The Zambian customs office consisted of one man behind a glass window which has a slot big enough through which to slide passports ... and money. Pubic access to this glass window is through a tiny anteroom which has a door to the outside. When we reached the lineup we were only a few people away from the outside door. We waited ... and waited ... the same person at the head of the line was still there when the next ferry load emptied onto the Zambian shore. Our necks craned to see the vehicles pass ... Joseph was not amongst them.

The line began to move and just then a woman squeezed in from the side and stood beside Alistair.

Her invasive movements caused everyone else behind to squeeze up tight so as not to allow anyone else to use the same tactic. It was most difficult for Alistair's English-gentleman training not to let this aggressive woman in front of him ... but for the betterment of the G.A.P Group the next time the line shifted he slid in front of her. She didn’t like it and "accidentally" gave him a poke or two ... we’ll count the bruises later. Sherrie moved in front of Alister and had Samantha move in ahead of her. The G.A.P Group now had control of the doorway. Gerda and Terry got up to the customs window and Gerda started asking for people to pass forward their passports. "He wants all American passports please with .... ," and she would give the cost for each visa in US currency. "Now the Irish," she called, "no money needed." "Canadians next." "Everyone else, please give us your passports." Terry watched as the man looked through the passports and hit them with a stamp.

At the end of the exercise the customs officer presented Gerda with the total cost of the visas. She checked it, passed him the money through the slot and asked for a receipt. He carefully counted out a portion of the US dollars and put them into his right pocket; then he took the rest of the bills and put them into his left. The receipt required two signatures; he signed on one line and, without hesitating, used a different name and a different style of writing to sign on the second. Now that all the official business was done, he slid all the passports back through the glass opening.

To the relief of the people behind us we left them to their pushing and shoving.

Guts met us outside and announced that Joseph and the bus had made it across. As Guts had already done most of the paperwork, Joseph just needed to verify registration numbers with the officials.

"Welcome to Zambia" Guts said as we headed towards Livingstone.

The Fairmont Hotel and Casino was not the nicest of endings to what was a most incredible journey with G.A.P Adventures. Our room was so dirty (including leftover food in the fridge and Terry, in his sock feet, stepping on a syringe) that we spoke with the manager (in the presence of Guts and Gerda). Our room was then cleaned, but the "yuck feeling" remained.

When we asked at the front desk if we could use a phone for a local call, they said they didn’t have one! "You don’t have a phone?" Terry asked.

"No." came the answer.

At the entrance to Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park, Guts told us that if we waited 15 minutes before entering we could get the lower evening rate. This rate usually only allows for a quick look around before leaving again, but tonight was different. Victoria Falls are spectacular; they must be seen, felt and heard to be fully appreciated. This is where the wide, seemingly calm, Zambezi River plummets over the rim of a deep gorge, nearly two kilometres in length, and turns into a ferocious torrent. The spray and mist is squeezed up the gorge walls and rises high above the rim. The mist made us feel like we were being engulfed in rain as we followed asphalt paths and crossed over the Knife Edge foot bridge on the Zambian side. As we walked along the edge of the gorge, the sun dropped below the horizon and we waited for the moon to rise.

Our days with the G.A.P Group were coming to an end; tomorrow would be our last full day.

July 20

We were picked up from our hotel and taken out to the Baobab Ridge Helipad of United Air Charter.

"There’s a fire," someone said looking out from United Air Charter’s lapa (a thatched roof supported by poles). It wasn’t a fire but the plumes of mist rising up from Victoria Falls. It was this sight and the roaring sound which caused a local tribe to give the falls its original name of "Mosi-oa-Tunya" ... "the Smoke that Thunders".

We were led out to a shiny black helicopter and outfitted with head sets as our pilot, Nina, took her seat and began the aircraft’s check off.

The helicopter pad is 4 km from the Zimbabwe border crossing.  We were the first flight of the day ... the light was beautiful.  During our flight over Victoria Falls we flew in both Zambian and Zimbabwean air space. The flight let us see the entire falls at the same time, which is not possible to do from the paths at the National Park.

Livingstone is much smaller than we had imagined, however, as the tourist infrastructure across the river in Zimbabwe continues to crumble, this area is undergoing a building boom.

The palace of the Mukuni chief, munokalya Patrick Siloka Mukuni, was pointed out to us. From the outside it is a modest home by Western standards, with terra cotta plastered walls, sitting behind a decorative thatch fence. We were told the internationally educated chief also has his palace equipped with internet access.

As we drove through each village, children ran toward us and waved. During brief stops, children would gather around our vehicle. What child, whether in Zambia or any other country in the world, would not be in awe of a huge yellow and blue truck. There were so very many children. In one village we were told the population was 540; 400 of those are children under the age of ten. Children looking after children.

When we arrived at Jet Extreme's launch site, we could look down into the deep Zambezi Gorge below Victoria Falls and see, at the bottom, a jet boat and some beached yellow whitewater rafts. We were taken from the rim of the gorge to the river in a cable car which stopped about three-quarters of the way down. "There is going to be a jerk," Tony advised and then he explained he would engaged a cable which would lower the car vertically to the river bank. Ingenious.

We stored our valuables and anything we did not want to get wet in a locker. Getting wet was not an option ... the only unknown was how wet?

We walked over the rocks and left our shoes on the sand. Some of the G.A.P Group were there. They had just completed a whitewater rafting trip down river. We climbed into the jet boat and were seated in the back ... Terry on one side and Sherrie on the other.

We flew over the water coming precariously close to rock outcrops. Tony, now pilot, would put his right hand high in the air and circle it around as though he were a cowboy with an invisible lasso ... a signal which meant ‘Hold on! ... with two hands .... TIGHT’ It was like being inside a stunt car during a wild chase scene, going full throttle and then having the brakes slammed on and the wheel cranked to one side so that the centrifugal force spins the vehicle around "on a dime" to face in the direction from which it came. The difference was that this was on water ... water doesn’t know to stop ... it just keeps coming ... over the sides .... over the back with waves of wet splashing against the backs of our heads, around our faces to the people in front of us. Wow! We hadn’t experienced this since we jet boated on the Dart River in New Zealand. Water covered the back seat and sloshed back and forth between us as we zig-zagged back down the river to shoot rapids. We were soaking wet ... it was a blast!

Evening brought another boating experience as the G.A.P Group spent our last dinner together. It was just our G.A.P Group onboard the open sided sight-seeing vessel as we cruised the Zambezi above the falls.

After dinner, Guts again brought out his infamous ‘Black Book’. Each person was called forward and acknowledged for their contribution to making this "Delta and Falls Discoverer" tour a memorable journey.

Joseph was given well deserved accolades for bringing us through the trip safely, without getting stuck ... not even a flat tire, a most outstanding accomplishment considering the Namibian, Botswana and Zambian roads.

We toasted our wonderful leader, Guts, who managed to remain upbeat and positive despite caring for 20 people (for one day 24) on a twenty-one day non-stop schedule ... 504 continuous hours of being responsible ... we are impressed and grateful. Thanks to Gerda as well.

Guts had one last surprise when we disembarked from the cruise boat. He guided us to the very up-market Zambezi Sun Hotel for one last drink ... a Springbok shooter ... named after the delicate antelope of which we saw so many. There is an ‘official’ way of drinking it. Guts demonstrated.

July 21

Our backpacks were on and we were ready to start a new phase, the last phase, of our African adventure. In front of the Fairmont Hotel a crowd of people had gathered. They must be waiting for someone important because many of the men were dressed in suits and ties. There was a cleared walkway from the street up to a man who held a bouquet of cellophane-wrapped flowers in his arms. It appeared as thought the arrival was imminent, so we waited awhile.