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| David : 17 June 2007 : C&S current location - Chintheche, Malawi Latest info from Simon and Craig is : "Right now at Chintheche, just up the road from the legendary Kande Beach where I've just had a dive among all the little colourful fish. Craig chilling back at the campsite and we head south tomorrow, should make the Zambian border in 4 or 5 days" (=about 18th June). |
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Simon : 13 June 2007 A fairground plunge into Malawi - kwaheri Tanzania - handbags and lycra - an errant piglet and some company on the road - warm water swimming and the good taste of beer - I shot the sheriff - Botswana is practically downhill Tanzania clings to you if you try to leave, the steep road south tilting you back and discouraging you from going on. But make it to the top - through the mist and the rain and past the banana trees - and you get to freefall from among furrowed clouds into the plains of Malawi below, plains that stretch forever before you. This is a fairground plunge over 45km that freezes your sweat and rain soaked clothes before ejecting you through a wall of humidity as you hit the bottom and the border.I stopped for a mug of hot milk before the descent from Tukuyu, warming my hands so that I could hold my brakes. Around me and across the hills were tea plantations that slotted together like the pieces of a big green puzzle. It is always exciting to know that the next country on this long journey is just a short ride away, but there is a lot I will miss about Tanzania. Mostly I will miss the roadside greetings, polite little voices that wish me a "good morning, teacher," and spontaneous cheers and smiles from the rest. I will miss being called uncle or father by complete strangers, and asking mama for some milky tea and mandazee. When I am next hungry I will miss the strangers who would sit me down and then arrange for everything I needed to be brought to me from various stores and restaurants. On Sundays I will miss hearing churches singing, voices carrying to me from far as I cycle by. Of course there are things I won't miss too. Like the gospel channel, played on TVs everywhere, all week and at full volume, choirs belting out whining songs of praise. Or the taxis and buses that dominate the narrow road, cloaking themselves in innocence and submission (proclaiming: "God is great", "Allah Akbhar", or confusingly, "Why God Why?") even if the drivers long ago sold their souls to Satan for a cold Tusker on a warm day. And I definitely won't miss beans and rice, that East African staple that never changes. Ever, ever, ever. I have ridden the last 600km since Iringa alone, a choice made and agreed in anger and a hail of words easily released but hard to reclaim. What Craig won't know is that I sat for a long time at that roadside, rethinking my decision before going on. Sitting now in Malawi, I don't regret it. We will meet again in a few days, I think the time apart necessary if we are to continue this journey as we started and ride into Cape Town together. Travelling as we are is at the best of times intense, and inevitably it becomes too much when things don't go as planned. Tanzania may have left a lasting impression on us, but for those who gathered to watch us at the roadside, we certainly returned the favour: two mazingus clad in tight lycra, swinging their handbags and shouting at the top of their voices. Tanzanians avoid confrontation by laughing - it can be infuriating when you complain about something - so how they must have laughed at the two of us. Lake Malawi is visible soon after starting the descent from Tukuyu, a silver orb that promises long dreamed of days on the beach and swimming. Crossing the border I dodged an errant piglet and then rounded a group of Malawian cyclists, as usual bicycles laden with goods. Rather than ride behind in my slipstream - something the Tanzanians were always quick to do - Malawian cyclists want to match my pace next to me, like it is a test of strength. Eventually almost all dropped back, unable to keep pace on their rickety and squeaky single speed bikes. One stayed on and we rode the 50km to Karanga together in silence, past patchwork green and yellow fields of grass and wheat, later palm trees. So far the Malawian roads have been a joy to ride as there is barely any traffic and the roads are wide. Villagers even use the lay-bys to dry their maze and seeds. Sometimes 15 minutes will go by without a car or truck passing in either direction, and for once the road belongs to the cyclists. For a country with a population density problem, everyone seems to be hiding. Even the few villages I pass - tiny, toy-like huts clustered by a lake shore littered with canoes carved from palm trunks - seem empty. Passing a police station I notice the flag at half mast, later told that the president's wife has died and the nation is preparing for the funeral, a full month of mourning scheduled. I have a little wooden hut to myself in Chitimba, just a coconut's throw from the lake where at night you can watch the little lights of the fishing canoes. This is a popular overlander stop, and for once it is a relief to join the heavy drinking Americans, Brits, Irish, Canadians, Swiss and South Africans on their latest party stop through the continent. Normally we are so far off the tourist trail that we meet few other travellers, passing through whole regions where barely a word of English is spoken and we struggle to communicate in the few words of Arabic, Ameraic or Swahili we have learned. It's good to lose the script for once and talk about nothing in particular again. In Chitimba I have found a little café with a baby pet monkey, Bob Marley on the walls and on the old stereo, and it has become my local. Elijah has a passion for Rastafarianism of the newly converted and I tell him about cycling through Sheshemene in Ethiopia, where so many Rastas aspire to go. Jamaicans once settled here in their droves after Emperor Haille Selassie granted them land after they granted him the status of the Messiah. Elijah and I agree on one God, but we disagree on Selassie's good works and supposed miracles, which obviously did not include addressing famine or equality in his promised land. I watched the monkey pee on the waiter while Bob Marley called on Africans to free Zimbabwe. In the end, maybe he was the true prophet, his words still bang on target today. Livingstonia sits high up and delicately above Lake Malawi, an old mission station founded by a Scottish Presbyterian (Robert Ward) in honour of the explorer - Dr Livingstone did much to expose the slave trade here and elsewhere in Africa. Nineteen tight switchbacks snake 16km up the mountain and my bike slips easily between the rocks and ruts, for once unencumbered by heavy panniers. Near the top is a waterfall where you can stand knee deep in a pool and watch the water tumble 100ft below, beyond the rim of the pool a valley that meets the lake. There is very little to see in this disparate town. The centrepiece is the Stone House museum in Ward's old house, where you can see his typewriter and butterfly collection, and I couldn't help but think the comments in the guestbook were overly flattering. If you have the time though, make the hike - even better cycle - to the top for the spectacular, unobstructed views, where you will remember why you came to Africa. We may still be 5,000km from Cape Town but if the overland truck drivers are to be believed, the roads from here on in are in our favour. "There's just one big hill after Lusaka" one driver says, "Botswana is practically downhill" according to another. I'm still waiting for one to tell me the wind only blows south-west as far as Windhoek, tail winds all the way. Either way, I've got that twitchy, excited feeling now that maybe, after all we have been through, South Africa isn't all that far away. |
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