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Published: October 26th 2011
Suzi and I set off from Bujumbura at 0140 on Tues 11 October to Dar es Salaam via Nairobi. Arrived in Dar airport fairly relaxed and looking forward to a leisurely lunch before boarding the 3.30pm train to Mbeya on the lake Malawi coast.
Kenya airways, the miserable shysters, tried their level best to scupper our plans by losing all of our luggage (along with that of 90% of our fellow passengers). We were brimming with indignant rage as we completed the loss forms and the codified 'what does your luggage look like' laminated sheet sent me into toe hopping fury. Faced with the option of waiting for an indeterminate amount of time in a festering African port Suzi and I jumped into a cab. We had 90mins to replace our carefully procured travel kit before jumping taking on the TANZARA express for 22 hours. Hasam took us shab-shab to Mlimani City - Dar's premier out of town mall. Suzi and I diverged to cover maximum retail space. Suzi launched into a clothes shop appearing to specialise in wigs and wedding dresses while I headed for the pharmacy. Neglecting our lack of anti-malarials I restocked on nicotine gum. 50 mins
later I had purchased the German national football kit and Suzi was clutching a preteen bikini set. Hasam thrashed his aged carina, ensuring we arrived in Dar train station 10 mins before the scheduled train departure…... and 2 hours before it finally shunted out of Dar…..
The TANZARA was simple and creaky but a great way to travel across Tanzania. Lots of picturesque scrubland with black children running towards you out of red mud huts. The train passes through some of Tanzania's national parks. Naively I had assumed that we would get a complementary safari from our sleeper cabin window. None of the big five showed up….in fact the only animal we spotted was a solitary baboon, picking his nose in dead tree just out of Dar. We ate and slept lightly and chugged towards Mbeya station.
On board Suzi and I met an Indian couple (Ritesh and Majorie) in the restaurant car. Early thirties like us they were taking a year long break from New York...although business had recently pulled them back to NY for a few weeks (a career break break)… R&M were also
heading down to Lake Malawi, staying at a new resort called the Crazy Crocodile. Thanks to Kenya Airways (KQ) we had no maps or accommodation details, so we hopped on the same bus as our new Indian chums and headed to the lake.
Rather pleased with our simple transfer we quizzed R&M about their plans in Malawi. "Err we are heading to Lake Malawi but down the Tanzanian side"…..Suzi and I exchanged glances "Whoops!" and then "Oh what the hell!"So after 4 hours in a sweaty cramped bus and 2 more in a taxi we arrived on the wrong side of the Lake.
Crazy Crocodile lodge rested on the North East shore of Lake Malawi. It was run by Thomas a German and Layla his Tanzanian wife. The lodge had only been open for guests since the early Summer and consisted of four bamboo guest rooms and a restaurant come bar. Thomas clearly had some engineering past based the ingenious way he had built the bar and kitchen into a freight container hidden within the bamboo superstructure. At the end of the night he could just lock the steel doors, protecting the valuable booze and grub.
Our
hosts prepped four pasta suppers while we unpacked for our 2 night stay. Dinner dispatched with a few beers Suz and I slept undisturbed for the first time in 3 nights.
Next morning the Croc team made us a great omlette and pancake breakfast while we took in the view of the green mountains, blue lake and sandy beach complete with fishing locals. Suz and I had explored the beach earlier with a bare foot run and were itching to head up to the hills. Thomas arranged a local guide to take the 4 of us to climb up to the nearby waterfall. Tramping up into the hills we followed a crystal clear stream teaming with fry, scrambling over rocks and tree roots. Bright yellow crabs skittered about In little eddies at the water's edge. Our guide confidently skipped up the route in his flip flops till we met the waterfall. At the base of the 90ft fall, the crashing water had formed a good sized pool. Hot from the climb Suzi, Ritesh and I hurled ourselves into the beautifully cool water and pratted about like 5 year olds. Michael nervously kept back from the pool believing there to
Nkharta Bay
Kingfisher dozing with full tummybe a resident seven headed serpent, or somesuch tosh.
We stayed another night at the Croc, playing Ludo and sampling Thomas' South African wine. All four agreed there were no more activities in the local area and the Croc was let down by a lack of comfy lounging chairs. R&M shared a taxi with us to the Malawi border before they travelled north in Tanzania towards Kigoma.
Passports stamped at the XXXX crossing we caught a 3 hour taxi towards Chitembe in the Livingstonia region. Our driver coasted on the downhills to make the most of the little fuel he had left. Malawi had a fuel crisis apparently created by the greedy President delightfully named Dr Bingu. We trundled into Chitimbe camp late on XXXX night to be met by our new Malawian host Mr Smart. He directed us to our home for the next 2 nights which closely resembled a B&Q shed.
We rolled out of the shed for an early breakfast on XXXX. The Camp had cosy feel about the place, with the sleeping quarters based around a combined teak bar, restaurant and general sloth area - ideal after the Croc's cookhouse tables. R&M's guidebook
Mount Mulange Tea fields
Surprisingly few talking chimps had suggested canoeing or mountain biking. Curiously the camp had yet to purchase any of the necessary equipment for either activity but could offer us a yomp in the hills. Our guide, Mr Wisdom, suggested a 30Km hike into Livingstonia - where Dr David had inspired Scottish missions 150 years ago that still continue to date. Setting off early while still mild we wound our way into the Chitimbe hills Lake Malawi to our backs. Suzi keenly engaged Mr Wisdom on Malawian political and social matters, while I truculently kicked my heels at the back at a safe distance. Four water stops (one for Mr Wisdom's girlfriend who appeared out of the forest) and several photos later we arrived at the summit town of XXX. Suzi and I drank ice cold cokes from a shop come shack whilst the youthful Mr Wisdom smoked green cigarettes and regaled us with local stories of his youth. There was a museum we avoided, more mud huts with shaggy thatched roofs and children sucking violent coloured ice poles. Suzi enquired about the prison behind us with high breeze block walls topped with a double roll of razor wire. This turned out to be a
boy's secondary school. Such measures, according to Mr Wisdom, were necessary these days to deter the lusty inhabitants from night time excursions to the nearby girls convent school. Although he himself had enjoyed such activities prior to the recent fortifications.
With the Malawian sun nearing its hottest Mr W took us for lunch to the Mushroom Farm, an upmarket backpackers retreat with a glorious panorama that started at the tip of Livingstonia and swept through Tucsan like hills down to the beach and out across Lake Malawi. Waiting for our dishs, Suzi relaxed on hammock perched perilously over a cliff while I played darts with Mr Wisdom. I doubted his claim to have never played before as he was unnervingly accurate despite his innate spear throwing action. I was spared an humiliating defeat at 'around the clock' as lunch was served by two jovial Americans who seemed to have a reasonable grip on the place.
Lunch and more coke dispatched Mr Wisdom lead us back down to Chitimbe Camp, tearing down the trails at a terrific lick in his flip flops. Suzi reined him in to protect her emerging blister and my recent knee op. He pressed on
despite my howls of protest around the 24Km point. The reason for such reckless haste became obvious as we clattered round a corner and bumped into a baying, drunken mob of locals. They surrounded a lumpy football pitch with two teams, one wearing green and slender folk, the others red and distinctly beefier, both of which were taking turns to scream abuse at the referee (along with the hoopingly drunk spectators). Anyhow, the little green folk lost and it was desperately sad for Mr Wisdom who moped all the way back to Camp Chitimbe.
Suzi and I had needed a good cardio sesh and were enjoying our 'hikers' high' but practically fell asleep waiting for our minute steak and chips to arrive. While we waited an hour and a half we made small talk with the Dutch camp staff who catered to the 60 or so tourist wagons of Europeople that filtered through Chitimbe each year. To my right at the table was a Slavic chap enjoying his night off from the nearby uranium mine. Rapidly alternating between domestic Kuche Kuche beer and Calsberg special brew somewhat hindered his otherwise interesting speech on the prolific use of palm oil
in virtually every Malawian dish. Suzi and I made our excuses and headed to our shed via the moonlit beach. The moon changed from pink to red to wham bar whilst we shared a hug.
Our timetable called for a trip to Nkharta Bay leaving at 6am on XXXXX Packing the meagre effects KQ had graciously left us we headed to catch a bus. Mr Wisdom skipped over to wish us a good journey having recaptured his joie de vive. We enjoyed a swift trip to Nkharta Bay much of it along the sandy lakeside.
Nkharta Bay from my recollection of the guidebooks was supposed to be a lively and bohemian resort frequented by carefree yet friendly people with a plethora of exciting watersports. It's just possible that this was true twenty ago. It is now a grubby eyesore, sans water action, inhabited by useless wastrels who flit between two decrepit back packer resorts at either end of the bay. There is a passable restaurant that serves surprisingly good thai food - not mentioned in the guidebooks, that have clearly been copying and pasting for two decades. After two sweaty nights at the Blue Star Resort Suzi and
Tim plus wheels
Strong bond between man and off-road vehicle I hopped on the Axa community service bus to Lilongwe without a backwards glance. 11 hours of window licking later and we pulled in to Lilongwe.
We decided to treat ourselves to a hotel for the night, checking into the wonderfully relaxed Cluny Lodge. Our South African hosts provided a great room, hot shower and homely roast beef supper. After a good nights rest we prepared to marry up with our luggage which KQ had promised to deliver to us in Lilongwe. However, during several protracted phone calls with KQ it emerged that our luggage had not yet arrived in Lilongwe. Massively irritated by KQ's further example of shuddering incompetence Suzi and I had little choice but to purchase enough supplies in Lilongwe in the 3 hours before our bus left to Blantyre. We scrambled around the US style mall for more polo tops and undies before heading to the Axa bus station. Just before we jumped on the bus my newly purchased holdall bag split along one edge. Enraged by our misfortune I left Suzi stalling the bus driver while I charged back to the mall. After a terse conversation in the Lilongwe GAME store I received a
refund for our bags and bought some sturdier ones in the Mr Price store next door. Then summoning energy not called upon since the hysterically macho 'jerry can races' of Sandhurst training I puffed and strained my way back up to the bus depot bags in hand. Suzi had done a masterful job of holding the bus, waving various bits of erroneous paperwork in front of the driver and conductor.
The air con kicked in as the executive coach glided out of Lilongwe and headed South on the smooth tarmac of national route 1. Suzi and I received ice cold cokes and the comfy seats reclined to a very gratifying angle. My usual optimism returned and we started to plan dinner that night in Blantyre at 9pm with Tim (Suzi's brother) and Milly (his delightful girlfriend). Just as Suzi was cautioning me for burbling "all's well that ends well" the coach started to shudder. Then a mere thirty minutes into the four hour journey the coach died outside a shack village. After an interminably sweaty wait the conductor confirmed the time of death and announced that a replacement bus was being prepared back in Lilongwe. The black african passengers
filed off the bus silently and sat on the verge, the muslim passengers made several phone calls and quizzed the conductor for more details, Suzi and I just sat and sweated. More of this followed Suzi remaining stoic and myself cursing Africa. I pottered into a shack shop to kill some time and purchased a bottle of coke and two sachets of whisky. The grog calmed me down and we spent a couple of hours swapping lifestories and jokes with the Malawian muslims who had nearly all lived in Leicester at some point (my old uni). We were all having a good natter when the replacement bus scooped us up and whizzed through the remainder of the journey to Blantyre.
It was nearly midnight on XXXX when we finally met up with Tim and Milly. We crashed for a few hours at a friends house nearby before heading off at 6am on the long drive to the Mozambique coast. T&M had arrived in Lilongwe four days before but had already managed to pack in a trip to Monkey Bay (which sounded a shite site better than Nkharta Bay) where they had canoed out to an island in the lake;
as well as climbing Mount Mulange. We actually passed through the Mount Mulange park on our way to the Mozabique border and it's reminiscent of the scottish lowlands but much warmer. We troughed a full english at the Mulange country guesthouse before driving through acres of tea plantation to cross the border at xxxx. Two hours of admin and we were through, visas approved and money changed on the black market. We pulled the Mitsubishi L200 into the first fuel station over the border. T&M had found the perfect vehicle for our cross Mozambique jaunt but fuel was scarce even on the black market.
It was XXXX Km to Chocas on the Coast and 2 days solid driving. The first half of the driving on XXXX was classic red dirt track. Lots of black children running out of mud huts, this time with slightly shaggier thatched roofs. At Alta Mxxxx the road improved and we started seeing the Portuguese colonial influence in the architecture. The vast majority of the building had been left to decay and felt depressing. The newly refurbed road took us to Gurue a dusty transit town surrounded by stunning treetopped hills and tea plantations. We
spent a passable night in the Gurue Pasao bellies full of pasta and soggy pizza. The Austrian owner Jock was clearly a CIA agent or maybe we made that bit up.
After a 5am jog through the crumbling town and picturesque tea fields we cold showered and hit the road shortly after 6am. Tim took the first stint and we switched driver every 2 hours. We reached Nampula at lunchtime and were verging on 'hangry' (hungry+angry). Jock had warned us of rampant thievery in Nampula so Tim and I stayed in the car for a yak while Suz and Milly practised their Portuguese in an Egyptian café. 2 hours (or about 20 mins) later they emerged giggling but successfully clutching sandwich bags and cans of pop. Something had got lost in translation and they had ended up pointing at our lunch ingredients in the walk in freezer. We pushed on out of Robbersville and inspected our bags. We each had an outstanding example of an Egg McMuffin. Tummys full we harmoniously rumbled along the last 200Km of track and were treated to a sunset over the white sands at Chocas.
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