The most exciting thingy on my way to the Mighty Falls was the passing of the town of Zimba.

Ja, that’s right. My zebra wagon must have inspired the chief of Zimba. There you have it, Zimba in Zimba, Zambia.

The chief would have been more likely to be inspired by David Livingstone. The early explorer discovered the end of the earth and named the rumbling thunder after Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.

I dare to say that her supremacy wouldn’t be impressed by the touristy circus these falls have turned into. It’s all about the money.

Its nature days are long gone.

Victoria Falls is a natural wonder of the world and has always been a tourist attraction.

But seriously? I was alarmed. It’s all just a big show pony. Stay in one of many posh hotels that flared out into this fragile ecosystem. Right by the river.

Right there where the elephants migrate. The only elephants I have seen were artificial.

Hippos need traffic lights it appears.

Getting to the river was not easy for anyone. If there wasn’t a heavily protected hotel in the way, all other territory was a national park.

Tiramisu. Just in time for our European friends.

On the map, they look like ordinary roads. A road into nowhere. A road to the thundering falls.

But once you stop, you’re in the national park!?

There I was, sitting at my favorite spot by the river.

A place I remembered well and where I spent a lot of time 6 years ago.

It’s like a perfect little picnic area to relax and watch the sunset disappear over the Zambezi.

A spot popular with locals and tourists. A few local vendors sold arm bracelets made out of copper, or bone/wood/stone carved necklace symbols, mixed up with some wood carvings. Everyone was happy, everything was dandy.

These locals now have been removed by National Park authorities, saying it is illegal to sell art here. It’s the villager’s only opportunity of income. A good chance to cash in as they have done from the beginning of Msungu tourist-times.

No National Park signs are displayed, and no National Park rangers are to be seen anywhere. A sign of a whole lotta nothing.

However, this is also a National Monument site as the marker shows the height of the 1975 floods. This sign clearly has more information than the one of the proposed government officials.

I just poured myself a nice cuppa coffee and watched a school class enjoying their lunch.

I appreciated the fact that I wasn’t surrounded by kids, asking for food.

Of course, they spotted me too. Out of nowhere, we were approached by a ‘local’ wearing a Man U shirt, smelling of alcohol.

He is a park warden he said and was telling me that I am here illegally, technically. This is national park territory and I must pay a fee. He wasn’t aggressive or assertive, but I just had enough. Every time I park Zimba somewhere quiet, someone appears out from the gramadulas, asking for this, or asking for that. Even telling me what I can or what I can’t do.

No can do, I just arrived from a long drive, and I just need to relax with a coffee. I had a very heated discussion with so-called park authorities called in by old mate in the red shirt, who neither wore any badges nor official credentials. Oho, I was in full swing. Annoyed the shite out of me as instead of me relaxing by the river, having a raised heartbeat and wasted an hour of my precious time. Why are things so complicated and confusing nowadays?

Can we not go back to a simple life? A joyful life.

I have been told that the Zimbabwean circus is even bigger. Imagine me being in Zimbabwe.

Anyhoozle, I do like this spot. As I did then. It’s the only place by the river I can go to, literally.

Without paying vast entrance fees or buying food and drinks to mingle with the posh tourists. Not my spice of life, girls.

In the following 5 days, I did not see any other government officials again.