Life in Africa is hard...

Tonight’s dinner, our one designated splurge in the entire trip, cost just over half a million dollars for the four of us. To be sure, it was tasty. We whetted our appetites with pickled slices of baby crocodile tail, exquisitely presented with cleansing, tissue-thin apple shavings. For mains, we all feasted on exotic delights: Kathryn and Nathalie each had a lean and succulent cutlet of kudu, a large antelope, served with fresh cranberry and mashed sweet potatoes. Serena enjoyed the warthog fillet, which was far tastier than any pork I’ve had. I had “Nyami Nyami”, a Zambezi bream fish nicknamed for the serpent god of the great river who offers his flesh to the people of Zambia and Zimbabwe. It was perfectly sautéed in coconut cream curry, and served with delicious roasted veggies (which I normally disdain as empty vitamins), some of which were quite new to me. It was easily the finest food I’ve had in my entire time in Southern Africa – even by Vancouver standards, this was a world-class meal.

The restaurant was at the Victoria Falls Safari Lodge, a beautiful and distressingly up-market, multi-story wooden edifice that caters mainly to wealthy (and mostly ancient) tourists. We all feasted on equally exotic delights: Kathryn and Nathalie each had a lean and succulent cutlet of kudu, a large antelope, served with fresh cranberry and mashed sweet potatoes. Serena enjoyed the warthog fillet, which was far tastier than any pork I’ve had.. We enjoyed a sundowner (the Southern African term for a beer or ten enjoyed in the fading light) on the beautiful terraced balcony that serves as the Lodge’s bar. It overlooked a well-wooded flat expanse of the Zambezi river valley, which stretched almost infinitely under another incomparable orange African sunset. The balcony isn’t far from a collection of smallish watering holes, each a few metres in diameter, which are floodlit to give the patrons a chance to view any animals that wander in for a drink after dark. Though hopeful for giraffes and lions, we saw only a smattering of unique birds and the hyperactive vervet monkeys that clambered playfully over the hotel roof behind us while we waited for the dinner bell.

Sadly, we had to reject our helpful server’s first dinner recommendation, the Boma, or “Eating Place” (in what language I remember not, probably Zulu or Matabele). Though the four-hour buffet of authentic Southern African cuisine sounded nearly irresistible, and Lonely Planet told us it was possibly the best meal available in all of Africa, we paled at the prospect of paying well over a million dollars each for dinner. So we headed up to the lesser-yet-still-wonderful restaurant that rested above the bar. It is a multi tiered, low-lit place constructed entirely of polished wood, with decor and service the equal of the ritziest places I’ve seen in Canada, though of course with an African flavour. Enormous woven carpets and tapestries with startlingly detailed depictions of local wildlife hung from the 15-m vaulted thatch ceiling. The wall were all open to the air and hung over the Zambezi plain below.

The restaurant had its own excellent view of the watering hole, and the lights were kept just barely bright enough to read the menus, to facilitate viewing of the unfortunately absent wildlife. Somehow, with no noticeable chemicals or other means, the whole place was entirely free of mosquitoes and other bugs, something entirely alien to my experience in the region. I don’t know how they did it, but at this point I’d give my arm for the secret.

With the exception of the young children of the Italian family seated behind us, we four, all in our mid-20s, were the youngest people there, by a couple of decades. Wealthy European, South African and American tourists abounded, having an extraordinarily insulated, but no doubt very entertaining, African experience. After finishing our dinner, we examined the place around us with awe and observed that the Victoria Falls Safari Lodge serves its patrons precisely the Africa they want to see, an Africa of abundant wildlife, comfort, and neatly captured bits of allegedly genuine local culture. As if to drive home the point, an impeccably talented men’s a cappella, clad in bright t-shirts featuring enormous savannah animals, exploded into a fine rendition of Neil Diamond’s “I am the Lion”.

Enjoying the surprisingly good music, basking in the glow of extraordinary food, and debating with my companions the appropriateness of enjoying such luxury in a country in precipitous decline, I asked myself two questions, and found two simple answers. Is the sheltered experience of some tourists, enjoying game drives and luxury lodges, the Real Africa ™? Of course not. Is it worth doing at least once while I’m here? Hell, yes.