Malawi

Simple crossing and I’m soon running along the shores of Lake Malawi, in search of a place to stay. I have no clue, no notes for the northern end and no internet time in weeks previously to find anything (my bad in Sumba ...). I am expecting an easy day and relatively early end to it but after 5 tries at assorted lodges and campsites, all either closed or in dire straits, I am thinking I may instead be in for one hell of a long day down as far as Senge Bay, halfway down and the first place in which I have a known, and recommended, target. Each of these side-sorties requires bumping along some dirt and rock-strewn track for a few hundred metres and it is really starting to tick me off the time I’m losing for making each unnecessary run, and for the perceived damage it may be causing to the truck (am I alone in apologizing to the truck for mistakenly driving over, not past, a rock, or into a pothole that causes the gear in back to bounce ...?).

Quickly running out of time and patience I luck up at Chitimba Lodge, just south of Livingstonia. Run by Eddie & Carmen, a Dutch couple who’ve been in the area for years it’s a fantastic refuge on the sandy shores of the lake – and, he informs me, both sited on the only decent stretch of beach as well as the only decent accommodation/campsite from there up to the Tanz border so he’d pretty much cornered the market for those heading north. It does get all the overland trucks in, and there were 4 the first night by the time darkness fell (I was alone on arrival ...) but all were very well-behaved and good company – except for their insistence on hitting the road at 0500, necessitating 0415 tent packings ... 

Internet, beer and food are all available but expensive; there’s a lovely boma to lounge about in, and the beach is both stunning and mercifully free of wild dogs, begging children and persistent hawkers that are usually so prevalent in such conditions. Stayed up well past my usual 2000 curfew and caught a dvd the first night (of the 3 I stayed) which was a wonderful treat, having not seen anything of a tv since leaving the UK.

A side-note rant (my blog, my themes ...): I have an ... issue ... with adults who drink soda pop. For your Jack and Coke: fine; but as a solo beverage? No; it’s just juvenile. And don’t get me started with adults who go out for a nice meal and order a Coke to go with it ... Don’t drink wine? Fine; drink water - not 5 table spoons of sugar and caramel flavouring as an accompaniment ... But I rant here about this because it was staggering to witness the size of the women emerging from these overland trucks: UK, Europe, Aus and NZ were all represented, aged 17 – 27 for the most part and they were, almost 100% of them, if not right massive then great-doughy-never-done-a-minutes-exercise softies – and every one drank soda pop like it had been denied them for the past 12 months and would be extinct the next day ... I never saw any one of them, out of over 80 total pax and the majority women, never saw any of them order anything but pops. I watched a table of four, viewing photos on a laptop, order Fanta’s and Cokes by the round, each in turn. Now, I appreciate the necessity of stepping up when it’s your shout to keep the economics of group buying in equal fairness, but does anyone, of any age but most definitely anyone in their 20’s, require 4 Cokes in under an hour?? And help me with this one: Girl, massive, comes up to the bar and asks for a bottle of water. When handed a small size, she asks if they don’t have the large bottles. No; just these. “Um, okay ... Then I’ll have a Fanta orange instead please.” Really?? Where – where - is the (possible) logic in that thought process ...?? And with all of course an obvious lack of correlation between size, and soda ... Baffles me.

Side note two: Kuche Kuche (yes, pronounced just like when pinching a baby’s cheeks), the local brew, is the worst beer in Africa. Hands down, there’s not even a close second. In a combined effort, the best Eddie and I could come up with to describe its taste was like a flat, or soured, beer but with added sugar - and formaldehyde. The rest on offer were all Carlsberg’s: Elephant at 7% was not nice; regular; and one called Special Brew which was alright (5.5% I think) but which made me feel like I should be in my local park back in the UK swigging from one for breakfast as is usually the case with that version of a Special Brew (but it at 9% for that ‘kick start the day off right’ impact ...).

Right, anyway, back to travelogue ...

Refreshed and rejuvenated, I continue south, now very much ‘on the tourist track’ and following the overland groups well-trodden (but for that proven) path but a nice drive, up into the hills with panoramic views and the sun gleaming off the lake to my left, before sloping back down to shoreside, the air full of the smells of local’s drying fish – or standing on the side of the road holding up a large bream for sale (tempting, but at noon just how long’d that fish been hanging about roadside, urgently on offer ...?). Next stop was Kande Beach, which displays both the continuing betterment of the beach moving south from Chitembi, as well as a campsite that needs a good scrub and improved sense of keenness for customers. It seems to be a destination location both for there being no other competition in the area but as well for offering appealing extras for overlanders – horse rides along the beach proving to be the most popular (and these are provided by an outside group). Otherwise it all seemed a bit tired and just coasting along on auto-pilot. The overall flatness I felt on being there was compounded not only by how lovely and friendly Chitemba had been in comparison, but as well for a cold front sweeping in across the lake bringing grey skies and a harsh wind that has me in longs, two shirts and a fleece by 1600. A planned at least 2 night stay is cut short with an early departure the next morning and I continue southwards, hoping to outrun the stormy skies.

Unfortunately they follow, and I am under the cold and slate grey skies until crossing into Zambia ... I put in one more night, at Senge Beach, just south of Llongwe and recommended as the highlight of some fellow travellers trip through a few weeks prior who I’d chatted to at Sumba’s Country Club. No. Nice enough there, and a fantastic dinner of fresh grilled catch-of-the-day (hopefully not purchased roadside at midday) but there was no hot water (despite happy-smiley signs on the door asking guests not to enjoy the hot showers for too long ... trust me folks, I didn’t waste a drop ...), camping is behind the lodge so views are almost entirely blocked, and nothing much of anything else going on except for the fella running the souvenir hut at the exit for the beach who did a complete Forrest Gump wave at me every time I even so much as looked up from my book, 200 feet away ... The one highlight was running into a motorcyclist I’d last seen at JJ’s in Nairobi, who’d also come down on the same route as me but a few days behind (but covering more mileage, faster, from Hippo Camp onwards as he does 80 kph to overcome corrugations whilst I do 20, and far more nimble around the potholes, rocks, etc ...) – we had a great laugh over a few beers about what we’d both gone through, a shared ‘wasn’t that just ridiculous’ camaraderie ...

In the end I cut short taking in the rest of Malawi – which unfortunately contained the rest of the country’s highlights I’d had passed along to me which may have made for a better overall impression than my north-to-central run had – and swung west for Zambia and some sun; realized I’m beached out, and much prefer desolate in-land locations to swathes of sand and rasta-themes ...

And then Malawi sealed the ‘done-with-here’ deal with the police setting up a speed trap at the base of a long steep hill, hitting every vehicle with their radar gun as it emerged around the top bend trying – if they’d even seen the sign displaying an inexplicable drop from 100 to 80 – to get down to speed against the pull of gravity. This proved useless and the police were gleefully – and I mean laughing out loud at just how fantastically funny this all was - nabbing every single vehicle coming round the bend. There was no reason at all for the location of the trap, totally in the middle of nowhere and with nothing in the way of a safety concern around necessitating bringing vehicles down to 80 for the hill, just a pure (and just so goddamned amusing) cash grab and - seething - I handed over my 5000 kwatcha fine (for comparison, a night’s camping fee had been 750 per night ...) and, slower and with clenched jaw, continued for the border ...