There has been a Rift

It's been 6 sleeps since my last post and I've seen lots of lovely and interesting things since Turkulu. I've also had a string of convivial meetings with locals along the way. I've done just over 300 kms in that time (4 cycling days) so progress continues steady.

I might have to revise my list of most beautiful countries ever visited. I always reckoned it was Norway but Malawi is coming up fast on the rails.

I left Tukuyu, my last stop in Tanzania, with a bit of a headache after supping with G and his good friend Donald the barber ( a lot of Africans have European names) the previous evening. From there, perhaps fortunately, it was over 40 km of downhill on a quiet, smooth road to the border with Malawi. As I descended, the Rift Valley opened up to my right, or west. I was slowly dropping into it. I was on the eastern escarpment and 10 miles or so to the west were the mountains of the west side. The valley floor, like a film set for the Garden of Eden, lay in between. It was a riveting sight and I had to keep stopping for a gawp and a photo. Half way down I got my first glimpse of Lake Malawi occupying a large part of the horizon. It was just a bright, shiny strip. The Rift valley here gets enough rain to keep the many streams and rivers tumbling along and the the vegetation is dense and a pure (Sir Percy) green.

A few km before the border at a junction I met my only annoying, slightly scary Africans to date. 4 or 5 unusually fat and burly lads of about 25 were hanging around. They were selling Malawian currency, which is the Kwatcha. I needed to change an excess of Tanzanian shillings into Kwatchas, at a rate of approx 5.8. I'd done my homework on-line in Tukulu.

"What is the rate?" I asked
"10 to 1 for you, sir."
"But it's about 5.8 according to the Internet this morning."
"OK 5.5 for you. You have dollars?"
"No" (big lie).

I declined their late offer thinking I might get Monopoly money anyway. They then hopped on motorbikes and pestered me all the way to the next little town before the border where I arrived with an escort. I thought having lunch in a cafe would get rid of them but they came in an sat either side of me, talked across me in Swahili and made mobile phone calls. "You are wasting your time. Go away please" I said mustering as much cool as I could. In fact I badly neede Malawian Kwatchas for my shillings. I left and went to another cafe. They followed. Luckily there were 5 blokes from the States on motorbikes riding from the Cape to Cairo on an organized tour. They were having a break so I sat with them and chatted. I mentioned the fat guys. The tour leader went over and breathed on one of them and they disappeared. They also treated me to bananas and Coke. So thanks, guys.

I got my Kwatchas at an official exchange bureau in no-man's land at a decent rate and breathed more easily as I pedaled into Malawi.

I have to say at this point that most Africans are polite, kind and respectful in a way that impresses me.

Malawi is exceptionally friendly. I get literally hundreds of greetings, smiles and other convivial exchanges every day.

From the border I pedaled a further 40 km to the town of Karonga for my first night in Malawi. I was so enchanted with my new country that I phoned Judith just after the border, in the early afternoon, so she could congratulate me on my first 1000km. The Garden of Eden set ran all the way to Karonga although the road itself was as quiet as on the Outer Hebrides. Everything seems to grow here: sugar-cane, oranges, lemons, tabacco, rice, maize, bananas, coffee, tea, cotton, avocados and a load of other stuff I can't even recognize.

As I pulled into Karonga just before dark a lad called Happy Williams pulled alongside and took me to a guest house. Despite Malawi being one of the world's poorest countries, the level of English is remarkable. Secondary education is all in English, I gather. And there is no one African language that unites the whole country as in Tanzania. Here the English-speaker is king (he said complacently). In Karonga it rained, beating down on the metal roof of the Safari Lodge just before dawn, but by 7 am, when I left, it was already drying up.

Last Friday was tough due to a gusty head-wind  which tugged at my lumpy shape with its 4 panniers and tent. In fact I was knackered when I reached Maji Zuwa (Water and Sun) 80 kms away. It was a flat road along the Lake side and should have been easy but the wind was a complete *******. Maji Zuwa is owned and run by an American called Matt who spent 2 years in Malawi with the Peace Corps then came back and bought an idyllic bit of the lake shore and set up a "camp" with a restaurant, chalets and little tent "shelves" right by the water, one of which I used, camping for the first time. The other residents are a mixture of  young Americans and Europeans who volunteer in the local schools and help build badly needed extra facilities. I've met several other Peace Corps volunteers since. Some of them are in tiny, isolated villages. I take my hat off to 'em ! I had a rest day here: swimming, watching the fishermen in their dug-out canoes, enjoying the peace and quiet, getting a great star-show after dark and drinking Kuche Kuche.

On Sunday I carried on south along the beautiful shoreline. It's just like the Med and immediately to the west are high mountains. Perched on top of one is Livingstonia. It was used by early Scottish missionaries at the end of the 19th C. Livingstone never went there but they named it in his honour. I was told by Matt it had the first piped  water and electricity supply in sub-saharan Africa. I'd want to check that out though.

In fact my route, the main road, went up into these mountains. The main road leaves the lake shore for about 70 miles, presumably because the lower slopes of the mountains are just too steep along the lakeside . I'd been warned about this long, steep climb of about 3000 feet. I got the Ipod out and started listened to Judith's excellent collection of music. I stopped regularly for bananas and water. The baboons kept me amused and the occasional bus and lorry supplied shouts of encouragement. And the scenery was brilliant so I almost enjoyed the climb, which lasted about 2 hours. At the top I went over the escarpment and down into a long, winding valley with a river about the size of the Calder. About 30 kms up here was the little town of Phwezi where I stayed for the night in my .... er ..... most basic rest-house to date.

I was enjoying my customary early evening beer wondering where I was going to eat. The town was full of people out on the streets, which is normal, but there was no sign of an eatery. I was joined by Jackoo who organised everything. He took me to the chip shop - yes, this part of Africa is full of chip shops - to get a couple of plates. We then went in the dark to the busy market and to a huge bosomed lady sitting behind a pot of bubbling chicken bits. "What do you prefer ?" he asked "Er... breast" I said. He rummaged around in the pot and put a portion on each of our plates. We then went back to the chip shop and got our chips with a bit of salad on the side. He organised some crates into a table and chairs and we tucked into a fine meal. Africans are just so helpful. OK, I had to pay for both of us, probably 2 quid the lot. But the good thing about the trip so far: if they see you are new, they just make things happen for you. If you don't need help, they are happy just to chat or go away.

The next day was only 80 km to where I am now. I set off without breakfast which is not unusual. An hour later at the town of Bwengu I had a similar experience to the previous evening. "Any hot food here?' I asked a teenage girl. "No, but you could buy some eggs and get the girl in the grocery cum chip shop to make you an omlette". It all happened without me lifting a finger. I was sold 3 bread rolls and had omlette butties (without the butter). The omlette was dripping in sun-flower oil so it didn't matter. I was so hungry I could have eaten my shorts anyway.

While I was waiting for this meal, I had an interesting chat with Precious Joshua Nthara who lectures in dynamics at the local university. When I asked, he patiently explained what dynamics entailed - basically Newtonian physics - and then I explained to him something of the origins of the English language, where he seemed to know about as much as me about dynamics. "So, I see, it's a hybrid language", he concluded. Africa can be quite surreal.

I got increasingly tired and ratty as I did the last to 30 kms into Mzuzu. Yesterday's climb was taking its toll. I did manage a tourist attraction on the way though. To quote the publicity on a hand painted board, it was "The Kandewe bamboo hanging bridge on south Rukuru River first built in 1904". I had the official bridge guide, the splendidly eloquent and charming Joshua Nkandawire. We went down a steep dirt path to the river, gathering troops, especially kids, as we went, and arrived at the aforementioned bridge. It was a bird's nest of bamboo, only in an arched bridge shape, which curved gracefully over the river. It was still in regular use. We went across and it swayed and rippled as you'd expect. It was constructed according to traditional technology and was a rare survivor of same. It's repaired every year and, folks, if you are round this way, it's worth a visit. I have lots of photos for the interested.

I reached Mzuzu around 4 pm yesterday. I'd had a backpackers' hostel recommended. I was a bit suspicious as they can be a bit like student houses: gruesome. It's turned out OK though and has a nice lounge area, food and beer. It was hard to find and has the unfortunate name of Mzuzu Zoo. Try asking for that on a hot sticky afternoon when you're tired. I finished up inquiring of the gangs of cycle taxi lads. Some of them were full of mirth when they heard me trying to say it's name but hadn't a clue where it was. Eventually I was led to it by a bunch of school girls on their way home and a Rasta lad who called himself King Charles. You couldn't make it up.....