Day 18 – Lusaka to Livingstone: The Slow Way South

A woman on the bus couldn’t understand why we weren’t on a plane. I told her I had come to see the country between the places, not just the places, and to follow the old lines across it by land. She looked at me as if I were simply slow, and decided I was mad. She may have had a point.

The bus was the UBZ, the one everyone had told us to take, and it earned the recommendation. Clean, air-conditioned, punctual. There was a driver, a hostess with a microphone who kept us posted on the stops, and a young man who came through to clean every forty-five minutes; there was even a toilet, for number ones only, we were told, and it was kept clean too. It was almost entirely locals on board, plus us and a Japanese couple. If you want a seat, book a day or two ahead.

The ride was long and, to my surprise, a pleasure. I do not love buses. I didn’t mind this one at all. We passed through one small town after another, each with its open-air market spilling toward the road, and at the stops the sellers came to the windows with whatever they had. We had brought plenty of snacks, but at one halt we bought samosas and tea anyway, and paid about ten times what the man next to us paid, which by now we took as a kind of tax and did not begrudge.

The most striking thing out of the window, apart from the baobabs that began to appear as the land dried out toward the south, was the railway. The line ran alongside the road for most of the day, keeping pace with us, and every kilometre of it reminded me of the twenty-four-hour train I would happily have taken if it had been remotely dependable, if the delays had been the sort you can build a route around. There it was, the whole way, a parallel journey I had wanted and could not have.

Beside us sat two locals, an uncle and his nephew, and we talked in English. The uncle spoke warmly of the sitting president, up for re-election in a couple of weeks; the nephew did not approve and said the cost of everything was too high and what his money could buy too little. The same country, the same election, two answers, one row of seats. It was a truer picture of the vote than the smiling photograph I had at the airport.

We reached Livingstone in the late afternoon. After a whole day of bush and small towns, the town felt busier and more geared to visitors than anywhere since Zanzibar, low buildings along a wide main road, curio stalls, the traffic of a place that lives off the falls a few kilometres away. From the modern bus station we made our way to Jollyboys Backpackers without a taxi, and found a lovely place with a pool, our own little cabin, and a hot shower we stood under for a long time. Livingstone is small and charming, and we would take it slowly over the coming days; it also carries the name of the man whose footsteps were one of the three reasons I built this trip, a thread I will pick up properly at the museum later. Tonight we only wanted to rest.

We were told not to walk after dark, so we took a taxi to dinner using a local ride app; in Livingstone, the one I had used in Lusaka did not work, and Bolt, which covers all of Tanzania, does not run here either, so it is worth sorting the right local app in advance. Dinner was at Café Zambezi, an African restaurant on Mosi-oa-Tunya Road, all timber and colour and open courtyards, a place travellers and locals both wash up in. I had nshima with nyama choma; Lorena had a pineapple pizza from the wood-fired oven. The house speciality is crocodile, in fried bites or ribs, and that I gave a miss.

And there, over dinner, were the Japanese couple from the bus. We had not spoken a word to each other all day, and now we shared a beer. They had started in Lusaka and were heading for Cape Town, and, like us, they were doing the whole thing overland. The woman on the bus that morning had thought I was the only kind of fool who crosses a continent slowly when he could fly it. Here were two more.

Practical Notes

Where I stayed

Jollyboys Backpackers, 34 Kanyanta Road, Livingstone. https://backpackzambia.com/
What I paid: $314 for five nights (our base for Livingstone, Victoria Falls (both sides), rafting, Chobe, and the buffer days).
My take: A proper backpackers, relaxed, with a pool, common areas and private cabins as well as dorms. After malls and a safari camp, an easy, sociable place to settle for several nights and a good spot to meet people and swap tips on the local trips.

Where I ate

Café Zambezi, Mosi-oa-Tunya Road, Livingstone. African food, lively, popular with travellers and locals.
What I ate: nshima with nyama choma; pineapple wood-fired pizza for Lorena. Crocodile (bites and ribs) is the house speciality if you want it. Mosi lager on tap.
What I paid: 520 ZMW for two.

Getting there

Lusaka to Livingstone by bus: UBZ (United Bus of Zambia), the company repeatedly recommended to us, booked in advance at the Intercity Bus Terminus. Around 470–480 km, a full day down through Southern Province via Choma. Clean, air-conditioned, punctual, with an on-board toilet and regular cleaning. Book a day or two ahead for a seat.
What I paid: 380 ZMW per person (bought in Lusaka, see Day 16).
Worth knowing: at one food stop we were charged roughly ten times the local price, so carry small snacks if that sort of thing bothers you.