Nyika
Plateau, Malawi, 7028 kms.
Horse-riding on the Nyika Plateau. And a last night in Zambia, without border
controls, on the Zambian side of the plateau. There we accidentally cause a bush
fire which destroys a quarter of our tent. ‘Let it burn’ is the reply of the
fire police, having rushed here on their bicycles.
Nkhata
Bay,
Malawi, 7303 kms. Nice
little town, nice beach at the big Malawi Lake, but we can’t quite warm to
this country. Rather irritating are also the countless backpackers that steal
their way through the country and display the most remarkable ignorance. One
German backpacker for example tells us how he asks for everything to be put on
his bill and then disappears from the hotel early in the morning. And well, this
mission, it doesn’t really appeal to him
that much. Dope (Malawi gold), beer and sex
seem to be the main reasons for a visit to Malawi. The latter incidentally
applies to women too. Despite an HIV rate of up to 80% there are shocking scenes
to be witnessed on the beach. A 35 year-old woman in the arms of a 14 year-old
boy. The first senses youthful stamina, the latter a lottery win.
Nhkotakota, Malawi, 7539 kms. Malawi may not represent the greatest of adventures but we still get surprises. Suddenly the sky turns black over Malawi Lake. Millions of seaflies are being blown inland by the wind - a remarkable spectacle of nature. The Malawi people wield baskets and turn the flies into a sort of pie. When the flies reach us they hail down onto our Beetle and thousands are stuck to her.
A little later
hundreds of people are dancing happily on the streets. A village celebrates the
successful circumcision of ten boys who can legitimately call them men now. The
chief himself welcomes us and soon all the attention is diverted to this unusual
round thing in the shape of a...beetle!
Everyone wants us to take their address as our number plate ‘BTL 886 GP’ stands not only for Beetle but also for Gauteng Province and that represents the dream of a better life in a big city.
Senga Bay, Malawi, 7635 kms. A roadblock. Insurance documents! Horn! Wipers (average rainy days in September: 0)! Neutral gear (for whatever)! And if we could possibly spare some salt, they are just cooking. One official asks me for ‘papers’. As I hand him the bundle of documents he says: ’Only two’. Which of the two, he doesn't care.
Cape
McClear, Malawi, 7843 kms. On
the way to the tourist village of Cape McClear we cross a small river - and thus
add another true story to the stock of stories to be related to the
grandchildren..
Suddenly my travel partner Sandra runs a temperature of 40 degrees centigrade. The first doctor is absent, the second one a few kilometers down the road is not there at the moment. When will he be back? In six weeks... Another 80 kilometers further, a hospital. ‘You’ve got malaria’ - the lab assistant says, clearly bored. Malaria is a daily business here in Malawi. Surprisingly, we get the drugs for free.
On the way back to Cape McClear the potholes are now demanding a sacrifice. It happens to be our clutch cable. Now ‘Herbie’ is out of the ballgame. Sandra is supposed to take the pills as soon as possible and rest afterwards. A four-wheel-drive full of British tourists stops. ‘Any problems?’ one of them wants to know. ‘Two’, I say, ‘the car is broken, and she’s got malaria.’
They
give Sandra a lift while I push the car with the help of one of the locals
several kilometers to the nearest ‘bush mechanic’. He indeed fixes the
problem within an hour. And thanks to early treatment Sandra is also better the
next day. We continue our diving course at Lake Divers (PADI basic course $150 -
very professional). The underwater world will become our hobby during the rest
of the journey.
Blantyre,
Malawi, 8464 kms. On our way
across the Zomba Plateau it rains - in the middle of the dry season. Sandra sees
another doctor. Later we will learn that she caught Bilharzia. (Contrary to what
the tourism industry wants to be true, Lake Malawi is not Bilharzia free.) And a
dose of typhoid. We still decide to go ahead for Mozambique.
Tete, Mozambique, 8703 kms. The Malawi border official assumes we work for the Red Cross when he sees our red passports with the white cross on them. Apart from that the farewell is as friendly as the greeting three weeks earlier. But on the other side in Mozambique we evoke pleasure: ‘The year before last we had another Beetle here’ the friendly border official smiles at us and makes us feel that Mozambique is now just as safe as its neighbouring countries. We cross the Zambezi for the second time - we have come full circle.
To our great surprise
we find brand new roads in Mozambique. They seem ghostly at times because they
are so little used. At the first police control a smart officer all in white:
’7kmph over the speed limit - you can pay in Zim-Dollars, Malawi Kwacha or
Meticais’ - we had bought cigarettes in the vain hope that they can be
bribed...
Despite dire poverty the people greet us with incredible joy. Stopping in a village we are immediately surrounded by dozens of children and nearly as many adults and at times can’t even see out of our windows. Our lack of knowledge of Portuguese does little to help the communication but the people try very hard and are happy to have visitors again in their country that was destroyed by civil war.
Chimoio,
Mozambique, 9096 kms. This
town in the Harare - Beira corridor will be forever remembered by us as the
‘Coca-Cola town’. The lemonade manufacturer has put up a factory here to
supply the young and the rich of North Mozambique with the sweetened water. Not
only do they seem to employ half the town, they also appear to have bought half
the town. From shop window to playground: ‘Drink Coca-Cola’. Very friendly
people.
Something we would never have thought possible in our wildest dreams is perfectly normal here: We can walk back to our hotel on foot, through the back streets- in Mozambique!
Beira,
Mozambique, 9332 kms. The
motorway to Beira looks just like in Switzerland - perfect. A romantic
lighthouse near a shipwreck. In the restaurant we meet two very interesting
people: a German who just crossed the whole of Africa on his motorbike and just
happened to be in Zaire when everybody else was trying to leave the country and
a Swiss drop-out, a former delegate of the ICRC who bought the golf club in
Beira and turned it into a bar/disco/restaurant.
Vilancoulos, Mozambique, 9899 kms. We park the Beetle for a week and clear off to the islands of the Bazaruto National Park. It was not quite so easy. ‘Mr. Rex Mr. Rex’, everybody says as we ask how to travel to the Bazaruto Islands. Finally we find the villa of the American multi-millionaire who owns one of the islands. He happens to be on the island. We radio: ‘Magaruque Magaruque Magaruque Vilanculos’ - he’ll collect us by boat tomorrow, we hear him reply in German, Swiss German at that. He has travelled quite a bit himself actually... He also recommends that we should spend all our money on his island.
Spending money is not hard to do in the Bazaruto National Park. Even on the more reasonable island Magaruque we spend US$467 all told for two days (including boat transfer). Not enough, states Mr. Rex, disappointed that we are not staying longer. There would also be a tax for parking our car next to his villa. $5 per day. When I refuse to pay this sum later as it had not been agreed, his housekeeper locks me in his estate.
Apart
from the western highway robbers that have a keen eye on our money the place is
paradise. It looks as if the civil war never happened: phantastic beaches
reaching for miles and not a soul to be seen apart from a few fishermen. What
they cath decides what there is for dinner. A diving trip at Two Mile Reefs near
Benguela will always stay in our memories as will the phantastic food at
Bazaruto Lodge. Small wooden sailboats travel between the five islands and the
mainland. Only the bill prevents us from staying longer.
Benguela Lodge is the best accomodation by far, very tasteful with baskets and other objects decorating the walls.
Some
two kilometers from the Lodge a former employee has staged a revolt against
‘big business’: accomodation for backpackers. He even resisted the offer of
money in order to stop him from trading, he tells us. Travellers come by
‘dhow’ - sailboats instead of the speedboats and bring less money, but more
time with them.
Never in the world have I seen such beautiful beaches as the ones in Bazaruto National Park.
Morrungulo, Mozambique, 10153 kms. We would love to come back to Mozambique to see the re-opened National Parks and above all the north of the country, still largely untouched by tourism. This time, though, we have no choice other than to follow the sea. But then quite honestly, there are worse places indeed to end a journey like this one.
The
thirteen kilometres down to Morrungulo are lined with palm trees: a palm tree
avenue. Morrungulo is more of a camp than a village. 40 kilometeres to the south
and 20 to the north there is nothing but virgin beach. The water is rather wild,
the atmosphere romantic. The only nuisance are South Africans who have bought
four-wheel drive cars on credit and feel they have to show them off on the
beach.
The best Peri Peri Chicken of the whole of Mozambique is for sale on the main road just past the turning for Morrungulo - and he has dozens of different beers in stock, too.
Barra,
Mozambique, 10349 kms.
Indescribable beaches here, too, indescribable underwater worlds, indescribable
drives through Mozambique. The roads are very good but the pedestrians are a
little reluctant to share the tarmac with the motorised traffic. For decades, they
had ruled the roads. Very few vehicles, sometimes almost ghostly, colossal, a
phantastic experience. In between times the starter cable comes loose, an old
problem that we can fix ourselves by now: jack up on the right, take off back
wheel, crawl underneath, reconnect dangling cable, and hey, the Beetle starts
again...
Maputo, Mozambique, 10937 kms. The capital of Mozambique, once among the most beautiful cities in the world, is our last stop before returning to South Africa. A city, incidentally, which is full of Beetles! We join a 24 hour party called ‘Feira Popular’ and celebrate our adventure which we already know we will be the only ones to ever really understand.
Randburg,
South Africa, 11598 kms.
Three months and 1025 litres of petrol later we end up where we started. The now
treasured Beetle has carried us across sand roads, potholes and creaking wooden
bridges, and has even crossed a small river. Now we have to sell her, not
without, it has to be said, shedding a small tear. She changes hands for 4600
Swiss Francs to an employee of the French embassy. Ken, who sold the car for us
did not point out to the buyer where exactly she has been...
Text and photos: Marcel Stoessel
If you want up-to-date practical travel information, click here.
I would like to thank Ken and Angela Self, two exceptionally nice people who helped us to buy and sell the car and assisted us in many other ways.. „It's so easy to give", Ken said - and I am impressed to hear that in a world where egoism has definately taken over. I would also like to thank all black and white Africans - especially the Zambians - for the legendary hospitality they live up to.
Nkosi
Sikeleli Afrika