After the border fraud fiasco and a brief pedal into Mwanza I headed for Mwanza hotel as it came recommended. I know from experience already that a local endorsement of 'it's nice' or 'it's not far' is invariably horribly inaccurate, but it was somewhere to aim for and get out of the rain. Now, I must admit that I become quite self-righteous when it comes to negotiating accommodation rates on this trip, and the charity card is always played. The general rule is, if they're white, you've got a shot, and if they're local locals, they just don't care very much. So, back to the Mwanza Hotel - a typical tactic is to defer to management who is neither present, nor contactable. I encountered such a line from the receptionist after a bit of hand wringing and explanation, and then the bloody manageress appeared, prompting a solid berating of the receptionist. However, the manager then said it depended on the owner who wasn't about or going to be about. So I said 'just don't tell the manager I'm staying', but no matter which way I turned it around, I got nowhere. It was $28 for a room and breakfast, so I vowed to get my money's worth there, especially seeing as there was no hot water for the shower. So, in I strolled at 7 the next morning and ordered the lot, followed by explanations that I was cycling to Blantyre today, and thus extremely hungry. I munched through 2 bowls of cornflakes and all their cupcakes in the meantime, and when a measly plate of 3 bits of small toast, a sausage, and some scramble egg arrived, I sent two bits of toast back, for egging. I then asked for more sausages (I wanted to make a sandwich to take with me) when another waiter said I must pay for extra. What a ridiculous notion I informed him - a hotel breakfast is a bloody buffet! Awkward timing as just then my extra eggs arrived. I grabbed them and quickly tucked in before they were removed. I was tackling the last piece when the first waitress returned and tried to make me pay for the seconds. I refused, then piled a plate with what I thought was pawpaw, but turned out to be squash. Not as sweet but good energy. I then dived for the exit when the staff weren't looking. The next battle was paying the bill in $ and getting change, but we got there in the end after a stern reprimand that them not having ANY change in the float is their problem, not mine. I set off at about 8:30, expecting about 90km and 1000m ascent. People are right in that Malawi is quite different, and there was immediately a sense of it being 'proper' Africa - people everywhere, all sorts of odd shops with very strange names, lots of yelling, livestock on the back of bikes, rubbish everywhere, and a caucophony of hooting. I was stopped at the first roadblock, and given yesterday's run down, was immediately quite on the defensive. But the guy just wanted to know my name and have a chat so I got that wrong completely. Oops! Anyway, onward, and whilst getting out of town, my waving arm for more of a work out than the pins I reckon. Malawi is also very much 'Mzungu, Mzungu, Muzunguuuuu' territory, and a chorus follows you a lot of the way. It means white man in Swahili, and one can't help but feel that you'd be in trouble for shouting 'Black Guy!' If one cycles past in Europe etc. Still, part of the fun, isn't it! The ride was quite a lot of up and down straight off, and it soon became apparent that I wasn't really recovered from the beating I took on the bike the day before as I was struggling a bit. It being busier is both nicer and worse to be honest. There's more going on and a bit more interesting, but the downside is that you can't stop anywhere without everyone staring at you like you're a complete freak. And then there is always that pest of a guy who wants to be your best mate, can't speak a word of English, and then asks for some cash to buy some booze. I didn't take many pictures because the weather wasn't great and I was just trying to get on with things. I was also going to be in Malawi for quite a while so I figured would get pics further down the line. There are a lot of old school bikes around with really cool 'Phoenix' cranks, and rear racks with little handlebars and cushions for giving backies to people. There were also even some tandem type stretch bikes with 2 pillion seats on the back. Things I liked a lot about the first day in Malawi - the amount of trees around. Admittedly there were a lot more shrubs than big mothers, but I'd heard there weren't many left due to deforestation and the charcoal trade. Now, whilst there was a lot of charcoal for sale, and plenty being hauled around on bikes - they have this nifty trick of jumping off on the uphill and hooking the front wheel to the frame using a bit of inner tube so that it stays straight, and then push from the back - there were also plenty of trees, I'd even go as far as saying baobabs for days! With the increased amount of people on the road there was also more food opportunities. I'm fairly convinced I'm still paying Mzungu prices but I stopped for salad and chips a couple of times which was pleasant (apart from all the staring). The second time was a real treat as I was informed that 'His Excellency', the President was about to drive past. The kindly policeman who I was chatting to made me move Tina further from the road. It soon became clear why, as a Land Cruiser with full lights and sirens blaring, came screaming down the road at about 120kph. Now, Malawi had yielded absolutely no roadkill at all in about 90km, something which both disappointed me, and seemed too good to be true. And here we had a Land Cruiser bearing down on a blissfully unaware Chicken in the middle of the road. It must have been a deaf Chicken as even before the din of the sirens became deafening, I could see the demise of said poultry as clear as day, so was excitedly shouting at the chicken to move (I had been told I would be shot if I took any pictures - an exaggeration I would hope - and couldn't cycle, so needed something to pass the time). The locals seemed extremely nonplussed about the plight of the poultry and left it to discover the grisly error of its ways. The truck could easily have gone around the chicken, but in another show of officious might, ploughed straight over it. The first confirmed Malawi roadkill! Alas not - somewhat miraculously it flapped and squawked to the side, maimed but as yet undead. And a good job too as another 21 cars sped past in the remainder of the motorcade. I was left perplexed by both the pomposity and needlessness of such a display. And even more so as the old bird I was talking to seemed to view Theresa May as more corrupt than Jacob Zuma. Absolutely potty! Preceding the ridiculously over the top motorcade, I was encountering a policeman, or indeed policewoman, about every 500m or 1km. Excessive to say the least! They were an officious bunch and struck me as rather pompous. They also made going for a wee rather difficult as I didn't want to get booked for nudity or exposure, or anything daft like that. In the end I just gave up waving to them, or shouting 'Grumpy!' at them when they wouldn't wave back. At one point I was just cycling along up a bit of a hill, my mind wandering, when suddenly I had to double take; there was a guy in a loin cloth, covered from head to toe in mud and with a brown hessian sack over his head, just jogging down the hill in silence. And to spice things up even more, he was brandishing a sword! It was extremely bizarre, especially considering how matter-of-fact it seemed. It may be my imagination, but I think that there was a 'Crime Prevention Unit' in hot pursuit; at least, it wasn't far behind, and heading in the same direction, but of course it could simply be a coincidence as there are so many police about. I like to imagine some kind of showdown with Mr Loincloth bloodily hacking his way out of a corner, facing down the truck load of officers who only seem to carry silly little leather sticks. Either way, I heard no blood-curdling screams in the distance as I continued on my way. I'd stopped for chips and salad on the side of the road a couple of times already, and it was a pleasant change to have a regular and decent supply of roadside food. As I said, you invariably have to dine with a crowd of onlookers staring at you, but seeing as there's no cutlery about, dignity soon goes out the window; chips are ok, but there's just no tidy way of consuming salad with your fingers really. Even with this nutrition, I was struggling quite a lot due to the hilly 117km of the day before. I think I ended up on 103km and 1300m climbing, with I think the longest climb I've encountered yet as I ascended into Blantyre itself. I was a very happy man to have a bed and some company for the next couple of nights. I think these hosts are probably the most tenuous yet, but I take I perverse sense of pride in engineering the most convoluted connections I can. My destination was the Benbow's house and to give you an idea of how much I knew about them, I thought they were French; Demelzu Benbou turned out to be Demelza Benbow, and English. To trace the explanation for my intrusion into the family home, we have to rewind to mid April when I was camping in Lomagundi Lakeside in Kariba, Zimbabwe. A lovely lady called Ellen came over as I was packing up to head up to Makuti and introduced herself. She was quite a keen cyclist herself and after chatting for a bit, she asked if I needed anywhere to stay in Harare. Thanking her, I said that I was sorted for Harare, and indeed had Zim mostly sewn up, thanks to Ant and Caz, but I was a bit thin on the ground heading north into Malawi etc. Ellen said she thought she knew someone in Blantyre who would have me, and went off to get her number. I blame the nationality confusion on her dodgy handwriting! So, after following Demelza's instructions, I got to the house, on Blantyre Synod land and a stone's throw from the oldest church in Blantyre. Everyone but the help was out, and Susan the maid immediately got into my good books by preparing a mountain of toast and scrambled eggs for me. What a star! Demelza wasn't back until late that evening but at about 5 her husband Gordon and children Taron, Sichella and Lemorah all arrived. A lovely bunch and I immediately set about ingratiating myself by taking on dinner duties, butchering an attempt at an omelette in the process. I blamed the poor non-stick properties of the pan, and it seemed to pass muster. The next day I was down to go to school with Demelza to help out in class and talk to the students about what I was doing. It was good fun actually, although I'm not sure how much 3 year olds appreciated my heroic endeavours! I made them stand up and pretend to cycle, and showed them Johannesburg and Malawi on the globe, so maybe they understood the trip a little bit. Then it was playground duties and learning about neon pink with some colouring practice. Then some older punks came and got me as their teacher wanted me to come and talk to them too. This lot were about 8 years old, and seemed to be altogether more impressed with me. I explained a bit about what I was doing, but I made them work for it, guessing the countries I'd been through and how far I'd gone, and how long I'd taken to get there. I then opened up the floor to Q&A and one of them made the fatal error of asking how many minutes I'd been cycling for. We'd already established distance (2200km) and average speed (20kph) so I made them do the calc with me on the board. I was a bit nervous myself as maths is certainly not my forte, but we got there in the end: 6600 minutes. It was good fun and some suggested that I had a flair for teaching: God help us, eh! School finished at 12:30 so the afternoon was mine. I used it to talk to Chloe as I was suffering from a mild case of the mopes and put together a blog post. There was the opportunity to go hiking with the Benbow's in the Mulanje Mountains to the East and camp on Sapitwa, the highest point in Malawi at 3002m altitude. Gordon is a member of the Mulanje Mountain club and was leading a group on a 3-day trek up and down. It's only an annual thing, and very few people actually spend the night on the summit, rather trekking up and back down in one go. So it was quite a special opportunity all things considered as you should get a sunrise and sunset up top. Even so, and probably because of the mopes, I was unsure about going as it would impact my schedule and make cycling to Cape Maclear, getting some R&R in, and then getting to Lilongwe to meet Sam on the 10th impossible. In the end common sense prevailed and I decided to just go for it as it was such a unique and different thing to do, and I'd already cycled plenty to be honest. Even so, I still undertook some bike admin, giving Tina a wash and swapping the chain over (I'm running a chain rotation using 2 chains and a quick link, remember?!). It was then that disaster struck! I'd taken the chain off and had given the cogs a good clean as they were a bit grubby from cycling in the rain. I'd already lost half of one quick link so I had to be extra careful with the one remaining. For that reason, rather than risk misplacing it in the grass, I put it on the garden table rather. I then got distracted doing some other bits and pieces (I think blog and Susan's offer of toast intervened), only going out about half an hour later. To my dismay I found the table devoid of quick link. It was too heavy to have blown away and I definitely put it on the table. Then Gordon and Lemorah informed me that there had been a Pied Crow on the table pecking at something. The little shit had only gone and stolen my goddam quick link! I couldn't believe it, and flew into a rage (pun), probably swearing and blinding far more than was appropriate, especially in front of the children. I was now unable to put either chain on so was in a bit of a fix, to say the least. There are a tonne of bikes in Malawi, but generally they're all shit single speed grandad bikes, so I dismissed the idea of searching the markets for a 9 speed chain quick link more or less straight off. After consulting my remote mechanic Josh I (well he) decided it was best just to remove a link and re pin the chain a link shorter. Whilst a bit exciting to use my (heavy) bike tool and chain splitter, it was a bloody fiddly job, and I was still absolutely fuming about that stupid bird. Being a farmer type, crows are high on my list of despised creatures anyway, and think the latest incident has secured them top spot for a while. I have now sworn an undertaking with my catapult that I shall not rest until crow blood is spilt in retribution for their foul act of sabotage! In the end you had to laugh, but I couldn't believe the bastard had gone and pinched it. Unbelievable scenes! This isn't actually a Pied Crow, but the ominously similar Ravens shadowed our ascent up Mount Mulanje, ensuring the fires of hatred stayed very well stoked. I had in the meantime decided 'to hell with the schedule', and that this hike was just too good an opportunity to miss; I would figure out a plan for Cape Maclear and Lilongwe later on instead. After crow-gate I set off to the shop to stock up on hiking snacks for the 3 days. I also treated myself to a Kuche Kuche, the local beer (albeit brewed by Carlsberg) and walked back home slurping on it, keeping a furtive eye out for the myriad police officers along the road, and feeling like a real local with his bottle of Chibuku grog. We were then out to dinner in Blantyre where I proceeded to cause amazement by ordering a large amount of food, and then finishing the leftovers of anyone else who didn't finish theirs! We were up early for a 6am departure from Blantyre on Friday. We met at the Shoprite (very 1st world, I know) and we were a motley crew of various parties, none knowing the other particularly well before, and in many cases not at all. There were a couple of gap year boys so it was nice to have some lads to chat with, although I was initially wary as had heard they were volunteering at an orphanage - a bit cliche really! However, my initial doubts proved entirely unfounded and they were great guys. In another small-worldism, one of them turned out to be the godson of a family friend in Norfolk! There were a couple of American girls who volunteered or worked for various projects/charities, and they were certainly cut from the volunteering cloth a bit more. I can't say I spent a huge amount of time with them as they were frustratingly incompetent at the tricky stuff whereas I like to be at the front, smashing it. We were on the mountain and underway by about 8am and we hiked up into the warm mist cloaking the slopes. It made for quite sweaty work, and although there wasn't really a view to speak of, it was good fun. We were aiming to make Tshepo Hut on the first night, and then summit and stay the night on Saturday, followed by all the way down on Sunday. We got to the cabin at about 2pm. I was first there (naturally) and was immediately both amused and perplexed to find a group of about 20 young Americans joined in prayer, thanking the Lord both for their sandwiches, and for a safe trip up and down from the peak. Now, as you know from my last post, I take part in the occasional act of worship, but this one I sniggered at from the sidelines, whilst sipping on a beer, instead. They turned out to be from some Mormon university in the US, and absolute fruitcakes! Still, it takes all sorts I suppose, and my fervent Jesus lovers in Zimbabwe are still texting me to this day! The hut was quite a civilised affair, with a fireplace, mattresses in the stores and blankets and pots to use too. Of particular interest were the beers for sale. I got Simon, the camp boy to chuck them in the mountain fridge, aka river, and the lads enjoyed a few cold-ish ones in the evening. I slept inside because it looked cold, and then we were up fairly early next morning. All in all it was great fun, and a fantastic experience. Gordon also thinks I should be a teacher as I was such a great role model and inspiration to the kids. Interesting opinion seeing as I used to be the scourge of schoolmasters throughout my childhood! I probably should have rested the next day as a 3 day hike carrying full kit is hardly a recovery tonic from cycle touring, but I decided that in order to have a decent stretch in Cape Maclear and still make Lilongwe to meet Sam, I should just push on. With the help of Demelza's local knowledge, it was decided to get on a bus to Lilongwe, and make them stop at Lizulu so that I could get out and cycle down off the Escarpment. It would be 110km to CM, which although mostly downhill or flat, would be a tall order. So, it was another 5:30 wake up as I was advised to get down to the bus stop early to get the first departure. The bus stop was only 5 mins away, so very easy, but advice on timing was a bit wide of the mark. I got to the terminal at about 7:20, mostly because I have had experience of African bus transport, and they don't leave very early, and was immediately mobbed by locals. I had to slap a few hands as Oscar the Oribi was getting wiggled around a bit too vigourously by some. After dispelling the main crowd with threats of Muti and charms, I set about finding the first bus to Lilongwe. This was easily done - a big coach with capacious cargo holds which Tina slipped into with ease that would leave at 8. Perfect! Negotiating price was slightly more complicated though. I always try to go into negotiations with some idea of prices, and a police officer (I chose one of the 5 milling about) said a ticket to Lilongwe should be about MK (Malawian Kwacha) 3000. My other usual tactic is to act outraged and shocked no matter what price they give me. So when the guy said MK6000 I gave him a lot of shit. Apparently this was the express bus, and a ticket to Lilongwe is 4000, but I must pay extra for the bike. When I pointed out that I wasn't going all the way to Lilongwe, and thus shouldn't pay full fare, he countered with the fact that the bus shouldn't really stop anywhere except Lilongwe. Touché, the sneaky bastard! I gave up negotiating with such a shrewd character and coughed up the 6000 as, at £6, it didn't seem unreasonable. I confess that I am by now thoroughly fed up with the locals eyeballing you and then making up a Mzungu price, and have consequently made a habit of price checking with various parties how much they paid for certain items. Another reason for getting on the bus was that I thought it was about to leave shortly, and I was being bothered a fair bit. And the fact that most of them don't believe me when I say I've come from Joburg also irks me. The cheek of it! I should have known better - buses in Africa leave when they're full, not before. 8 turned into 8:30 and 8:30 into 9. We eventually left, with not a seat spare (the one next to me was the last to go) at 9:40. What a waste of a lie in! It was quite fun watching the hustle and bustle of the bus station though, and seeing how different people react to the intensive touting that takes place. I was on the same row as a guy dressed head to toe in goat skin - and I mean head to toe, adorned as he was with goat headband, jacket, trousers, loafers and even a man bag to match - so obviously I had to talk to him. First question - have you got any goats left?! He was a chief, in town to sell onions and other produce from the farm, and yes he had some goats around still. He was a very kind gentleman, and helped make sure that the bus didn't mug me off and stop in the wrong place. It was also interesting watching the endless stream of hawkers trapsing on and off the bus a watches, sunglasses, boiled eggs, samosas, crisps, scones, phone chargers, water and apples all made their way up and down the aisle, with varying degrees of success. I got involved and did a deal on a trio of samoosas at local prices. The same process repeated itself whenever we stopped (it was not an express service so the guy mugged me off there!). All this activity was performed to the background of gospel music on the TV (I was on the larney bus). This consisted of a lot of aspirational imagery, a strange kind of walking on the spot, arm swinging dance peculiar to Malawian gospel music videos, Jesus being crucified and lots of wailing and dancing either in the garden or knee deep in the Lake. Once underway I was somewhat dismayed at the quality of bus driving. He would honk viciously at anything, and even when traffic free in the other lane he would make the poor sods pedaling along with bags of charcoal etc off the road. What a belligerent fellow, I thought. The religious theme also continued with a preaching shouting, screaming, and waving a bible in the aisle. The stickers, and indeed law, explicitly state 0 standing passengers, but I suppose God's bidding sometimes necessitates ignoring the law of us mere mortals. Luckily he got off after about 15 mins (the first of many, many stops) when we got fuel. This was probably because some guy sat revving the bus for 1,5 hours before we even left. The last spot was taken by Charity, who was nice enough, but asked me rather stupid questions such as the price of an iPhone in the U.K., mostly when I was about to fall asleep too. She did say I was 'very impressive' though, so she obviously had a fair bit of common sense after all. She also insisted that I take her number, which was rather forward. The bus spat me out right at the turning to the S127 and Mr Goat Chief helped me with my bags so I took a pic of him and thanked him. I was on the bike with helmet on and GoPro on for the mountain descent by 1, and not much hope of making Cape Maclear to be honest. I could tell from the off that I was pretty beat, and the few uphills were quite unpleasant. However, the descents were very cool, with epic views. It soon got pretty rustic, with cow crossings (see pic) and roadside breast feeding (didn't snap as thought inappropriate) and after some chips and salad I set off into a forest reserve. By this point I had more or less resolved to either having to bush camp or snag a lift to the Lake. The latter was my preference as I was tired, had run out of petrol for my stove, and didn't have any pasta sauce. Thus, I kept a close eye on my wing mirror for potential lifts. Cars were few and far in between, and by 4 I had endured an hour of fruitless mirror watching. I had got into the swing of things a bit, and decided I would happy enough to just camp and finish things off tomorrow when a large truck loomed into view. It didn't look like a bakkie, but gave it a frantic wave anyway. It turned out to be 2 Germans, Susanne and Gamunt on an 8 month African Odyssey in a pimped out Mercedes Sprinter. We shoved Tina on the roof, to an ever growing audience of kids, and got underway at about 4:30. I was very grateful for the ride as now I could relax, and was effectively a day up in Maclear. For Germans they were rather poor at navigating, and also had an irrational conception of how high their vehicle was, paling with terror whenever we approached power lines or trees. I was invariably dispatched to inspect the safe passage under said 'obstacle' and seeing as I could hardly bloody get in and out of the truck by then after the hiking, I had to frequently remind myself that I was merely a guest in their vehicle, and a very lucky one at that. We missed sundowners due to a few million-point U-turns but it was great to get to Cape Maclear without too much effort. I conclude this post having hobbled over to a more lively campsite, enjoying a bottle of Kuche Kuche, the local beer, and watching a Pier Kingfisher trying to catch his dinner. Not too shabby at all really! With Border Gate behind me, I can wholeheartedly recommend Malawi as a great place to visit.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
Categories |