From Chipata it was an hour’s drive to the border with Malawi and a quick pass through the Zambian formalities. Before even getting as far as their Malawian counterparts I was surrounded by lads trying to sell me Malawian Kwatcha who tried to convince we that I needed them to pay for the third party insurance I needed. I was sure I could pay in Yanqui dollars and even more sure that their rate of exchange was a lot worse than I could get at the latest bank. Once the government formalities were over it was a short drive down to the little office selling the insurance where the currency guys were awaiting. The girls in the officer were initially reluctant to accept dollars - especially as the guys were crowded in the doorway. Eventually they agree to take the dollars, sold me the cover and gave me the necessary paperwork. This included a little square self-adhesive certificate to display in the window - why don’t they do that in the UK to counter the thousands of people who don’t have car insurance?
After crossing the border changes between the two countries became immediately apparent. Malawi is so much more crowded - in Zambia you can drive for ages without seeing anybody but in Malawi there is always somebody there: walking, cycling, pushing or standing talking. It was also much cleaner with little of the roadside rubbish seen elsewhere. Also, the roads were so much better with none of the surprise potholes or unexpected stretches of dirt. Three hours later I entered the capital - Lilongwe - and I attempted to track down the place I was to stay for the night. I had a map and a faint recollection of the lay out of the town from previous visits but either my memory had faded or the place had changed. I crawled around the town caught up in the rush hour occasionally glimpsing things I thought I recognised but without being able to relate them to the map. In the end I reached the front of one of the queues and stopped to talk to the four police that were causing the problem. They kindly pointed in the right direction - back the way I had come - and I eventually found Koboko hostel and campsite.
Through big noisy sliding gates it open up into a large carpark surrounded by grassed camping areas, a resturant, rooms of various sizes and an office/bar dormitory block. It was run by a young red-headed brother & sister combination from Holland. After putting up the tent, I went to the bar to quench my thirst and got talking to a couple of Brits. They were the adults with a group of UK school kids who were out for a combination of holidaying and working in a community in the South. The adults were there only as a safety net and all the decisions would be taken by the kids. A different couple ‘in charge’ each day with one keeping track of the finances. Their immediate problem was that half the party was still to receive their baggage - it was somewhere between Heathrow, Addis Ababa and Lilongwe but be delivered with in three days (or so). One of the other campers was the German motorcycle I had seen at Flatdogs in the Valley and this time I had a chance to talk to its owner. He had previous driven it down from Europe to Zambia where, like me, he had left it with friends. He was now touring around the area with a friend. The motorcycle’s rear wheel was off a VW Beetle and by now it was almost completely bald. However, contrary to what he had expected, these were not a common tyre in Africa and he was having great difficulty in finding a new one.
A quick trip into town to find a supermarket for a few essentials, a visit to QuickFit to check the dodgy battery (it appeared to be OK) and the purchase of a blanket (just in case Pat’s sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough for the chilly nights). I had a quick chicken & chips at a local McDonalds equivalent, watched some world news and then faced the challenge to find my way back through the dark unlit maze of streets.
Bright and early next morning I set off for the airport to pick Pat up from her Air Kenya flight from Zurich via Nairobi and sat on the viewing terrace with the other ‘meeters and greeters’. Surprising it was on time and there was a spontaneous round of applause from those who were waiting! After Pat negotiated the formalities we set of for the Lake but had first to negotiate the first of many good-natured police road checks. Having checked my driving licence, they asked where we were going and helpfully pointed out the shortcut we had just driven past. This was a good dirt road through the crowded rolling countryside with a new village every mile or so. We soon reached the main tar road and were able to pick up speed but only slightly as the maximum limit was only 50kph. Salima was the only main town on our route and the guidebook suggested that its inhabitants hadn’t really taken on board the concept of roads and traffic. It was right: people wandered everywhere across and along the road often stopping for a chat in the middle of the road - only the goats had more sense, at least they had the sense to move out of the way when you approached. The town itself was spread down the both sides of the road - a mixture of single story shops, which seemed to sell or mend anything you could think of, and small stalls either out in the open or shaded by corrugated iron selling local produce - fruit, veg, meat and fish.
Following the signs to Senga Bay, we soon found the Lake shore and followed the signs to the Livingstonia Beach Hotel - it was supposed to be one of the best. However, we weren’t staying there but at its adjoining campsite which spread down its own the beach. It was a large site - half on the sand with the rest up a slight rise was grassed and shaded by trees. The beach of coarse sand was dotted with thatched umbrellas and a big bar with the hotel at one end a big rocks and cliffs at the other. But we had it almost to ourselves with only an extended family from Lilongwe tucked away at the back.
After setting up the tent and unpacking, we sat looking out at the lake whilst we had a snack to take the edge off our hunger and then just sat for a while taking in the watery horizon and the occasional passing Hammerkop. Later in the afternoon we took a stroll along the beach - first to the jumble of rocks at the Northern end where we could hear Fish Eagles calling but they must have been hidden in the cliff’s vegetation. At the other end of the beach was the hotel, so we walked past some stored windsurfers and dinghies (which didn’t look as if they had been used for ages, and up the steps to the terrace. Guests were having afternoon tea on white linen tables under their umbrellas and one or two were wallowing in the swimming pool. Also around the pool were what appeared to be a group of British squaddies - the short hair and camouflaged combat trousers were a dead give-away. We later learnt that there was a military academy just down the coats so they might have been training there. In general, it seemed a quiet place with the small souvenir shop being empty and the barman engrossed in a football match on the TV. After our evening meal we watched the lake darken and then a steady stream of small boats chug across the lake - we later found out that they were off fishing. They soon disappeared into the darkness but reappeared as little dots of light as they each lit their battery of lights to attract the fish.
The next morning the sun rose from behind the rocks and when we emerged from the tent we found that the beach had been swept clean of all the previous day’s footprints - it must have been one of the night-watchman’s jobs. On the way to our next stop, we again negotiated Selima’s crowded roads and headed South through the crowded countryside. At one point one of the local dogs decided that it had a death wish and, when I sounded the horn, it headed towards the front wheels - it had a narrow escape and in the wing mirror I saw it bound off with its tail between its legs: a lucky escape for both of us. After a couple of hours we reached the town of Lilondwe which straddled the only river that drained out of the Lake. From here it was only a short drive to the entrance to the National Park. Having paid our dues, we headed Northwards hoping to see game around every bend. We were disappointed and only saw distant solitary Elephants and herds of Waterbuck, so we bounced onwards on fairly good dirt roads with the occasional steep and sandy decent into dry riverbeds.
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