Victoria Falls is fast becoming the adventure capital of Southern Africa, but few as yet have approached the falls from the Zambian side, where there is no political turbulence, and the pace can be easily adjusted to suit personal requirements.

A short drive from the falls is Songwe Village, a recently­opened destination of just eight comfortable, thatched huts perched 120 metres above the Zambezi Gorge. There isn‘t a bad seat in the house. The views of the gorge snaking below and around this private village are breathtaking.

As the waters of the very full Zambezi course past the promontory on which Songwe sits, it‘s like 360 degree surround­sound that is instantly soothing. It‘s feng shui on a massive scale that only Mother Nature can supply.

Each hut has its own bathroom, located a short walk away, and they have to be among the world‘s most beautiful. Showering or bathing on the open­air edge, high above the gorge, listening to the distant screaming of augur buzzards and bungy jumpers is a wonderful way to start a leisurely day.

Dr Lee Berger has been discovering fascinating things at Songwe, and one of the first places to visit is its small anthropological museum. The transport of choice is an ox cart, pulled by Blackie and Car­front. It‘s a short trip, made long and languorous by the pace of the animals, who are missing breakfast. At one point Blackie breaks into a walk, but the excitement is shortlived. Just past the museum is Songwe Point, which offers superb views of the rapids crashing through the gorge below. Our host, Juliet Zulu, points out the Gnawing Jaws of Death, rated a mere three on the white­water rapidsscale of one to four. Further down she points out Commercial Suicide, rated, she says drolly, a six.

The Zambian people we meet are gentle, and have no quibble with their colonial past. Livingstone is remembered fondly ­ just don‘t mention Rhodes. Names like Cliff and Jones are common. The immaculately maintained Livingstone Museum is a gem, and the section on Livingstone himself is worth a day on its own.

Nearby Mukuni Village, where life has continued unchanged for seven hundred years, prides itself on housing the tree under which Livingstone met the present chief‘s ancestors one hundred and fifty years ago.

More evidence of Zambia‘s colonial past is the steam­driven Victoria Falls Safari Express, where white­coated and pith­helmeted attendants serve tea and scones. That‘s until you reach the Victoria Falls Bridge, when the champagne comes out. The train was originally commissioned in 1924, but was refurbished in 1976. There is, though, a sense of ever­so­slightly faded grandeur, just a hint of shabby elegance, of past decadence with distinctly mischievous white overtones, that makes the two­hour train journey so much more enjoyable than if it had been ruthlessly restored to a more pristine state.

In the evening, a quiet boat trip down the river to where Zimbabwe and Zambia meet is a great way to end the day. The boat stops to watch the sunset in a silence broken only by the Egyptian geese gossiping in the reeds. Back at Songwe, dinner is ready. Supper is cooked and served traditionally, and includes dishes such as chicken and beef stews, and pumpkin leaves, which are much nicer than spinach, cooked in peanut sauce. Before eating, everyone washes their hands in hot water poured from a single gourd, not only to clean them, but to signify a sense of communal support. In preparation for the meal, the men and the women are separated, and they eat apart, as is customary in the village. The men get to sit on stools, as most of them have bad backs, and are served first, while the women, being of sterner stock, sit on the floor and are served second. Juliet explains that this separation allows the men to discuss the important matters of village life and big ideasin general. The women only discuss life‘s little things, like men.

Offering every mode of transport from boat to train to oxen, Songwe saves what is for many its most invigorating walking excursion, Knife Edge Path, until last. It‘s an ominous name for a walk that is not physically strenuous, but on all other levels it will knock your socks off. Hugging the side of a spit, the path stretches out directly in front of, and slightly below, the falls. They said we would get wet. They lied. Within minutes of reaching the first lookout point we are drenched, soaked, saturated ­ pick a word ­ as the water runs in rivulets from our face and fingers. Clothes are no longer of any consequence. The roar of the falls, just metres away, is deafening, and as we cross the long footbridge to approach the final lookout point, visibility is practically zero. Then there is the return journey. For many, this walk has a strong, spiritual intensity. For others it evokes more primal and elemental sensations that make you want to fling your arms up and roar back at the water. Either way, it is an awe­inspiring experience.

Like all trips that combine the rigours of walking, eating, possibly rafting or leaping off a bridge at the end of a big rubber band, the best moments are often the quietest. The evenings are when other guests become friends, sitting on the edge of the gorge under the stars, listening to the exquisite singing of the staff and the constant rhythm of the river below, just chewing the fat.

Songwe Village is exactly that ­ a village. After just a few nights everyone knows everybody else and becomes territorially aware and possessive. You don‘t want outsiders invading this newly­found, phone­free, secret place. So you decide you won‘t tell your friends about it.