30th April-2nd May – Days 213-215 – Mbeya, Tanzania to Mzuzu, Malawi

As we were promised, we were picked up from the hotel in Mbeya at 6.45. Not by a bus, but by our friend from yesterday in a taxi. We were driven out to a bus park where we were put onto a bus to the border, our ticket was paid for and we set off. The bus didn't continue to the border but stopped instead half way in Tukuyu, and we were shunted onto another bus. If we'd had any suspicions about the deal we'd got yesterday they were growing now, but there wasn't anything we could do about it yet. The bus eventually set off towards the border, where we discovered that we weren't the be dropped at the border at all but about a 2km walk away. We tottered down the hill towards the bridge that marks the divider between Tanzania and Malawi and in the pouring rain our suspicions grew further. Certainly we hadn't got what we had been promised and I started wondering whether the Axa bus station on the Malawian side of the border existed at all.

Immigration again was painless and simple and, although the relief wasn't as strong, we felt a similar happiness to be out of Tanzania as we had had leaving Ethiopia. We hadn't felt hostility from Tanzanians in the same way as we had from Ethiopians but I felt that we were treated in quite a strange way. While the Ethiopians had tried to scream money out of us, I'd felt many times in Tanzania that people were friendly to us under false pretenses. A smile, a “hello my friend” and then we realised that these people were only interested in relieving us of our cash. The bus guy in Mbeya was about to add himself to that list of people. The Malawian immigration guys were all smiles and welcomes, and we asked where the Axa bus stop was. “Ah, it's in Karonga – you can take a shared taxi there for 500 kwacha”. The guy paused for a second and then asked “Did you buy a ticket in Mbeya...??” We nodded. His smile disappeared and he shook his head. “It's all lies”, he said. His analysis was backed up by the guy who organised the shared taxis. “I just want you to know so that you don't expect anything that you won't get. This ticket is not worth anything here”. We cursed Mbeya bus man but resolved to go to the Axa office anyway just on the off chance, but deep down we knew that we'd been scammed. A fitting goodbye from Tanzania.

Arriving at Karonga, we made for the Axa office and I asked the guy about the ticket. He gave me a look that said “Oh no.. not you as well...”. He'd seen it all before, he said, and apologised over and over for our loss but said that Axa didn't have any offices outside Malawi. They were trying to get the police involved, he said, and asked me for details about where we got the ticket and who sold it to us. He told us then that the Malawian police had asked them if anyone who fell for the scam could come over to Mbeya with them to identify the guy and I'd have loved to go across, but my parents were arriving to Lilongwe airport in a few days, so we decided to just accept our loss and get on with our lives. We got a real ticket down to Mzuzu, and waited for the bus to depart. Malawi does seem friendlier than Tanzania – people stop for a chat here and there and even the homeless hustlers at the bus station just stop for a chat to find out how you're doing. Old men in immaculate suits would stop for a chat as well, and the atmosphere was light, a refreshing change from the bus station's we'd seen in Malawi's larger neighbour. Hearing about our adventures in Mbeya, many people fired out comments which reminded me of the Sudanese attitude to Ethiopia – nice country, difficult people. We were going to need a break and Malawi seemed like a great place for it.

The bus eventually rattled off – the tarmac road was a blessing and the bus, even though it looked like the kind of city bus that you would get in Europe, was a lot more comfortable than we'd had for quite a while. With the lake to our left and mountains to our right, we chugged along and the tiredness slowly evaporated. We pulled into Mzuzu and walked across town to a hostel called Mzoozoozoo, hoping to find a bed for the night. It looks just like the backpacker hostels I remember from years ago in Europe – a weird and wonderful mix of people sitting around, the feeling all over that you've just wandered into a friend's house and can just set yourself down and relax. We did exactly that, aided by burgers, sausages and mash, and Kuche Kuche beer, surrounded by American Peace Corps volunteers, a German girl who'd set up a restaurant in Nkhata Bay, a retired English couple who'd come out here years ago, the friendly and slightly eccentric Swiss owner of the place and a bunch of Malawians who'd come in for a drink or 3. Jazz music blasted out and we learnt to play bao, a backgammon-like board game played with marbles whose rules I repeatedly failed to understand and was demolished at by one of the American guys who lives in a nearby village and plays it a lot. We returned the favour by beating him at Jungle Speed, and retired to bed far too late after too many beers, with a blanket ban on alarm clocks and the intention to leave to Nkhata Bay, just down the road on the lake, the next day.

Mzoozoozoo - the place to be. If you're in Mzuzu, that is

Having woken up in the afternoon, though, M was feeling the onset of similar symptoms as she had with the Giardia in Kampala, and so we spent the day lying around. I consoled her by having a few more beers while she was on the soft drinks, and whiled away the evening sitting on the veranda and in the lounge doing nothing much of use. Yet again, in Mzoozoozoo we've found a great place for that, possibly the best so far on this trip. It can't go on all night this time though, as the daily bus to Lilongwe leaves at 6am. Rgh.