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5th October 2006

Location: Mzuzu, Malawi
Distance Travelled: 7800 km

Mungo hands Twaddle a beer, for which he is greatly appreciative. Twaddle remarks it is great to have a beer on the shores of Lake Malawi. We must be in Africa!". Mungo didn’t reply he just mused silently as he seemed to absorb the energy of place, this place, Lake Malawi.

Early morning riding is just reward for the effort required to pack the bikes again and leave. You feel like being on a bike setting forth in chase of the lads in the front of the pack missioning across Africa was exactly where you were meant to be. This is when riding a motorbike feels dangerously addictive. When being on the bike feels more right than to be relaxing in the place you just left. Afternoon riding is drowsy and hot, camp can’t be reached soon enough, the hit of the morning’s rush long ago dissipated by the heat and tirelessly straight roads.

Malawian authorities accepted the odyssey crew with open arms and little fanfare. Although the Zambian officials seemed to want to extend our time in their country, taking nothing short of an hour to put one stamp on a form so we could go on our merry way. No stress we just spent the hour haggling with the black market money exchange guys.

An outstretched hand accompanied by "Hey you, give pen, me" was our introduction to Malawi. We follow Julian’s lead and ask them to give us a pen first, this usually confuses them and stops them asking for five minutes or so. You can’t help but feel sorry for their situation but there is no real good that can come from feeding the expectation. The problems are far to complex to be solved by giving away a few pens. However, our overall impression of the people has been a very positive experience.

Not all colonial hangovers are bad, Lilongwe the capital of Malawi was home to such one such hangover known as a golf course. A golf course with a cheap secure camp ground of all things! So it was that we hired our compulsory caddies and hit the greens. Actually it took around six shots for any of us to hit the green on most holes. Mungo probably played the most consistent golf of the day, the other boys all displaying isolated patches of brilliance.

The frustration of golf was sweated out of the system with forty five minutes of full field soccer as super subs for a local team. Clad in bright white never worn Chelsea uniforms, the crew helped the local UIBM soccer team to a seven five win over chesterfield. Both Phil and Mungo proved that white boys can shoot with one goal each. Anyone who knows the boys well will know that this sporting interlude was like giving a swollen mammary to a hungry baby.

The bus ground to a halt as its amused passengers peered over each other to see why they slowed. They saw Twaddle scrambling over the ground and trying to pick his bike up. Dropped whilst trying to turn around to follow some locals who were putting us back on track to get to Lake Malawi. The biggest commotion of the day however was when we realised we had left behind the hand cut odyssey stamp juls and jerry had made in Lilongwe! Gutted. However, we made it to the shores of Lake Malawi, riding through sweeping roads and passing rubber plantations. Due to the tropical heat, 30 degrees at 8am, we have been paddling in the lake foreshore despite the risk of bilharzia. And so we sleep. Replete with life.

Nkhata Bay to Iringa Images

Chronicle blurp

After splashing around in Nkhata Bay for a few days we rode up lake to Chitemba, a small lakeside village with few and far between supplies. Chapati (a thick pancake) and beans were our main diet until the bread truck turned up. We wandered through the little villages with 6 small local escorts up to Livingstonia. We pressed on, stopping to film occasionally and were overwhelmed by local kids demanding anything, little snatchy hands grabbed at gear on the bikes as we rode off to Tanzania and different cultural waters. The scenery changed as we passed the Tanzanian custom checkpoints with little difficulty, into tea plantations and banana fields on rolling green hills. What a relief after months of brown sandy plains. It didn’t last as we rolled into Iringa, a small town and hub for Ruaha National park.