Part Deux

I lied, more than one day after. After celebrating our independence day, it was a dawn rise to book it down to Chiweta to explore another hot spring; in theory, the most promising for geothermal energy-producing potential.

Side note: I often find myself using the phrase “in theory” here. Examples: In theory, the bus ride should be four hours. In theory, we should have running water and electricity, in theory there won’t be a clutch of chickens in the internet café.

In contrast, to the hot-tub temperatures at Mkwanjenja, the hot spring at Chiweta resembled something closer to Old Faithful at Yellowstone. You could smell the sulphur from the road (although, knowing this country I was expecting it to just be a ton of raw sewage and rotten eggs). It did not disappoint at all. The water was nearly boiling to the touch and has, in theory, tremendous potential along the Rift Valley fault for a geothermal energy project.

In our little escapade we were joined by a Peace Corps friend, Brooks, who then joined us in going back to Livingstonia, the plateau-top mission founded in honor, but not by David Livingstone in 1891. Brooks is based in the farthest-middle-of-nowhere part of Malawi, Rumphi, our condolences and support to Brooks! Having made it to the bottom of the escarpment, once again in the back of a sedan (this time with TEN people), we were waiting at the bottom to hitch a ride up the daunting mountainside. The owner of the place we were staying rolled by, saying he was picking up some guests and would be by to give us a free ride if they were ok with it. 40 minutes later, he came by and a true Italian got out of the door and in a terrible accent offered to split the fare to the top of the mountain with us: $10 a person and we would have to sit in the trunk: $10 was the cost of the night there. Blown away, we all told him we couldn’t afford it. The pompous clown then hopped back in the car and sped up the mountain as the owner gave us a terrible shrug and said, “See You Later.”

Two and a half hours and a pint of sweat later, we reached the top to see our friendly Italian neighbor drinking a beer at the bar. It was an awkward evening for him.

After this misfortune, however, the weekend was a true blast. The Mushroom Farm, where we stayed, is a series of quaint huts and tenting areas perched on the edge of an ominous cliff with breathtaking views out over Malawi, the Lake and into Zambia and Tanzania. Truly gorgeous. The town itself, Livingstonia, is also a polka dot of wholesome friendliness, rare Malawian history and brick cottages, a hospital, college and series of quaint churches. It is a must see in this beautiful country. There is also a streaming waterfall dropping off the edge of the plateau almost 500 feet down. We saw it first from the edge and then climbed, with an escort of local schoolchildren, down underneath the drop-off to a series of caves under the waterfall. Stunning, inspiring and comfortably athletic it was well worth the walk up.

That said, the ride home topped off the independence week terribly. Waking to the sunrise, which was a gorgeous Manet splash of color over the Tanzanian lakeside, we threw on our packs and started back down the mountain, this time not wanting to risk not catching a ride. It was good we did so, because we didn’t see a car the whole way down until the last 500 feet of the walk, when we saw two. We then crammed into a minibus that tortured my legs and careened around mountain passes back to Mzuzu. Then in Mzuzu an ATM ate my credit card, which was retrieved by an incompetent employee 45 minutes later. This forced us onto a “Super Sink” bus back to Lilongwe.

Final highlights: The bus ride, which should take 5 hours, took seven and a half, including the terrible driver hitting not one, but TWO cows. It’s ok my animal loving followers, the cows lived and probably did more damage to the bus, although he was going at his definition of “full speed.” We got a standing ovation when we got off the bus in Lilongwe.

“The white people survived!”

Steven