So after a day or two more of relaxing at Mayoka Village in Nkhata Bay, it was time to get back on the road. In yet another small-worldism, two school friends were volunteering and teaching at the village school so it was great to catch up with them for a bit and discuss all the oddballs from school. A veritable gossip indeed! Mayoka is a lovely spot, as I probably mentioned in the previous post, and we were lucky to have scored a double upgrade to private room for camping prices. So it was with heavy hearts, but fresh legs, that we got up and got ourselves ready for the cycle to Ekwendeni. We'd had breakfast and a wrap each prepared in advance and left in the fridge and we were away by 6:45. We'd been warned that the road to Mzuzu, Malawi's third largest city/town was both really bad and full of roadworks, and pretty much uphill all the way. The roadworks didn't bother us as bikes can scoot through traffic and weave around potholes with consummate ease, but the uphill wasn't ideal. We'd soon see how all the beers and fine dining had affected our performance. I felt particularly sorry for Sam with his single speed. I carried his wrap to even things up! In order to spice things up a bit, and for some fun, I decided to don my Napoleon Dynamite outfit that Sam had bought me out as a birthday present. This consisted not only of the classic 'Vote for Pedro' t-shirt, but wig, glasses and moon boots to match. The wig was a bit itchy but it provided suitable hilarity, particularly as Napoleon was showing in the local 'cinema' the week before. It was a nice cool morning and we were making decent enough progress considering the terrain. However, it then began to rain, which was quite unpleasant. This would be only the third occasion of getting wet whilst cycling in a stretch of 7 weeks, and I'm sure many of you, the Poms especially, will wonder what I'm moaning about. My response is thus; I am now a bronzed pioneer of Africa, acclimatised to the heat of the day and balmy evenings, much better suited to pedaling under the blazing sun than enduring the misery of pedaling in the wet. In summary, I wasn't having much fun, and even though I had a poncho in the panniers, as yet unused, I was wet enough to render it pointless donning it by the time I thought about it. Then the roadworks started, which made things more difficult again. There was a Stop-Go traffic control, but as any cyclist worth his salt knows, traffic laws are entirely optional. I sailed past with a smile that I'm sure resembled more of a grimace (we were climbing steeply at this point) and plonked myself on the brand new, steaming macadam on my side of the road. I was weaving between the steam rollers and congratulating myself on progress when some Mzungu started running towards me and shouting 'You're sinking, you're sinking', whilst gesticulating frantically. I laughed at him as surely Tina and I weren't heavy enough to sink into a tar road but the poor guy wasn't happy. Under his command I went back to the muddy, bumpy side of the road and left him, head in hands, cursing Napoleon and his noble llama Tina. I was too tired to have a proper look as to whether I had genuinely ruined his new tar, and reasoned that if it couldn't handle 130kg of bike and rider, it certainly wasn't up to even Malawian road-building standards. The muddy side of the road was deeply unpleasant and tricky cycling, being essentially clay with no grip whilst simultaneously sticking to everything. This made maintaining control as I paperboyed up the hill in the rain rather tricky. At this point it was every man for himself so I just kept my head down: I would wait for Sam at the top. It was a pretty relentless stretch and, for me at least, it evoked a quintessential impression of Africa: red soil, pouring rain, bad roads and tropical vegetation. All that was needed was a couple of AK-47 touting guerillas to drift out of the bush and demand money or your life. Perhaps my imagination was getting the better of me, but there is nowhere quite as miserable as rural Africa in the rain. Everything just stops but there's also nowhere to really seek shelter or wait it out. It was against this backdrop that that infernal Pied Crow came back to haunt me! In Lilongwe, with the delivery of new quick links, we had restored the shortened chain to its original length by breaking the chain and then reinserting the removed link. The arrival of another quick link took it back to full length. However, the catch was that you're not supposed to re-use chain pins as taking them out weakens them. Jabu had no new 9 speed pins so we just chucked the old one back in. The day before we left I attempted a chain swap, but struggled with the SRAM quick link so couldn't get it off. I'd do it in Ekwendeni when I had a day off I decided. That was to prove a costly mistake as on one of the climbs my chain snapped. This wasn't a major disaster seeing as I could just put the other chain on, but where it had bent the link it had mangled the derailleur a bit, which looked rather ominous. The downpour didn't help matters either. I got the new chain on easily enough, and gingerly pulled the derailleur back into the right position and gave it a spin. The back wheel was all over the place, catching on the brakes. It was then that I realised that I'd also lost a spoke, most likely as a result of the chain link catching on it on the way through. This was a more serious problem as it involves taking the wheel off, then the tyre, then the rear cassette (cogs), taking off the rim tape and then replacing the spoke and putting it all back together again. By now we had taken refuge under a lean to whilst I attacked the task in hand. I had been given a cassette tool but had no spanner large enough to turn it, and no chain whip to hold the cassette whilst I did it. I was carrying spare spokes, so that wasn't an issue, but it is a faff getting the tension right in order to retrue the wheel. I gave up fairly quickly - probably faster than I should have, but I decided it was going to be a rather wet and fruitless struggle and it was better just to get to our hosts Duncan and Grace and sort it out there in the dry with the right tools. Duncan very kindly said he could send a driver to Shoprite in Mzuzu and get us so that was a huge help. The snag was that we'd only done 35km so were about 15km short of the pick up point. Will and Ollie, my aforementioned schoolmates, but they could be of no assistance in their small and terrible car. I must have looked rather ridiculous in my moon boots and poncho but eventually managed to get one of the many roadworks bakkies to stop. Unfortunately he was going the wrong way and told me that I was both crazy and had no one going to Mzuzu at the moment. We had a run of 3 consecutive bakkies, none of which stopped, but then we managed to get two guys with a little Kia flatbed to help us out. It was too wet for pleasantries so we just thanked them and piled into the back with all our stuff. It was a pretty wet, miserable and bumpy 15km, and I would certainly rather have been cycling it in the dry, but there we go: my fancy dress shenanigans had clearly angered the cycling gods! We were unceremoniously deposited in the Shoprite carpark where we formed a muddy, bedraggled pile of possessions. Then a stroke of luck: a rather rotund chap calling himself Georgie Porgie came over and said he could fix the wheel for me. Africans rarely confess to not being able to do something - you just get a varying degree of convincing-ness in their affirmatives - so I was quite sceptical of his abilities. I was also worried about timescales as often we have differing ideas of what 'quick quick' means. Anyway, the mechanic to whom the job was delegated soon arrived so after a bit of quizzing and impressing the need of haste upon him, assented to the repair. I was a bit nervous as Tina is extremely dear to me. The fact that he made off without the spare spoke also caused concern. I needn't have worried as about half an hour later he reappeared with wheel fixed and a spare spoke for future use. What a good lad. I wanted to check wheel truing but had lost enthusiasm in the renewed rain so didn't bother. They asked for 12,000 kwatcha which riled me up as it was a ridiculous sum. 3,000 was my price. There was much hand wringing and excuses as to why they needed the full 12,000. We settled on 5,000 in the end which I think was fair as they'd helped me out a lot, and he'd earned about 3 times what he would have on an equivalent repair for a local. So, by the time our lift givers, farm managers Steve and Gary arrived, I had one repaired wheel. This technically meant I could cycle again, but it was still wet, and my pump was playing up so couldn't pump up the tyre. I rather guiltily loaded Tina into the Hilux for the 20km to the farm, Jacoma Estate where we would be staying. We were staying with Duncan and Grace on the farm he runs in Northern Malawi. It's partly funded by Agdevco investment so is effectively a DFID backed project. It's about 400ha of Macadamia with some chilies and an outgrower program for further production. We got there on the Saturday afternoon a bit wet and tired, but nothing a beer or two couldn't fix. There was a braai planned for the SA vs France rugby game but seeing as there were so many helpers on hand we skyved off and watched the Lions play the Maori All Blacks. I'd already had the victor revealed to me rather annoyingly, but it was a good game (and we won). The saffers also played some decent rugby so dinner was an upbeat affair. The next morning was a leisurely start with some bike tinkering and putting washing on, and then we went out with Duncan to take a look around the farm. It was interesting hearing about macadamia nut growing as it's not something I know anything about. However, post tour I can give you some quick facts: trees take 3-5 years to start producing, hitting full at 8 years, but can carry on for 30 odd years so no need to replace like with citrus trees; mature trees can need in excess of 500l/week of water so irrigation is necessary; margins are around 70% (very very good) and prices circa $16/kg. Interestingly apparently they are worth so much that the S African producers are taking on armed guards now as the trucks are getting hijacked and the product sold off to the Chinese. Classic SA! Jacoma is not producing yet, but has a nice new processing shed and factory ready to rock and roll once the trees have reached maturity, and it will be a very exciting (and hopefully lucrative) project where they will be a big player in the Malawian Macadamia Market. After the tour we just relaxed until it was time for sundowners at the weir. Probably not the best idea with a big cycle on the cards tomorrow, but when in Rome, as they say. It was a great farm stay with lovely hosts and nice to see something a bit different to tobacco or row crops. I'm not sure how interesting it was for Sam, but I reckon he was happy to just be off the Buffalo. Next morning we were up early, and after making some porridge, boiled eggs and sandwiches, hit the road. Sam had a bit of a creaky crank and I still wasn't sure about my derailleur so we had a bit of a mechanical pit stop early on, but after that we made some excellent progress. Because Sam is a novice he can't drink going along but we more or less kept churning along for about 2.5 hours until we stopped for some eggs and our sandwiches. Before too long we began to get swamped by people. I ignored the first guy as was calling Mushroom Farm, our camping destination for the next few nights, for directions and booking confirmation. This left Sam to fend off the awkward requests for things by himself. He'd probably do a better, or at least much more tactful, job than me anyway. Good news from Mushroom Farm - free accommodation because we were crazy charity cyclists, but he recommended we didn't attempt to cycle up the last 10km off road hill to them. By the time I was off the phone there were about 10 people around - Sam was obviously being far too nice! They turned out to be from the school and they were a very nice bunch indeed. We went through the usual rigmarole of being called liars when I introduced myself as another Sam, followed by much hilarity as I handed my driver's license around. They were very keen for our mobile numbers for some reason. Sam dodged it as he has no local sim, but I got collared and had to divulge my details. I was fully expecting to be spammed in the style of my Zim home-stay mate Kumbirai but I have actually received nothing at all! We chatted for a while and then pushed on, being escorted for about 5 minutes by a bloke called Pato on his 'Defender' mountain bike. After carrying on for another hour or so until, operating under Chloe's 'Eat whilst you can!' mandate, we stopped for chips in a large village. The guy wanted 600 for chips so I informed him of our anti-Muzungu prices policy and changed establishment. We were initially the same at chippie number 2 but we busted the price fixing racket right open by switching to sweet potato chips instead. And K20 per chunk it sounded expensive, but through shrewd selection of said chunks (you had to carefully balance crispiness with size) we ended up with a decent feed for just 25p. Not bad! It was nice to have a change from the normal chips and salad too. There are quite a few roadside butcheries here in Malawi where you see pigs and goats in a various state of slaughter. The classic is a goat hanging up under a little shelter, completely skinned except from the neck upwards and hanging by its head. Depending on the time of day and briskness of trade, it might be missing a leg or two as well. However, although fresh looking they tend to just take the most disgusting bits and fry them in oil so I avoid it as I'm not as protein obsessed as the other Sam. There is also a steady supply of boiled eggs available from those crooks so no need for skanky meat to get your fix. After that snack we'd done about 65km and looking good for early afternoon arrival based on 90km stretch. This seemed to be a very different Malawi to the one we were used to from the rest of the trip. The roads were much the same but seemed not as busy. There were also still people about and a fair bit of habitation along the road, but certainly less of it, and of a better standard. I noticed a lot more agricultural cooperatives and the land looked pretty productive, with soya beans, the ever present maize, cassava and bananas spreading from the roadside up and down into the verdant hillsides. A lot of our route was along through a riverine valley which made for very scenic vistas down through the valley and to each side. We took a fair few photos as this would be our last day cycling together before we relaxed and Foulkes donated the Buffalo to a Kock's cause. No Napoleon costume today, and a good job too as it looked like rain at one point, and I'm sure we'd have got wet if I was sporting the wig. The ready supply of water seemed to have facilitated a more vigourous agricultural scene and I think you could see the benefits of this in the state of the buildings and amount of tin roofs about. After about 80km we came to a road closed sign which of course was unwelcome as the detour looked both longer and uncomfy. The rookie Sam obeyed the signage but I spotted that they were just resurfacing the bridge (or getting ready to as not much activity at the time) so I ploughed straight on over. That was the last of Sam I saw for about half an hour! What I thought was just a bit of a climb away from the bridge, developed into a rather horrible mountain climb of around 330m vertical ascent. I thought it best just to get it out the way and wait for him at the top so cracked on. It was quite a tough climb but it was a bit of a nerve settler as we had had it far too easy for the rest of the day so knew we were due something horrible before too long. I had a bit of a wait at the top, and passed the time impressing a bloke called Peter, who was wearing a woman's jumper, with details of my journey. Sam arrived a bit of a sweaty mess but was push free for the ascent - a very fine effort considering the gradient and single gear. You can tell when he's struggling because he bobs up and down like one of those nodding dogs on the parcel shelf of a car (and then bemoans his bruised hands when he stops). After a few snaps with the view and road we'd ascended snaking off down into the abyss, we set off. There were a couple more lumps and bumps but basically now we were just descending off the Escarpment into the Rift Valley towards the lake. This gave us fantastic views and some easy kms. The descent was peppered with baboons skulking around and looking extremely displeased to be forced from the road. I don't like baboons at all but was having too much fun to stop and unleash some catapult based havoc. I was also rather nervous of them after my Vic Falls face off with one. I settled for just shouting abuse at them and close passing them for maximum disturbance. The eyeballed me with arrogant disdain for the most part, but I forced a few off into the forest. After coming off the mountain we basically had about 15km of flat lakeshore to go before we hit the dirt road turning up to Livingstonia. This was also glorious riding and very pleasant. All in all, as we pulled off the road after doing 115km, I would rank it as my favourite day of cycling: the combination of some easy kms, a big hill for satisfactory summiting, new and fantastic scenery, friendly people, some new food and a bit of roadkill ticked all the boxes. We pulled in to see a Land Rover Defender 130 make ready it's departure laden with all sorts of luggage and people. There was no way we were going to fit everything on that so would have to wait. The only other thing about was an extremely buggered Toyota Hilux that was undergoing repairs. We were told 15 mins but when I had a look under the bonnet they were missing the timing belt, which had snapped. 'Ah yes boss, someone he is getting a new one now', was the response. 15 minutes was never going to happen. After a while another Hilux arrived, this one in much better condition. This was driven by Mike, who was very hard work and a shrewd negotiator. After quite a while of softening him up we agreed 10,000 to take both of us and the bikes and kit to the top. The snag was that we had to wait for extra people to fill the rest, and they weren't here yet. It was more than I wanted to pay, and a bit of a rip off I thought, but we'd heard a lot of chat about how bad the road up was so didn't have much choice really. It was a very boring few hours waiting at the bottom, especially as the place was basically teeming with bothersome drunks, touts and shifty looking kids. The Hilux repair and bump starting process provided some light relief to the tedium, but we were both pretty fed up by the time the mini bus disgorged the remaining passengers we were awaiting. They brought with them an inordinate amount of stuff and I soon became involved in a bit of a stowage row with Mike. The Buffalo was safely stacked on the roof but poor old Tina was destined to sit on the tailgate. Most African public transport operators are very good at stowing but Mike seemed to lack that creativity somewhat. Both bikes could have gone on the top but they needed some cargo in between to pad things out a bit. But no one would hand anything over and it turned into a bit of and us versus them, with a guy with a chainsaw being particularly annoying: the gist of what he was saying was that it was local African transport and that I wasn't welcome on it. Luckily I didn't have to worry about the chainsaw as it was in two pieces and clearly not operational so I told him to just butt out as it had nothing to do with him. Regardless, the fiasco culminated in Mike having a meltdown and refusing to take the bikes. He unloaded all our stuff and said we couldn't come up. This would have been a severe blow as there were no more trucks going up and it was almost dark. We didn't want to waste a night down at the bottom so after a few soothing words I deposited the bikes with Elijah the Rasta lodge owner for storage and persuaded Mike to take just us and the bags. Crisis averted but we were also now last on with all the choice seating gone. I sat on a crate of beer but the local animosity continued and I was told to get off in case I damaged them. I pointed out that a) it was only a few bottles of disgusting Chibuku home brew and b) they'd already leaked everywhere. I ended up perched on a bag of maize straddling said offensive beer with one leg dangling out the side. Sam was equally uncomfortable I think and it was a rather sullen, silent 40 minute ride up the mountain. At the top I paid Mike what I thought was right, fully expecting another grumbling session but we were spared that. We walked into Mushroom Farm in the dark at about 6 ish. The saving grace was that we were in our own little mini dorm free of charge and were down for dinner which would be ready shortly. After a few warm beers (it's an eco lodge up a mountain so has no fridge or freezer) we moved on to some banana wine as that is quite palatable at room temperature. The morning revealed a rambling eco camp with compost loos, permaculture garden and excellent views. We set off on a 4 hour hike to the Chombe Plateau as a warm down for the legs which was very pleasant. We've also hiked to a waterfall and done a bit of woodcarving but other than that it's been mostly relaxing and being vegetarian. A few familiar faces from other spots in Malawi reappeared which was both nice and made me feel like a proper backpacker! Early nights and getting up around 6 has become the norm now and Mushroom has been nice and chilled out in that respect. After 4 nights there being lazy vegetarian eco warriors Sam's time with me sadly came to an end. Hopefully he has enjoyed the experience and Malawi: it's tricky to get the balance between cycling and feeling guilty about not and relaxing and seeing some sights. Overall I think I've managed to put on a decent show with some village camping, long cycles, uphills, downhills, lake views, R&R, mountains and hiking, local food and transport all in the mix. Not that it was planned to a great extent of course! My first solo cycle in a while wasn't a pleasant one to be honest. I think there's always an edge of feeling downbeat when you go back to being just one again, and that was definitely there as I pedaled off in the opposite direction to all the guys I'd just come down the mountain with. Don't get me wrong, I was more than happy to get off the bakkie after an extremely uncomfortable 40 mins bumping and grinding our way back towards the lakeshore, jostled by a strange fidgety woman who somehow also managed to sleep at times. Across the loadbed the guy who had a massive piece of wire protruding out of his arm (there's a hospital in Livingstonia at the top of the mountain and I can only assume that he'd been there for treatment) didn't make for great viewing either. I swear it was thicker than a coat hanger, and bordering on rebar proportions. Not nice! Anyway, as I left Sam, Rob and Theo after some very manly goodbyes, I did feel a bit deflated. I also felt pretty rough as my tummy wasn't very happy with me. To be fair I'd done well to last this long without any issues, but it's rather ironic that I felt so crap after 4 nights in a posh Mzungu eco lodge resort. Maybe my body was just going into shock from being a vegetarian for the last 4 days (the food was actually excellent, with such big portions that I'd regularly score about 3 sets of leftovers from fellow diners), but whatever the cause, it made for extremely unpleasant cycling. There was no way of sneaking off into the bushes as there are just so many people about. In fact, I'd pulled into what I thought was a quiet spot to put on my Lycra and chamois cream up when two locals got an eyeful as they came round the corner. Oops! A staff toilet at a Chipiku supermarket along the way saved my bacon so I bought some biscuits as a thank you but I was suffering some rather horrible cramps for a couple of hours, worsening every time I ate something or changed position. Given my lazy couple of weeks, and the fact that both times I'd seen fellow cycle tourists I'd been travelling by motorised means, I was dead against getting a lift. This was partly pseudo guilt driven and partly reluctance to deal with taxis and bike stowage, but mostly I felt that I had to soldier on and prove to myself that I could brave adverse conditions. Luckily my condition didn't affect my legs, and feeling quite refreshed after Mushroom Farm, I was whizzing along at almost 23kph average. I clung on grimly for the first 45km and things were settling down by the 60 mark. The back 30 odd were pretty much fine and I felt vindicated in not succumbing to the allure of an ambulance car. I was a bit of a grumpy git that day and most greetings, whether demanding money or simply being friendly, went unacknowledged apart from perhaps a nod of the head or raising of the eyebrows. My insular progress put me in Karonga by about 1:30, and it certainly wasn't one of those days where I push for big miles and bush camp somewhere - a lodge with a bed and a toilet was needed. I was also working up to rewarding my sickbed cycling efforts with a late start after watching the Lions test match. Again, I felt a bit naughty considering such an action, but I reasoned that it only happens every 12 years, and I'm not going to see next week's game as I'll be on the ferry on Lake Tanganyika if all goes to plan. Thus, I had a beady eye out for anywhere with DSTV. As I came into town 'Paradise Park' loomed into view. 'The Connoisseur's Choice', the sign read, with private rooms, bar, restaurant aaaaand DSTV! Good enough for an enquiry, certainly. Rates were K6000 including breakfast and Supersport channels. The TV was both ancient and tiny, but the rooms were fine and breakfast was eggs on toast. I assented after mere moments of deliberation. Feeling a bit better, and with an afternoon free, I decided to explore Karonga a little bit. The first task was some lunch so I mooched over to the nearest establishment called 11 Seconds which was about 250m away. It would either be a refreshing change to the speed of service in Malawi, or a cruel irony inflicted on an ailing bicycle tourist. It transpired to be very quick indeed - more than 11 seconds but certainly under 11 minutes. We did the normal price dance, and not sure if it was a language barrier but what I think the lady started off saying was K4500 ended up at K1000. One British pound for a big plate of rice beans and veg was very acceptable in my opinion! And to top it off, the water was ice cold. Mushroom could learn a trick or two from these okes. I was so impressed that, with an improving stomach it returned there in the evening for the exact same meal. After my bargain lunch I decided to have a walk around as, even though the room was decent enough, it was only 2pm. It was nice to just have a bit of time and stroll around for a few hours taking in the sights (I mean the general surroundings rather than tourist attractions). I hadn't seen a whitey since leaving Sam & co, and I was certainly the only Mzungu in town. Karonga seems to be a centre of death, and I walked along what I dubbed 'Coffin maker's Row', passing shop upon shop (if that's what you call them) of guys making coffins. After that it was into the town centre and towards the market. I passed the usual fare and was inspired by the numerous bike shops to try and find a 9 speed pin for my dodgy chain. Mission unsuccessful but I did take the plunge and purchase one of those nice two-tone bells I'd been coveting to replace my dodgy Buffalo Bike one (their bells certainly aren't as robust as the frames). After a little high street perusal it was into the market proper; plunging off the tar onto haphazard dirt roads crowded with street stalls. It was a pretty big market, and I'm often surprised at what's lurking behind the scenes in these African towns. They had quite an impressive array of fresh produce, including some kind of millet which they sprout and then dry for selling. I'd not seen that before and there were a few other new products to me. I felt a bit bad not buying anything but I'm generally only in the market for prepared food ideally. There was one whole avenue of hair salons with all the ladies sat in there gabbering away gossiping and getting their weaves done. This lot decided, probably rightly, that I wasn't potential clientele so I was heckle free on that stretch. After market browsing I took a wander to check out a rival guest house (also DSTV equipped) to see if I'd made the right choice. It was nothing impressive and K1500 more excluding breakfast. Vindicated! Sauntering smugly back from that bit of research the Karonga Museum and Cultural Centre caught my eye. With low expectations these attractions are often quite pleasant in a folksy kind of way. Sam and I had been bitterly disappointed by the Livingstonia museum 2 days previously, but wasn't I here for a bit of culture as well as exercise. I blagged half price volunteer entry rates so I had the museum to myself and only K500 worse off. I left my slops at the door and spent about an hour taking in a bit about the geography of Malawi and the Rift Valley System, some general colonial, ancient and modern history and dinosaurs. The replica of the 10 tonne Malawisaurus was definitely the highlight. The skeleton of a black rhino which had only survived in Malawi for about 3 months, seemed less of a triumph - although I suppose Karonga is death central! The next morning I was awoken, but not up early. I'd decided I'd have a lie in, watch the Lions game, and then cheat my way up to Chitipa by bus. Best laid plans eh. First off, Clement hadn't paid his DSTV and I had a nasty feeling he would shake me down for a subscription fee the next morning. As it turned out we never even got that far as the power was off (they seem to switch it off at about 8 and back on at 5 - luckily not when people are trying to be productive or anything!) and he quoted me a ridiculous sum of money to run the generator. This wasn't feasible so off I set with Bighton to find another option. It was looking good - a type of cinema sports venue with a decent screen and DSTV (and power). I'd have had the whole place to myself and they were making popcorn next door so it was all looking quite rosy. However, golden rule in Africa is don't believe it until you see it. Unfortunately we fell at the last hurdle - the channel subscription: they had sports but not Supersport 1. I was ultimately undone by the Malawian penchant for football, and disdain for rugby. What a bloody shocker! That meant there was zero point hanging around so I decided I would do what I was supposed to and pedal to Chitipa. I knew it was about 90km but was unsure just how hilly it was going to be. The only way to find out was to get going.
I was underway late by my standards: only pedaling out of Karonga at 9am. Not the usual plan but plenty of time to get 100km done, and it wasn't too hot either. I was a bit nervous tackling such a big day after sicknote Thursday but things seemed to have settled overnight. Breakfast was pretty disappointing really: one overdone fried egg and three slices of bread with a thermos of hot milk (I said I have my tea white). Hardly the breakfast of champions but it was a start. Town was busy by the time I set off, and I got into a race with a bike taxi oke. I'm ashamed to say I lost that one (or at least couldn't overtake him back) but in fairness he was unladen and I was still getting warmed up. Malawi continues to surprise with yet another side of the country revealing itself on my last day of proper cycling in the country. Karonga was busy as you'd expect, but as soon as I left town things really quietened down. There was a strange incident of a load of blokes driving 2 abreast down the road shouting a lot. I wasn't sure if it was hostility or excitement but it wasn't aimed at me either way, so when they managed to block a bridge (presumably deliberately) I just gave them some new two-tone bell action (theme of the day) and threaded through the gap. But after that I only saw about 20 cars for the next 2 hours. There were also very few pedestrians and even fewer cyclists. It was a day of fantastic scenery and I basically had the road to myself. It was proper African wilderness again - apart from the tar road of course - which was something I hadn't experienced for a long while, and not at all in Malawi. This did present a few problems though: water wasn't an issue as I had 3 litres which would get me to Chitipa pretty much, but I'd been expecting the usual roadside chip stalls and good hawkers. Such was my bullishness that when the group of banana sellers refused to budge on prices (I'm still pretty sure K50 for two bananas is high) I played hard ball, thinking I'd get them from the next lot round the corner. This turned out to be severe misjudgment, being the only banana salespeople for about 60km. I stopped half way for a rest and bought 3 of the local 'Sobo' pineapple Fantas, necking 1,5 and putting the rest in with the remains of my first water bottle. I was stomach grumble free but also hadn't eaten much - only a pack of coconut biccies since breakfast. I had some banana bread which I was working up to eating but never really got round to it. I bought some strange - and terrible - doughnuts for naff all further on, but they were both unpleasant and not boiled eggs which I wanted so can be considered a waste of money. At about 70km I came upon some civilisation, relatively speaking at least. Here was a chance for some scram so I made a beeline for the nearest chip stall. They looked very good indeed, but then I espied a little pot of whitebait and fired tomatoes. 'How much?!' I cried enthusiastically. They were for personal consumption and not for sale I was told. I didn't want to be that rich white guy who says 'But everything is for sale my friend', and after a bit more discussion he said he would just give me some. I think he saw my deep yearning for said fish and the bitter disappointment if I was denied, but what a top lad. It was the best roadside food of the whole trip so far, and was even served on a plate with a fork in a fancy lean-to dining room. It also brought my 6 days of vegetarianism to an end. The kiddywinks gawking at me between the gaps in the rudimentary planking ensured it wasn't going to be mistaken for a Michelin star venue, but I was certainly impressed. After checking with Jim that Sam had safely left the country, I jumped back on Tina and pedaled off. Perhaps it was the food but the last 25km were much more descent-based and I flew along that back stretch. I ended up 95km done, 1430m climbed and 20,2kph average speed, which isn't at all bad I don't think. Chitipa is pretty small and my hopes of catching the Lions game were looking rather slim. I pulled up at some roadside bike repairers and got my tyres pumped up ready for Zambia as I'm not sure how remote it's going to be. I probably should have done that at the beginning of the day but I have a nasty habit of letting the tyres get too soft for efficient riding. After inflating my tyres I set about finding a room for the night. I passed a couple of grotty looking lodges right in the middle of town but decided to carry on. Then a nice pinky purple one caught my eye. I pulled in and K6000 for the night with breakfast again so I took it. They were very nice indeed and Moses even took me to Aunt Jame's restaurant for a candlelit supper (power had gone again) of more rice beans and veg. Conclusions from Malawi: I've passed through most of the country now, with about 5km left of the northern region before I pass into Zambia, and have seen a lot of different things along the way. As I said before, it's a very different African country from the others I've been to in the sense that it is so busy and you don't get the stretches of wilderness you do in Zim or Bots. There are people everywhere, and about the only peaceful stretch apart from the last day was through Bwanje Forest Reserve on the way to Cape Maclear. This has advantages and disadvantages: you're never far from shouts of 'Mzungu, give me money', but I'd also say you're a lot closer to a friendly wave, smile and 'How are you?'. I've done some awesome things in Malawi and the summit sleepover on Sapitwa Peak is going to be a lifelong memory I think. It's also been great to have company for 2 weeks and share some R&R. Like any country, it has it's problems, and I've seen both a lot of half-baked and abandoned aid projects, and far too many brand new Land Cruisers with 'World Vision' and 'USAID' written on. There is also quite a bit of fecklessness and alcoholism which is a shame. That said, the people are what make Malawi, and I won't forget how lovely the villagers were when we asked to spend the night, or the procession of hugs and high fives we got when leaving Mushroom Farm. There are always people who have strong opinions on African countries, and whilst I got a lot of chat about light fingers, idleness and the lack of trees, I am very pleased to say that I can disagree with all 3 generalisations and wholeheartedly recommend a visit to Malawi. I've been in the country for over 3 weeks now, and it'll be strange to finally leave for Zambia: Bordergate and being refused entry in Mwanza seems a lifetime ago now!
1 Comment
Fahiem
27/6/2017 09:42:16 am
Awesome write up Sam! Keep pedalling and telling us about your adventures.
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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