Date:     Sat, 16 Dec 2006

To:         touring@phred.org

From:    “Michael Ayers” <michael@terminalia.org>

Subject: Gondwana - Mild times, Motherly love, and a Milestone in Malawi

Muli Bwanji Phreds,

Malawi, a small country with a reputation for friendliness and the potential for some easy travel was the next main destination on my route, and a place I had been anxious to reach for a while. For the most part, all of those aspects proved to be true.

The country is a small land, lying just to the west and south of Lake Malawi, another of Africa’s Great Lakes. The lake is similar to Lake Tanganyika, being deep, long, and relatively narrow, with a general north-south orientation along the Great Rift, and the country occupies a narrow plain along its shore, a rugged, high plateau further west, and a small area of gently hilly lands to the south. Unlike some other countries in the region, many Malawians live in rural areas with their lives based around small-scale agriculture. Therefore, there are fewer areas where wildlife can be easily seen, but more frequent encounters with friendly people. Relatively few rural residents speak much English, though in the towns the opposite is the case.

Though there are abundant opportunities to head of into the countryside on rough roads, the main routes through, and around, the country are good roads with little traffic. With reasonable transport moving goods around the country, most of the larger towns have at least a small supermarket, usually of the national chain “People’s”, (or PTC for “People’s Trading Center”) and though the selection is not exactly large, they are dependable for water, drinks and some basic foodstuffs. In the larger towns there are a few good restaurants, however, there are only a few larger towns. Local and street food was a little uninspiring with undercooked, thick-cut chips (fries) being the main choice.

History has not been especially kind to the country, which may be why its “development” lags behind some of its neighbors, at least in the eyes of World Bank-type economists. In early years, the area that would become Malawi was the epicenter for the East African slave trade, which was controlled by Arabian traders. During the colonial era the country was summarily federated with Cecil Rhodes’ Rhodesia, which drained its resources significantly. After independence Malawi was ruled for many years by president/dictator Dr. Hastings Banda. Relatively low on the scale of tyrannical dictators, known primarily for being the only African leader to maintain diplomatic and commercial relations with Apartheid-era South Africa, Banda nonetheless exerted tight controls aimed at holding on to his personal power, which likely held the country back further.  Democracy came in the 01990’s and since then the nation has attracted increasing numbers of tourists interested in a more low-key and authentic African destination.

My route through the country would start in the far northwest, a very remote part of the country, then follow the Lakeshore for most of its length, finally turning west through the capital, Lilongwe, and on to the border with Zambia. It has become a bit of a common occurrence for me in Africa that the first day in a new country turned out to be harder than the rest. This continued in Malawi. After a rather tough crossing of northern Zambia (to be described in my next post,) I was anxious to cross the border late one evening so that there would be only 120 km of dirt road left the next day before reaching the main, paved, highway. With the Sun nearly down, I believed that I was almost there until I passed a milestone that said it was 35 km to Chitipa, the town just past the border. Slightly despondent, I stopped for the night right there, unhappy that it would be longer than I expected to the highway. In the morning I had the good fortune to discover, for once, that either the marker was wrong or I misread it. For, after taking a bumpy, footpath “shortcut” that some local guys told me about, which could not have sliced off very much distance, I crossed the border after only perhaps an hour or so of slow riding. Chitipa was a very dusty, frontier-type town with not much to offer in terms of services. The basic restaurant, which was recommended to me, had such tantalizing menu items as, “Bread with Stork” and “Bread without Stork.” The storks which inhabit the area do not appear to be very tasty, so I passed on the bread, opting instead for a plate of cold chips.  I only learned later on that Stork is a local brand of a butter-like substance. It was a good thing that I reached Chitipa early, because the rest of the day was very tough. I had hoped that since the road I was to use was the only route through the northwest sector of the country that it would be in reasonable condition. My map also fooled me again with widely-spaced contours that suggested a gentle 800-m descent to the lakeshore. Both of those assumptions proved incorrect as the terrain was heavily rolling for most of the way and the road was bad, with many corrugated, sandy, and rocky sections. Consequently, it was just after dark when I reached Karonga, the first sizeable town south of the Tanzanian and southeast of the Zambian borders. There was not much there beyond the two items I needed, a shower to wash off four days of road dust, and the ever-useful independent money-exchange broker.

Now finally on the main road, which was generally in good condition, I began heading south once again. Riding was now more comfortable than it had been in a long time, partly due to the good road, but mostly because my bad wrist, which I hurt way back in Tanzania, was now starting to improve rather quickly. In fact, for the first time in weeks I could operate my left-side controls, albeit rather gingerly, and shift up onto my big ring without reaching over and doing so with my right hand.  It was a while before the lake actually made an appearance, but when it did there was a wonderful stretch of coastal riding, within earshot of the lake surf, and with rugged peaks on the other side of the road. This made up somewhat for the absence of ocean encounters in this Stage, as the lake often appears ocean-like. After a while the road turned inland, climbing up a beautiful river valley, back up onto the plateau, to the town of Mzuzu, the only significant town in the north of the country. From there a nice descent lead to the tiny coastal town of Nkhata Bay, which has gained some fame as a low-key tourist stop. I spent a pleasant day off there and though the places to stay were a little too far out of town for my liking, there was enough time after walking into town and back for a refreshing swim in the lake.

Back to a southerly ride, the next day caused a few delays. This was because the tire I had bought back in Arusha had given out several days earlier and I was back to using my emergency spare on my rear. That poor tire had taken such a beating over previous weeks that it was really just barely holding together, with several worn spots and a couple of boots.  Those, combined with the cheap tubes that are available in the region, lead to multiple flats along the way that day. The last of those made it unlikely that I would be able to get far enough away from the only town in the area, the Dwangwa Estate, a company town of a large sugar plantation, to be able to find a decent campsite. So, though I didn’t want to, I stayed indoors again, and the only place available was at the “country club” run by the sugar company, presumably for its European employees and visiting, golf-playing v.i.p’s. It was uncomfortably luxurious for my tastes.

The following day the notable event was meeting two other tourists, only the second such encounter in Africa. Dorothy, from Germany, and Kurt, from Switzerland, have been on tour for eight years. Wow, that’s impressive!  From the sound of things they are running short on cash and so are now operating in “ultra-low-budget mode” and slowly heading back towards Europe. I have to say, it looked to me as if they have been running short of cash for the past four years! And I thought my bags and equipment were looking ragged and torn. What caught my attention was the spare rim strapped onto Dorothy’s rack. That, in and of itself, is an uncommon thing to carry, but what really amazed me was the old tube that was wrapped around it for protection. It had more patches on it than I have ever seen on a single tube. I was told that their record was 50 patches on one tube.  Fifty! I don’t think I’ve ever had more than six or seven on one of mine.  After that I wasn’t as disturbed by my flat-every-hour rear tire. It’s too bad they didn’t reach Nkhata Bay a day earlier, as I could have spent more time and given them some good tips about Kenya and Ethiopia.

Continuing south, the next couple of days were fairly easy, though the highway often stayed out of sight of the Lake, which was too bad. Along the way I passed through the small town of Nkhotakota, one of the oldest towns in the region. There were supposed to be some old Arabian buildings dating from the slave-trading era when the town was the main center of the wicked trade, but I was not able to locate them. The following day was to be a fairly long one to my next break at Monkey Bay at the southern terminus of the Lake. It turned out to be even tougher as a strong wind from the south arrived and slowed the morning down considerably. Even more, once I turned eastward at about the halfway point, the next road, marked as a paved road on my map, was another case of a road that was paved perhaps 40 years ago, but was no longer. In fact it was not too bad, but still slowed me down further. Though I thought I had left the bad roads behind for the next several weeks. There are two settlements on the small peninsula at the base of the Lake, Monkey Bay, a small town and the home port for the Lake’s weekly ferry, and Cape Maclear, a tiny tourist-oriented village 18 km further out along another dirt road. Cape Maclear would have been the better option for a day off, but with my slow progress that day, as I approached Monkey Bay it was already dark, and so I decided to stay there. Without any obvious accommodations to be seen, I did something I rarely do, and let some of the local “beach boys” (read: tourist-spotting vultures, who offer “help” with the expectation of later rewards) show me the way to the local tourist lodge, a somewhat basic place, located a rather long walk across some sandy fields from the town, at a pleasant beachfront site. Along the way I learned that my new friends also could arrange boat transport back up the lake. I was interested in that, as I wanted to get to the capital in one day, which would have been unlikely if I were to ride back along the same poor road again.

Before that, I had a nice day off ahead, and spent it out at Cape Maclear and Lake Malawi National Park, a largely marine park and another World Heritage Site. The park’s claim to fame is as a refuge for the Chiclids.  The chiclids are a large family of beautiful fish endemic to Africa’s Great Lakes. The family is spectacularly diverse with more species occurring in the lakes than any comparably-sized bodies of water on Earth.  In that part of the lake the chiclids, which are usually about 10-15 cm long, are predominantly iridescent blue in color, though some have yellow-gold patches and a few are all yellow. They live in an amazingly unusual ecosystem, outnumbering all other creatures by a wide margin and subsisting on algae that grows on the rocks, on the otherwise barren, lake bottom. It all makes for an astounding sight, prettier than any aquarium you’ve ever seen, and one that I appreciated by taking another enjoyable dive. The only disappointment was that Cape Maclear did not have any underwater cameras available, so I’ll have to depend on my memory to record that picture. The whole area was pleasant and relaxed, the type of place that I could linger about for a while if I had more time, a situation I find myself in with a frustrating frequency.

This would be my last encounter with the Great Rift Valley, the massive geological feature I first met way back in Ethiopia, rode in and out of in Kenya and Tanzania, and followed along the lakes that mark its course through Rwanda, western Tanzania, and now Malawi. The Rift is not always apparent from the ground, but in places it is clear to see just how a new piece of Gondwanaland is splitting off and slowly sliding out into the Indian Ocean. One day most of Somalia and parts of Ethiopia, Kenya, and Mozambique will form a new island and Africa will be considerably smaller.  For now, however, it is quite large enough for my needs.

The following day was a Friday, and I was anxious to reach the capital, Lilongwe, that evening. It was a long way, however, and I decided to take advantage of the local boat I learned about upon my arrival and skip the section that would have been a duplicate ride. It was a quite expensive charter, though the beach boys were supposed to have arranged everything the previous day. The plan was for us to leave at 6 A.M. and make the four-hour trip north to Senga, the first port up the lake. That would leave me just about enough time to reach Lilongwe before nightfall However, in typical African fashion, the beach boys apparently hadn’t done much arranging, or at least to little effect, and despite my frequent and vocal protests, it was 10 A.M. before we were underway. The boat was a 4-meter wooden launch, which leaked continuously, warranting frequent bailing by the two beach boys and the two pilots. It mostly floated, however. The waters of the lake were a brilliant blue, and we passed by some small, uninhabited islands that were part of the National Park during the first hour or so. After that, the winds which had been blowing so fiercely for the previous few days came back, stronger then ever. They produced swells on the lake comparable to those that I’ve seen at mid-ocean. However, a 200-meter long container ship handles such conditions much better than a tiny wooden boat. Consequently, one of the beach boys became quite seasick, tossing his breakfast, which obviously consisted entirely of the east African staple dish, known as nsima in those parts, a tasteless white paste made from bleached corn flour, similar to ugali in Kenya and Tanzania and pap further to the south, onto the water-filled deck. The conditions did not improve, and before long he was curled up into a little ball on the deck, half submerged in the now-milky water. Served him right for messing up my day’s plan. For, with the very late start and the wind, there was no longer time for me to ride to Lilongwe that day, and so once back on land, I gave in and took a local bus the rest of the way.

The reason for my anxiousness to get to the city that day was that there was a package of supplies waiting for me at the post restante counter of the Lilongwe Post Office. Of course, in typical fashion, I arrived at the post office at 4:45 P.M. only to learn that it had closed 15 minutes earlier. So I would, unfortunately, have to wait one more day. Lilongwe is a new city, only being built and made the capital forty, or so, years ago, during the Banda era. Pleasant and clean, with an ample supply of services, it was, however, built with a low-rise, all-sprawl motif, similar to a soulless American city of the same era, making it a rather hard place to get around.

Because of that, my day off there was not quite as restful as I would have liked. Nevertheless, I managed to locate a decent 700c tire and, as soon as the Post opened on Saturday, retrieve my much-anticipated package. The box contained a new rear rack to replace my original one, which had been broken, off and on, in two places since the end of Australia, and more recently in a third place, a few hub parts to replace some that I messed up while in Ethiopia, and a few other odds and ends. Much more valuable than all of that was the cache of comfort food that my wonderful Mother included in the box. That included some corn chips, my favorite salty crackers, and, especially, some home-baked chocolate chip cookies. All of these were things that I had been daydreaming about for many months and for the four days that it all lasted, I was on cloud nine. There are few things in this world more valuable than a Mother who loves you. Thanks Mom.

With the bike back in good shape, and my hunger temporarily satisfied, I felt better than I had in a long while, and though I could have stayed put for a while longer, I was ready to go again the next day. My final day in Malawi was a fairly easy ride to the west, and the border with Zambia. A mere 16 km out of town, I reached a major milestone, passing the 40,075 km mark for the entire Tour. As everyone knows, that value matches the circumference of the Earth at the Equator. Hey, that was fun! I think I’ll go around again!

Zikomo,

Mike

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The Tour of Gondwana

May 02005 - Oct 02007

http://www.terminalia.org/tour