Belinda starts to shake around 8am. The guys are getting up and ready for the day. I give it another thirty on account of last nights Honor Bar escapades. Alright, screw it. Don’t wanna hold anyone up. Surprisingly, this is the latest we’ve gotten up yet this trip. No major plans though so it doesn’t matter. We just have to hit the four points border into Zambia and get to Livingstone. That will put us spitting distance to Victoria Falls for tomorrow morning.

I meet up with Mark in the bathroom. You brush your teeth shisssh shisssh shisshh shisssssh. We’re looking scraggly and unkept. And hungover. Guess that’s self-drive safari style. We do a synchronized beard trimming in the mirrors. “What an awesome spot.” “Ha! Understatement of the year.” “Where else can you drink scotch and watch honey Badgers into the wee hours?” “And make grown men cry…” “Multiple times hahaha.”

We get over to the Thobolos lodge and Deon and Jönkö are all smiles watching the dirt bags roll in. “You guys feeling alright this morning? haha!” “Not bad, considering.” “Supplies! hahaha” “Oh fuck, right. That shit was funny…” And we take a good ten minutes to rehash all the jokes from last night. Our laughter mixed in with the now familiar waaaaaaaaarn from the hornbills by the patio.

Jönkö brings over some brownies. “Made this morning. Here, try it.” Jamie’s reaching for a square, “You put any fun psychedelics in here?” “Haha no, just chocolate brownies.” “Oh yeaaaah, these are good!”

He brings them over to Mark and me, “I could hear you guys laughing last night.” Mark is shaking his head, “Oh man, we were on a roll. Turns out honey badgers are hilarious.” “Sad you guys are leaving today.” “Ya us too. This place has been a gem.” Deon takes a brownie and joins in, “It’s been a real pleasure.” He grabs his belly and shakes it, “I got my six pack back hahaha!” “Seriously! Haven’t laughed like this in an age.”

We spend ten minutes waving the debit machine around in the air in all corners of the lodge hoping for a connection. Finally we get settled up for last nights stay, dinner, and our outrageous assault on the Honor Bar.

One last look at that epic watering hole. “The top reservoir seems more full today.” “Yes. Maybe rains in Zambia last night.”

The Elephant Graveyard

As we’re packing up Belinda, Deon gives us directions to the elephant graveyard nearby. “Just passed the dead giraffe there will be a road on your right. Down that road about three kilometers and you’ll find another road left. Take that and you should find it. Surrounded by trees. All elephant bones. About a football field in size.” We’re on the case.

We give a heartfelt goodbye to Deon and Jönkö. Sad to be leaving for sure. Thobolos has definitely made its way into one of the top spots we’ve stayed at on this trip. Watching animals from the balcony while housing scotch and cracking jokes. Howling at the moon. What more is there in life?

With a couple goodbye honks Jamie pulls us out of Thobolos onto the main road. A herd of zebra is rushing through the scrub across the road ahead of us. Buffs up over our mouths and noses as we approach the carcass, “Alright, so right at the dead giraffe.” “Shit, look at all the vultures!”

“Damn, they’ve picked that thing clean.” “Nasty.” Peter points off to the right, “Check it out. Massive amount of vultures circling around something not far away here too.” “Lions probably scored another big kill.”

We find a side road that may be what we’re looking for. Take the right. Tall Grass on either side. “Perfect lion territory. No wonder the kills weren’t far from here.”

We bump and jangle down the sand road for a bit. Totally unsure if we’re going towards the elephant graveyard or not. Feels like we’ve gone too far. And these roads aren’t exactly.. roads. Skepticism sets in.

“Not seeing a football field of elephant bones.. You guys?” “Nope. I really thought ‘Right at the giraffe, three clicks, then left’ was going to be enough information.” “Sarcasm noted. Maybe head into the trees over there? He did say it was surrounded by trees.” “That’s a different road though. He only mentioned the two.” “I dunno man.” “Fuck it.”

We head towards the trees. There’s actually a decent amount of cover here. Maybe this is the right place. We come around a bend and suddenly roll up on a military camp. Drisdelle is quick on the brakes, “Ahhhh… I don’t th…” There are four young guys in full camo holding automatic rifles, sitting on metal crates. Camo shades over tents. They all look up at us in unison. One grabs his gun and starts towards us.

Peter gives one guy a nod. He looks back suspiciously, still moving towards us gun raised a little higher now. At the same time Mark’s telling Jamie, “Um ya, abort, dude. Let’s back the fuck out of here.” “What, we’re just four white dudes looking for an elephant graveyard.” “This is not the time for jokes.”

Drisdelle puts it in reverse and backs away from the military-looking tents and ammo crates. The gun-totting militants seem appeased by this move. I wave a polite goodbye to our would-be killers and we’re double time out of the trees and back on the road towards Thobolos.

“Well that was.. something. Military on poacher duty?” “Ya posting up by an elephant graveyard is probably a good place to poach poachers.” “Or maybe they are poachers?” Peter scoffs, “We might be dead if they were poachers. Now that we know their location.” “On to Kasane then?” “Yep, fuck the graveyard.”

We pass by Thobolo’s again. “Ah here are the signs Deon was talking about.” “Ya they’re not really pulling any punches with these.”

Up the road we stop to take a leak. Peter points up ahead to the main Chobe transit road, “Should we air up the tires before that.” “Ya, it’s all paved from here to Kasane. And probably to the border too.” “Man, we’ve had deflated tires for like a week now.” “Ha ya. Spent more time off roads then on them.” “Should maybe have a look at ol’ Belinda here.”

We do a quick inspection of the truck while Mark and Jamie man the air compressor. “There’s a tear in the left rear tire wall over here.” “Shit. Hope it holds.” “We should probably patch it.” “There’s a spare.” “Ya, but…”

We get the all clear from the boys and are back on the road. Hundreds of elephants and wildebeests migrating on the hazy horizon. The road is in good condition and Belinda’s hind leg is thankful.

We punch it to Kasane in no time. “Find a nice spot for lunch?” “Sounds good.”

We find a place on the map called Sundowner. This sends us on a bit of a goose chase around town. We find a dirt road down by the river. The occasional colorful building. A group of kids playing soccer.

“Ok it’s somewhere here.” “Maybe through this campsite?” We maneuver around slowly, eyes peeled for the place. Pass the same older couple a few times. Confused smiles and waves. Back up by the lodge and park up.

We walk back through the whole campsite. Baboons and warthogs everywhere. Beware signs for crocs and hippos. “The place is closed. Sunday.” “Well fuck, we just wasted an hour finding this place.” “Up to Choppies for meat pies and pizza?” “Might as well.”

We roam the local grocery store for snacks and find some meat pies. Not bad actually. The veggie one is kinda spicy. Getting funny looks from the local kids in here.

We get back on the A33 and head East then North for the border.

The Four Points Border

Deon had told us that this Kazungula border in Botswana is particularly interesting because it’s the only one in the world where four countries meet. Looking at the map, we see that Namibia has a small sliver of land North of Botswana that comes up to the confluence of the Chobe and Zambezi rivers. The Zambezi separates Namibia and Zambia. Across the river in the North is Zambia and to the East is Zimbabwe, South of the river.

“Check it out boys! Ever seen a road sign with three countries on it?” “Ya man, bunch of places in Europe.” “Ya… well… fuck you!” “This is still super cool.” “Take a left and we’re back in Namibia. Right for Zambia and Zimbabwe.” “We still thinking Zambia?” “Yep.”

As usual, the border is preceded by a massive line of transport trucks.

We go past them all and park. Look around trying to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do.

A guy in a similar truck to ours comes right up and introduces himself. He’s all smiles and wearing an ‘official’ looking shit. Says that on the Zambia side they will try to get money from us. He knows a guy that’s fair though. He’ll call him and tell him we’re coming. That guys name is Alex. Look for a Blue Bushnell shirt.

I roll down the window and smile, “Nah, we’re good, thanks.” I tap Jamie on the shoulder and point to move up some more. The guy looks confused. I just wave him off as we drive away. Mark gives me a look like, ‘you sure we shouldn’t be talking to this guy?’ I tell him about the Central American borders having scams like this. MacKay and I have horror stories.

The warnings from Rosemary start ringing in my head. I’d looked up the location of her place from the coordinates on the card she’d given me. It’s a little out of the way up the Zambezi River. But I gave her a ring last night between honey badger stories to see if her offer still holds. The call didn’t go through. Reception was unsurprisingly spotty in the bush. It is here too.

We find a building that says ‘Immigration’. It’s a small, falling apart hut filled with truck drivers. The line of trucks has started and are idling outside the open door. It’s echoing so loud in this little room that you can’t hear anything in here. The stench of BO from the truck drivers in the customs line is unbearable. Hot, stinky and loud. Not my favorite. I’m going back to the truck to double up on Belinda protection with Mark.

Beside us are two trucks angling for position. Fighting out the window at each other and honking horns. “Like border elephants.”

Peter and Jamie come back out and say the customs lady told them not to deal with anyone that’s not a border guard. People will come up to you and try to ‘help’. “Fuck Alex. I knew it.”

On que, there are a bunch of guys coming up to the truck waving fake badges now. Taping on the window trying to get our attention/money. Peter locks the doors, “Just in case.” “Good times at the border.”

We get waved over to the ferry. Wow. This is the border crossing? It’s a tiny ferry with two logging trucks on it. The weight of them already has the boat sunk to the water line. “Ahh so this is how we die.” “Ya, I was expecting it to be a leopard.”

We pull the truck onto the ferry beside the logging trucks. The only other vehicle is that douchebag who’s trying to hook us up with Alex on the other side. Persistent. A guard with an AK-47 over his shoulder taps on the window. He motions for the driver to stay in the vehicle and the rest of us to get out and follow him.

“Later Jamie, have fun!” “Thanks guys. It’s been a great trip.” “Maybe keep the window rolled down for when the boat starts to sink.”

We go to the other side of the logging trucks. Two guards are here to keep an eye on the passengers.

“Looks like they’re building a bridge over there.” “Well ya, that makes sense. Fuck this thing we’re on.”

We walk the plank off the boat on the Zambia side of the river. Look back and Jamie is waving at us all frazzled. I run over. There’s a not so happy guard beside him. “I got in trouble for not paying on the ferry.” “Fuck, how much?” “200.” I scour my pockets for cash. “I only have 157.” We’re holding up traffic. I hand the money to the guard, “Sorry, this is all I’ve got.” He takes it, “Just go. Just go it is ok. Pay next time though.”

Fun stuff. A quick check of stress levels in the truck indicate mental breakdowns are imminent.

We get over to the Zambian immigration area. No idea where to go. People are still pestering us, asking to help us. I break down and get out to ask someone where to go. “Immigration is 2 buildings down.” “Ok. I don’t have any cash, sorry. Gave it all to that ferry guard.” I stomp off to immigration.

Ok, not so bad in here. After a short wait I’m at the counter with a jolly round man behind it. “Hello sir, welcome to Zambia!” “Thank you, thank you. What should we do?” “Drink Mos. Eat nshima. Smash in your hand and dip it in soup.” He pats his belly, “Makes for this.” He chuckles.

His name is Timmy. “The T is for time. The I is for… me! The M is for money. Timmy!” “Well Timmy it seems I’ll need some money for the truck fees. Where can I get some?” The exchange rate behind him says 1 usd is 10 kwacha. Timmy gives me directions to a bank machine. “The ATM is official. Very safe. Not so many people here on Sunday to try and take your money.”

While Timmy is going through our papers he keeps talking. He’s worked here since 2000. Stamped as many passports. Saw his first Macau one yesterday. “What do you do?” “Computers.” “Oh very nice. You can listen to music. Don’t have to meet hundreds of people a day.” He hands me back our papers, “Well, thank you Timmy, you’ve been the best part of the border so far haha.” “Every time, my friend!” He’s still chuckling to himself as I walk back to the truck.

Peter has gone ahead to customs to try and shave off time. I’ll get us some money. Looks like the tolls, fees and insurance for the truck are complicated.

I go to get money at the ATM. No one around, that’s a surprise. There are two young local girls watching me from a distance. I smile and wave and she waves back. Her friend sees me getting money out and she yells over, “I want!” Haha “Nope!” The other girl starts fondling her friends hair and is pointing at me, “Are you a man?” Guess the long hair is confusing. I laugh and put two fingers down by my crotch. They start giggling.

I get back to the truck and it’s in a different spot. Jamie keeps moving it to get out of the way. Peter comes back out, “I was told to look for <airquotes> The Big Man.” “Ok, sure…” “Some customs guy to check the truck. All I’ve been told is, the big man. You find Big Man and I’ll go back in to wrap this shit up.”

Jamie points over at an official looking fella who is also above average in size, “Maybe that guy.” He pipes up his voice, “Hey! Big Man!” And the guy comes right over. “Like a boss there Drisdelle!”

Big Man looks over the truck and in the back. Gets us to open up the kitchen side panels. We let him go about his business while we stand amongst the chaos. “Just sucking back diesel, dunes and dust.” “Ahhh Zambia.”

Peter comes back out all flustered. “I filled everything out and then she tells me that it’s no good since it’s your name on the rental agreement.” “Ahhh right.” “Something that would have been nice to know after I handed her my passport and before I’d filled all that shit out!” “Yes well…” I just point around at the swirling dust, honking horns, and fake border helpers.

“Alright, let’s do it then.” He warns me, “Customs officer is a real bitch face.”

I get into customs and can instantly tell who Peter has been dealing with. Her scowl is indeed menacing. She’s visibly disgusted by Peter coming back through that door. It offends her. Her contempt melts two inches off the desk in front of her as we approach. The room is vibrating with her hatred. She eats honey badgers for breakfast.

“Hello there.” I smile and try to be cordial but she’s not having it. She just hands me the paperwork. Ok then, strictly business. We refill the forms with my info. I hand her back the paperwork, “This look good?” “Go to RTSA and pay.” This is the first time she’s spoken to me. It’s a razor. “RTSA?” “Road Transport and Safety Agency.” “Ah yes, of course. How could I not know that?”

Thankfully, there’s a building with Road Transport and Safety Agency written on it. I brush past the throng of Fake Badges grabbing at me trying to help. So much poking and grabbing. I’m doing wide receiver pirouettes. Papers clutched tight. Other hand in my pocket holding the kwacha I got from the ATM. Completely over it at this point. It will take a week to refill my patience jar.

Back to the truck. It’s squeezed between moving transport trucks, things parked randomly, and Fake Badges still vying for our cash. Some guy named William is in the side mirror waving. Trying to help Jamie reverse it in the tight border traffic madness and get to the exit gate. He’s saying the opposite of what Mark and Peter are telling him. “Dude, fuck this guy.” “Ya man, just roll up your window.”

Jamie keeps listening to William in his other ear. Nope, we’re stuck. Has to pull forward and do it over. And then William dicks him over again. “Fuck saaaakes man!” Mark and Peter are fed up. He has to do it over. Jamie rolls up his window. “Eat shit, William.” Finally gets it.

Go through the gate. A guy with a badge wants some of our papers. Don’t know if he’s legit or what. It’s impossible to know at this point. Looks like just another guy with a badge. “He really wants those papers though.” We hand them to him. He is legit. Tells us we need insurance and points to yet another little hut. “This is ridiculous.” Peter grabs the registration, throws open the door and runs to do it.

Beside the insurance hut there are a bunch of vendors selling trinkets, fruit, nuts and diesel. There are fish just laid out on the ground too. “Interested in some fresh border fish? Soaked in the sun, dust and diesel?” “Nope. This border isn’t making me love Zambia.” “Borders just suck. It’ll be cool once we’re in there.”

Peter’s back, shaking his head. Climbs in the truck up front with Jamie. “All good, let’s get the fucking fuck out of here.” “Maybe a little INXS to lighten the mood, Jamie?” “Lol ya well, there’s really no other choice.”

Fortunately, it’s only under an hour to Livingstone beside the Victoria Falls. We’re finally coming down from our border crossing anxiety angst. Mark dubs it the “Worst border crossing ever.” Peter looks at me in the rear view, “Turkmenistan?” “Ya that was brutal.” And we kill the drive talking about that hilarious nightmare.

But at the same time, that spark is creeping back into everyone’s eyes. A new country to explore brings new energy. And tomorrow we’ll cross off another one of the seven natural wonders of the world. “The Smoke That Thunders.”