the two guys who opted for a hour-long dirty jokes session, the rapids were awesome. Righteous.

After Livingstone, we made our way to Botswanan but were turned away from the border because we didn't have my cousins' birth certificates. Child trafficking and all that jazz. But we should have known, as the 11.5x8" notice hanging on the wall was in bold print, bold enough to be seen from the other side of the river.

We went back across the river on the ferry, and I guess it all worked out since my aunt scored us two swanky five-star safari sheik room at "Islands of Siankaba" for 150 USD. Yeah, the name says it all, it's basically a place for honey moons. I didn't deserve it.

My aunt and uncle got the certificates send fia email so we were on our way. "Africans love stamps," Kyle the Siankaba guy said. "Get them stamped by the police and Botswana will let you right in, no trouble.

It's true. They freaking love stamps. Just skim through my passport.

Once we were in the lands of Botswana, we all felt relaxed. We could finally chillax and see some Elephants.

We did some safaris and saw some cool shiz, the coolest of which being a young male lion eating a porcupine, and an Elephant giving birth. No big deal.

This doesn't even begin to touch on my experiences thus far, but I think it will do for now as I continue to remember little tidbits while it's fresh.

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