Eagle's nest, where ze German overlanders took me, was pretty empty, with just us, another Cichlid-loving German called Stefan on his own, and some old S African couple. It was also $10/night for camping so after a good breakfast where I abused Stefan's access to unlimited toast, I set off into 'town'. The far end was more of a village, and a pretty ropey one at that, but it got a bit more touristy after 4km. I topped up my airtime and enjoyed looking at all the stalls and hawkers along the way. I was aiming for Eco Lodge, but checked out some others along the way. The whole place seemed pretty empty, being a Tuesday but I ended up at Funky Cichlid as the management were very nice, letting me stay in a dorm for the same price as camping. Financial incentive aside, the beers were about 80p and the smell of fish curry for lunch sealed the deal. I spent the rest of the day getting the previous blog out, relaxing, and contracting bilharzia by swimming in the lake. In the afternoon a Saffer and his mate from the US turned up, and we had a few beers together. They were pretty good lads so it was nice to have some company but I also liked the look of their Fortuner with roof rack for a lift to Lilongwe to meet Sam on the Saturday. A guy Pete arrived from the lodge next door and preceded to annoy me somewhat by being ridiculously enthusiastic about everything. Obviously when applied to the cycle this was pleasant enough, but when he wouldn't shut up about how good the suspension in the Fortuner was on the way to another bar, it wore a little thin. That the bar was full of young gap year boys playing some atrocious music at full blast didn't help his cause either. The next day was devoted to the midweek Lions game against the Blues (which we lost) and then canoe hire and Cichlid viewing. I went with my new mates Francois and Adam, but it's fair to say that Mr Van de Merwe was more of a natural Afrikaner than athlete so we didn't spend much time together as he kept falling off and I was in one of those speedy ones. There was an island about 10 minute's (for me) paddle away, so I headed over there with GoPro and snorkel kit, lodging the kayak in the rocks and having a swim. The fish were pretty cool but only really held my interest for about 20 mins. The German girls (they get bloody everywhere) from the Sapitwa hike were on the island so I talked to them for a bit and after that I still had an hour on my canoe hire. Probably fueled by some repressed guilt about hitchhiking rather than cycling most of the way to CM, I decided to kayak around the island. I didn't know the size of it, but reasoned that it couldn't be that large so off I went. It did turn into a bit of an odyssey, especially on the far side where it was wavy and I started to ship water, but it was also quite pleasant with fish eagles wheeling and screeching overhead (they probably expected feeding) and baobabs thrusting up from the island skyline. I got back with 2 minutes left on my canoe hire, and scurried off for a fish curry and Kuche Kuche as reward for my efforts. The following day was my Birthday, but being too old to legitimately make a fuss, I kept it to myself pretty much, just speaking to Chloe and family. Due to logistics for meeting Sam, and the failure of the boys to commit to driving hungover on Saturday morning, I decided to aim for Lilongwe via the Axa bus on Friday. I was told that it leaves from Monkey Bay at about 5:30-6 so decided I must relocate to Monkey Bay the night before. I was prepared to cycle, but was offered a lift for the 20km there. Naturally, I took it. The new lodge had an air of quaint fecklessness and decay about it: when asked how many rooms they had, the staff seemed both surprised, and unable to answer such a question. The owner gave the same response. But there was a warm shower and good food so was quite happy. With a 4:45 alarm I was up, packed and at the bus stop by 5:30, with only a vague hope of a punctual bus. 6 came, and then 6:15 with no bus. The time was passed watching the sun rise and then some poor bike taxi oke try and give a lift to a rather large lady. He failed a few times, and then the plump cargo was transferred to another, more powerful, taximan. Then at 6:20 a minibus arrived saying that the Axa bus was not coming. Naturally I suspected a ruse to dupe the Muzungu and told them to bugger off, but as more locals dispersed to other means of transport I began to take them seriously. Then we got down to haggling, the driver asking for 12,000 and me saying 6,000. After some toing and froing they drove off, leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. However, 2 minutes later they came back - I had them! He tried 10,000 but I said no way, agreeing on 8,000 for the full trip to Lilongwe. It took the best part of an hour to even get out of Monkey Bay, and I was glad for the front seat as they packed more and more people into the back (Tina was on the roof, complete with panniers). They kept bothering me for money, but only an unseasoned fool would pay the full fare up front - cash on delivery only is the policy to stick by. They also use buying fuel as a pretext for an advance payment, but I remain unmoved by such fanciful tactics. I was promptly vindicated by my decision as, after a couple of hours when we got to Golimoti, everyone got out and the driver informed me that this was as far as he goes. He tried finding me a lift against full payment but I got pretty pissed off with him seeing as he'd mugged me right off. I decided that the best way forward was to get to Salima, a big ish town 90km from Lilongwe, and take it from there. James, my lying taxi man, got me a lift on a truck for 3,500. He received 2,000 himself for his half baked lift services. Luckily the truck was utterly hilarious so I wasn't cross for long: it was market day and the truck was loaded with about 5 pigs, 12 goats, and a bullock, all in various states of incarceration by a strange rope they make from car tyres. As we were filling with fuel the pigs went mad, a goat made a break for freedom, and the bull decided he would also try and bugger off. I deployed farmer skills and got his head over onto his arse to keep him down, then handed over to the locals whilst I filmed it and pissed myself laughing. The rest of the journey was punctuated by further animal noises and escape birds, various passengers, a live chicken wearing a plastic bag, a bag full of mewing kittens, more breastfeeding, and some roadblock dodging. The latter consisted of us stopping, ejecting most passengers, and then picking them up about 2km later, the other side of the police. I, as the high fare-paying muzungu was spared the indignity of disembarking, instead riding past the white-gloved officials whilst serenely attending to my livestock. All this amounted to slow progress, and it wasn't until about 12:30 that I got to Salima. I was hoping for a simple, large, bus with transparent pricing, but was unfortunately disappointed in this regard. I jumped on Tina and did about 10km down to the Nkhotakota t-junction and picked up a taxi there. We went through the normal rigmarole of fare negotiation, this time taking the panniers off and putting Tina in the boot. I paid close attention to the road as Sam and I would be cycling back out this way. It was a bit lumpy, but nothing hectic in my opinion. Foulkes, with his weak English legs and single speed buffalo bike, might take a different view! The taxi guys pulled the usual trick of not actually doing what they promised, dropping me 10km from Lilongwe proper. This vexed me as I needed to get to Jabu in order to have him service my bike that afternoon. I knocked 1000 kwatcha off the price and trundled off as they abused my thriftiness. Full payment on delivery! Lilongwe is pleasant enough, but is very spread out so doesn't really feel that city like. I got to Jabu at about 2:30 and handed Tina over. He didn't exactly spring into action, but there was a (legendary so I'm told) bar next door so I headed over there for some much needed nutrition and hydration after surviving thus far on just a pack of biscuits thus far as my kwatcha ran low. 2 beers and 2 pork pies later I was feeling much better. Then Harry of Harry's Bar itself appeared and he stood me a beer as we chatted about Malawi, Lilongwe, food security and vermiculture. I had also arranged from Farayi from World Bicycle Relief to deliver Sam's Buffalo Bike to Jabu so that we could collect both on Sunday morning and set off cycling. By the time I'd finished my free beer the bike had arrived so I paid my bill (Harry let me off the pork pies too, which was very kind of him) and got them to drop me off at Lark Cafe where my potential hosts were. I had got in touch with Agdevco back in March as I wanted to take a look at some African agri projects on my trip, and these guys invest DFID money in for-profit agricultural ventures. The London office very kindly put me in touch with Jim, the head of Malawi for the country, and after initial contact in March, as I neared Lilongwe I had sent him another email. He wasn't sure whether he would be in Malawi or traveling on those dates, but on the Thursday he called to say he would be around so I should get in touch when I got to Lilongwe. We spoke a couple of times during my epic journey to Lilongwe and I was told to head for his office when I was finished with bike admin. It turned out that Farayi knew him - Jim - from the gym in another small world-ism but it was still rather cryptic as to whether I was welcome for the night or not. I was keen to meet him and prepared to stay in a hostel if need be. Jim was very welcoming indeed, and after a shower and a change into me best evening outfit, I proceeded to the cafe opposite run by Trish, his wife, to attend the function that they were holding that evening. It was a fundraiser for an eco hospital, with all of the movers and shakers of Lilongwian society in attendance. After slurping down a Carlsberg I decided that rather than hang about trying to meet people I'd make myself useful so headed into the kitchen to see if I could help. The primary aim was to gain some snacks for my building hunger, but I was swiftly put to work making salads instead. This provided meagre snacking opportunity but after completing the lemon and poppy seed dressing I repositioned myself to near the chicken goujons, sneaking myself the off treat surreptitiously. I then turned waiter and caused a few laughs as I shuffled around in my bush shirt and slops trying to explain what all the delicious canapés were. The kitchen staff also seemed to find me hilarious for some reason - probably because I was so blatantly flaunting the eating on the job rule. It was really good fun helping out, and made me feel a lot less guilty about gorging myself on the lovely food. It also provided a good distraction to the accommodation situation: eventually I plucked up the courage to ask Jean, Jim's daughter, whether I was allowed to stay or not, but she said she didn't even know who I was! Half an hour later Jim very kindly came up and said that the plan was always for me to stay with them, and not to worry. Bonus! The Hendersons live out of town, so after a tour past the Houses of Parliament, conference centre and fancy, underused, football stadium, we got home at about 12. Although not cycling, I was on the road in some capacity, whether as market goer and price checker (bull MK220,000, pig MK50,000, goat MK20,000) or taxi abuser, from 6 that morning so I was pretty beat. I'd secured breakfast and Lions vs Crusaders viewing with Hugh, Jim's brother in law for the next morning so we headed back into town at about 8:30 the next morning. I cheekily managed to eat at Jim's too, so was adhering well to Chloe's 'eat whenever you can' mantra. After a heartening Lions victory I headed back to the cafe and readied myself for collecting Samuel from the airport. In the end we had to go last minute kettle shopping so Foulkes had to make a terrible job of negotiating with the taxi driver to get into town himself. I struck a blow for extorted tourists by accidentally taking the taxi man's jacket out of the boot of his car along with Foulkes' luggage - sorry Dennis! Jim had very kindly extended the invitation to both and extra night and an extra person so we headed back with them for some route planning and general organisation. It was nice to get come birthday cards, some bling for Tina in the form of bike balls, Party Rings and some much needed chamois cream from Elliott at Muc-Off. Unfortunately my fancy new cycling shorts were way too big for me, but there we go. A lot of quick links meant that I need no longer fear the dreaded Pied Crows, though it by no means dimmed my burning desire for revenge. After another very pleasant evening at chez Henderson we were on our way to pick up the bikes from Jabu by 8:30 after some oats for a bit of hearty energy. On the way I'd asked Jim to pull in at civilised looking drinks places as I needed to try and get some new water bottles: I'd been running the same two 1,5 l in my XL touring cages for the last 6 weeks, and one had finally succumbed to the ravages of time as one of the hotel workers overfilled and froze it, splitting the poor thing. The other one was still going strong but looking a bit worse for wear. Jim swore blind that such sized bottles don't exist in Malawi, but we swiftly made him eat humble pie as Chipiku Plus came up with the goods. We also found some super duper baobab powder that is supposed to instill magical powers when drunk, which was quite exciting. It makes 20l when added to water, so I look forward to trying it out. Jabu was late, but we eventually got underway at 10:15 after putting the buffalo together. It was a bit of a baptism of fire for poor Sam as it we were aiming to do at least 90km, and it was immediately both quite hilly and into a pumping headwind. I was struggling to get back into things myself a bit, and the first 25km were slow slow, but I took a perverse pleasure in knowing Sam was probably feeling a lot worse than me. My full touring rig definitely weighed a lot more than his, but he has a single speed, and every time I changed gear I felt both pity and smugness wash over me. At about 45km we decided it was time for lunch and after blitzing Sammy on the hills, it was with a perverse sense of satisfaction that I watched him push his bike over the brow of the hill as I munched on a portion of chips and salad. I sensed he was near a bit of a meltdown and seemed rather unimpressed with the lack of protein provided by chips and salad. I informed him that actually he was quite fortunate to have such ample and cheap, albeit unvaried roadside snacks. Luckily the food helped him out a lot, and after half an hour we were underway again. I must admit, it was very pleasant having a companion, and after lunch things leveled out a bit so I felt less guilty about throwing him in at the deep end. We stopped again at 60 odd km for some bush pump replenishment and some banana shopping. The bananas were new territory for me and after some price checking at the water pump, I felt ready to enter the fray. There I was advised that 4 for MK200 was realistic, but this was taken with a big pinch of Muzungu salt. I proudly walked away with 12 bananas for 200 after some hearty haggling. 'That's how it's done', I told Sam. I wish I could say the same for my egg hustling skills - I've still been unable to shift them from MK100 each, no matter how hard I try, or how many I buy. Curse the infernal Malawian Poultry Mafia (Chicken, tembale in Chichewa,is the national bird of Malawi according to the rather unreliable source of Jim Henderson). The second half of the 90km eased off a bit, with the undulations lessening, but it certainly didn't get boring. We passed some rather exciting 'local figures', ranging from the previously encountered Panga wielding, bag wearing type, to another one who looked like a striped stocking, to what can best be described as a moving bush cross jellyfish. Obviously I was in front of Sam, and shouted at them a bit to wind them up, so Sam had to run a strange kind of tribal gauntlet as the shrub and swordsman closed in on him. I found it extremely amusing! He really was getting a nice introduction to African bike touring, with only some good roadkill lacking. I'd seen a dog on the side of the road between Lilongwe and Salima when I was in the minibus, but was unfortunately unable to locate it on the return cycle, which was a great shame. Initially I'd thought of Sengar Bay for our first night's stop, but it was a bit out of the way and not really worth the detour I decided. The other option was Salima, but this is just a normal crappy town with some lodges which probably wouldn't allow camping, so I decided that we would continue with the 'deep end' theme and try a spot of village camping. That meant taking the left for Nkhotakota before Salima and heading up that way rather than into town. We stopped at the junction for some more chips and salad, after sampling, and then rejecting, the grilled 'goat' and set off again at about 4. We were cutting it a bit fine, but best not to camp in a town type place or near a shebeen (boozer) so we carried on for a few more km. I like to pick somewhere that isn't too busy if I can, although this is quite difficult to achieve in Malawi. We tried one lot that, although nice, didn't speak any English, and seemed to say no to our proposal of camping. We then looked at a little group of buildings further on, but they seemed to have an air of abandonment and dereliction that didn't give me a very good feeling. I'd pretty much decided that it would be impossible to bush camp without discovery so we tried again a few km up the road. There we met Ntembe, who was a very pleasant fellow indeed. However, this was Chief Jawal's land, and neither he nor other villagers were allowed to accept private guests. However, he offered to take us to the chief himself so he went and got his bike and we went a little further up the road to the main village. We immediately caused quite a stir, as you can imagine, and a large crowd gathered. The chief was out at another village visiting his other wife so we had to wait whilst they tried to get him on the mobile. All the while the sun was setting, and although I wasn't expecting a no, we did surmise that disturbing him might not be conducive to the favourable response we were after. The half an hour or so wait was passed with us sitting on some reed mats they'd put down for us whilst everyone stared from a safe distance. Conversation was halting and my attempts at Chichewa prompted much hilarity. After not too long Chief Jawal himself appeared for a handshake and granting of permission. He was a small, kindly, and completely unassuming chap, not at all like my Mr Goatskin from the bus. He didn't hang around for long - he probably had another wife somewhere who needed some attention - and we then had to choose between two potential camp sites. We took the more out of the way spot under the trees and proceeded to set up camp. Being a seasoned camper by now, and Sam a complete novice, I was done way before him. Seeing as we had such a large, mute, group of onlookers, I decided to initiate a bit of audience participation; after blowing up my camping mat, I proffered it for squidging. They initially baulked in terror, but then one brave picanin stepped forward and gave it a squeeze. That was good enough for the masses, and then they all surged forward, having a good squidge and seeming very impressed with it. After camp was set, we were asked if we ate Nseema (local word for maize meal) so I said yes. Obviously it's not my favourite, being essentially flavourless stodge, but I always think it's both more polite to accept local hospitality when offered, and less awkward than cooking your own. Once Foulkes had finally finished setting up his camp, we headed over to the fire of our esteemed caterers. Here we were joined by Clement, a delightful man who was easily brought to manic laughter, and his Dad, who didn't speak any English really. Clement, in between introducing us to an endless stream of relatives and teaching us a bit of Chichewa, took a particular fancy to our headtorches. Luckily Sam's, despite being vastly inferior to my fancy one, took the brunt of Clement's fervent desire, and he was left to awkwardly refuse the donation of his headlamp many many times. After a handwash and a supper of nseema and masamba (a kind of bitter tasting spinach) we wrapped up the chatting and turned in at about 8:30 with the bikes safely tucked up in a storage shed. I was quite surprised to be told that the bikes must be locked away because of thieves, as we were clearly welcome in the village and didn't expect to have a risk of them being taken. After a decent night's sleep for me, and a poor one for Sam, we were up at about 6:30. Someone sweeping right outside the tent, as well as general village noises, ensured a lie in was not possible. I emerged from the Coffin to a row of eager onlookers. Luckily I was expecting this and had got dressed before the grand reveal! I packed up the tent etc, and then got the stove out to do oats, along with the remaining bargain bananas, for breakfast. The stove caused considerable interest, as per usual, and whilst it was a bit awkward making food with what I'm sure were quite a few hungry spectators, I made sure to save a bit and pass it round for general sampling. Clement didn't share it as much as he should have, but the porridge seemed to meet with general approval. The villagers were a very kind bunch, with warm water ready for us to have a wash, and then as we were leaving we were presented with a big bag of groundnuts. Luckily I had a bag of sweets to donate in exchange, and we were underway by about 7:45 feeling both very lucky and pleased to have met such a great group of people. The warm heart of Africa indeed! Today was going to be flatter as now we were more or less following up along the lake. I believe this was a good thing for Sam 2 as yday was pretty tough by all accounts. After just a few kms some guy on a racer tried to pass me. 'Not a bloody chance!' I bellowed at him, and things quickly spiralled into a race situation. Whilst I didn't dust him quite as I'd hoped, he was certainly struggling to keep up, and didn't pass me. He turned out to be called Francis and had bought the racer for R3000 when he was working down in Cape Town. He had a printing business somewhere along the way so we cycled with him for about 10km. Nice guy, but our attempts to find out what the strange bush/panga locals dressed up for or as didn't yield good results; 'They're probably going into town to do some shopping' he said. Not very likely in my opinion, but there we go. In fact, aside from these particular traditional costumes, I'd enjoyed seeing the weird and wonderful fashion sense on display in Malawi. There were a lot of suits and ties paired with welly boots, flip flops, or simply no shoes at all, but particular mention goes to a few instances: the porter on Mount Mulanje sporting just the one Asics trainer, the other foot being completely bare, who explained the anomaly by way of 'mechanical breakdown', the old boy wearing a tie that literally reached down to his knees, and the bloke sporting a pink (woman's I suspect) tank top at least 2 sizes too small and denim hot pants - probably the campest man in Malawi, but utterly unaware of it. Oh and the goatskin chief man from last week of course! We were also treated to our first road kill, disappearing dog aside, in Malawi. I saw 3 dead snakes that day, one of which looked both dead and small-mouthed enough for me to dare to pick up. So, off I cycled, dangling it by the tail, and lobbed it at Foulkes as I passed him. Rather amusingly it thudded into his front wheel and then wrapped around the fork. I think he must have been pretty scared as it took a few kms before he removed it. This provided further amusement as the muntukaderas (I'd got Clement to teach me Muzungu for black guys so that I could shout it back at them) are dead scared of snakes, so whenever we passed any locals that saw the snake there were exclamations of shock and awe. We must have looked like a fearsome bunch, me with my Muti skulls and Sam with the snake. Talking of scaring locals, I have taken a liking to scaring the more impertinent and persistent screamers of 'Give me my money' by swerving at them, yelping, or making chicken noises. They're a nervous bunch and anything would do really. Even shouting 'PLEASE!' at them flusters them. I had a great one on the first day when, going uphill, a boy of about 8 was admiring his snazzy blue hi-tops as he walked towards me. I merely squawked at him from close range and watched his eyes widen in fear as he left from the roadside. Excellent fun! Unfortunately most of them are very alert, and cries of 'Mzungu, mzungu, mzunguuuuu' generally precede our arrival. Some of them get very hysterical, their cries building into a high pitched scream by the end. This is also amusing, but not as easy on the ears. We got to Nkhotakota by about 2 and it wasn't really what we'd expected to be honest. Seeing as the Ilala, the touristy ferry that runs up and down Lake Malawi, stops there, I figured there would be a busy centre and some backpackers. Instead, we found a broken jetty and a rather shitty hotel called Satima (which I think was a bastardisation of the word Steamer, as in, ship). They did allow camping but it was a bit of a dive so we asked about alternative places. It was quite funny as he clearly thought we needn't consider any other than his fine establishment. We set off to explore and found a decent spot on the beach with rooms and breakfast for a tenner. I'm pretty sure the mosquito net was a fishing net, and the food was both slow and not delicious. But the beers were cheap and the views were good. We'd decided that in the interests of enjoyment we should rest the next day, and finding Nkhotakota fairly pedestrian we decided to try and use public transport to get us to Nkhata Bay. We spent a long, long time trying to get a sensible answer from our waiter Dan about the bus situation and timings etc. we eventually found out that the Axa (big coach) went at 8, 9, 10am, and mini buses from 7. We decided to aim for 7:30 and see what happened. That meant a fairly early start and after a mediocre 'full breakfast' we cycled into town. We promptly discovered that the Axa bus didn't arrived until 2 that afternoon, and after scouting a few bakkies and trying our luck with an army transport truck we agreed MK5000 each for Nkhotakota to Nkhata Bay. Both the bikes went on the roof; Tina panniers and all, so we were departure ready by about 8. However, we had to wait for the minibus to fill up before we could go so we passed the time wandering around the market and trying out the various snacks. We had some rice samoosas that weren't up to much, followed by some horrible cake thing that was swiftly donated to yesterday's beggar from outside People's Express. The taxi filled up quicker than expected and we were last on at about 9. Luckily we'd shotgunned the front seats by using an assortment of low value luggage as the back portion of the vehicle, as usual, was jam packed. Now, with a lot of information you get from locals, you must take it with a generous helping of salt, and this applies especially to those gentlemen involved in bus transport. I'm probably guilty of asking questions that I can't expect a sensible answer to, but I enjoy posing them, and then finding out how far wide of the mark their responses turn out to be. These taxi guys had actually been straight up in saying that they weren't going all the way, and that we would have to change at Dwangwa. This wasn't ideal, but the best thing to do is just make progress where you can and then 'make a plan' when you have to. So out we got in Dwangwa, and started having a look around. We immediately came across the hard sell - traffic cops mean no bicycles on the roof due to fines. This translates to higher prices due to stowage. In the end we agreed to pay and extra MK3000 each, on top of the original 5000. This was annoying, but it was a decent bus and they said they were leaving now now. Again, this phrasing involves calling bullshit on them, but hanging around near enough to dive in as they head off. We passed the time by winding them up and bartering for apples. I still believe there is a nationwide mzungu price collusion racket in Malawi, but it's quite fun kicking arse and trying to break the deadlock on pricing. I'd enjoyed good success in the chips & salad and Banana areas, but run into a brick wall on eggs and apples. Unfortunately today was a sellers' market, and we got nowhere. Another source of great amusement that we'd discovered was most people's refusal to believe we both had the same name. Consecutive introductions of 'Hi, I'm Sam' promoted accusations of lying, and general disbelief. I must confess to stoking the fire further by wearing a cheeky smirk at the same time. I'd have loved to have had a third Sam with us to really cause havoc, but alas not. Anyway, after changing buses and getting underway before too long, we were making good progress, stopping infrequently and not picking up many people. The embarkation of a man with a large tray of fresh fish made the journey somewhat less pleasant given the potent aroma issuing from them, but on the whole we were going along quite well. We then stopped at Chintheche where we scampered off into the market for lunch. I had often bemoaned the lack of imagination, and thus variation, in Malawian street stalls, and the country suffered from a dearth of chip and salad vendors and a scarcity in everything else. Thus, it was with some excitement that we discovered a guy doing sweet potatoes, chicken and bananas. They were still fried in oil after the same fashion as the usual fare, but I considered it a step in the right direction. After returning from lunch we were informed that our bus had a fuel filter problem and would be going no further any time soon. This was somewhat irksome, but also unsurprising seeing as we had seen them filling up with diesel from plastic cans using a tea strainer to filter the fuel. I did ask what was wrong with just going to the bloody petrol station, but this was for some reason preferable. We were about 40km out and to be fair I would gladly have cycled the remaining kms there, but in a fit of efficiency all our stuff had been transferred to another taxi and they were awaiting our arrival to be on their way. I was a bit annoyed at the presumption of it all, and especially the transfer of goods as I always like to supervise the packing to stop them breaking and bending the bikes. Anyway, it was too late, so we assumed our positions in the cheap seats in the back (next to the fish man who had also been transferred). The taxi driver turned out to be an absolute maniac, scattering children, pedestrians and cyclists before him in a speeding fury of horn blasts and screeching brakes. It was pleasant relief to actually stop and pick up or drop passengers off. The addition of two live goats, one of which insisted on wailing under heavy braking brought some much needed comic relief to the life-threatening situation. Here I must admit to goading the goat with some light jabbing to prolong the hilarity. We got to Nkhata Bay by about 2pm and the crazy, death wish taxi driver dumped our bikes and bags and sped off. His swift exit was well advised as it turns out, because we had both suffered mild bike damage in the loading/unloading process. All we had to do then was tackle the mammoth hill up to Mayoka Village and we were done for the day. Easier said than done, but the promise of overtaking Foulkes, and some cheering street vendors spurred me on. I took the summit honours and retain the spotted KOM cap. Mayoka is simply a wonderful spot, slightly out of town, and built right down to the lakeshore. Coincidentally two people from my school are volunteering here so we had the added bonus of both some friendly faces, and a bonus upgrade to a private room for camping prices. Thank you Will for the help, and Catherine the owner for being so nice. Settling in was as easy as locking up the bikes, dumping our bags, jumping in the lake and then ordering a couple of beers. For the first time this actually felt a bit like a holiday - some company, nice accomm, great scenery, good food and no cycling on the immediate horizon. There was a bit of excitement as a guest had her back stolen from down by the lake. There was a lot of hysterical screeching of 'my phone, my phone', accompanied by groaning and cursing. We didn't really get involved, although I did go and check on the bikes to be sure. Luckily other people did, and there was soon a search party assembled that tore off in hot pursuit of the thief using find my iPhone. It turns out it was a 12 year old boy who had grabbed the bagged and scarpered. They eventually found the phone stashed in the thatch roof of a house in the village, along with wallet etc under the mattress. The poor kid must have been absolutely tripping balls as they chased him down across the mountain! Kudos to the search party for a job well done. I'd got a fair bit of chat about light-fingered Malawians, but it wasn't something I took especially seriously as everyone also has an opinion on where you're going to get mugged, robbed, run over or abused. However, with this incident, preceded by bike incarceration in the village, and a frantic warning in Nkhotakota not to hang out washing where it would be stolen by the locals, perhaps there is some truth to the matter. Luckily it's not a side of Malawi I have experienced first hand, and hopefully it will stay that way. The rest of our time here, when not devoted to guarding valuables, is given to drinking beers and relaxing. We've indulged in a bit of exercise - taking the paddle boards out for sunrise over the lake, kayaking round to another local beach (which turned out to be littered with glass and drunk Malawians) and walking into town for lunch and dinner. In fact, we're so relaxed we've decided not to even brave the unreliable ferry from Nkhata Bay to Likoma Island and stay put instead. The 70km up to Mzuzu and Ekwendeni is beginning to loom now, so perhaps a few less beers over the next day or so.
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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