After the Four Points border bonanza it doesn’t take long until Livingstone is on the horizon. “Zambiaaaaaa!!!” We follow the M10 into the center of town. Bustling place. People everywhere. Not as built up as I expected given the world wonder next door.

We pull into Jolly Boys hostel and get the lay of the land. Nice place. It’s a colorful yellow and red building with a sweet open air patio. We ask the host if they mind if we just park the truck, sleep in it and use their facilities. No problem. Alright then where’s the bar? haha

We come around the patio and there are a group of Irish guys watching women’s field hockey on the tv in the corner. Their country must be in some sort of championship. They’re really invested in this game.

“Post-border beers?” “Yep, perfect.” I order us a round of Mosi. They’re a buck fifty each. There’s a Norwegian fella at the bar that’s asking about our trip. Loves the idea of our self-drive safari. Nice, polite guy that’s here with some school buddies.

I guess I should have known the national beer would be Victoria Falls themed.

“Ahhhhhhh Thunderous Refreshment!” “Haha Nice. Tastes like every other national lager worldwide.” “Yep. But a cold one is still perfect on most occasions.” “This is true. Also nice to have some downtime here to just kick it.”

We knock back a handful of Mosi and defrag from the border crossing stress. Sun starts going down.

Looks like the Irish were victorious and are heading out somewhere to celebrate. A quick look at food options brings the Zambezi Cafe as a front runner. We may be able to do a platter or skewer thing like Joe’s Beerhouse with lots of game meats.

The place isn’t too far so we just walk it. We’re immediately in a sketchy back alley. Crumbling concrete walls and garbage. Getting some sideways looks from the locals. “You feeling like a target?” “Ya ok, maybe just walk out by the road.” It’s still busy on the road. There’s a Spar close to the hostel we can hit for supplies tomorrow.

We come up on the Zambezi Cafe and go through a gate to a back patio. Colorful mural on the wall. Not much happening in here, just one other table of people. The server comes over with a smile. We put in the game platter that has impala, kudu, and crocodile. That’s exciting. Get off the Mosi and switch to G&Ts.

Suddenly the lights go out and the music guess off. Oh shit no way. A cake and candles come around the corner. “Happy birthday to you!” Phewf. We join in the song with some added vibrato and clap for the happy birthday girl. They laugh and wave. The lights and music come back on.

Our server is back with a couple of platters for two and lands them on the table between us. “Sorry, we’re out of impala, kudu, and crocs.” Ahhhhhh… “So what’s this then?” “Short rib. Yes, very sorry.” And she slinks away embarrassed.

Mark and Peter are understandably irate about the situation, “So basically everything we came here for they don’t have?” “This would have been good information to know before we ordered the platters.” The food also sucks. Aaaaaaand it’s all cold. Nothing noteworthy or overly flavorful. “Yep, it’s a total bust.”

We decide to cab it back. We’re too lazy and it’s too late in the witching hour to be roaming around here. The early stages of onset drunkeness are also starting to show. We find a cab in the alley. The driver is animated to see us and we pile into the car.

“Yes, hello boys! Welcome.” He’s moving stuff off of the seats so we can all fit in. “Jollyboys please, my good man.” “Right!” And he just puts it in reverse and blasts backwards down the alley. “Haha wow. I’ll pay extra if you go in reverse all the way to Jollyboys.” “Really? I’ll be arrested.” Drisdelle is giggling, “It’s cool. We’ll cover it.” “Really?” He thinks about it. “Naaaaaaah!” “What’s your longest reverse?” “7 km.” “Haha whoa. That’s pretty far.” Peter pipes up, “Mine was 32 kilometers.” “32 kilometers!” “I was in a tractor. No forward gears.” “Ohhhh hahaha.”

This cabbie ends up being quite the character. He says he’s met Prince Harry. He also almost swam with George Bush, who owns a cervical clinic down the road. Ya ok. “Oh oh and I also got to meet Arnold. The Govenator!” He pulls around to the entrance of Jollyboys and slams on the brakes. We dole out a round of high fives and fist bumps and wish him well. “Enjoy Zambia!”

Back to the patio bar. It’s dimly lit with an orange glow now. I like the vibe of this place. Colorful African fabrics and comfy nooks to hang in.

The hostel only has beer, cider and wine. The bartender says, “We also have a bag of wine.” I turn to Mark, “Bag of wine?” He shakes his head, knowing I’m going to get this shitty bag of wine no matter what he says, “Yep. Bag o’ wine. Why not?” “No, no I don’t think we need a whole bag of wine.”

I get a tap on the shoulder. It’s the Norwegian guy I met earlier. “Heeeeeeey!” He introduces me to a couple of his buddies. They’re here doing school shit. They applied for a program where they get 30k pounds from the government and get to travel to another country. They try to get contracts and do something good for an impoverished community. They’re in Lusaka working with an orphanage and doing a cystic fibrosis thingy. They’re just here in Livingstone to take a couple of days off.

They’re heading out to find drinks somewhere in town. “You wanna go?” “Nah man. Thanks but we’re beat.” “And you have that whole bag of wine to drink haha.” He flashes a wink and they’re off. “We’re not doing the bag of wine, are we?” “Nah man, fuck that.” Mark goes back to Belinda to grab some gin and tonics. Good call.

We get situated in a quite corner just winding things down. Gonna be an early morning to get over to Victoria Falls and then probably into Kafue National Park tomorrow. Energy levels are fairly low due to the previous two evenings of raiding the Thobolos honor bar and man-giggling late into the night.

The Irish come back from dinner like a lightning storm. Chanting songs as they go through the hostel. Cackling like drunk hyenas. They’re hilarious. “That’s the Irish alright.” “If I hadn’t gotten only 6 hours sleep the last two days I would say we should mingle.” “Yeah, we should probably call it. Leave them to destroy the hostel.”

There’s another self safari truck in the parking lot now.

We get up into Belinda’s attic and it’s super musty. Mark left his dirty socks up here and the tent has been marinating in it all day. “Change the trucks name to Musty?” “Damn sorry, this is brutal.” “Set an alarm for 5am?” “Ahhhhhh Fuuuuuuck!”