The unfortunate part of finishing anything back where you started, is that at some point there's a likelihood you'll be retracing your steps. From Jinja, we were backtracking. Not over the same roads as we'd previously driven, but back through some of the countries we'd already visited.
To kick off the southbound leg of our journey we purchased transit visas to pass through Kenya. With a leisurely 3 day jaunt in mind, we slept late and enjoyed what Nile River Camp had to offer, before making our way to the Kenyan border mid-morning. After a cursory inspection of our papers, the friendly border official made it clear that although their immigration website states "72 Hours" to transit, under no circumstances were we permitted to stop and "Do business". Her interpretation of "business" included using restaurants and hotels. She weilded the stamp. Our leisurely jaunt through Kenya turned into one hectic day on the road.
Within 9 hours we were back in Tanzania.
We were just passing through the gates from immigration 'no man's land' into Tanzania proper, when absolutely everybody froze. If you've ever been to an African border post, you'd know what a hive of activity they are. When everyone stopped dead, we were dumbstruck! Officers motioned frantically that we had to freeze too. We came to a slow halt, had time to look at each other wide-eyed and say "What!?", when everyone came back to life again! It wasn't a flash mob like we'd first thought. Some invisible clue unfroze everyone and they all went about their business again. We did too. Though we still have no idea what happened.
For the sakes of expediency and adventure we opted for 560k's of dirt straight through the centre of Tanzania. The GPS said "Not recommended. Muddy. Potholed." We took it anyway. It was dusty and rough, but our average speed was the same as if we'd stayed on the 'highways' and the scenery was much more appealing. Skirting national parks revealed zebras, gazelle, wildebeest and a silver jackal. No such thing as a silver jackal exists, but we're adamant we spotted one. We caught up with some rainclouds, stayed in a truly local lodge and sweated it out in a tiny village with warm beers before rejoining the tar.
We'd done 11 hours in the car and 2 1/2 hours waiting around at the border post on the day we returned to Malawi. The promise of a dip in the lake had built in our minds as something akin to reaching Nirvana by then, so we pushed on, got changed from our dusty, sweaty gear and raced for the water as soon as we parked. It was dark. Knee-deep in watery heaven, a shout came from an invisible man on the shore.
"Hey! My friend! That is not good. Be careful for the crocodiles".
Devastation. We didn't want to be food and we didn't think he was joking.
We had cold showers and some more warm beers instead.
Malawi is much hotter and much more humid at this time of year. A shady patch of waterfront sand under mango trees meant we did eventually find Nirvana at a spot called Nkhotakota. For days the only time we moved was to swim, eat or return to the shade. When the wind blew, ripe mangoes plopped onto the car or into the sand. Add coconut tarts and ice cold beers from the restaurant and it was tempting to stay put for weeks. We squirreled ourselves away at some truly stunning spots as we traveled the length of the lake.
Arriving in Blantyre with some big grins and persistence, we hounded another Mozambique embassy in pursuit of visas. Our first try in Tanzania was a five step process that ended in failure. We fronted up the second time around with arms full of everything that you could possibly have on paper.
If there's one lesson we've learnt, it's that rationality doesn't work in Africa. Signs on the wall beside the officer indicated the timelines and the fee schedule for visas. These were completely ignored. "Come back in a week". But. But. But nothing. A same day service or even two day turn-around (as noted on the wall signage) were definitely not available that day. With a bit of back and forward between banks, forex bureaus and the embassy, we handed over the documents and the cash and contemplated ways to spend another week in Malawi.
By that stage the lake was too far and the parks were too hot. We decided that the best way to spend the days was by doing not much at all. When Monday came around, we were back at the embassy, dressed to the nines (there's a dress code) and hoping like hell our papers were in order. They were.
Joy and exuberance abounded when we realized that the guygirlandgoat final fling could be spent beachside. Landy packed, scrubbed and organized, we headed for Mozambique.
Up next: Bedlam and Beaches. Mozambique.