The Road to Dar Es Salaam

Dar Es Salaam

For most of the trip we had set off in the morning with no idea where we would be sleeping come the end of the day. However for the 1,100Km trip from Sangilo Sanctuary in Malawi to Dar Es Salaam we had devised a proper plan. Our day one destination was Mbeya. We intended to stop two more times at Iringa and Morogoro before reaching Dar Es Salaam.

After our experience with the moneychangers at the border and given all the warnings we had received about Tanzania, we started the remaining 100km to Mbeya with all our senses on heightened alert. I was still trying to convince myself that some mates of the moneychangers wouldn’t ambush us - after all there was only one road so it wouldn’t be hard to find us. The other big worry was Traffic Police who, according to legend, were the most corrupt of all the countries we planned to visit.

We hadn’t covered 15Km before I came across a scene that completely astonished me. I hadn’t seen anything like it in Africa and it completely punctured all my apprehensions so comprehensively that I just started laughing. I would be amazed if you could guess what it was that caused this old white man on his big motorbike to be cackling loud enough to attract even more attention from the locals than normal.

Topiary! Yes…bloody hedge trimming. In the absolute depths of grim Africa, where women have to walk miles with 10 gallon containers full of water balanced on their heads, 2 house owners had found the time, money and motivation to create a pretty hedge shaped as a bird. It was as good as anything I have seen in the posher areas in the UK!

In fact, it quickly became obvious that Tanzania was much more substantial than any of the countries we had been through since Namibia. The towns were more substantial and commerce was being carried out. When we stopped the locals took a polite interest but weren’t cloying or grasping as had been the case in Zambia.

We were beginning to relax when we came across our first Tanzanian Police roadblock.

“Oh oh…here we go” I thought.

Not a bit of it. He just wanted to say hello and find out what type of motorbikes we were on. With another “Karibu Tanzania” we were on our way again.

The remainder of the ride to Mbeya saw us travel through lush countryside, banana plantations lining the road. By the time we arrived and had checked into the Forest Hill Motel our perspective on Tanzania had changed quite a lot. I walked into town and had a good laugh with some guys running a store selling “lubrication”. I was trying to find some chain lube but only after some ludicrous miming on my part did the highly amused storeowner get across to me that they don’t bother oiling their chains. The evening meal at the motel was a lot better than expected from a country “with no food”. I had a good night’s sleep but Andrew didn’t fare so well as his plumbing broke, flooding his bathroom causing him to move rooms….twice!     

From Mbeya the road to Dar Es Salaam is a heavily used major arterial route. Over the years the heavy traffic had churned up the tarmac for long stretches creating deep ruts, quite disconcerting when on a motorbike.

Going through towns we kept our speed down to the signed 50Kmph but there were no speed limit signs out of the towns. To be on the safe side we didn’t go over 80Kmph but very quickly realized that made us the slowest thing with an engine. The buses in particular were dangerously fast, the drivers maintaining momentum at all costs. We watched several high speed overtakes around blind bends with an incredulous horror.

Early on the second day we were stopped again by the police but this time they did actually want to check our paperwork. They quickly abandoned the official part of the interchange instead showing a genuine interest in the bikes and us. By this time we had seen that Chinese and Indian built 125cc machines were everywhere so 2 foreigners on a 650cc BMW and a 450cc British built CCM were real talking points. To them these were BIG bikes. Just as I was leaving I asked the policeman for the speed limit. To my surprise he said there was none outside the towns and that we could go as fast as we wanted “For you that will be 2,000Kmph…ha-ha!!” I didn’t like to disappoint by telling him we wouldn’t be going above 100Kmph.

This knowledge meant that we could travel at a safer pace in relation to the rest of the traffic. However we had already decided that the safest place to be in relation to the buses was behind them. Several times we slowed down to 50Kmph as we entered towns only to be overtaken by a fully loaded bus that swept by only braking heavily on reaching the bus stop. We would try hard not to pass them in towns, dawdling along, giving them time to get up to speed and out onto the open road where they would put their foot to the floor and keep it there until the next passenger needed to be picked up. Their cruising speed was about 130Kmph so it made no sense for us to make ourselves targets by passing them in towns. The religious slogans printed on their rears claiming that “God Alone Protects” took on a special significance. We later heard that unfortunately He doesn’t always succeed.

Iringa was an unusual town situated at the top of a fortified hill. Our accommodation was a guesthouse run as a charity, staffed by local deaf and/or dumb. We ate in a local restaurant, which was good and very cheap. There were several noisy processions on the main road mostly by lads on the small motorbikes flying flags, one convoy had purple the other green. I thought it might have been my imagination but, no, I was seeing it…..yes the green flags were all celebrating CCM. A bit of a coincidence! Turns out this is the ruling political party. I was riding an official government bike!

Nosy and noisy cat interested in Andrew's activities

Our bikes were guarded all night by a couple of security guys who earned £2 for their attention. We loaded up and set off going back down the main road. Immediately there was a blockage on the small stretch of dual carriageway that ran through the middle of the town. Without much fuss and not needing any official direction the traffic simply decamped onto the wrong side of the road. The vehicles coming the other way calmly accepted this state of affairs making room for the oncoming traffic. Nobody got upset. Although I was unsettled when I saw the reason for the blockage. A crowd was dragging a disheveled bloke out from under a bus with, it has to be said, very little sympathy. As far as I could tell he was alive, just bruised and a bit bloody. There isn’t much in the way of Emergency Services here!

That day we enjoyed a very picturesque ride through some beautiful countryside eventually getting to Morogoro and checking into a modern and nice hotel on the outskirts of the town for our last night on the road before reaching Dar Es Salaam.

Surprisingly picturesque road to Morogoro

Before reaching the big city we rode through one of the biggest naturally occurring areas of Baobab trees in the world then shortly after right through the middle of Mikumi National park where the fine for running into a wild animal is $200.

I had warned Andrew that I expected the traffic in Dar would be similar to Istanbul – total and absolute chaos. Initially, it looked like I was right. In fact we caused complete confusion by stopping at a red traffic light when we were on the outskirts of the city. Fortunately nobody ran into us. They just swerved around these stupid foreigners and weaved their way through the crossing traffic flow.

By the time we found the wonderful Peacock Hotel in the town center we had worked out that traffic lights are only obeyed if a policemen is at the junction but at no time does a red light apply to any 2 wheel device and in any event the policeman is usually directing the traffic in a pattern completely opposite to the lights…..total and absolute chaos!!

 

Tanzania - Part 1

 I blame Google.

It seems unfair to criticise the omnipotent digital knowledge distribution company for occasionally getting something wrong but, in common with a lot of people, we have come to accept its information with little critical evaluation.

We had been warned by several different people that Tanzania was a difficult country. It started in Namibia with statements like "there's no food in Tanzania". General words of warning to be careful the further North we travelled added to a developing foreboding. The most recent tale of woe came from a Malawian Church Minister who couldn't believe that the border officials demanded $400 for him to enter their country.

Therefore we approached the border with a high degree of apprehension. Googling "Tanzanian Visa" had suggested that there should be no problem in being granted one on entry, the cost being $50 each. Malawian banks had refused to exchange their Kwatcha for Tanzanian Shillings (TZS) and instead advised us to use the black market - seriously! Google had already informed us to expect an exchange rate of 4 TZS to one Kwatcha.

The usual warnings that we were nearing a border started to appear. Nothing as prosaic or useful as a sign, rather it was the queue of trucks and the volume of people milling about with no apparent purpose.

Our favourable impression of Malawi was maintained as their officials quickly stamped our passports and, after a short delay, our carnets. No fuss and all done with a friendly attitude.

The short ride to the Tanzanian border post saw us quickly become enveloped in a throng of pushy locals shouting incoherently and plucking at our jackets as we filtered by at 10Kmph. Fortunately the immigration building was separated by fencing creating a relative area of calm where we parked our bikes. The dreaded officials refused to bend to advertising instead being polite, welcoming and helpful. Our visa was upgraded at no cost and without our asking to an East African Tourist version, which meant that we could use it for several countries, saving us future visa payments. Our carnets took some time but were dealt with very professionally and handed back to us with a "Karibu Tanzania" - Welcome to Tanzania in Swahili.

An insurance guy had latched onto us on the Malawian side, accompanying us through the process and occasionally making helpful suggestions. He had been low pressure and as we needed insurance we committed to buy it from him. Thinking he was helping even more he introduced us to the "official" unofficial money changer (only in Africa!). The rate was 3.4 to 1. Confident that the proper (Google) rate was 4 to 1 we declined and, emboldened by our trouble free entry, decided to try the unofficial moneychangers. Andrew had already prepared carefully counted batches of notes to minimise any attempt to bamboozle during the exchange. We moved our bikes towards the exit gate and out of the "safe" zone. I went to buy the insurance following the guy into a busy warren of buildings, a semi-permanent town, just the other side of the border gate.

I completed the transaction and emerging from the "town" looked across to the bikes to see Andrew completely engulfed by a noisy mob. Something had gone wrong with the money exchange and the crowd were shouting angrily at Andrew. The level of intimidation made me quite nervous but I managed to ask Andrew what was going on. I couldn't make out detail only that the moneychanger was trying to cheat us. I tried sounding forceful and angry but that only made things worse. There was no reasoning with them so we got on our bikes and rode away forcing our way through the crowd half expecting them to chase us. A couple of miles up the road and free from any pursuit we stopped to calm down a bit and properly fasten luggage and clothing which had been left undone in our haste to get away.

Later Andrew explained what had happened. He had agreed a rate of 3.9 typing it into his Ipad and showing it to the guy who agreed. They then changed 4 batches of notes, which the guy had already calculated at 4 to 1, Andrew keeping a tally of how much change was due back to the moneychanger. Once the exchange was nearly complete the guy suddenly claimed that he had been confused and that he meant 3.09 not 3.9 - he lied. Andrew had refused to compromise, angry with the guy for lying, and a crowd had quickly developed all supporting "their man". Upon reflection it is probable that they all work together and this type of scam was enacted regularly. However, this time the foreigners were tall, bulky and had transport immediately at hand.

The ironic and slightly satisfying aspect of this scary episode is that we ended up getting our rate of 4 to 1 because in the hullabaloo Andrew did not give the guy his change. So in a way Google was right after all but it has to be said we would much rather have paid the extra £6 that 3.4 to one would have cost.

We had been told several times that unofficial money changers would try to steal from us...we heard it but chose to believe that we wouldn't be caught out. We were too confident but the lesson has been well and truly learned!  

Malawi

Not since Namibia have we been so pleased to be travelling by motorcycle. Malawi rewarded our choice with great roads which routed through uplifting scenery. The locals, kids and many of the adults, were pleased to see us waving, giving thumbs up and the infrequent exhortation to pull a wheely.

The border crossing was very straightforward. Malawi are glad to have you visit so don’t charge for a tourist visa (this is due to change in October for UK citizens in retaliation for the UK government charging Malawi citizens) and make the whole process simple and easy.

Before leaving Chipata (Zambia) we had found a reputable money changer in the local Spar. Granted this is not an obvious location but we had been introduced by Marianne our host at Mama Rulas B&B. Waiting in the Spar car park I bought 10 bananas with our last 20 Kwatcha from one of the many ladies who wander around with great bunches on their heads and gave 2 each to a crowd of very dirty barefoot kids who had gathered, begging, around the bikes. They snatched them off me and immediately began stuffing them into their mouths. This made me quite sad and, in point of fact, glad to be leaving Zambia.

The road from the border to Lilongwe (capital of Malawi) was a relaxing change from our previous 2 weeks experience. Traffic was mostly well behaved and the speed limit at 80Kmph was mostly obeyed. Most noticeable was the contrast in roadside dwellings. Brick instead of mud for walls and tin instead of straw for roofs was more common though not universal. In general there was a greater impression of useful and directed effort.

We headed straight for Lilongwe and booked into the Cross Roads Hotel which in contrast to its 60’s British TV namesake was a nice business type of hotel. It set the standard in terms of pricing that we maintained for our short stay in Malawi. Accommodation was either quite basic or very nice but at Western European pricing levels. 

We decided on the latter approach, the highest price at $120 each being the wonderful Norman Carr Cottage in Monkey Bay which we reached the next day after a fantastic ride through the mountains. Switchback roads spiralling down to the lake particularly designed for motorcycles. Our host was Taffy. He developed the complex, running it to exceptional service standards and taking a very personal level of interest in his guests. We had a very entertaining time there and while I can’t repeat many of Taffy’s stories or opinions without causing some offence (politically incorrect is a mild but accurate description)  I can say that we hadn’t laughed so much in the whole journey.

Hard work this motorcycling across Africa - scene at Norman Carr's

Probably the nicest bed in Africa!

View from my front door at Norman Carr Cottage

The next day we made good time heading North up the M5 which runs along the lake eventually stopping at Ngala Lodge for a comfortable one night stay ($80 each) with a really nice fish dish for dinner. Our bikes had been washed when we came to them in the morning and the barman even found a black market source of petrol for us, the fuel stations we had planned on using being empty.

Taffy had recommended that we stay at Sangilo Sanctuary before leaving Malawi so, for once, I had booked ahead with Sam the manager. On reaching Mfuzu, approx. 100km south of Sangilo, I checked my phone to see a text request from Sam asking me to bring some supplies from the Shoprite supermarket. A bit unconventional I thought but I obliged squeezing what I could into the limited space in our luggage.

The Sanctuary is aptly named. It sits on the Northern shore of Lake Malawi and benefits from the constant relaxing sound of waves lapping the shore. It is miles from anywhere, hence the request to pick up supplies. The accommodation are small lodges built from local materials situated on the cliff side, electricity and hot water being supplied by solar power. In truth the facilities are actually quite basic but the overall atmosphere is just amazing. We quickly decided to stay a second night, partly to use the data access for some proper planning for the long drag up to Dar Es Salaam but mostly because we wanted to.

While there we met with Cushla and Lawrie from New Zealand. They travel 4 months every year and were making their way around Malawi and Zimbabwe using local buses and motorcycle taxis. They have my absolute and total respect for their choice of transport. In previous years they had been to South America, the Middle East and throughout Europe. Lawrie is 71 years old – I won’t be so impolite as to speculate on Cushla’s age. I think they are living proof that travel broadens the mind and keeps you young!

A final note on the Sanctuary – Charlie and Euan stayed there on their “Long Way Down”. We didn’t know this before going. Sam says to check out episode 10 – the one where his wife falls off in a patch of sand – to see Euan shaving in a mirror outside. I used the same mirror and slept in the same bed…..mmm….maybe that’s not such a good thing!

This was our last night in Malawi. Both Andrew and I can recommend the country. It caters well to European tourists but still has enough of “Africa” in it to give a genuine experience. The only slight irritation is the currency which is just bonkers at 1,000 MKw for 2 US$, not such an issue until you consider the largest denomination note is 1,000 and most places don’t take credit card. It means you end up carrying massive wodges of cash. Also the chip and pin cards don’t work in the ATM’s.

Oh, and I got done for speeding again but the cop was super polite and professional. The fine was $10. I didn’t bother arguing as it came with an official govt. receipt.

The final drive to the border with Tanzania was through some beautiful scenery with a relaxing following wind. The machines were lightly stressed. We were relaxed. Everything was right with the world and we were glad we were on motorcycles.

Then we got to the border post with Tanzania……..  

Farewell Zambia

It is a source of permanent wonder to me that there is not more road kill in Zambia.

The roads are crowded with unrestrained livestock. Cars, usually Toyota Hilux, race along at speeds up to 140Kmph completely ignoring the speed limits but more significantly relying totally on the organic obstacles, animals and people, to stay out of their way. By contrast we trickle along at 90Kmph and regularly have to take avoiding action, mostly just rolling the throttle off but occasionally braking and/or swerving – one particular meter long lizard near Siavonga owes its continued existence to a couple of semi panicky swerves. n the 1500Km we have ridden in Zambia we have seen only one dead impala. Amazing when you consider how many times we would have had bloody collisions if we had taken the same approach as the car and lorry drivers. I guess the old adage of motorcycles being invisible applies here in Zambia as in the UK except the primary problem is with cows, goats, pigs, donkeys, dogs, baboons and warthogs.

The roads, however, are littered with corpses of another type – lorries! Broken down with internals left scattered around them waiting for spares to arrive. Crashed on their side, on their roofs, burnt out. Honestly a decent diesel mechanic could make a fortune out here, or rather would if there was any concept of carrying out preventative maintenance.

We carefully pick our way through all this being very observant, always under the speed limits and only removing our hands from the bars to wave at the younger kids who are not yet too cool to wave excitedly at the foreigners on their big bikes.

Bearing this in mind I was astonished to be done for speeding when I was at least 10Kmph below the national speed limit. We were riding from Siavonga, where we had spent a very relaxing 5 days, North to Lusaka with about 20 Km to go and just as we were leaving one of the many shabby settlements that line the road. I had just passed a crawling lorry and was edging over to the left to let a pushy 4WD go by (it had already squeezed by Andrew) when I saw a mad woman running into the middle of the road frantically waving her hands. “Great” I thought…. “It’s usually a piece of flighty livestock so this is new…where can I pass her? Oh, hang on…she’s wearing white gloves…like a …..bloody hell! A traffic cop!!” These thoughts only take a few seconds and as I pull over I am honestly puzzled why we have been stopped. I was doing about 90Kmph and the speed limit is 100Kmph. Well…no…according to the young highway patrol lady who was carelessly waving a radar gun in the general direction of the traffic, “the speed limit on this section is 80.”

“Really? Where are the signs?” says I.

“They are there. You have not seen them because you are not paying attention” says the licensed thief….err…I mean the honourable police person.

I eventually manage to negotiate the fine down from 2,000 Kwatcha (about 1 month’s salary here in Zambia) to 700Kwatcha (USD$85). She could barely restrain her smile and I understood why on speaking to some locals later who say the usual amount is 100Kwatcha. Justice Zambian style! 

I have to say there have been many things which have irritated and disappointed about Zambia. In addition to the roads and traffic, we have stayed in some places which are grubby and worn, where the staff have no interest in doing a good job and which are ridiculously expensive. Food has mostly been very poor. Mind you both Andrew and I could do with losing some weight so that’s probably no bad thing!

On the other hand we have been lucky enough to enjoy some fantastic hospitality. We met Steve Armitage who was collecting his BMW F800GS from Wilson Off Road Services. He currently lives in Lusaka with his girlfriend, Jane, and he invited us round to their place for an evening meal. He even came to pick us up from our Campsite (Eureka – vastly over rated) so that we did not have to get a taxi both ways. It was a lovely evening and we were treated to traditional Zambian food and friendly charming company including Priscilla and Gertrude. They explained the number of jobs they currently hold down and teaching qualifications being sought. Very busy, bright hard working ladies. If you are reading this Steve, thanks again to you and Jane for a great evening!

So, with new tyres and an oil change for the BMW and a new bash plate as well as an oil change, clean air filter and new spark plug for the CCM, we headed out of Lusaka towards Chipata – just short of 600KM down the T4. A quick word of thanks here to the indefatigable Ray and Julie at Wilson Off Road for their help and support in getting work done on the bikes and dealing with the importation of the bits from the UK. If you are ever near Lusaka you should drop in to say hello…after all Charlie and Euan did!

It turned out that the T4, despite being marked on our maps as tarmac was about 25% dirt the reason being a major, European funded, upgrade programme. The road builders put in a hard packed mud track in parallel to the original tarmac which they are upgrading. On leaving Lusaka we had entertained thoughts about doing the distance in one day but quickly revised this to a 2 day schedule.

The first day we breezed by a fuel station just 50Km outside Lusaka with me assuming that there would  be regular fuel stations along this major arterial road. Wrong! We stopped for pee and planning session and with the aid of the GPS we figured out that the CCM would probably make it to the next station with half a litre in the tank but the BMW would be about half a litre short. Fortunately the black market came to our rescue. Trundling through yet another shabby but lively town, some blokes shouted at me making what could have been fuel pump gestures. Our Zambian entrepreneurs had figured out that some drivers like us would be caught out and supplied us with 5 litres each, out of a vegetable oil container, at a 75% premium on pump price. Fair play to them! 

Day 2 saw us glad to leave yet another shoddy and expensive hole where I got very little sleep due to the loud 80’s music playing until the early hours and lorries running through the night. We battered through a gusting, strong side wind and patches of dense smoke from burning scrub. Bouncing and pitching along the original lumpy tarmac didn’t last long as we ended up on gravel after about 25km. In addition to smoke from the fires we now had to deal with great clouds of dust from lorries and coaches heading the other way which completely blinded us for the 10 seconds or so it took the fierce wind to blow it away. The surface was mostly reasonably smooth and predictable so I increased our speed to around 60Kmph between “blind” patches. Mistake!

With no warning the surface disappeared under about 1 foot of the dreaded sand. The CCM started bucking around but held on long enough for me to eventually realise, as the rider, I had a responsibility to do something! I opened the throttle and flip flapped my way towards an oncoming 4X4. The driver did his best to miss me and succeeded! Meanwhile, Andrew on the Red Peril didn’t stay upright for long, his front wheel just tracked away quickly and gave him no opportunity to do anything other than pitch off to his left. Even before I managed to get things under control I was pretty sure he would have fallen so I was quite anxious to turn around. With an unexpected degree of concern the driver of the 4x4 had stopped and was already trying to help Andrew. I was very relieved to see him picking himself up so the Good Samaritan helped me lift the Beemer out of its sand shroud. 

Understandably Andrew was shaken and bruised but bravely got back on and continued the journey, his left hand front indicator hanging by its cables but with no other damage.

The Protea Hotel was the first sign of civilisation just as we arrived in Chipata. After the previous evening and dramas on the road I couldn’t resist the idea of some nice surroundings, good service and properly prepared food, all of which we got. Yippee! Replete and relaxed (as well as cleaned up after rolling around in the sand) we reflected on our plan. The intention had been to get across the border into Malawi but after speaking to Zachariah, the waiter, we decided to give South Luangwa game park a visit. We turned north heading for Mufwe, running before the strong Southerly which had plagued us all day in the form of a side wind. Now it blew us along, barely open throttles enough to keep up a steady 85Kmph, the wind noise reduced to virtually nothing. It was a restful end to the day which saw us booking into Croc River Camp.

The Game Drive starting at 6am the next day was initially quite disappointing in comparison to Mazambala lodge there being few animals other than the normal impala, baboons and zebra - funny how your benchmarks change so quickly! Abraham, our guide, rescued the day by finding a pack of hyenas feeding on a dead hippo and then the highlight of the day. A beautiful, intelligent leopard who it turns out is known by the guides as Alice. She calmly surveyed the gathering of vehicles getting between her and her prey so she loped off up a dry gulley to get away from the many and massive telephoto lenses. About an hour later we were no more than 10m away watching her choking the final signs of life out of a poor impala before she dragged it into a bush to eat. This is Africa!

Alice the Leopard  - a kill despite the atention

Malawi next. They describe themselves as the “Warm Heart of Africa”. I hope it is true.