travellingbennetts

Day 46 saw us put Tanzania in the rear view mirrors, and head into Malawi. The immigration facilities reverted back to fairly primitive, and the crowds of ‘tween border money exchangers and food sellers and plastic bottle collecting kids were out in force. Combined with the humidity along the plains to the west of the enormous Lake Malawi, it could be a little trying, but fortunately a boiled egg seller turned up and made the whole experience fabulous.

After five boiled eggs with free salt, the border bureaucratic necessities were completed and we hit the road south for Chitimba Camp 140km away. A stop for lunch was required after 10km to finish off another dozen eggs, with a few Malawian rural villagers in attendance but standing well back. Possibly due to the number of eggs they could see we were eating. A noticeable change occurred at the border; in Tanzania transport is mainly by motorised vehicles, in Malawi there was hardly any cars and virtually no motorbikes, everyone was either on foot or at best had a bicycle, and once more the road was the footpath requiring maximum attention to avoid a crash.

Another noticeable feature was the obvious presence of aid support to what was a surprisingly poor community. Signs were everywhere with EU organisations, World Vision, or other charity groups advertising their food security or water security projects.

The arrival into the Chitimba Camp, inevitably on the edge of Lake Malawi, was not without challenges as the track in was initially very rough, then with patches of deep sand. Cindy nearly made it, but had an off in a sandy patch as her normal foot paddling technique didn’t work due to only having one foot. Unfortunately the crash was onto the weak right side, fortunately no major damage was done but it was obvious there had been a mild re-straining of the damaged member.

The camps and lodges along Lake Malawi are beautiful but many are fairly basic. Cash is the only means of paying for anything, fortunately we’d stocked up on heaps of Kwacha thanks to advice from Andrew and Bayne, there is no such thing as an ATM in the north. Chitimba was our home for two nights, and gave us plenty of opportunity to relax, do laundry, and try to catch up with bike maintenance and other minutiae. Things were cheap and easy, which didn’t encourage much strenuous activity, and the weather cancelled out a fishing trip organised through a bloke who looked and acted like he’d smoked a Shappelle Corby boogyboard bag load of marijuana that morning. A planned tour to a nearby waterfall and park was abandoned as the vehicle scheduled for 10am didn’t show until 2pm, by which time it clashed with the mandatory afternoon nana-nap.

Day 48 was the continuation down the west side of the lake for 300km, via the large and very modern town of Mzuzu. Cindy’s ankle was a touch tender from the sand bingle on the way into the camp, so we decided on a pillion half day to Mzuzu on Blue Betty BMW as the Precious was still out of service, and then she could do the rest of the way to Ngala Beach Lodge in the support vehicle. The low suspension on Betty was seriously challenged even with very light riders like us on board, so the rough roads resulted in fairly slow progress and care through potholed areas travelling through the mountains.

The scenery along the lake was very pleasant, however the country is tropical and humid at this time of year so dressed in full motorbike gear it is like riding in SE QLD in February; need to keep moving to avoid becoming a sweaty mess. Finally I pulled into Ngala Beach Lodge after becoming twice confused as to whether the Lodge entrance was 400m further along the road or 400m down what looked like a bad track by 17^th century standards. The track could not have hidden this accommodation gem more completely; on pulling in we were welcomed by Sandy and Chris, who take hosting their guests to a whole new level.

After peeling off the disturbingly moist riding gear, we were straight into the infinity pool with about half the group, some of whom could not resist a few pre-dinners while soaking in the glorious pleasantness. Adrian and Hera had arrived a day earlier, and as they had been upgraded to a palatial room with lake views they were required under section 15(a) of the C2C Fortunate Persons Act (2017) to put on more pre-dinners, with gin and tonics duly enjoyed by half the team in their opulent boudoir.  Discussion at a fabulous dinner with our hostess Sandy revealed that she had worked for the transport company DHL for 14 years, and they were bringing in my spokes, so she made calls on my behalf to the Lilongwe hotel and DHL and got the whole logistics thing sorted out on the spot.

Day 49 was initially rending of clothes and wailing as we had to mount up and leave, we suspect Ngala Beach Lodge might get two nights next time and Chitimba Camp the one. The plan for the day was a mere 280km to Lilongwe, so no bothering with lunch until we arrived. I was back on Stan’s bike, he was kind enough to let me ride it hopefully on my last day before the Return of The Precious. Cindy had recovered enough from the Chitimba Camp fall, so was back on Blue Betty.

The ride highlighted one of the fun features of Malawi, the shop and road signs are relentlessly amusing, with Dave Shop almost stopped at to see what Daves they had in stock. I expected ride leader Andrew to stop and spend the day at the Andrew Shop, but he missed it so lost a huge opportunity for an upgrade.

Right on lunchtime we pulled into the Woodlands Lilongwe resort, located in the central city area but disturbingly right next to a lion reserve, with walks up to the restaurant hurried along by roaring somewhere in the bush behind. At 4pm, an anxious Triumph owner was loitering about the front of the resort when a DHL van pulled up, and the driver was not even allowed to alight before the exchange of spokes for signature was completed. Sheer joy was the feeling; with a bit of effort on the morrow, surely The Precious would be once more part of the C2C experience.

Adrian and Hera assisted in the initial replacement of the broken spokes, with tension rising as we got past he original count of 8 broken spokes, I’d only ordered 12. Luckily the breakage trend stopped at 10, so no plans for self harm were required. A problem arose when the new spoke threads were different to the old spokes, with a sleepless night spent worrying about pulling off the tyre, solved by an early morning viewing of a YouTube video which showed how to true a rim.

Day 50 highest priority was not my spokes surprisingly, rather we had to attend the Mozambique High Commission to obtain a visa. The atmosphere was casual; no security checks and only helpful assistance until we got to the visa window controlled by a dowager, who asked for a visa fee of US$77, utterly unsupported by any sum mentioned on the visa fee list on the information board. With zero negotiation powers, we went to the bank and deposited the mystery visa fee, then returned to the High Commission for our receipt. After this process, we were free to move off low priority activities and back onto my spokes. Adrian and Stan helped pull off the tyre, not an easy job, and by mid morning the rim was set up on a bodgy spoke truing stand.

The early morning YouTube video principles that could be recalled followed to the letter, by lunchtime the wheel looked to be about as good as it was ever going to get. With Andrew and Bayne bribed with liquorice all sorts to help put the tyre back on, soon The Precious was back together, and after a quick test ride declared fit for purpose once more. The rest of the afternoon was spent basking in the warm glow of self-congratulation, before some great Indian food and basking in the warm glow of Korma medium spices, and bed.

Day 51 started at 8am with a 90km run to the border with Mozambique at Dedza. Cindy and Adrian supplied QAQC for my spoke job, and I even swapped with Adrian so I could get a 1200GS rider’s perspective. Naturally everything looks worse with other bikes when you are on a 1200GS, but The Precious wheel appeared okay even though there was a slight wobble.The border out of Malawi was old school Africa, some recognition of the need to make it look good, but no money to do it. Money changers were out in force trying to get our business and our Malawian Kwacha, besides the professional stand-around-and-stare consultants. After filling the departure card, the immigration was nearly record time, and after about 20 minutes the carnets were back and we were through the magic portal, represented by a rusty old gate.

In summary, Malawi was an oasis, but it was the poorest country we had seen since Ethiopia when outside the major centres. For such a lush country it is sometimes hard to believe that food and water security is an issue, but the lines of women with Camelbak Mark I (a 20 litre water drum carried on the head) showed how subsistence it was. The huge aid organisation presence was interesting, and with some volunteers staying in relative luxury in the lodges on Lake Malawi, a posting to Malawi was “easy” according to one. The cities were modern by comparison, and probably had a greater contrast with the conditions in the rural areas than any other African nation so far.

As we already had a visa, the Mozambique process smashed all immigration records on the C2C and most of those I’ve done without an electronic system. The carnets were a bit more confusing, an army of helpers arrived, disguised as insurance salesmen as Mozambique do not recognise the Comesa insurance we’d bought for the rest of southern Africa. The fact that they don’t recognise carnets either was only a momentary issue, soon the helpers were efficiently filling out forms and setting themselves up for an insurance sale. Having passed over our 850 Metical for insurance, we were in.

With 250km to Tete, a thorough check of the spokes was undertaken and all seemed okay, however we only made it 10km before lunch at a Seventh Day Adventist church. The crowd gathered quite slowly, and tended to hang way back as once again they could see us tucking into large numbers of boiled eggs. Once egged up we were back on the road, the countryside was generally hilly and green, and it looked a bit more developed than Malawi with the return of motorised transport. Power was on in a lot of the towns as well, always a good indicator of economic ranking.

The journey into Tete though the huge Vale coal mining centre of Moatize was comforting to me, familiar equipment and mining service company names everywhere. Still a bit squalid, but suddenly modern buildings and businesses were in the mix. The hotel as marked on the GPS was an abandoned shed in a muddy paddock, but we had learned that this wasn’t to be taken literally, so rode on until the Park Inn Raddison appeared. Finally some decent wifi, after more than a week emails were received and Jack from Ash’s Spoked Wheels had some advice on fitting them, fortunately reasonably aligned with what I’d done.

That night in the business hotel full of mining people, a buffet was served, and meat was brought in from a spit roast outside, however we limited ourselves to slices of just the beef, veal, chicken, pork, lamb, and what may or may not have been goat to avoid overdoing it.

Day 52 began with our solid routine – set alarm for about 2 hours before scheduled departure, up for shower and check which tree in the electronic gadget forest had forgotten to be charged overnight, plug it in, put on Hawthorn Football Club riding socks and right ankle support to stop rubbing of skin over ankle metal strip from accident nearly two years ago, put on riding pants and finally boots. Then select the day’s riding shirt using the stench recoil distance method, and head down to breakfast. After repast, back to room to complete toilette, then pack bag and zip up and lock. Then unlock and unzip because pyjamas aren’t in, and repeat for toiletries bag, and again for shoes worn last night. Finally pick up Cindy’s 54kg bag in clean and jerk motion, steady for several seconds, then attempt snatch lift of own 30kg bag, hopefully without rupture. The bags are then carried in a staggering motion to the support vehicle, and as per Matthew 25:21; “Bayne said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful ride member; you are here while I have the truck open, I will favour you over others who bring their bag too late. Enter into the joy of your ride leader’s daily briefing.”

Then the 100km to the Mozambique/Zimbabwe border, which was across the huge Zambezi River, several hundred metres across. The countryside was attractive, although many of the villages had huge powerlines completely bypassing them, indicating that the economic activity in rural areas wasn’t worth the cost of connection.

The Mozambique border crossing smashed all records for speed, very little time was taken to present passport and departure card at window and get them stamped. Likewise the carnets didn’t take too long. And then we were through to commence the Zimbabwe experience.

Seven down, four to go.