Dear all,
In which Ilana stays on an island in the Lake and has a stormy experience. Apologies for the tardiness of this, the last of the Malawi blurbs.
It’s possible that I’ve died and actually got into heaven (probably on a technicality). I’m sitting on a deck high on the rocks of a small island called Mumbo. At one square kilometre it’s exactly the right size for a private island – and here’s the thing: there are just two ‘guests’ on the entire piece of land (again a technicality as it’s Verena and me), and then there’s our chef and Ibrahim and Justice who take care of our every whim. (I’m writing this as I wait for that bucket shower to arrive....)
To backtrack a little: We had left Mvuu as you may remember, and trundled down very wet, potholed yadda yadda, you know the drill, roads. There’s a quirkiness about Malawi that had odd little episodes happening every now and then. One tableau I need to share with you is that we stopped for petrol in a little village, and I hopped out to begin saying morning brachot (blessings). The odd thing was that as I began to say the one about “shenatan lesechvi bina – who gives understanding to the rooster that it is day” – what do you know, a rooster crowed just behind me! I turned around, overjoyed at the (non-)coincidence – to find a wooden box perched on a bicycle. In the box sat the rooster along with several hens, so he may have been calling for help which sort of spoilt all that serendipity.
Where was I? Oh yes, the four-five hour trip to Cape Maclear, a village at the very south of the Lake. It was to be our last night before boarding a 3:00 flight back to Joeys the next day. We were supposed to spend a few hours driving to Cape Maclear, take a boat over to Mumbo, quickly see the island, snorkel, kayak, and boat back to the Cape, hop in car, drive four-five hours to Lilongwe, taking care to get back before dark, then potter around the next day until our flight.
Encouraged by our superb, knowledgeable, sensitive, humorous, smiling, good-looking etc etc driver-guide Michael, we decided to ask, nay beg, if we could stay at Cape Mac at least, even though the Island itself was closed to guests for maintenance. The office chaps were great about us changing plans, and said that we could actually stay on the island if we liked – but we’d have to bring our own food... Hmm, let me see, said the kosher kid lugging a big blue cooler bag around darkest Africa, I think I can manage that.
So it was settled. And it turned out that there were people on the island, as they had just finished a training course there, so Verena didn’t have to eat my tuna and provita and in fact had a delicious meal just for her. We were very grateful that some of the staff stayed on the island just for us, we did feel a bit bad but it’s hard to feel very bad in paradise. And anyway, the chaps were so nice about it, relaxed and all, with that quintessential “Wilderness Way” where, even if they didn’t want to be there, you’d have to run them down with a herd of elephants to get them to admit it.
So with all that background, we arrived at the “seaside” village of Cape Maclear, the weather deigning to stop pouring, Lake Malawi looking a bit choppy but not unnavigable, and got into a large weather-beaten boat to putter for an hour until we reached the island where we were received as usual with open arms – much-needed as you have to jump off the boat onto a barely submerged jetty.
Six tents are perched high amongst the pile of rounded boulders that sits a few metres off the ‘mainland’ of the island – an island off an island as it were. The mainland has the dining area set just above the tiny bay with a sandy beach from which kayaking and snorkelling take place and where you can chill on a beach lounger. You get to the tents over a bridge of wooden slats (which only shakes slightly) and up a winding path, monitor lizards whisking their tails out of your way. There are some funky eco-friendly things: the paths are lit at night by lights that are powered during the day by small solar panels, and there are eco-loos. While it sounds like just another name for a long drop it isn’t really; the feel-good aspect of being environmentally friendly should override the smell….
So here I am, sitting on my wooden deck. I can look straight down into the proverbial (sort of) crystal clear bright turquoise-blue waters of the small bay. A little to the right is the bay in which we just kayaked and snorkelled for two hours. Directly across from me is the other finger of the bay – a jutted edge of the island mainland covered in thickly wooded vegetation, in which is perched one of a pair of Fish Eagles which hang out here, crying their liquid call at regular intervals. Further out, the still waters of the Lake become more windswept and silver-grey, ending in the misty mountains of the western shores of Malawi – currently disappearing into clouds as the inevitable rain begins to move towards us. Thunder is doing its ominous thing, but is undercut by the soothing lapping of the blue-green mini-waves below me.
The double entendre of thinking I’m at the sea but really being on a lake lent a surreal layer to everything. I kept mentally shaking my head to remind myself of where I was.
I sat and looked around at my island MINE ALL MINE HA HA HA sorry, sorry. One tends to feel like a god/goddess/other deity on this gorgeous blip of land surrounded by an ocean of a lake. And God was definitely with us, as the sun came out just in time to go kayaking which was a lot of fun. Although as you move away from the shelter of the island, the wind picks up and there are enormous waves – and I nearly got shipwrecked on a rock! It’s difficult not to panic as I was sure I’d be swept away by the sea – forgetting that it isn’t a sea and barely 500 metres back to shore. (Mind you, there have been shipwrecks and drownings in this Lake - it's big enough and the waters can get wild enough.)
I’d been looking forward to snorkelling in the clear waters for which this part of Lake Malawi is so famous. But we’d been warned that as usual the rainy season cuts down the water’s clarity. Those of you who have dived in Bass Lake will understand the murkiness we now encountered, which was a pity but it means I’ll have to come back…. But on the other hand, when have you ever dipped your mask into the water to see 20 to 30 types of fish of all shapes, colours and sizes – then lifted your head to hear the Fish Eagle or see weavers squabbling in their overhanging nests? And the funniest sight I've seen in a while: two Pied Kingfishers crashed into each other in some sort of weird aerodynamic mistake – clearly their control tower had closed for the day.
Ignoring the lowering clouds, we pottered off for a walk around the island but funnily enough it’s a lot bigger when you walk through a still green forest that sprouts weirdly shaped mushrooms and alien-seeming round rocks in equal measures.
We were looking forward to a nice relaxing supper in the dining area before retiring early to bed in our tents on the rocks, overlooking that peaceful water. But nature had other ideas.
And lo the storm came forth and yea it was very mighty. And the [insert deity/evolutionary force here] sent a nine-hour storm of lightning and thunder and sideways rain and wind that blew from the east as if it would split the very sea in twain. And even I who love storms, e’en I felt like a cosmic speck of pink dust on a slightly larger speck of earth afloat on a sea (yes I knew it was a lake, but still…) that lit up brighter than day with blinding whiteness as the [insert deity etc here] smote the water and the very air with flashes of lightning. And every time the lightning flashed and seemed to miss us by but an inch, the thunder would crash like an atom bomb had dropped inside the tent. And each time I said verily: Yikes! Or even more verily: Ye gads! And I cowered under the covers. But the lightning was of such brightness that it bypassed my tightly closed eyelids and hit the back of my brain with a CLANG while the thunder caused my brain to shake inside my skull and the very rock on which we perched seemed to shudder so that I thought we would roll off slowly and ponderously into the sea. (Lake, dammit! It’s a lake!)
It is difficult not to get a bit biblical with a storm of this magnitude or length; indeed it is difficult not to lose one’s sense of perspective or one’s mind, or in my case both.
Anyway, it went on like that I kid you not for eight or nine hours. Verena and I lay in our separate tents both wide awake and worrying about a. the boat being cast from its moorings and disappearing into the black lake, b. the roads back out of Cape Maclear being impassable and c. that I needed the loo. That was the scariest, because the loo is in a separate little room along the path just across from the tent so I had to walk across the deck clutching torch and umbrella and then that lightning/thunder bit would of course happen as I did, so that I would yelp and jump three feet, then heart thumping madly I would slip and slither, arms flailing, to the relative safety of the loo. Did I mention there is no electricity here?
Shew. But the night did end at last as some song has it. Morning dawned allegedly, dull grey and wet and by now we wanted to leave paradise and come back when the sun came out again, so we were out of our tents by five o’clock and waiting expectantly to be hauled on board the boat – which had not sunk – and putter upsy-downsy through the choppy waters back to Cape Maclear. And the roads were barely passable but pass them we did – that’s also because Michael is the best driver-guide in the world.
And so we made our way up the Golomoti Pass through lowering, glowering clouds and past brown houses and beige maize fields, four-five hours back to Lilongwe. Malawi smelled of water, fetidly moist and cool through the hills, muddy puddles and raging torrents of rivers that had risen thanks to the storm in the valleys. All that remained was to say goodbye to fabulous Michael and our new friends at the Wilderness office, buy vitally important Malawian coffee to take home, and board that lovely bus at the terminal to drive 20 metres to the aircraft. As we took off through the duvet of clouds covering the mountains, I had the bizarre thought (no doubt lack-of-sleep-induced) that the clouds were echoing my feelings and kissing the lush, quirky, friendly-as-a-puppy land of Malawi goodbye.
In which Ilana stays on an island in the Lake and has a stormy experience. Apologies for the tardiness of this, the last of the Malawi blurbs.
It’s possible that I’ve died and actually got into heaven (probably on a technicality). I’m sitting on a deck high on the rocks of a small island called Mumbo. At one square kilometre it’s exactly the right size for a private island – and here’s the thing: there are just two ‘guests’ on the entire piece of land (again a technicality as it’s Verena and me), and then there’s our chef and Ibrahim and Justice who take care of our every whim. (I’m writing this as I wait for that bucket shower to arrive....)
To backtrack a little: We had left Mvuu as you may remember, and trundled down very wet, potholed yadda yadda, you know the drill, roads. There’s a quirkiness about Malawi that had odd little episodes happening every now and then. One tableau I need to share with you is that we stopped for petrol in a little village, and I hopped out to begin saying morning brachot (blessings). The odd thing was that as I began to say the one about “shenatan lesechvi bina – who gives understanding to the rooster that it is day” – what do you know, a rooster crowed just behind me! I turned around, overjoyed at the (non-)coincidence – to find a wooden box perched on a bicycle. In the box sat the rooster along with several hens, so he may have been calling for help which sort of spoilt all that serendipity.
Where was I? Oh yes, the four-five hour trip to Cape Maclear, a village at the very south of the Lake. It was to be our last night before boarding a 3:00 flight back to Joeys the next day. We were supposed to spend a few hours driving to Cape Maclear, take a boat over to Mumbo, quickly see the island, snorkel, kayak, and boat back to the Cape, hop in car, drive four-five hours to Lilongwe, taking care to get back before dark, then potter around the next day until our flight.
Encouraged by our superb, knowledgeable, sensitive, humorous, smiling, good-looking etc etc driver-guide Michael, we decided to ask, nay beg, if we could stay at Cape Mac at least, even though the Island itself was closed to guests for maintenance. The office chaps were great about us changing plans, and said that we could actually stay on the island if we liked – but we’d have to bring our own food... Hmm, let me see, said the kosher kid lugging a big blue cooler bag around darkest Africa, I think I can manage that.
So it was settled. And it turned out that there were people on the island, as they had just finished a training course there, so Verena didn’t have to eat my tuna and provita and in fact had a delicious meal just for her. We were very grateful that some of the staff stayed on the island just for us, we did feel a bit bad but it’s hard to feel very bad in paradise. And anyway, the chaps were so nice about it, relaxed and all, with that quintessential “Wilderness Way” where, even if they didn’t want to be there, you’d have to run them down with a herd of elephants to get them to admit it.
So with all that background, we arrived at the “seaside” village of Cape Maclear, the weather deigning to stop pouring, Lake Malawi looking a bit choppy but not unnavigable, and got into a large weather-beaten boat to putter for an hour until we reached the island where we were received as usual with open arms – much-needed as you have to jump off the boat onto a barely submerged jetty.
Six tents are perched high amongst the pile of rounded boulders that sits a few metres off the ‘mainland’ of the island – an island off an island as it were. The mainland has the dining area set just above the tiny bay with a sandy beach from which kayaking and snorkelling take place and where you can chill on a beach lounger. You get to the tents over a bridge of wooden slats (which only shakes slightly) and up a winding path, monitor lizards whisking their tails out of your way. There are some funky eco-friendly things: the paths are lit at night by lights that are powered during the day by small solar panels, and there are eco-loos. While it sounds like just another name for a long drop it isn’t really; the feel-good aspect of being environmentally friendly should override the smell….
So here I am, sitting on my wooden deck. I can look straight down into the proverbial (sort of) crystal clear bright turquoise-blue waters of the small bay. A little to the right is the bay in which we just kayaked and snorkelled for two hours. Directly across from me is the other finger of the bay – a jutted edge of the island mainland covered in thickly wooded vegetation, in which is perched one of a pair of Fish Eagles which hang out here, crying their liquid call at regular intervals. Further out, the still waters of the Lake become more windswept and silver-grey, ending in the misty mountains of the western shores of Malawi – currently disappearing into clouds as the inevitable rain begins to move towards us. Thunder is doing its ominous thing, but is undercut by the soothing lapping of the blue-green mini-waves below me.
The double entendre of thinking I’m at the sea but really being on a lake lent a surreal layer to everything. I kept mentally shaking my head to remind myself of where I was.
I sat and looked around at my island MINE ALL MINE HA HA HA sorry, sorry. One tends to feel like a god/goddess/other deity on this gorgeous blip of land surrounded by an ocean of a lake. And God was definitely with us, as the sun came out just in time to go kayaking which was a lot of fun. Although as you move away from the shelter of the island, the wind picks up and there are enormous waves – and I nearly got shipwrecked on a rock! It’s difficult not to panic as I was sure I’d be swept away by the sea – forgetting that it isn’t a sea and barely 500 metres back to shore. (Mind you, there have been shipwrecks and drownings in this Lake - it's big enough and the waters can get wild enough.)
I’d been looking forward to snorkelling in the clear waters for which this part of Lake Malawi is so famous. But we’d been warned that as usual the rainy season cuts down the water’s clarity. Those of you who have dived in Bass Lake will understand the murkiness we now encountered, which was a pity but it means I’ll have to come back…. But on the other hand, when have you ever dipped your mask into the water to see 20 to 30 types of fish of all shapes, colours and sizes – then lifted your head to hear the Fish Eagle or see weavers squabbling in their overhanging nests? And the funniest sight I've seen in a while: two Pied Kingfishers crashed into each other in some sort of weird aerodynamic mistake – clearly their control tower had closed for the day.
Ignoring the lowering clouds, we pottered off for a walk around the island but funnily enough it’s a lot bigger when you walk through a still green forest that sprouts weirdly shaped mushrooms and alien-seeming round rocks in equal measures.
We were looking forward to a nice relaxing supper in the dining area before retiring early to bed in our tents on the rocks, overlooking that peaceful water. But nature had other ideas.
And lo the storm came forth and yea it was very mighty. And the [insert deity/evolutionary force here] sent a nine-hour storm of lightning and thunder and sideways rain and wind that blew from the east as if it would split the very sea in twain. And even I who love storms, e’en I felt like a cosmic speck of pink dust on a slightly larger speck of earth afloat on a sea (yes I knew it was a lake, but still…) that lit up brighter than day with blinding whiteness as the [insert deity etc here] smote the water and the very air with flashes of lightning. And every time the lightning flashed and seemed to miss us by but an inch, the thunder would crash like an atom bomb had dropped inside the tent. And each time I said verily: Yikes! Or even more verily: Ye gads! And I cowered under the covers. But the lightning was of such brightness that it bypassed my tightly closed eyelids and hit the back of my brain with a CLANG while the thunder caused my brain to shake inside my skull and the very rock on which we perched seemed to shudder so that I thought we would roll off slowly and ponderously into the sea. (Lake, dammit! It’s a lake!)
It is difficult not to get a bit biblical with a storm of this magnitude or length; indeed it is difficult not to lose one’s sense of perspective or one’s mind, or in my case both.
Anyway, it went on like that I kid you not for eight or nine hours. Verena and I lay in our separate tents both wide awake and worrying about a. the boat being cast from its moorings and disappearing into the black lake, b. the roads back out of Cape Maclear being impassable and c. that I needed the loo. That was the scariest, because the loo is in a separate little room along the path just across from the tent so I had to walk across the deck clutching torch and umbrella and then that lightning/thunder bit would of course happen as I did, so that I would yelp and jump three feet, then heart thumping madly I would slip and slither, arms flailing, to the relative safety of the loo. Did I mention there is no electricity here?
Shew. But the night did end at last as some song has it. Morning dawned allegedly, dull grey and wet and by now we wanted to leave paradise and come back when the sun came out again, so we were out of our tents by five o’clock and waiting expectantly to be hauled on board the boat – which had not sunk – and putter upsy-downsy through the choppy waters back to Cape Maclear. And the roads were barely passable but pass them we did – that’s also because Michael is the best driver-guide in the world.
And so we made our way up the Golomoti Pass through lowering, glowering clouds and past brown houses and beige maize fields, four-five hours back to Lilongwe. Malawi smelled of water, fetidly moist and cool through the hills, muddy puddles and raging torrents of rivers that had risen thanks to the storm in the valleys. All that remained was to say goodbye to fabulous Michael and our new friends at the Wilderness office, buy vitally important Malawian coffee to take home, and board that lovely bus at the terminal to drive 20 metres to the aircraft. As we took off through the duvet of clouds covering the mountains, I had the bizarre thought (no doubt lack-of-sleep-induced) that the clouds were echoing my feelings and kissing the lush, quirky, friendly-as-a-puppy land of Malawi goodbye.
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