The lights went out in Karonga just as I was preparing myself for a bucket bath. The first and last one for our Malawian stretch. Strangely enough all our accommodation before we left a country so far have been pretty rough set-ups.
To my surprise there was no water in Karonga either. Marc and I laughed at this, but we had another worry. We had repaired his back rim, the horribly cracked and buckled back rim from Livingstonia, but still needed to straighten it out by setting the spokes. It would be a nightmare in the candle light. We ate supper and went to sleep.
The electricity came back on at about 22:30 and Karonga transformed from a quiet settlement into a cacophony of distorted music. Every tavern owner had to out blast his rival. With no alarm clock needed we set to work on the rim, only to finish up at around 01:00, tavern music still distorting the few songs that were repeated over and over.
Up in the morning, breakfast and a bank run, and we were on our way to the border to enter our next country.
Rolling up to the customs on the Malawian side looked impressive, possibly because the customs at Dedza was just a small room. We filled out the exit forms and Marc took our passports in while I watched our steeds. Exit stamps in the passports. Thank-you Malawi. It was swell! Next country please.
Forex time. Get rid of every Kwacha. Give me the Shillings! At least the notes are smaller even though they are higher denominations.
2,500ZAR=345,000 Tanzanian Shillings.
You feel flush when you walk out of the forex office.
Pedaling over no-mans land had us laughing as we took photo’s at the “WELCOME TO TANZANIA” sign. We were so deep in chatter that we almost pedaled right past the immigration office, only to get ushered back by a concerned guard.
Once again. Fill out forms. I went in this time with both our passports. We paid our 50USD for our 90 day visas and actually chatted to the officials about our tour. Some of the most helpful and friendly customs officials yet. They even joked about us almost bypassing immigration. “Enjoy your stay and stay out of trouble,” was the officers chirp when he handed over my passport with a slight smile.
Four kilometers up the road, safe distance from the border, we stopped and sampled the local brews, before pushing on to Kyela.
Another country, another currency and another beer!
