Victoria Falls, Zambia
Written on February 12th, 2026 by Dr Hobo
This is the second in a series of five about my favourite places visited whilst backpacking.
Victroia Falls, Zambia
Last visit: April 2013
Vibe: Adrenaline capital meets natural wonder
Zambia still evokes age-old African tropes of timelessness, poverty and tribalism for many people. It’s a country that sounds distinctively African but remains largely unknown. Despite hosting the UN World Tourism Organisation’s (UNWTO) world assembly in August 2013, Zambia is still difficult to place on the map - sandwiched as it is between news-loud neighbours Zimbabwe and the Congo. However, the UNWTO event has gone some way to remedy Zambia’s silent rise as an attractive tourist destination. From the minute you land in Lusaka, the nation’s rapidly modernising capital, everything seems designed to undermine stereotypical understandings of sub-Saharan Africa.
The moment from Livingstone that will stick with you for a lifetime isn’t the terrifying bungee jump, nor the extreme grade 5+ white water rafting - it’s simply walking in Victoria Falls National Park. The lush tropical setting, its cheeky sandwich-stealing monkeys, and the nervous excitement of knowing something spectacular is around the corner create an atmosphere that gives you a feeling of kinship with the great explorer Dr Livingstone himself.
Despite being surrounded by camera-wielding tourists, the park still holds an aspect of rawness. Crossing the Indiana Jones-styled bridge to the cliff stack that sits right in front of the falls, dressed only in boots, shorts and a hat, is nothing short of amazing. There’s something primal and Eden-like about dancing, wet-through, on a cliff edge, surrounded by a perpetual rainbow whilst facing the world’s greatest waterfall.
The surrounding area offers cultural experiences too - the royal Kuomboka ceremony celebrates the flooding of the Zambezi River with a procession led by the king of the Lozi people, an annual tradition dating back 300 years. The sudden appearance of the Lozi King dressed as a Victorian ambassador brings home the slight madness we all love in royal ceremonies.
In sum: A definite must if you’re into outdoor activities and don’t mind sharing Victoria Falls with tour groups. Not so much if you’re looking for undiscovered Africa or avoiding tourist infrastructure - see extract below for more of the latter!
Diary Extract - Sioma Falls (further up the Zambezi)
Sioma was a rough frontier town in every way possible. Prices were high, townspeople were tough, and the food at the restaurant was tasteless. I couldn’t even convince anyone to rent out a bike so I could visit the Sioma Falls about 10k away. I had faith that my traveller’s luck would hold out though, and I would be able to hitch-hike the majority of the distance.
After 10 minutes I did get lucky and found myself outside the visitor’s centre for the ‘Sioma Falls National Park’. Knowing full well it was only classed as a ‘National Park’ so they could charge me some ridiculous fee, I attempted to slyly slip past the Park centre unnoticed. Unfortunately, a truck full of intimidating and armed park rangers drove past as I was just about to make my unauthorised detour. Slightly alarmed at the sight of a lone white man on foot, they stopped and asked questions. They ‘correctly’ assumed I was lost and pointed me in the right direction of the visitor centre.
Twenty minutes later and about 50 Kwacha short, I was escorted to see the falls. Had I brought with me a few friends, some beers and a picnic it would have been a nice afternoon out. As it was, I had a guide who said no to all my requests:
Can I go over there? No.
Can I have a look at this waterfall? No.
Can I paddle over here? No.
Can I push you off this ledge? No.
After taking a few pictures I decided to hit the road again. As I began to walk back north towards Sioma, a pickup truck going in the other direction stopped and the people in it actually invited me to stay the night at their lodge.
I was initially cautious as there was a mad assortment of people in this pickup truck. It contained: an elderly Italian man who, after years of smoking and drinking, had reduced himself to a semi-catatonic state whereby he could only walk with assistance and speak coherently for two or three hours of the day. His Zambian wife, the very charismatic ‘Auntie Julia’, fortunately spoke enough for both of them. With them was ‘Uncle Doogle’ and two teenage lads visiting their Aunty Julia to escape the madness of Lusaka to visit ‘the bush’ for the first time.
These guys were half Greek, half Zambian. When I learnt this fact I couldn’t resist asking if they knew my university friend from 6 years ago who was also Greco-Zambian - and as it turned out, they did! This was the deciding factor and I said yes to their very kind offer. I hopped into the back of their truck with all the other Zambian hitch-hikers and ended up staying the night at what must be the most beautifully located poultry farm in the African sub-continent.
Their lodge overlooked possibly the most stunning part of the Zambezi I had seen. Better yet, they had a canoe resting on the river bank screaming to be used. As it turned out, the two teenage boys were up for going for a paddle as well. Unfortunately however, the Zambian worker Aunty Julia hired as a domestic worker/fisherman/canoe paddler was blind drunk.
Being the hero that I am, I told Julia of my kayaking qualifications and that I would be more than willing to paddle the boys around the islands of the Zambezi. With a nonchalant warning about crocodiles and what not, we were off! After a few photos, a bit of fishing, a quick swim and a sudden realisation that I had full responsibility for the livelihood of these boys, I paddled us back just in time for tea.
The Zambezi in Literature: Wilbur Smith’s A Falcon Flies (1980)
Long before I ever set foot in Zambia, I was obsessed with Wilbur Smith’s adventure novels set in southern Africa. Reading them in my late teens, Smith’s vivid descriptions of the Zambezi Valley - the wildlife, the landscape, the raw adventure of it all - planted the seed that eventually grew into an actual trip years later.
A Falcon Flies, the first in his Ballantyne series, follows Dr Robyn Ballantyne and her brother Zouga as they journey up the Zambezi River in 1860, searching for their missing father. Smith’s trademark attention to the landscape’s brutal beauty and the ever-present danger of the river - hippos, crocodiles, rapids - wasn’t exaggeration. If anything, experiencing it firsthand made me appreciate how accurately he captured that mix of terror and exhilaration that comes with being on the Zambezi in a dugout canoe.
When those fishermen’s nephews started complaining about hippos during my canoe journey, or when Auntie Julia casually warned about crocodiles before I paddled her nephews around, I couldn’t help but think: “Wilbur Smith prepared me for this moment.” He really didn’t, of course - but it felt romantic to think so.
Next in the series: Brazil, Trancoso
