To misquote The Wind in the Willow‘s Ratty, there’s nothing quite like messing about in boats. That’s what comes to mind as I lie, insouciantly in my bed aboard the Zambezi Queen (http://www.zambeziqueen.com/) watching the sun rise.
Anorexic trees, their leaves denuded by hungry elephants, ghost the banks of the Caprivi strip, while buffalo on the Botswana side regard the vessel balefully. Wood smoke spices the air and a dense peace settles over this wild pepper-scented land, the cicadas yet to begin their shrill chorus.
I found myself in Livingstone, Zambia this week, in digs that fringe the Mighty Zambezi. Despite no longer being immune to the Anopheles Mosquito (in vintage Kate Turner, I lost my prophylactics along the way) I slept profoundly, aided by a diaphanous mozzie net and the softest linen.
I was roused by hunger. Not mine, but this Blue Balled chap’s.
He was agitating for the plate of fruit the munificent folks of David Livingstone Safari Lodge (http://www.thedavidlivingstone.com/) laid out for me. Praise Jeepers the rooms are not porous to wildlife. I can’t say I would’ve been as stoic as my Uncle’s wife, Bev, who regularly has to shoo baboons from their b&b in Glencairn, Simon’s Town. The bush here is dripping with them.