Lost in Victoria Falls Park - Zimbabwe side

John and I hurry away, needing to offload our purchases at the hotel before walking to the falls.  We stop quickly at the A.T.M. hoping to refuel our cash supply, but the digital message on the screen flashes “closed.” Back at the hotel, we grab our jackets and are soon walking down the path-way leading from the bottom lawn of the Victoria Falls Hotel to the entrance of the park. It is 4:55 P.M. when reach the entrance and I present my credit card to pay the $60 entrance fee; $30 each for foreigners. It is cash only and for the second time today, I dip into John’s extra cash.  We print our names and entry time into the park ledger, don our semi water proof jackets and set off  towards the falls.  The park closes at 6:00 so we have just one hour to make the circuit. If there was a map available, we do not receive one and I assume that the trails will be clearly marked. The sun will set in 30 minutes and I want to take as many photos as possible in the slanted afternoon light. The Falls are indescribably glorious and powerful, with spray so intense that at times, we cannot see across the gorge, but only hear the thunderous roar of the cascading water. We walk quickly from one vantage point to another, aware that we must complete the circuit within the hour. We see only a few other visitors on the trails, and have the park almost to ourselves. The vista points are precariously close to the sheer cliffs and have only knee high chain barriers between the pathways and oblivion. The paths are slippery and mossy from the constant spray and we find ourselves walking through a mysterious rainforest, when just 20 minutes earlier, we were jacketless and trekking over dusty terrain.

The final rays of sunlight on the edge of the Victoria Falls

I take several movies, scanning the breath of the view from each look-out point.  We come to the end of the pathway, double back and take a fork in the trail leading along the edge of vertical cliff.  It is just 5:30 and the sun is a red ball dipping behind the trees, shrouded in mist. As I raise my camera to shoot this sunset photo, my battery goes dead and I rummage through John’s backpack for the camera case containing newly charged batteries. To my dismay, I visualize it on the bed back at our hotel.  I manage to squeeze two more shots from the depleted battery and accept that I will have to commit the rest of the trail to my memory.  There is another fork in the path and John leads, choosing the one following the perimeter of the cliff.  We are in another world, the spray pelting sideways, parts of the pathway submerged in water and all slick with slime and mud. I note a sign post at the fork, but most of the lettering is washed away from the spray and I wonder where the pathway leads? The micro-climate becomes even more intense and further along, John takes a few steps off the path, presumably to get a better view?  I scream for him to come back, but he cannot hear my cry over the thunder of the falls. He must sense my panic, and turns, following me away from the cliff along the pathway.  It winds inland and within a couple of minutes we are standing on dry ground, looking at the Victoria Falls Bridge, but from the opposite side.  I can see our hotel beyond, a pale white in the fading light.

I look at my watch, noting that we have just 15 minutes to get back to the entrance, but when we proceed the path suddenly dead ends.  We must retrace our steps back to the mystery fork in the road.  We have not eaten since breakfast, all of our muscles ache and our feet are soggy and tired, so we walk more briskly than ever and turn at the earlier fork in the path, hoping that it will lead to the exit.  The park closes in 5 minutes and the forest is growing dark.  John growls for effect, reminding me of the wild animals that may be lurking in the surrounding forest.  My heels rhythmically click the rocky path and at 6:15, I finally see the faint light of the park entrance, ahead. The park is closed but several attendants sit eating dinner within the confines of the gate. Raising their cups of tea or coffee in our direction, they jovially ask if we will join them for dinner?  I mutter that we took the wrong path, and we exit into a barren parking lot.  An hour ago, this area was bustling with vendors and taxis waiting in anticipation of a sale. There is no chance of a ride back to our hotel now, so John and I cross the dimly lit railroad tracks and hike even more quickly up the darkening pathway, through the bush, towards our hotel.  I mutter to John that this is exactly what I promised Papa, we would not do. 10 minutes later, we arrive at a closed gate at the lower lawn of the Victoria Falls Hotel.  I reach impulsively towards the fence and John hisses at me to stand back, telling me that the fence is electric.  Barbed wire curls along the top of the fence and John carefully maneuvers the various pins and locks at the bottom of the gate, managing to swing one side of the gate open.  We enter the safety of the hotel property and slip up the side stairway to our room, avoiding the watchful eyes of the diners on the patio beyond.  15 minutes later, we are seated at a candle-lit table for two, overlooking the edge of the veranda; John enjoying one of the best cheeseburgers of his life, (at $14) while I dine on a chicken and mango entrée, (at $16) John is of legal age here and we share a cheap bottle of South African wine and recount the days adventures.

Painting of Victoria Falls at the Victoria Falls Hotel