WHERE THE RAIN FALLS UP

Andrea Nagel finds that nothing can prepare you for your first glimpse of Victoria Falls

THE wall of the bar at The Royal Livingstone Hotel in Zambia proclaims: "Commend me to thy merry midnight frogs." Maybe that's what David Livingstone said after a couple of nightcaps on the edge of the falls he so famously discovered in 1855, much to his disappointment. He came upon the curtain of water in the process of trying to establish a commercial river route. At that moment, his plans went up in smoke.

Sitting at the bar, our drinks of choice are gin and tonics - the drink of colonialists, and the hotel bar has more than a whiff of colonialism about it.

I'm an African, born and bred, and yet I feel out of place in this wildness of Africa, pockets of which have been tamed for our enjoyment. I can't help gawking like a safari novice at the loping giraffes and habituated zebras that roam on the finely-mowed lawns outside our lavish rooms.

We've come here to experience a fantasy of Africa tailored to the romantic notions of the tourist. But that doesn't make it any less exciting or enjoyable. We're kept so busy with helicopter and microlight tours of the falls, horseback safaris, quad biking, jet-boat riding and leisurely riverside massages during our three-day stay, all organised by the hotel, that there is only one fleeting moment from the window of The Royal Livingstone Express in which we see how a great number of the Zambians in this part of the country really live.

We pass a shanty town at dusk and hear the gleeful voices of children, who run as fast as they can alongside the glorious old steam engine. Then, as darkness falls, they become invisible again.

On arrival at The Royal Livingstone, cocktails are served on the deck on the banks of the mighty Zambezi. The wide expanse of water teems with elephants, hippos and fish, and is flowing at a pace that only hints at the drama downstream. Waited on by staff in starched shirts and smiles, we relax in the blazing sun, sipping our drinks while we wait for a bus to take us the short distance to the bridge over a gaping canyon that joins Zimbabwe and Zambia.

At this unlikely border post, the brave among us have gathered to jump. There's a young girl manually controlling a stop sign halfway along the bridge, and some Zimbabwean youngsters are trying to sell their money. A billion dollars goes for R10.

Sliced into the land like a huge wound, the canyon looks as though it could hurt you. With sharp rocks on either side, and boulders visible under the rushing water below, the bungee rope looks as fragile as a hair holding up an anchor.

One by one, we all take the leap. I figure if the rope can hold Ryk Neethling, the first of our group to jump, then it can take my measly weight. The thought is not as encouraging as I expect.

If you intend to jump, all you can do is make up your mind, creep to the edge and leap off. If you can help it, don't look down. Stomach lurches into your throat, you stop breathing, and it's over before you can scream. You bounce a few times through the air, thick with adrenaline, and then hang upside down, the emerald water crashing over rocks under your head.

It takes another few gin and tonics at the Royal Livingstone bar to curtail the falling sensation and attendant panic, and the barman is obliging. There are frogs in tutus holding lampshades on the bar-counter and the stainless-steel staircases stretch to the roof of the triple-volume space. After an afternoon's adventure, we still haven't seen the falls and it's the first thing we plan to do the next morning.

The local name for the falls is Mosi-oa-Tunya, "the smoke that thunders", and as you get close to the massive wall of falling water, the rain appears to fall upwards, sending out plumes of mist and vapour.

The wide, gently flowing river hasn't prepared me for the spectacle of the falls. Neither have first-hand accounts from people who've seen them. No matter what you've read, or seen from the window of the plane, or heard rumbling like an empty stomach in the distance, the Victoria Falls are astoundingly impressive.

Declining the gumboot-green rain jackets in favour of some stylish Royal Livingstone umbrellas, we cross the bridge that runs alongside the falls in a torrent of upward-falling precipitation, and get completely drenched.

On the other side of the bridge myriad paths, strangled by luscious, tropical plants, lead in all directions. We don't want to venture too far without passports, so we head back.

Our clothes are dry just in time to embark on the highlight of our trip - an elephant safari. The tame cheetah cubs on the grass at the entrance of the reserve eclipse my excitement at the prospect of getting onto an elephant, but only for a few minutes. Lucy, with a blue dog collar, lets me pet and kiss her and rolls around with me on the grass for a bit of rough play.

There are three of us going on this safari and we each get an elephant to befriend. Themba and I are mates as soon as I'm in the saddle. He raises his trunk to my hand in greeting (I don't have any pellets to feed him yet, but I guess he's trying his luck) and I give him a pat on his rough, wrinkly hide.

Themba, the gentle giant, exudes a dignity on par with his size. He wanders into the dense scrub at a speed that makes it difficult to imagine him charging. My guide, Peter, says the elephants become attached to their handlers.

"When we go on camping safaris the elephants like to sleep with us," he says. "They have the souls of puppies. They're playful and incredibly loving. We become very attached to each other."

Peter grew up with elephants in Zimbabwe, and became an elephant-back safari guide in Zambia. "I want to work with elephants for the rest of my life," he says.

From the vantage point of the pachyderm's rump, we spot birds and a few varieties of buck. When we're close to the camp, Peter hands me some pellets and Themba allows me to feed him, lifting his trunk to take the snack.

Later he bids his farewell by touching me on the shoulder with his trunk, and I convince myself that he'll always remember me.

•  Nagel was a guest of The Royal Livingstone Hotel, Mosi-oa-Tunya Road, Livingstone, Zambia, +260213321122, www.royal-livingstone-hotel.com