MALAWI

8th August 2004

We awake to the sound of the overland trucks packing up and setting off at 7am. After another great shower and hearty breakfast, we set off in the fresh morning sun hoping to reach the Malawi border, 450 kms away, in good time. We fly down the good tarmac through pine forests, past a paper factor, then through dry bush followed by banana plantations similar to Uganda. We make great progress and hit the border in Songwe (the border being the River Songwe) at lunchtime. We are immediately pounced upon by the usual money sellers. Ranger sorts out the Carnet whilst I sit in the driver’s seat fending off the sellers literally fighting outside the window. When I point to one tall man and choose him for business, all the others stop fighting and walk away before all have to run off after being whipped by a policeman. We change are remaining 5000 Tanzanian Shillings for Malawian Kwacha and pass through a straight forward Malawi immigration and enter Malawi. Outside the barrier, we change some Dollar for Kwacha and drive on, dodging the numerous potholes in the road, which should have been created by meteors, not cars. After narrowly missing four cows in the road, the road improves and we speed south towards Lake Malawi stopping at the side of the road for the usual hotdog lunch. Whilst a young boy cycles into town for our cokes on his oversized bicycle, inquisitive women immediately surround us. On return he honestly informs us that they were cheaper than expected and hands us some change; we hand the change back for his honesty. The lake is huge and blue and more like a sea. We drive along the lakeside before climbing up a mountain pass inland. The fuel is on red so we drive carefully to Mzuzu and fill up the tanks. The 48km drive to Nkhata Bay is winding and green. We drive through the bustling lakeside, fishing town and find the Njaya Lodge campsite overlooking the water with private sandy beach. We set up camp and decide after the long drive we deserve to be waited on and eat a huge pork roast with potatoes and gravy! In the end, I polish off 17 potatoes after having seconds! It’s amazing what basic things one misses on a trip like this. After the meal and feeling rather bloated, we throw heaps of darts and play all the CD’s in the bar. We then challenge two Dutch lads to darts and also rugby tackles (long story….!). We both hit the tent rather late after celebrating us and the vehicle covering 20,000kms from London.

9th August 2004

The breakfast and two coffees do little to cure the headaches. Instead, we decide to sweat it out with a walk in the midday sun into town. We walk around the market stalls selling bars of soap, plastics and dried fish, past barber shops with photos of Will Smith haircuts and watch busy men with eyepieces trying to fix irreparable radios. We see a tiny, suited man chatting near a stall and get chatting to him. He tells us he is a farmer and uses Mzungu (foreigners) for advertisement by getting them to send him pictures of him holding up his farm produce; I take some photos of him and also his address – I hope to send them to him – such a character. We pop over the road into Serena’s restaurant and have a stew and rice lunch watching the cabbage being chopped up on the gritty floor in front of us. We stop and rifle through the numerous craft shops before struggling back up and down the hill to the beach and campsite. We hire a dugout canoe and paddle out into the lake in the evening sun. The water is pretty rough so we call it a day. Ranger has a lie down in the tent while I struggle back up the hill to purchase more craftwork. On return to the car, I write some more days of the update and join Ranger on the balcony before dinner. We wolf the pizzas down and hit the tent very early for a good night’s sleep.

10th August 2004

We wake early to a superb sunrise over the lake. After showers and breakfast, we pay the extortionate beer tab and leave for Monkey Bay at the south of the lake. The road is good so we fly down the tarmac stopping outside Senga Bay for hotdogs in a field by the roadside. We drive back to the town of Selima and take a left south. The road is being resurfaced so it a corrugated, potholed mess. After 70kms, we stop in Monkey Bay for water and are greeted by a young man called Captain Alex who apparently works at the recommended Venice Beach Lodge. He jumps on the roofrack and directs us to the place, which is quiet, with its own long beach and is away from the noisy, overlanders haven of Cape Maclear. We decide to set up camp. I sit in front of the bar typing away on the laptop whilst Ranger sits behind the bar on the Internet. The place has a nice feel about it. We are the only ones here. Three local men chat quietly with the bargirl and another man reads a paper slouched in a straw sofa. We decide to eat in the bar and I experience Nsema, the local maize food not too dissimilar to badly made solid mashed potato, for the first time. We end the in evening early at 10pm feeling exhausted and sleep to the sound of the waves hitting the beach.

11th August 2004

We get woken early by the local canines having a scrap. The sun rises over the water and shines into the tent so I grab the camera and walk along the beach, taking photos – the kids love seeing themselves on the screen after their photo - we strongly recommend digital photography to any overland traveller. Ranger sleeps while I decide to finish the Tanzanian update at the bar and sip the usual morning kick-start coffee. I then write diary with a strong breeze blowing off the water while Ranger bonnet presses with two staff. I then move behind the bar while Ranger reads to check email - Flatdogs campsite in South Luangwa NP, Zambia have replied immediately to Ranger’s email yesterday evening and will write waiver letters to the border (some agreement they have with the Government meaning I don’t have to pay 60USD visa costs getting into Zambia). When Ranger returns from noticing the Internet is costing us 10USD/hr, I jump off immediately! We walk along the beach through all the fishermen back from their night’s work with their catch drying on the wooden benches in the sun, the women wash clothes in metal buckets in the shallows of the lake. Back at the campsite, I shower whilst Ranger picks up the bill – the Internet cost is 35USD!! We complain to the manager saying we were not told the cost; in fact it is the first time we have not asked beforehand – sod’s law! After being generously let off 5USD (!), we leave with Captain Alex & co on the roof rack into town to change some dollar and get vegetables from the small but characteristic market. Then on to Cape Maclear and find Fat Monkeys campsite on the lakeside, which is both inexpensive (@ 1USD/night) and pleasant. We park up and walk down the beach and into Chembe village (named after the resident Chief) passing a funeral en route for a local girl who apparently died of malaria in Monkey Bay. At the end of the beach we find the Chembe Lodge and ask the SA owner whether her catamarans are operational. She shows us the boats, which are barely floating on land – she says if we can find the rigging, we can use them for free – we decide to give them a miss! The walk back through the village of small, tidy, brick houses is accompanied by the amusing sound of children shouting ‘Ello, how are you? What is your name?’ Back at camp, we cook the hotdogs before driving to the Yacht Club to ask about hiring their tidy Dart 16 catamaran. Unfortunately, Howard, the owner, even after proving I am Yachtmaster qualified, informs us we can only go out on the water with him as skipper – sod that! With our heads down, we walk into Kayak Africa to reserve one for tomorrow in the hope that the wind and water calms down. Back at camp, I write diary while Ranger reads on the beach. I join him later for a beer to watch the sunset at 5-30ish local time, which is the earliest yet. We sit at a table chatting under the giggles of fifteen schoolgirls slowly getting drunk in the bar. Like old men, we retire to the car and struggle to cook dinner in the dark and strong winds. Throughout dinner, we are briefly inquisitively joined by the leader of the schoolgirl group, Clive from England and then later by an ex-safari guide, Dave from South Africa. After eating we decide not to blow money in the bar; Ranger reads in the wind under a light bulb whilst I read under our fluorescent tube light in the tent.

12th August 2004

The music in the bar kept playing on and off until 4am. I leave Ranger in the tent at 7am and have the usual shower and coffee waiting for him to rise. Clive and his fellow teacher join us for a chat about the trip while I make the hotdog packed lunch for the day’s kayaking adventure. We walk down the beach with some local lads, who also have a kayak for hire, to Kayak Africa to pick up the kayak we reserved yesterday. Unfortunately they have hired it out so when we inform the local boys we require theirs, they sprint down the beach to retrieve it faster than Ben Johnson on steroids! On return, one of the paddles has only one blade so we borrow one from Scuba Shack next door and paddle into the distance through the rough water towards the first island called Tembi. The initial plan was to paddle past Tembi Island onto Mombo Island in the distance and stop there for lunch. By the time we reach the first island we are soaked and the kayak is filling up with water splashing over the side so the plan is canned immediately. We turn towards another closer island, almost part of the mainland and head towards a small sandy beach. On approaching the beach, we can see huts but no people and realise it must be one of Kayak Africa’s campsites. We beach the kayak and sit on a rock munching our ‘colddogs’ and stabbing the fork into pieces of tinned grapefruit. We are joined by a cheerful man named Clayton who works on the beach for Kayak Africa and chat until we finish the light lunch. Back in the kayak, we paddle along the rocky shoreline seeing Hammerkop, Pied Kingfishers and Rock Hyrax sitting in the sun on the round boulders. We paddle through a gap with the mainland and discover another beach, the home of a cormorant and a family of yellow baboon. During the paddle along the beach to where we started, the children run down from the village and shout out the usual greetings and questions whilst their mothers wash clothes in the lake. A man hollows out a dugout canoe with his chisel. After beaching the kayak, we wander up on to the track to some craft stalls and are both tempted again with their contents before enjoying some fresh chips cooked at the roadside. Back at the car, we change into some dry clothes, Ranger reads whilst I write my diary with the local hound sleeping between my feet swarming with flies. The sun breaks through the clouds and spreads its rays over the water up to the beach. Dugouts paddle through the shimmering water. I read before the light fades away and I join Ranger in the bar for a couple of Carlsberg before cooking dinner again in the wind and dark. Again, we have an early night after some reading in the tent.

13th August 2004

Up to wind and sunshine but after breakfast decide to pack up and move on to explore more of the lake, heading south to Mangochi. The town is like any other with the small, painted shop fronts selling soap and vegetables dwarfed by the larger superettes. We find the only five bottles of water in town and head back to find a campsite. After stopping at some smart but expensive spots, we manage to find the Bradt guide recommended Nanchengwa Lodge campsite, no longer signposted due to refurbishment. The name of the lodge means Hammerkop in Swahili because of the resident bird seen around its private beach. We meet the couple that own the campsite and they immediately make us feel at home and allow us to set up camp in the shaded car park. After the usual lunch, we take the chairs and books onto the beach and sit in the midday sun with the dogs playing in the sand and pouncing at their reflections in the water. We walk along the beach through the fishermen, either mending nets or sleeping in the shade after their night’s fishing. The women wash clothes whilst the children play in the water. At the top of some rocks, blatantly the local excretion spot, we enjoy the view over the southern end of the lake. Back at base we read until the sun sets behind us and watch the fishermen jump into their wooden boats and row, in fours, out of sight for the night. A young boy paddles past in a dugout laying his net for the night along the shoreline. We sit at the car chatting in the car park. I am staving so cook up some soup, which I take on the walk into the village to inquisitively see what all the drumming and singing is. We see a group of men, women and children dancing in a circle to the sound of a drum behind a fenced off area in the village. One dancing man has a young baby girl on his shoulder and we later learn that the initiation ceremony of circumcision has taken place earlier in the day – we are glad we missed it! As soon as the group see us peering over the fence they immediately come rushing out and we are surrounded by kids and parents and trapped on the mound we stand on - there is no aggression, just inquisition. We walk back to the campsite gates, kicking the small rubber ball back and forth to the laughing kids before having to close the gates behind us. After washing down a hearty pasta with a beer from the house, I chuck on a fleece and read under lamp light in the still of the cold evening while Ranger sleeps.

14th August 2004

We sleep well. At 5-30am, my bladder forces me out of the tent. I decide to watch the sunrise over the lake and read on the sand with the dogs lying by my side. I take photos of the same fishermen rowing back from their night’s fishing and the same young boy as he paddles his dugout along the shore lifting the net. Along the beach the women are already washing clothes and geese wash in the water – the same village as yesterday has come alive again in the morning sun. I get up to sit elsewhere as one of the workmen at the campsite sweeps the beach, as he must do each morning. Ranger calls me from the beach for breakfast. I write my diary and shower as he packs up the car before we leave to join the main road and head back along the 70kms of track. At the junction to Salima, we stop at the craft stalls for some more perusing and chat to two travellers wanting a lift from where we had just come. We continue on before slowing briefly as a small puppy walks into the path of us. Ranger manages to slow to about 10kmph before the young dog ducks and goes under the car. We try and forget about the loud whining as we continue on along the good tarmac road towards the capital of Lilongwe; the issue in Africa is if you stop for hitting an animal it could cost you either a lot of money or a fight, or both. In the town, we stop to change some money and buy vegetables before finding the golf club, which apparently has secure camping. The first thing we ask in the club is whether they have DSTV and can show the SA vs. NZ tri-nations rugby match – they say no problem. We park the car and head for the bar for lunch before the big game. At ten minutes before kick-off, Ranger starts to panic and asks the manager to change channels on one of the three screens. Unfortunately if he changes the channel, all the screens change and two of the members enjoying the English Premiership refuse to watch the rugby. We leave and manage to catch the second half at the Lilongwe Hotel up the road. After the match and a brief chat with some local nutcase believing he’s a distant relative of Lady Diana’s, we walk on to Harry’s bar and chat, laugh and play spoof with matchsticks, before enjoying dinner in the bar. Back at the golf club, we order some more food and play pool before heading back to Harry’s. We chat to most of the bar including a Springbok jersey donning huge drunkard from Zimbabwe, an old Englishman called Peter who’s played footy with George Best and Dennis Law, to name but a few, and two ‘local’ girls. After shaking off the drunkard and girls, we get dragged off to a club by a friendly South African lad called Freddie. The morning ends late. Ranger hits the tent as soon as we return to the car whilst I manage to have a hit with the local tennis coach before collapsing into the tent in the very early hours.

15th August 2004

Up at midday feeling pretty revolting for showers and breakfast before leaving for the Zambian border, only 180km away. In town, we stop off to check email and send the Tanzanian update. At 4pm and after a quick fuel up, we shoot along the tarmac to the border, reaching it by 5-30pm as the sun sets behind the hills. Leaving Malawi was a quick and simple process but as we search through the second folder for our waiver letter from Flatdogs campsite in the Zambian immigration office, we start to panic. The staff are the usual idiots on huge power trips and won’t let us through without the ‘normal procedure’ letter from the campsite. First impressions of the country are not good as the lady behind the desk says if we give her half the 60USD visa costs for my passport (Ranger is free with Irish passport) then we can go through – we refuse because we do not have enough USD for this and the 30USD required insurance costs. We manage to camp for the night in the secure car park of an inn over the road for a very expensive 10USD which unfortunately is unavoidable – we have left Malawi but cannot enter Zambia! The insurance man in the office is very helpful and offers to take my passport details and tries to get through to Flatdogs to ask for a faxed copy of the original letter to be sent through to the border. We eat and sleep early trying to ignore the loud music playing from the bar and the men shouting over the pool table.

Distance travelled since London : 21500 kms

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