Shenanigans on a bike - By Leana Niemand
MALAWI
Km
650 – 55 Days
10
May – 4 July 2022
10 May – Chipata, Zambia – Unknown village, Malawi – 87 km
The
distance to the Zambia-Malawian border was scarcely 20 kilometres, and I crossed with
no difficulty or PCR test. It simply took 20$ and I had my Covid test
papers. Things sure work differently in Africa. Malawi is a tiny landlocked country
stretching barely 840 km from
north to south and varies in width from 10 to 160 km. I didn’t think I would
need much time crisscrossing it as much of the country is taken up by Lake
Malawi.
I’m
always amazed by the abrupt change in scenery, food and culture after crossing
a border. First, sugarcane was sold in abundance, and one hardly spotted anyone
not chewing on a stalk. Soon, the potholes became more prominent and the
villages and bicycles more frequent.
During
the day, roadside stands sold grilled meat and chips. Stopping to purchase a
portion of fries, the entire neighbourhood came to witness this unusual event.
Kids in near hysterics called, “Azungu, azungu, azungu!” Azungu, also known as
muzungu, mlungu, musungu or musongo, means “wanderer”, originally pertaining to
spirits. (Maybe that’s why the kids are so fearful, especially when one is fair
of skin.) The term currently refers to foreigners, not only Europeans. It’s
very similar to farang, barang, and falang in Asia. It’s further uttered equally
enthusiastically.
Midway
to the capital Lilongwe, I called it quits on spotting what is known as a rest
house. The place was rather basic, and I don’t think the walls had seen a lick
of paint in years. The bedding was equally tattered, and it appeared washing
bedding wasn’t a daily occurrence. However, as the rate was merely between 1.5
– 4 US$, I didn’t complain too much. I could shower when in Lilongwe.
11/12
May – Unknown rest house – Barefoot Lodge, Lilongwe – 45 km
I
was up at the crack of dawn as not only did the cocks start crowing, but other
guests started opening the squeaky doors to use the bathroom, which was a hole
in the ground way back in the rear corner of the property. I thus emerged and
felt like the main attraction as I lit my stove to boil water for coffee.
On
departing, smoke from morning fires hung low over the villages as people made
trips to and from the market, kids walked to school, and others stoked the fires
at the ever-popular chip stands. I love the smell of a smouldering fire; it
reminds me I’m indeed in Africa. A stop at a chip stand brought out the entire
neighbourhood.
Nearing
Lilongwe, a sign pointed to Barefoot Lodge, and I remembered Peter Gazzard (whom
I met in Zambia) mentioned staying there. Not feeling like heading into the
city, I veered in that direction and discovered a lovely set-up offering
cottages, a campsite, and dorms. I opted to camp and later Rudolph, the owner,
mentioned he gave cyclists a free night if they paid one night. I was delighted
and settled into my spot, doing nothing. I should’ve done laundry.
13
May – Barefoot Lodge – Lilongwe – 15 km
Birdsong woke me from
my slumber. What a lovely way to greet a day. Loading the bike was an unhurried
affair as I only planned to move to the city to stock up on a few items. The
ride turned out most interesting as I followed a rural path through traditional
villages. It sure is a different world away from the main road. As anticipated,
I was the primary source of attraction.
The small capital city
of Lilongwe was home to Mabuya Camp a lovely backpackers establishment offering
camping and huts under thatch on extensive shady grounds. The sad part is I was
the only one there. I was clearly incorrect in assuming international travel
has returned to normal.
Once booked in, I walked
to the city mall, drew Malawian kwacha (1US$ - 1000MWK) and bought a few items
for the trip to Blantyre. This mundane process was fascinating and much
different from European cities. I loved the informal trade and the ease with
which people moved about. One can buy practically anything while waiting at the
traffic light – from jeans to brooms and your daily fruit and vegetables. With my
purchases bagged, I returned to Mabuya Camp to rearrange my panniers to ride to
Blantyre where I’ve arranged to meet Caron for a three-week holiday in Malawi.
14
May - Lilongwe - Salima – 110 km
The
route to Lake Malawi, a lake which takes up the best part of the country, was
too narrow to my liking, and it took concentrating on staying out of harm’s
way. There was further no reaching the coast without scaling a few hills. The
inclines slowed the pace, and kids ran alongside, calling, “Muzungu, muzungu, give
me money!” Their demands were pretty annoying, and I needed to find a way to
deal with them. The best was to look them in the eye — greet them, and enquire about
their well-being. It took the wind out of their sails. Mercifully, the last
part of the ride descended towards the lake, allowing getting away from the
kids.
En
route, I noticed the Malawian huts were often rectangular and not round. Again,
a leftover of colonial encouragement to be more European.
Traditionally,
African societies sit in circles, round fires or the company of elders.
Circular huts provide an arrangement where no one is hidden in corners or left
out, even during communal drinking or storytelling sessions. The weather is
another reason, as rounded huts are more resistant to strong winds.
Towards
the end of the day, Salina offered inexpensive rooms around a courtyard making
overnighting an easy choice. Sadly, my laptop gave up the ghost, and I hoped it
could be repaired in Blantyre.
15
May - Salima – Kolomoti – 80 km
Breakfast
was included in the room rate, and I was on my way reasonably early. I thought
the road was in dreadful condition, but this was Africa, after all. Every
person on a bicycle wanted to give chase, but on spotting, I wasn’t following, they
soon lost interest, provided I didn’t come too close. Finally, Rudolph from
Barefoot Lodge came past and stopped to chat. He was taking clients on a tour
of southern Malawi. How nice of him.
My
route led past an abundance of baobab trees, indigenous villages and roadside
markets, men herding livestock and women transporting large baskets of pumpkins
on their heads. It’s incredible how easily they carry such heavy loads.
The
most interesting was a traditional ceremony. The dancing was fascinating and
included dancers dressed in tribal clothing, complete with African masks. Add
drumming and dust created by the stomping of feet, and the atmosphere was
electrifying. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take any pics as bystanders demanded
money. People want money for just breathing the air in Malawi. I was utterly
crowded and felt uncomfortable and considered it best to leave.
Noticing
the next village was 80 kilometres down the drag, I enquired about
accommodation and was pointed down a dirt road. The place wasn’t too bad, considering
I only paid 7000 MKW and settled in under intense scrutiny. I was happy with a
door to close.
16
May – Kolomoti – Balaka – 85 km
Breakfast
consisted of a substantial plate of chips, eggs, salad, porridge and coffee. I needed
all that energy as the ride was exhausting and into a strong headwind. Thank
goodness, Balaka was a mere 80 kilometres further as I didn’t have the energy on
this day to bike a further 80 kilometres to the subsequent settlement.
My
chosen route was clearly off the beaten track, as my presence alone was enough
to put the fear of God into the villagers.
First,
a lady collecting wood spotted me and immediately dumped her wood and sprinted
into the bushes. Not much further, three kids were on their way home after
collecting water, carrying large water containers on their heads. They couldn’t
have been more than eight years old (I’m not sure how healthy such a heavy load
can be for a small child). Nevertheless, I took the camera out to take a
picture, something I shouldn’t have done. They got such a fright they dropped
their buckets and sprinted off. In their rush to get away, one fell and slid
down the embankment! Poor kids. Afterwards, I didn’t take the camera out again.
Still,
a certain peace and calm prevailed in the countryside. Some may think life in
Africa is hard, but I think it’s only different from what we know. The concrete
jungle comes with its own set of challenges.
17
May – Balaka – Zalewa – 73 km
Breakfast
wasn’t included in the room rate, and I pedalled out of Balaka under scores of,
“Good morning, Sir”.
The
way was primarily uphill to the junction where I bought four mandasies (fried
dough balls) at a mere 50 kwacha each. Even the most insignificant purchase
usually created quite a stir in these tiny hamlets. Eventually, I answered all
the questions, and yes, it is possible to cycle from South Africa to Malawi. I
refrained from explaining my entire route.
Forty
kilometres later, the new asphalt abruptly ended, and I once more found myself
on a narrow, uneven road. The way was littered with tiny settlements where vendors
sold grilled mice on sticks or bamboo birdcages housing colourful birds. I’m
not sure how they eat mice as there isn’t much to a mouse once skinned.
The
breeze picked up, and not being in the mood to fight the wind, I succumbed to
temptation on spotting a somewhat upmarket guesthouse. Albeit pricey, the
thought of a warm shower lured me in. I could do the final 60 kilometres to
Blantyre the next morning. Caron was only arriving in four days, and I’d plenty
of time to make my way to Blantyre.
18/20
May – Zalewa – Blantyre – 57 km
When
I got on the road and discovered the wind had abated, I could scarcely believe
my luck. I sailed up the hills like a hot knife through butter, barely
stopping.
Nearly
70% of Blantyre’s population live in informal settlements with no social or
essential urban services. It’s therefore understandable I was met by haphazard
trade cycling into Blantyre. Markets spilt onto the roadway, taxis weaved in
and out of the traffic and coffin makers sat comfortably between wood and furniture
salespeople. The city is spread over numerous hills, and I gasped up the sharp inclines
dodging taxis and people calling, “Azungo, azungo, give me money!” At times I
thought the only way to capture the madness was by drone.
Fortunately,
I found the city centre compact as I searched for suitable accommodation. In
the process, I came upon Henderson Lodge, an old residential dwelling on
extensive grounds converted into a guesthouse. The place was no Taj Mahal, but it
did me just fine until Caron’s arrival.
I
should’ve known something was up when I wasn’t hungry or wanted a beer following
my ride. Still, I strolled to the supermarket but couldn’t face the food and
returned, only sporting a bottle of water. Sick as a dog, I was all night! It seemed
I could eat street food covered in flies but couldn’t handle breakfast from an
upmarket establishment. Arghhh!
By
morning, I felt considerably better and sauntered to the computer repair shop
to hand in the laptop. I wanted to look around town but had no such energy and
returned to the guesthouse, where I fell asleep. A few hours later, I was woken
by a phone call informing me the laptop was ready. The rest of the day was
spent reloading programs.
I
was operating in low gear as there wasn’t much to do in Blantyre, or maybe I
didn’t have the motivation to explore, and a relaxing day was spent at the
guesthouse.
21
May – Blantyre
I
cycled to the Victoria Hotel, where I’d arranged to meet Caron. The morning
passed quickly and around midday Caron arrived, bike and all. We chatted
forever prior to walking downtown to get a SIM card and pick up a few needed
items.
Back
at the Victoria Hotel, we discovered the hotel Moslem-owned, and thus no
alcohol was served. Fortunately, scarcely 200 metres away was a local joint
serving food and beer. We felt fortunate as we sat listening to African music,
drinking a Kutchi-Kutchi, and watching our chips prepared on an open fire. At
the same time, the sunset coloured the sky a bright red.
22
May – Blantyre
Our
accommodation offered a substantial breakfast, and after having our fill, Caron’s
bike was reassembled. The bicycle appeared to have survived its unstable
housing and was soon good to go. Then, off to the supermarket to stock up for
our intended walk of Mt Mulanje. Where we were going to pack our purchases
remained a mystery.
Around
lunchtime, we strolled to the Sky Lounge, a bar/restaurant, which turned out
not a sky lounge but a garden lounge. The place offered a lush garden dominated
by large trees, a well-stocked bar and reasonably priced food—a great way to
spend a Sunday afternoon. Later we returned to the room and our task of
repacking our already bulging panniers.
23
May – Blantyre – Likhubula – 78 km
Well-fed
and rested, we saddled up and turned our bikes in the direction of Mulanje. At
first, Caron needed to sort out a few teething problems on her bike.
Fortunately, there’s a bicycle mechanic under almost every tree. However, the
chaos of the market areas can be pretty intimidating, especially on the first
day. Still, once cleared, the remainder of the day was smooth sailing and a
mostly downhill ride to the lake area. Towards the end of the day our path led
past vast tea plantations where workers were busy picking the leaves.
Once
in Likhubula, it was a simple task to organise a guide and porter to take us on
a three-night hike up the mountain.
24
May - Mulanje Hike – Day 1 – Likhubula – Chambe hut – 5 hours
Following
breakfast of egg and bread, Caron and I stowed our panniers and bikes. We
handed the porter a bulging backpack containing our belongings meant for the
next four days. Shortly past eight, and while the fog was lying low, we
trundled off accompanied by Vincent, our guide. Our first stop was a mere few
hundred metres away to purchase engraved wooden walking sticks.
The
low-lying mist created a mystical scene as the trail snaked up the mountain
through a densely wooded area. Aided by our walking sticks, we scrambled up the
steep sections and were soon spat out at a magnificent waterfall. Then onwards
and upwards, until our path broke through the clouds, revealing magnificent
vistas of the surrounding peaks. The perfect weather made for an early arrival,
maybe a tad too early. Chambe hut sported not only a caretaker but also a
sitting area featuring a fireplace. The caretaker prepared hot water to wash
and put the kettle on the fire for tea. All this happened as Caron and I sat reminiscing
about our day, drinking a Carlsberg beer and soaking up the last few rays.
Caron used the warm shower provided, but I couldn’t get myself to undress and
decided to persevere one more day without a wash.
25
May - Day 2 - Chambe hut - Tuchila hut – 6 hours
It
dawned bright and sunny and, soon afterwards, we made our way up the mountain
to the next hut. The scenery was magnificent as our guide set a relaxed pace.
Brushing past the shrubbery vegetation released a pleasant herby fragrance.
From time to time, the smell of cedar filled the air. We strolled along in
silence, except for the melodic singing of birds, while admiring the
magnificent landscape.
Midday,
we stopped at a hut to have lunch and met two other hikers from New Zealand. We
chatted some time before setting off on the next leg to our overnight hut.
Shortly after arriving, Vincent provided hot water to wash. Feeling fresh as
daisies, we boiled water to prepare our instant noodles. We shared our humble
abode with a lady from Belgium on holiday in Africa. She, however, was very
well organised and had not only a guide and porter but also a cook. We eyed her
meal, which included dessert, with great envy as we scoffed our dull meal of
noodles.
26
May - Day 3 – Tuchila Hut - Minunu Hut - 5 hours
We
surfaced to a gorgeous morning and drank our coffee, looking out over the
valley. The route to the next hut led over large granite outcrops and descended
into fern-covered ravines. Descending into one of these gullies, I slipped and
broke my wrist. It is one of the most disturbing things to see a limb not
pointing in the direction it should! If crying would’ve helped, I sure would’ve
bawled my eyes out. Sadly, Caron’s holiday was ruined in the blink of an eye,
and nothing could be done about it. We strapped the wrist the best we could and
proceeded to the next hut.
Once
at the hut, Vincent tried pushing the hand where it belonged (I nearly shat
myself) and made a splint which we secured by tape Caron brought along. I felt
awful about the inconvenience caused and swore I’d never again hike without
proper shoes. But life continued, and we cooked our pasta and discussed what to
do next. I turned in early, feeling depressed about this sad situation.
27
May - Day 4 – Minunu – End of hike
Fortunately,
only a four-hour walk to the trail’s end remained, where we could get a ride to
where we started. The morning air was crisp as we trotted off on our final day’s
walk. The hike took a tad longer as I was dreadfully slow on the downhill due to
my shoes having no tread. It nevertheless was a brilliant hike, and the scenery
unsurpassed. One could see luminous green tea plantations stretching miles
ahead, a lovely end to a brilliant walk apart from a broken wrist. Vincent, our
guide, organised a ride, and soon we were at our digs where we stowed the
bikes—time to start organising and decide how to proceed.
28/29/30
May - Likhubula – Zomba - by car
As
awful as I felt, there was nothing I could do but take a Cataflam and soldier
on. Caron was a superstar and never complained and only saw the positive in
this dreadful situation.
Our
ride to Zomba was well organised and both bikes fitted into, what at first looked
like, a tiny car. Our friendly driver dropped us at Pakachere, a well-known
backpacker’s joint offering dorms and camping. We opted to camp, and it took me
much longer to pitch the tent than usual.
Later,
Caron and I walked out, me to the hospital, and Caron to organise a day trip up
the Zomba plateau. The hospital couldn’t have been more interesting as various ramshackle
buildings were scattered on a large site. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the
layout. Still, eventually, after passing bloodied and injured patients, I came
upon one who assisted me.
The
offices resembled storerooms and equipment wobbly and squeaking, and I wondered
if the readings taken were accurate. Then, like a sheep being led to slaughter,
I was led to a different building. X-rays were taken, and a half cast was
applied. All this was free of charge, and I was told to return in three days (once
the swelling had gone down) to apply a full cast. The fact the broken bones
didn’t quite seem to line up didn’t appear of great concern.
Returning
to Pakachere, I bumped into Caron looking for a money changer, but being
Saturday afternoon, all banks were closed. So, instead, we ambled to the
supermarket to buy a few items needed.
Zomba
was a tad chilly at 1000m elevation, and I borrowed a blanket from the hostel.
By
morning, I slowly emerged from my warm tent as the blanket borrowed was thick
and heavy. Still, it turned out reasonably early when we headed up to Zomba
plateau via a steep, wooded road. Thank goodness we opted to take a ride to the
top. Once on the plateau, a leisurely stroll took us to Emperor’s view, so
named in honour of Haile Selassie, who visited the viewpoint in 1965. To this
day, Rastafarians feel it’s a holy place, and we encountered a few heading down
the mountain drawing on homemade pipes.
In
Zomba, we headed to the dusty market area, searching for food and a backpack
for my 3-week travel by bus. Afterwards, I reluctantly returned to the hospital
to apply the cast as I thought the swelling had subsided.
Once
all was done, the sun was heading towards the horizon and time to enjoy beer
and a plate of chips.
31
May – 1 June – Zomba – Liwonde National Park – 55 km
Caron
bravely set off on her first solo ride in Africa and headed toward Liwonde,
where we arranged to meet at Bushman’s Baobab camp.
I
first returned to the market area’s narrow lanes to locate a suitable travel bag.
Afterwards, arrangements were made to store my bicycle and panniers at
Pakachere. The staff was super accommodating and even offered to carry my bag
to the bus station. How kind of them. I giggled uncontrollably as I set off to
the taxi stand accompanied by my helper, who effortlessly carried the bag on
her head. Then, with the minivan packed to the brim, we sped along through
potholes to lower ground.
Once
at Bushman’s, I discovered the place closed despite phoning the previous
evening. Fortunately, Caron reached camp shortly ahead of me and located a
half-built lodge opposite our intended destination. We were offered an enormous
room at the same price as camping. We couldn’t be happier and settled into our
abode on the Shire River.
The
hippos made an almighty noise during the night, but being pitch dark, we didn’t
see any. However, we could still hear them by morning as we set off in a canoe
searching for wildlife. Fortunately, wildlife was abundant along the riverbanks.
It’s always exciting to spot a herd of elephants roaming about. They are
massive but move about ever so gently, and I can observe them hours on end. The
hippos have massive bodies but a sensitive skin. They, therefore, prefer hiding
in the water during the heat of the day. Still, one can see them basking in the
sun, but they must retreat to the water to keep cool, for they don’t sweat. The
fascinating part is they have numerous skin glands that release an oily reddish
substance, leading to the ancient myth that hippos sweat blood. This pigment
acts as a sunblock, filtering out ultraviolet radiation.
2
June – Liwonde National Park – Mangochi – 80 km
Caron
set off on her second solo ride in Africa. At the same time, I took a motorbike
taxi to Liwonde village, from where minivans ran to various destinations.
In
Liwonde, I found Caron trying to adjust her rear rack in the company of hordes
of helpers and spectators. Eventually, all was fixed, and Caron could be on her
way. I was steered to a minivan and proceeded to Mangochi, where I located
accommodation. Finding each other was a tad more challenging than anticipated.
None of the three places agreed upon beforehand was still in operation. Thank
goodness for mobile phones. Amid all this drama, Caron remained in high spirits
despite being tired and with a sore behind. You rock, girl!
Our
digs were no Taj Mahal but were inexpensive and gave us a bed and bathroom. The
bucket of warm water provided was a real treat, and I could wash my hair - the
first time in days.
3/4/5
June – Mangochi – Monkey Bay - 65 km
The
room rate of 7000 MWK included a breakfast of chips, boiled eggs, bread and
tea. It seems chips and eggs are staples in Malawi and are eaten throughout the
day.
Soon
afterwards, I longingly watched as Caron set off on her ride to Monkey Bay. I
walked to the main road in search of a ride. One was quickly located and a
price negotiated. We piled in, but it couldn’t have been 10 kilometres further
when the engine conked out. I was told to hand over the agreed-upon fee as the
driver needed petrol money. I did so, and off he went by bicycle taxi. The
other passengers waved down a ride, leaving me the only passenger seeing I’d
already paid. My driver later returned, but still he couldn’t get the motor
running. I was transferred to a passing taxi and slinked into Monkey Bay long
after Caron! Taking public transport can be more challenging than riding a
bike.
Our
agreed-upon abode at Monkey Bay was a good choice and a real haven. Mufasa
Lodge consisted of basic accommodation right on the water’s edge. Although the
set-up offered a restaurant, we walked into the village to purchase a few beers
and snacks.
The
following two days were spent on the beach, doing practically nothing except
chasing the monkeys who constantly wanted to steal our stuff. I thought
swimming in the lake would be more doable than a cold shower, but that wasn’t the
case, as I could barely venture in halfway! The water temperature is said a
constant 27C, but I could’ve sworn it was much colder.
Lake
Malawi forms part of the Great Rift Valley, a series of continuous geographic
trenches, approximately 7000 kilometres in total length, running from Lebanon
in Asia to Mozambique. The lake was formed by volcanic activities roughly 2
million years ago. It’s further the fifth largest freshwater lake and the third
deepest in the world and is home to more fish species (800 – 1000) than any
other lake.
6
June – Monkey Bay – Cape Maclear – 20 km
The
cool thing in Malawi is when a person needs anything from changing money to
extending your visa, it only takes a phone call, and the person comes to you.
So, with cash in my pocket and a two-month visa extension in my passport, I set
off to the Fat Monkeys at Cape Maclear.
On
the back of a moto, we sped off through the potholes and along a sandy part to
where we were spat out at idyllic Cape Maclear. Caron soon arrived by bicycle.
The weather was extremely windy, boats didn’t go out and fishermen used the
time to mend the nets. We snatched a few pics of the kids playing in the water
and women doing laundry and dishes in the lake before settling down, beer in
hand, to watch the sunset.
7-8
June – Cape Maclear – Domwe Island
Mornings
were busy at the lake as fishermen returned from a night at sea or headed out
to place the nets. Others put the fish out to dry, and women did laundry or
washed the dishes. Caron was looking forward to spending two nights on nearby
Domwe Island and arranged a kayak and boat for the short crossing to the
island. So, early morning, Caron paddled across the bay, and I jumped on the
boat carrying our belongings.
The
island is barely five kilometres from the mainland but uninhabited, apart from a
rustic camp along the mountainside. We were the only ones there and pitched our
tents on wooden platforms under thatch. There wasn’t anything to do on the
island except paddle a kayak or swim in the lake, but the water was too cold to
swim. Luckily, our spot was protected from the wind, and it turned out two
lovely days.
9
June - Domwe Island - Monkey Bay
The
boat collected me and our luggage at around ten as Caron paddled to Cape
Maclear. Once our bill was settled, I caught a moto to Cape Maclear, and Caron
cycled the hilly 16 kilometres to Mufasa Camp.
Finally,
we returned to Monkey Bay because we decided to catch the famous or infamous
Ilala ferry across the lake to Nkhata Bay, a two-day, one-night sail from
Monkey Bay. The remainder of the day was thus spent buying snacks for our
crossing as we anticipated few luxuries on board.
10
- 11 June - The Ilala ferry
Early
morning, Caron and I headed towards the tiny pier, not knowing what to expect.
Although early, the place was already a hive of activity. An hour or two later,
we’d our tickets and got swept along with the crowd, all carrying huge bags of
tomatoes, potatoes and corn flour on their heads. Once on board, we found our
cabin occupied. It took time before we were led off to another one.
The
MV Ilala is a passenger ship connecting the south of Malawi to the north.
The
ferry is old (more than 70 years) and famous for being late (sometimes even
days) due to maintenance. Still, it offered an unparalleled perspective of life
in Malawi.
At
the tiny lakeside villages and islands, the arrival of the Ilala caused quite a
stir as only three stops are equipped with an actual pier. At the other
harbours, anchoring was near the coast. The distance depends on the water
depth, usually a few hundred metres away.
Landing
and boarding were by fishermen and the two small lifeboats of the Ilala. People
and goods needed to be pushed and shoved onto the boat. It’s a time-consuming
process and quite a spectacle. As a result, the time was 2 a.m. on the morning
of the 12th when the Ilala docked in Nkhata Bay, and we could place
our feet on terra firma. Disembarking was a slow process. Fortunately, it wasn’t
far from Mayoka Village, where we planned on staying. Still, the time was 4 a.m.
before we finally crawled into bed.
12
– 14 June - Mayoka Village, Nkhata Bay
Three
full days were spent at Mayoka Village, doing very little. However, Caron used
the kayaks well and spent many hours exploring.
The
Mayoka Village is built along a cliff overlooking the lake and on the water’s
edge. A perfect spot to while away the time. I was super impressed with the “donkey”
shower, meaning one had to light a fire to warm the water. The fire was usually
made around sunset, and the water remained piping hot until morning. The
eco-toilets were very effective; instead of flushing, ash and sawdust did the
job equally well.
Our
daily meander into the village to pick up supplies was fascinating. The walk
took us past One Love, where one could order basic food overlooking the lake.
Not only did this friendly Rasta man sell food but also curios and “meditation cookies”.
The curio sellers encountered were kind and laidback, and one felt immensely
sorry as tourism hadn’t returned to normal. Still, they remained optimistic.
Seeing my arm in a cast, they instinctively placed their hands on their hearts,
followed by, “I’m so sorry”. What kind people the Malawians are.
15
June – Nkhata Bay - Mzuzu – 50 km
Caron’s
time in Malawi was fast running out, and we loaded up and made our way to Mzuzu,
a 50-kilometre cycle for Caron and a shared taxi ride for me. We bunked down at
Umunthu, a comfortable spot sporting a great restaurant.
Mzuzu
further indicated the end of Caron’s cycle ride as we planned on catching a bus
to Lilongwe. A short walk brought us to the bus station, where we learned of a
bus in the morning.
16
– 18 June – Mzuzu – Lilongwe – By bus
Fortunately,
the bus was a relaxed affair, and we settled in for the 350-kilometres ride to
Lilongwe. Once in Lilongwe, we made our way to Mabuya Camp, where we opted to
camp. Unfortunately, finding a bicycle box in Malawi isn’t easy. Still, we
located one at Game, and the following day staff offered to pack Carron’s bike,
and all she had to do was hail a taxi to take her the short ride to camp. At times
luck is on your side.
On
the morning of the 18th, Caron packed the last of her belongings to
catch her return flight to Cape Town, ending her holiday in Malawi.
19
– 30 June – Lilongwe
Once
Caron had departed, little remained to do In Lilongwe, and I soon became bored.
June is mid-winter in Malawi, and I felt frozen all the time. Add to it that I
couldn’t cycle, I was downright frustrated. Still, I handed in my laptop and
camera lens to be repaired and had to wait until both were fixed.
The
days passed slowly but, in the meantime, I learned Thailand planned on opening
the country to foreign visitors from 1 July. So, impulsively, a flight to
Bangkok was booked, where I could stay free of charge and where the mercury
hovered in the mid-30s.
Happy
about my decision, I couldn’t wait until 4 July and searched for a bike box which
I again discovered at Game. With the bike boxed, it was only a matter of time
before I was out of Malawi and hopefully in a warmer climate.
1
– 3 July – Lilongwe
Fortunately,
more travellers booked in, and we chatted endlessly. No one seemed in a hurry
to go anywhere. But, as expected, I was super keen to get going.
4-5
July - Lilongwe, Malawi – Bangkok, Thailand
I
was up at the crack of dawn on the 4th to catch my flight to Bangkok
via Lubumbashi, Congo and Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Soon, it was hamba
kahle, Africa, and hello to the land of smiles.
The
flight touched down in Bangkok around midday on the 5th, and I was
sure everyone was eager to disembark! Then, finally, following a long wait, the
bicycle appeared. I hurried to catch the bus to Jomtien, where I arrived dead
tired and happy to unlock the door and flop onto a bed.
6
July – Jomtien
The
majority of the day was spent dusting and sweeping as things get rather dusty
when unoccupied. It didn’t take long as, contrary to what most believe, this isn’t
an apartment or even a studio but a single room resembling a hotel room. I’m
not complaining as it was never meant to be lived in but merely an emergency
bunker to hunker down if need be. I love how minimalistic the place is.
That
evening I became so fed up with the inconvenience of my cast that I sawed it
off using the tiny blade on my Leatherman, nearly chopping my arm off in the
process. I was shocked at what was revealed as the wrist didn’t appear normal! But
it is what it is, I guess!
7
July – Jomtien
A
great deal of the morning was spent cleaning the mess I made the previous night
and getting rid of things I didn’t need. Strange how quickly one can collect
stuff! By midday, I trekked to the supermarket around three kilometres away.
Fortunately, I didn’t need a lot as I only had a small backpack. I was happy
with removing the cast as I felt more mobile (rightly or wrongly so!).
It
felt like I was settling in for a few weeks and invested in a 5-litre box of
wine. Strange how easily I carried that! Hahaha. By evening, I strolled to the
beach to snatch a few pics and felt quite content sitting there watching the
kids play endlessly with only a bottle and cup.
8
July – Jomtien
As
I played on the internet until after two in the morning, I was late in walking.
My old Covid stomping ground looked much the same, and I enjoyed the ten
kilometres amble along the water’s edge. Around midday, I realised I needed to
visit the immigration office to confirm I was back in the country. I hurried
down the road before they closed. Returning, I picked up a pineapple and lime smoothie,
a refreshing drink on a hot day, and slurping it noisily, I made my way back.
The
market across the road from my place provided convenient shopping to find salad
ingredients as I was desperate to eat something fresh. By 8 p.m., it was still
30°C, and I settled on my balcony, a glass of wine in hand. I smiled at my
fortune, crooked arm and all.
