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(M) From Ruarwe we took the Ilala ferry across to Likoma Island, which could only be described as a pleasant journey after our previous experiences. Nina did her own private dive course (Malawi has the cheapest dive courses in the world) and we did some good diving. We stayed in a lovely stone and bamboo chalet on the beach thirty feet from the water, the people were great and the view you simply could never grow tired of... So we thought we had found true paradise, until we discovered a resort called Kaya Mawa a few bays along... Insane.
This is without a doubt the most beautiful and opulent, yet tasteful, resort either of us has ever seen. We went there for dinner one night just to really treat ourselves. There was only one other couple there and we had our own table on the beach right next to the water, under the blanket of stars and surrounded by lanterns and bougainvillea flowers. Having savoured the three course meal (including fillet steak) and bottle of red wine for all they were worth (these things do not exist in Malawi), I got chatting to the manager, a very cool English guy
called James in the bar. I told him about our plans and, no doubt having earlier been heavily swayed by Nina - who couldn’t stop gushing about the place - he asked me whether we wanted to spend a night there. I politely declined the offer on budgetary grounds (rates vary between US$400 - US$800 per person per night) but he said it was on him, all we had to do was pay for our dinner and drinks. He also said I should tell Nina I was paying, so after thanking him profusely I assured him that he and I were going to get on just fine!! You know how excited Nina gets about seeing dolphins or her morning coffee - well imagine her reaction to finding out we were spending a night at Kaya Mawa... for everything else there's Mastercard!
So three days later, much to our delight, we were back except this time were ushered to Nina’s favourite room, the “Honeymoon Suite” (on our previous visit she had pretty much scoped out the whole joint), with its own private swimming pool on the deck, outside bathroom and palatial bedroom. The room comes in at the cool US$800
end of the spectrum, but how spectacular. This place just oozes romance, and we spent the most incredible night there, lapping up two lunches, another dinner on the beach as well as a spectacular breakfast for the price of a dinner for two in London - sweet. We also skillfully kept up the charade that Nina thought I was paying, and James and I are firm friends to this day.
Staying longer on Likoma meant that we had to make the 18 kilometer journey to the other main island, Chizumulu in what can only be described as a motorised rowing boat, not appearing equipped to negotiate the 4-6 ft swell. So packing four Swedes, us, all our packs, and three locals into this tiny vessel we again took our lives into our hands. Two hours later we were once again giving God virtual high fives for another miraculous water crossing! Chizumulu itself turned out to be a touch disappointing (to be fair, anything was going to be after Likoma) so we stayed just a couple of nights and caught the ferry back to Nkhata Bay.
We then caught the 6am Bus Of Death down to Cape Maclear on
the south of the lake, Nina holding firmly onto our new German friend Kristina. She had recently already been in a bad bus accident so we figured it won’t happen to her twice, hence not to us whilst with her. However, the journey was terrifying again. You know the driver is going unusually fast when even the locals start screaming for him to slow down. At every turn the driver took, Nina slid into the gap between her seat and the next, and I swear there were a few moments while swerving off the road at about 140km/hour when we thought our luck had run its course... but ten hours, a few more high fives and another dodgy taxi ride later (it was an illegal matola and most of the journey was off road to avoid a police roadblock; “it’s Blantyre police, their bribe is too high”) we arrived safe but completely exhausted in Cape Maclear. But it was worth it.
We ended up in yet another a lovely chalet on the beach for a couple of nights before doing an awesome kayaking trip to an uninhabited island eight kilometers off the coast. All that was there was a
Cape Maclear
Can't think why it's called that... camp which was set up by the organisers, a couple of locals who kindly filleted our catfish for us, some monitor lizards, bush pigs (think warthog but three times the size), civit cats (think tiger crossed with hyena!) and us. So we camped for the night, cooked the amazing fresh fish, kayaked around most of the stunning island and fed the local wildlife in virtual solitude. Perfect.
We said goodbye to Cape Maclear and spent the last two days at a very cool backpackers in Monkey Bay called Mufasa, run by the same hippie rockspiders from Mufasa in Lilongwe. This is the most stunning spot in all of Monkey Bay and a miracle it hasn’t be discovered before. Given they didn’t have a licence yet and were not allowed to charge, it was basically like a hippie commune, where we stayed for free and just chipped in for food and the copious amount of booze we consumed along with Martin (previously referenced Dutch crocodile attack victim) and couple of other random travellers. As Monkey Bay was the very site of the crocodile attack, the German forbade wading into the lake past knee height, which made washing a little tricky
(everyone washes in the lake and our total shower tally in a month in Malawi was about 3) but otherwise it was paradise and a perfect end to our Lake Malawi experience.
Now all that was left was to get to Blantyre to catch the plane to Johannesburg, and for good measure the 250km journey to Blantyre lasted all of eight tiring hours, the upside being that we were spared the anxiety of wondering whether we would arrive at all - the bus driver was decent this time. After an eventless night in Blantyre we ended our trip in true Africa style when we boarded the direct Air Malawi flight to Jhb only to be told it was going via Lilongwe... enough said...
Afterthoughts
(N) Malawi, Malawi... wonderful Malawi. It really is true when they call it the Warm Heart of Africa. The people are so very friendly, take pride in their country and their meagre possessions (many houses, however ramshackle, had orderly flower beds around them) and seem content with what little they have. But there is poverty and poverty. When I think back to Zimbabwe, where we spent a mere 1 ½ days, I left
Local kid
Cape Maclear in avery dark mood, unable to close my eyes to the desperation of its people, and frankly, was glad to be outta there (I want to go back, but when I do, do something to help when I am there).
Malawi - bar the terrifying transport; damn you matola drivers, you gave me about 32 heart attacks - however was simply a delightful experience. Both Matt and I were very happy with our decision to cross Mozambique off our itinerary and leave it for another time, as we really got to know Malawi properly in the month we spent there, as well as the correct price for matolas, avocados, footballs and Malawi’s Gold (from the 70s - present day)! I was sad to leave, but buoyed by the prospect of having a decent shower and meal that did not consist of bread and rice alone at our overnight stop in Jo’burg. Bjarne put us up for the night and ensured we were more than well fed and entertained, and that we had clean clothes again - thanks Bjarne! Next are the Seychelles - I couldn't think of a starker contrast...
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Olivia Andrews
non-member comment
yum!
I can't believe you didn't bring some back for your cousin!