Livingstone and the Spectacular Mosi/Vic Falls

9 January: Tanzania – ferry from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam & Iringa

By the time we left Zanzibar I was well rested and raring to go. Of course, it would not be that simple, as Paul’s suspension was still broken and that had to be resolved. Via someone we met at Maweni farm we were able to make contact with a “bike shop”. Of course a BMW shock was not in stock but they suggested taking the shock off in the morning and seeing if it could be fixed. I was sceptical. My scepticism was well founded as it was not a simple job to remove the shock in the first place. By noon the shock was still not off and I had to walk away from the situation leaving Paul with two guys ripping the guts of his bike out in a dirty, stinky, chaotic, cramped little space. By the afternoon a second-hand Yamaha mono-shock had been sourced but it was the wrong size. I didn’t say much, except that there was no going back if this “fix” didn’t work as Paul agreed to have his BMW shock chopped and bits welded to the other shock to make it fit. If it worked it would be a crude fix and would probably get us to SA if we stuck to good roads. The rest of the day I read a gigantic novel that was meant to last me much longer. By 10pm the bike was re-assembled and worked. The suspension wasn’t perfect, but it would go. Paul looked at me like I was ye of little faith.

In Africa there are many mechanics that will happily bodge about till something works. They work in workshops that would make a Health and Safety Officer faint. I find this stressful to watch as these guys scramble about using broken tools to man-handle the machines... I guess the point is that a fix is available. The alternative is to have parts sent from UK or SA and fit them yourself (there are no BMW mechanics except for Nairobi).

Finally, the next morning we were on the road again. The countryside in Tanzania is just beautiful and the road was excellent except for the bus drivers who are completely mad. They drive like lunatics and this is not because of their superior skill – there were plenty of wreckages to testify that they are simply bad drivers with a really bad attitude.

Anyway, we got to Iringa and along with the increase of altitude to 800m there was a disproportionate increase in rain. It seemed that every time we got a little bit drier, it was only a matter of hours and we’d be soaked again. The rain continued so much so that we stayed an extra day.

This extra day gave Paul his first opportunity to see a real live snake in the wild. We walked back to our safari tent after a very entertaining evening with some lively guests and the owners Will and his Liverpudlian wife Amanda who kept me giggling with her brassy humour. I noticed a little grey snake outside the toilets. It looked pretty harmless but before I got myself into a vulnerable position in the loos, I stamped the ground to check the snake’s response. It turned in an aggressive way to face my foot. That indicated to me that it wasn’t a harmless little mole snake and I was just thankful it was cold so the snake was too sluggish to strike. Sensible Paul suggested we tell Will who marched off with a torch and stick. A few minutes later he came back swinging a juvenile cobra by its tail. Its pretty body glistening and smooth but minus its head.

13 January: Malawi – Koronga, Livingstonia, Chintheche & Lilongwe

In my experience, at borders it’s always necessary to keep you eye on your possessions as well as your carnet and passport. Kenya and Tanzania are well known for corruption. We managed to get through ok but we did have an official try to get us to pay for road tax that we know on motorcycles we don’t have to pay. In this instance we insisted we knew the correct legislation and politely refused suggesting we are only in transit this avoided backing the dodgy fellow into a corner. Never back a corrupt official into the corner or call him corrupt! Another common trick is to tear off the wrong carnet slip which will then be used as proof that you sold your vehicle and I’d be liable to pay import taxes loosing my deposit held at the RAC. The guy tried this one too but I noticed and politely told him he was trying to tear off the wrong page. He sullenly tore off the correct one. I’ve also gone into offices on my own where the men refuse to help me but as soon as Paul goes in they are helpful. That is just men being twats – so the solution is to be assertive and insist on being treated in a way you expect them to behave (even if they don’t like it). I’ve been asked how much money I have and have asked why they need to know. It’s the “curse of the mzungu”: we get to pay, pay and pay some more. So I always check and ask why. I think it helps that I’m a bit more forward and cheeky, friendly but show I’ll question strange requests and ask for receipts or documentation. We haven’t paid a single bribe or “thank you tip” (so far). Keep your eyes open and always ask if you think something is wrong. Do not assume these people 1. Know what they are doing and 2. Have your best interests at heart. If the guy made an honest mistake he will rectify the problem. Well. We haven’t had problems crossing borders (so far).

I went off onto a tangent about border crossings because at the Tanzania border there is a little counter that could squeeze four tourists shoulder to shoulder but behind the counter there were nine uniformed officials. All of them were trying to check cards, three would read it, while one would tick it and the single official stamp got passed up and down. It’s not possible to call that job creation – it’s just crazy.

Malawi and it RAINED AGAIN.

The weather may have been unwelcoming but we certainly received the warmest welcome possible when we arrived at Mdokera’s Camp in Chitimba. Mr Mdokera reminded of me of Chris Ewbanks who is an eccentric British boxer. Just this guy is a whole lot sweeter and is utterly passionate about his country, family, photo album and camp. He got quite a few smiles out of me, even though at times I just didn’t quite know what to say.

It seemed a great idea at the time. Livingstonia is a 15 km ride up a steep mountain road and the views are meant to be extraordinary. We’d blast up and pending weather, see some stuff before coming down the next day. Ah. As expected it was a dirt road that got progressively gravely. We’d only gone about 5 km when the hair pins got unbelievably tight and rocky. My bike was fully loaded, including extra fuel and so I was struggling. I said to Paul, “This could be a really stupid idea.” However, we still continued on the snaking road upwards.

We seemed to be near the top of the mountain when the road turned to hard, slippery clay. And then the rain really started. The road was like ice. I couldn’t even put my feet down as they too would just slip away under me. So I dropped the bike. Frustration set in. I couldn’t manage to ride the heavy bike and I couldn’t lift it either. I dropped it again and again. By now the rain was pouring down and the road was more like a river. I just stood in the rain, utterly soaked through, and refused to get back on the bike until the rain subsided. It was so dangerous and as I couldn’t control my bike, it was so possible to slip off the edge of the cliff. I was really afraid. It was the first time I was afraid of having a really serious accident.

Paul had gone ahead and found a small shelter where we would be able to wait for the rain to stop and rode my bike up… It was a 2 km ride up to Livingstonia or a 13 km ride down again. I was faced with what seemed like two equally horrible options – clay upwards or hairpins downwards. The rain went on for ages. I finally decided that 2 km was far better than 13 – surely.

Eventually the local chap we’d been talking to said, “Go, while there is still water running down the road. You must ride in the water to keep the tyres from getting coated with clay.” With him coaxing me, I got back on the bike. I was dreading the last 2 km. I was wobbling like crazy and the bike was sliding about. But this complete stranger walked behind me, encouraging me. “I’m right behind you.” he’d say. “Keep going. I’m still holding you.” I don’t quite understand why this guy was so kind to walk up a steep, clay road in the rain balancing my bike and keeping me going but I was (and am still) eternally grateful. Some people are blessed with the ability to be extraordinarily kind and once again I realised that I’m being looked after and my trip was destined to be a safe one. It would have been so easy for me to fall and slide off the edge.

At the top we reached Stone House but our troubles were not over yet. We were bluntly told that the place was fully booked and we couldn’t stay there. I insisted we sit down for a bit and rest before asking if there were any options like camping. A cheery American voice announced: “Hey! There are two motorbikes.”
“Great.” I thought. “And now to be entertaining and polite to these people when all I need to do is have a drink, dry out and figure out what to do next.”
I could hardly walk for my legs wobbling with exhaustion. Then Rob came over, introduced himself, and said we should stay as they had booked the place and we could stay with them. I couldn’t believe how kind they were. I think they were genuinely concerned for our well being. I was dead beat. Not only did they sort us out with a dry bed but also insisted that we were fed and helped carry our luggage and fussed about us. I was just amazed that we’d been welcomed so warmly.

The Americans continued with their meetings while I had time to pull myself together. I found out that they were from the Presbyterian Church and were busy researching the setting up of a mission centre. Livingstonia was turning out to be quite an interesting visit after all. The town was established by a missionary called Dr Laws who succeeded Dr Livingstone. The town itself is small and sleepy but sill revolves around the original Christian settlement. There is a quirky museum, church and Stone House that was the actual house that Dr Laws lived in along with some of the original furniture.

This sounds really corny but every minute with our Christian friends was a warm and happy one. I felt so embraced by kindness and love – it’s just silly to describe. Admittedly, I was feeling thankful to be alive and aware that God had protected and provided for me once again.

We could not stop talking. It was lovely! We chatted, discussed and theorised. We shared stories and ideas. It was so good to speak so openly about so many things. We’d already decided that if the weather was dry all night and sunny in the morning we would have to make the trip down the mountain while we had the chance. It was sunny and dry the next day. I felt very sad to be leaving. I’d just found a handful of the nicest people in the world and I wanted to cling to their friendship for as long as possible… but it was time to go.

Back down the slippery clay road and down the hairpin gravel roads. Paul was a gallant hero and took my bike around some of the tighter pins. I was feeling too tense and so whimped out. I wondered what I would have done if I was on my own (as originally I’d planned to do the trip on my own). I would have had to take the luggage off and possibly either walk it down or hitch a lift for the extra weight. Anyway. I wasn’t on my own and Paul was supportive and butch enough to manage the burden of travelling with me.

After the intense Livingstonia experience we spent two days on the shores of Lake Malawi in a luxurious resort. It was extremely peaceful.

We’d been on the road for six months already. I was already a bit, no completely, sick of rain. I was feeling ready to do something else. I’d been thinking about what I’d do with my life when I got back home and the bikes were starting to really fall to pieces. Even the most amazing experience can be too much of a good thing. Fortunately, the roads improved and so we could really make some good progress without any particularly exciting tales to tell. Only one thing worth mentioning is that we nearly ran out of fuel because we’d become too accustomed to fuel in every town – and Malawi doesn’t have that much fuel about. Luckily we still carried a few extra litres and it got us there on the sniff of an oil rag.

20 January: Zambia – Lusaka, Livingstone & Mosi

The whole point of going to Zambia was to see the mighty Vic Falls near Livingstone. We kind of blasted there on fairly good roads. By this time Paul’s second battery had completely died and he had to rely on my bike to jump start his bike constantly.

I prefer to use the original local names and so the Vic Falls are also known as Mosi-oa-Tunya which means “smoke that thunders”. It’s easy to remember because Mosi is also the local beer. The falls are one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

It’s an exhilarating experience seeing the falls that span 2 km and plummet over a 100m cliff. The spay from the churning water flies up into the sky like a rain cloud that drenches tourists who all seem to have enigmatic bright eyes and can’t help smiling. It’s as if they have found the secret. It kind of bursts a big whoop out of you. As I walked down a small path through the undergrowth and I could hear the thunderous roar grow. The gentle spray eventually became a thorough down pour. Standing on the viewing point, water pouring down, water flying up and thunder roaring, having reached the crescendo I shouted, “Now that is a WATERFALL!”

The trip is not finished yet and I’m not sure what tomorrow brings but so far, my most special memories are: diving in the Red Sea, Auschwitz and Mosi (in no specific order as they are all the best).

Paul probably has a different favourites list. He did the adrenalin thing here and I suspect that would get onto his list of extreme experiences. For me… I had a wild and hectic youth that I enjoy thinking about and now the mature me is enjoying being laid back and not having to do it all over again.