Victoria Falls – water under the bridge

The thick crust of clouds was covering the sky with mossy grayness throughout entire time I spent in Zambia and Zimbabwe. I’ve been reading the 100 years of solitude for the fifth time (time does go in circles and so do the stories, right?), wondering what would happened if this shell would never, ever disappear. Seven days ahead and the crust was still there. It has been following me and it will never go away – obviously.

Livingstone, Zambian gate to Victoria Falls. Finally, there is a break through. Couple of hours really.

This is great! I’m thinking – this is my decisive moment, so to speak Bressonishly. Baboon is trying to steal my camera. Then my camera dies when I reach the most spectacular viewpoint on Livingstone Island (exactly where Sir Livingstone saw the falls for the first time). 

Events must have occurred either because of the baboon or the cloudy spell.

You will not see how I stood on the precipice of the nature most wild element, and how exactly where I stood there was a rainbow hanging on the drops of waterfall mist. I kid you not. Oh well, it was not meant to be, Bressonishly. 

Now, water under the bridge - this is what happened in between the unfortunate chain of events.

I declare a complete and utter defeat in trying to find words for what I saw and heard.

The next day crusty clouds were back. I crossed the Livingstone Bridge to Zimbabwe side of the falls and accepted the grayness coming from the sky, waterfall mist and the mossy ground. I treated myself to a royal meal at Victoria Falls Hotel. 

A remain of the past grandeur.

 

Between exquisite table setting, tea bags (!) served in the fake silver pitchers and the view of the Livingstone Bridge there was the mossy ghost of the dead empire. 

Very well then. You know – there is only one Queen here. A truly royal persona with her powerful presence of forces anointed by nature. In all her glory – Mosi-oa-Tunya– A Smoke That Thunders.