Lake Malawi and Juho's birthday

 Blantyre was soggy and rainy. We hibernated in our cabana, watching Californication and dreaming of sunshine. The day we left for Monkey bay, a few hundred kms up north on the edge of Lake Malawi, the mud was so thick that walking a few meters to the bus stop was almost impossible.

A homeless man lay shivering in his faded rags and bare feet, barely sheltered by the run down bus station. We dug through Juho’s bag for his airplane blanket and covered him, another local man watching on thanked us “Your time will come sister”, hopefully he meant a time when someone does something nice for us, not that we will one day also be homeless and shivering at a rundown bus station in the far south of Malawi.

The bus scheduled to depart at 9am, departed just past midday, meaning that we arrived in Monkey bay just as night was starting to fall. As we pulled up, a man leapt onto the bus, asking where we wanted to go and promising to assist us, I was wary, but Juho not so much and shortly after we were wandering off into a field, escorted by 3 large Malawian men.  My female sense of safety kicked in and I demanded that Juho stop and that we find some other form of transport. We took what was available: Bicycle taxis. And so there we were, pelting down a dark, dirt road, on the back of rusty retro bicycles, teenaged boys cycling as fast as they could.  Looking over our shoulder s we could see the 3 Malawian men, also on bicycle taxis in hot pursuit. 

It turned out Isaac, Austin, and the other guy (whose name escapes us) were just local men desperate for some tourist business. Being wet season and being Africa (a continent that gets such a bad rapt, many tourists are scared off) it could be many months in-between business transactions and these men were determined not to let their catch get away. After Juho bought the men each a beer, we allowed ourselves to be talked into a snorkeling, boat trip, on the condition that it was not raining the next day. Well someone must have prayed to the anti-rain gods, because when we awoke the next morning, the sun was shining and the men were eagerly waiting outside. We set off for town where they collected food, firewood, a cooking pan, a large fish, a knife and eventually a boat to take us to a nearby island for snorkeling.  It was a really nice day, snorkeling amongst the  schools of blue fish, and squealing as they nibbled our feet. The guys cooked up a feast on an open fire, presenting us with heaped plates and insisting that we eat the whole fish. After much protest that we were beyond full, and could eat no more, they hungrily polished off the remaining food.

Juho is always insisting on trying the local beer, but even he was not a fan of the local “shake-shake “ beer. The warm ‘beer’ is brewed within a carton, not dissimilar to a milk carton, and has a watery consistency, filled with chunks of god knows what. Awful stuff. Apparently it becomes stronger the longer you leave it, so after a week the potency is so strong, you will be knocked off your feet after a few swigs.  

The next day the fellas popped up again to help us organize and bargain some transport to Cape Maclear. They were so thankful for our business it broke my heart. We had given them less than we would spend on a restaurant meal and a bottle of wine. We told them that we would much rather support the local community than some foreign owned tourist venture and that really struck a chord with them. 

We bumped across the mountain on the back of motorcycle taxis to Cape Maclear, I’m sure the young boys would have taken us on their bicycles, but it was time for an upgrade.  After checking into our simple bamboo hut, a mere meter or two from the water, we wandered up the beach.  Bumping into a couple we knew from Monkey bay, we sat down on a balcony, overlooking the lake for a beer. Shortly after, some local kids, sensing a business opportunity set up on the sand below and launched into their musical act. Four young boys, a homemade drum, guitar like instrument fashioned out of  a plastic container and some very enthusiastic hip grinding  “West Life Boys” ( yep, that was their band name, painted onto their instruments) performed such hits as “Who let the dogs out” and Shakira’s “Wakka-Wakka”. Pure gold. Today is Juho’s birthday, and in absence of any decent gifts available for purchase , I have hand washed all of his dirty clothes. In Africa it is the small things that count.

Juho’s words

It rained for 7 days and 7 nights, but still no sight of Noa nor his boat. The magic stick of Moses would have been really handy to keep our feet dry. Anyway we made our way up north to Monkey Bay and Cape Maclear at the shore of Lake Malawi and it’s shining here. Lack of transport makes it bit different to travel. Busses go only between the main cities and after that you just have to use your imagination. There is still always ways to go: Mini-busses, utes, taxis, motorbikes, bicycles or just walk. Now we have reached Cape Maclear, it’s one of the main backpacker destinations in Malawi. Although we’re traveling in the off season so it’s basically empty. There seems to be few other travelers with their cars. We decided to chill here for a week and celebrate my birthday by having a pizza and using internet. Pretty simple but at least it’s not freezing like back home.

Shake - Shake, The most disgusting beer ever, but it's cheap.

West Life Boys, That singer had better moves than Mick Jagger

Up to Malawi-A Finnish perspective

When we were chilled enough we decided to head up to Malawi.  We were mentally ready for few days bus journey.  The idea is to take it as an experience and so it was.  Alarm clock rang at 02.30. The bus was leaving at 04.00 We had a lift for the bus station and found easily the right bus as it was the only one.  After push starting it we were ready to leave and we did for few minutes until there was a cop patrol a kilometer in front of us and in Mozambique it’s illegal to drive at the night time at least with a bus. We had to wait in front of the patrol about an hour until it was getting a  bit brighter and so we went. The bus was as normal really shit and completely full as always. For the next 10 hours we spend in the bus until we arrived to Inchope where we had to change to a chapas. Easy done and only 1 hour till  our overnight resting place. Finally in Chimoio which was like a big bus station and really boring looking place. We went to a local restaurant and had some chicken dish with some weird porridge stuff. Really local stuff we read from somewhere.  It didn't really taste like anything, but really filling it was. Good enough. In the evening we had a few beers and bit of a  chitchat with another traveler couple. Who made us change  our plans quite a bit, but that will be another post. Early to a bed as it was early wake up again. Next morning wake up at 0300 bus leaves in an hour. Same shit, bus was traditionally really crap and full. We had 2 spots in the last row and in the middle. It’s going to be really fucking nice 6 hours on front of us.. When we finally got to Tete, we had to take quick take away brunch and find the  next chapas. We found it after bit of a walk. The driver was some old dude and the coworker was reading a bible on the front seat. Not really promising. It was the slowest driver we've ever had. We were already making a plans to stay overnight in some of the border towns. But then the blessing of some god happened. Gearbox broke down and everyone out. Jhania stacked her thumb up and 24 seconds later next chapas picked us up, that driver was closer to Ari Vatanen and we had again a chance to get to the border on time. The border was the easiest border what I've seen so far. Only minus was that there is 8km between the check out and check in. Plenty of taxis and bikes were offering us a ride. We jumped in the first one. It didn’t really start up and the driver jumped under the hood. He put some petrol straight in the carburetor and had another try. I remember doing the same stuff when we were kids with our forest car and thinking that this would never work in real life. But anyway almost got it, but still didn’t work. After few tries we gave one more chance otherwise we’d take the bikes. 3 time always works and we got to Malawi side. Getting in was easy “Do you have money?” “Yes, 10k $” Do you mean us dollars?” “Yes” and stamp. Ready to go. Last minibus to Blantyre and we’re done. Finally. We rewarded our self with a lasagna, Burger and a local beer. We were so done..

Ferry ride

Jhanias Words

It is a relief to arrive in Malawi after a somewhat hellish journey through central Mozambique. Two days of 2:30 am wakeups, dangerously overcrowded buses, no legroom, and worst of all no headrests (pretty awful after NO sleep). The roads through this part of Mozambique heading up towards Tete are atrocious, filled with massive potholes, and clogged with giant trucks ( log trucks and mining trucks). Rio Tinto is currently raping the countryside around Tete, bringing jobs ( albeit lowly paid ones), prostitution ( where dollars go, so do the whores), and roads that locals (joke?) are only built to last as long as it takes for the mining giants to rip what they want form the ground.

From Tete towards the border post of Zobue the countryside becomes more fertile, although the roads are still awful. Young boys, having filled selected potholes with mud, ran towards the Chapas trying to extort a fee from the drivers for their handiwork. From the border on its a beautiful drive through the green rolling hills of Malawi towards Blantyre, farmers in the fields, kids playing games, people everywhere: walking, talking, and just hanging out to greet the passing vehicles.

It is time to slow down the pace; tonight we celebrate a new phase of our trip: the slow days. Having procured a bottle of South African wine we are off to an Ethiopian restaurant, after all its Friday night and date night even in Malawi. 

Our hut in Vilanculos

Low tide in Vilanculos

Cheek to cheek in Mozambique

Tofo

We crossed the border into Mozambique at 5am on Saturday morning, the lines were long, but the process swift, and before the sun fully rose we were inside the green, fertile lands of Mozambique. Maputo, with its wide, tree lined streets and absence of traffic, felt too quiet to be the country’s capital. We sat outside a local café and simply pointed at the strange Portuguese words and waited for our mystery meals to arrive.  Before long we discovered the most scrumptious Portuguese tarts, and mouthwatering chocolate croissants, washed down with strong espresso, from tiny white porcelain cups. The pace felt lazy in Maputo, kids played in the streets, old men gathered to drink espresso, and puff on cigars. The Mediterranean style building, all the more charming for their decay and neglect, vines clinging to the sides and unruly trees, bursting with flowers, strangling the gardens.

We awoke at 4am, after a restless night’s sleep of plus 30 and overwhelming humidity, to begin our journey north to the coastal village of Tofo. Our bus was over an hour late, and shortly after picking us up, stopped at the main bus station, refusing to leave until all seats were filled by a paying customer.  At the break of day, the bus station was chaotic; hundreds of people being pushed onto buses, by the men, whose job it was to fill the seats. Buses overflowed with people, and all kinds of things were strapped to the rooftops, cupboards, wardrobes, it seemed entire houses were moving north.

The 8 hour bum achingly long journey took us through flood soaked plains, over a bridge, which judging from the crowd of workmen and locals shaking their heads was about to be washed away (we learnt later that it did in fact wash away, less than an hour after we crossed). Finally we arrived in Tofo, a charming beachside village, long sandy beaches, rustic bungalows, and incredible fresh seafood washed down with the local beer “2M”.

We are staying at “John’s place” a hidden gem, which I read about on someone else’s blog, and 10 times cheaper than any of the places listed in the increasingly irrelevant Lonely Planet.  John’s place is not even called “John’s place” it is sign posted as “ A street bar named desire” , although the locals all know it as “John’s place”. Run by John, an aging hippy, complete with grey beard, reminiscent of the ZZ Top, the bar is a tribute to the music of the 60’s and 70’s. I am sitting in the bar right now, with the faces of all the old rock legends staring down at me, while Janis Joplin crows in the background.

It is the off season, and for the first two days, rain poured down, lightning flashed, and the power was off for 72 hours. The bar was our refuge, complete with candles in beer bottles, and ice cold 2m, pretty decent beer for 1.50$.

The sun is out now, and each morning we wake up and have a lengthy morning swim, followed by a hearty breakfast of Preggo Rolls ( garlic steak rolls), a bit of a walk and some serious hammock time on the beach, before our afternoon swim and then our elaborate seafood feast for dinner. Life is good for us. Not so good for the skinny kids, with their bare feet and thread bare shirts, who follow us relentlessly, trying desperately to sell their hand made bracelets: “Please sister, just buy one and then it is finished”. Eyeing off the pen and notebook in my hand, one small boy said “Please give me pen, tomorrow I go to school”.

Juho’s words

Vasta vajaan parin tuhannen kilsan jalkeen ollaan jo huomattu kuin paljon aikaa tuo paikasta toiseen meneminen vie. Penkit on kaikkea muuta ku mukavat ja bussit on ihan varmasti survottu tayteen. 400 kilsan patka vie helposti 8 tuntia + 3 tuntia odottelua, etta se bussi saadaan liikkeelle ja bussithan lahtee aina todella mukavaan aikaa, 4am tuntuu olevan aika normi aikataulu. Ollaan vahan miteskelty plania. Halutaanko nahda monta paikkaa vai chillailla mestoilla vaha pitempaa ja talla hetkella nayttas aikalailla silta, etta otettas rennosti mukavissa paikoissa jonka jalkee sitte pitkia bussi matkoja. Eipahan tarvi herata joka aamu nii perkeleen aikasi. Uganda ollaan jo pyyhitty kartalta ajan puutteen takia pois ja joisaki maisa ei ole mahdollisuutta olla ku se pari viikkoo. Joudutaan lentaan Keniasta Etiopiaan ku rajan ylitys ei oo tarpeeksi turvallinen.