The mighty Zambezi River takes its longest fall here, over the gorge named for the queen of a foreign country. The mist and fog from Victoria Falls can be seen for miles; five minutes from Livingstone in a taxi takes you to the edge where you can walk the well-laid trails. First, though, you must run the gauntlet of baboons at the top. I’ve never been so close to a primate, a seriously enormous male baboon. As I approach him I am holding my breath. Not because he smells, I’m just trying to minimize myself. The baboon meets my eye (I can’t help but look at him) and he lets me pass. I do not stop for a photo.

At the Knife Edge Walking Bridge the Zambezi flow is so massive and so much water is charging over the rocks, only glimpses of the great scene are visible and we are rewarded with a thorough soaking while waiting to see it. It is worth it. What did Dr. David Livingstone think, when first hearing the falls, then seeing the mist rising to the sky? Did he and all his would-be rescuers perceive it was God giving them a challenge, good English Christians that they were? Certainly everyone already living in the area was, and still is, challenged by the environment.

Back in town at the Zambezi Cafe we admire the tropical languid feel of Livingstone. Cool and dry this time of year, the wet season must have rivers of water on the roads given the size of the gutters which incidentally are crowded with people selling tomatoes. I notice striking birth defects, and the ravages of polio, I think, in the population. Livingstone town  might have nice cafes and stores and hotels, but close your eyes and it is easy to see all this, the buildings and businesses, overtaken and swallowed by the jungle. Indiscriminate viruses lurk in the interior. It wouldn’t take much for a reversal of fortune.

Meanwhile there is good camping with river views, great birding with crocodile and elephant about. We meet an American, a coffee-roaster from Bishop CA who travels with his own coffee beans and a hand grinder – now that guy loves coffee. A pot is brewed and we share stories. With his white hair and beard, Joe reminds me of Henry Morton Stanley – of Dr. Livingston, I presume, fame.  Stanley may have made up that famous greeting, uttered on the banks of Lake Tanganyika to the north. He was a shameless self-promotor. His Christian values were certainly a myth. Stanley never meant to convert anyone and in fact treated the natives with contempt, and worse. Dr. Livingstone could only claim to have converted two people himself for all the time and effort he exerted. At least Dr. Livingstone actually lived (and died) in this jungle; that took courage. His credibility isn’t suspect. Stanley was a murderous man of his time, when newspapers were sold on the exalted fables so-called heroes. Stanley did have one thing in common with many renowned explorers – an inherent sense of direction. He entered the impenetrable Ituri forest of West African and came out on the Zambezi plain in just the place he was shooting for – long before GPS. Never mind that he lost most of his men in the process and that the remainder needed rescuing far more than Dr. Livingstone. This town named for the doctor reeks of history; we hang around for a few days, buy some tomatoes and bananas from the street vendors and then head north, up the Zambezi to the Liuwa Plain.