Day 6 was intended to be an easy day, just about 3.5 hrs of riding, getting a small jump on the next day’s trip. The day began in Malawi with a relatively uneventful trip back across the border. We left the hotel around 10am and hitchhiked our way to the border in a sequence of vehicles, some free, some not. When we got to the border I needed to exchange some Tanzanian Shillings to US dollars to purchase a new Entry Visa. I headed to an exchange on the Malawi side but the person working there wanted to first give me the rate of TSH to Malawi Kwacha, then convert that to US Dollars, basically allowing him to screw me on two exchange rates, instead of just giving me a rate on TSH to USD. Needless to say I walked out of there, refusing to make the exchange. I instead walked across the border and went into an exchange on the Tanzanian side and was able to only be screwed on a single exchange rate… I think I only saved maybe $2-3 but it was the principle of the thing, which is most important. I refuse to be taken advantage of when I can avoid it.
The bus ride(s) back to Matema were reasonably uneventful until we were halfway between Ipinda and Matema (you will remember that Ipinda was where I spent the night after my near catastrophic flat tire). We were riding in the back of one of the most haggard Landcruisers I have seen, bumping up and down on near non-existent suspension and unpadded seats. The poor old girl dragged her self along gamely until at last she faltered and called it quits. I think we ran out of fuel because the driver’s assistant set off on foot with a jug. About 100 meters from the stalled truck he managed to abscond with someone’s bicycle and set off in search of whatever liquid it was that he needed. Lisa and I sat for a while waiting to see if some other vehicle would come along but after a little while decided that any forward movement was better than none and so we set out walking. We were probably a good 10 km from Matema when we started but fortunately we had only gone at most 1 km when a vehicle came along the road and we were able to flag a ride. In the end we arrived back in Matema probably around 2:00, all in all not too late in the day. However, a simple 1 km walk could not appease the slight delay and complication gods. On getting back I checked on my bike and immediately noticed that the back tire was once again flat. I suppose I should just be thankful that it managed to get me from Ipinda to Matema a few days earlier and I had not ended up re-stranded, but it was still annoying. I rolled my bike down the road to the Bicycle Fundi and left it with him to patch for me while we went for lunch. Lunch was rice and beans, one of the truest of Tanzanian staple foods, and in this case with the option of small boiled lake fish, somewhat akin to sardines or mackerels. I have never been a big fan of fish with all its bones and head attached, regardless of how small or soft. I tried a few to be polite, and truthfully they didn’t taste all that bad, but still, they were small fish, bones and heads and all. Just not my culinary style.
Food in Tanzania is one of my greatest disappointments in being here. They have the climate to grow all the best fruits, veggies and spices that just about anyone could imagine or desire. In fact most of the elements that make up the great tropical cuisines of the world, Thai, Latin American, Indian etc. are all present and accounted for. Despite this, however, the food here is exceptionally bland and unimaginative. This is not a problem across the entire continent to be sure, the Ethiopians know how to make drool worthy food, and some of the dishes common to Zanzibar are simply excellent, but mainland Tanzania is just plain uninspired. The single most common staple dish here is something called Ugali, a starchy, flavorless, and texturally inferior cousin to grits or for our South African friends Pap. It is made basically by adding flour to boiling water and stirring it into a doughy ball. That is it. No salt, no pepper, no seasoning of any kind at all, just a big ‘ol ball of starch that manages to be both without flavor and of a terribly unappealing texture. Of course the Ugali is not served on its own, it is usually combined with some type of sauce, maybe some meat, and veggies. Now you might be thinking that this does not sound too bad, almost a decent balanced meal, however, you are unfamiliar with the lack of diversity and creativity in the sides. The sauce is probably made of onions, grated carrot and tomato. The meat is cooked in onions, grated carrots, green pepper and tomato, pretty much the exact same thing. The ‘veggie’ that is served is just a fried local form of spinach called Mchicha, simply cooked in way too much oil, maybe with a little onion again. None of these things taste particularly bad, but they are all exceptionally boring and exceedingly similar. Where is the garlic? Where are the spices? Where is the variety of fresh veggies, or the coconut? When you are not eating Ugali you really only have two other major choices, rice, or chips (French fries). Rice is rice is rice, so it is pretty hard to complain about that one, but it is worth mentioning that with the rare exception of a Pilau, which is due to the relatively large number of Indoafricans, rice is only ever just rice here. None of Thailand’s tasty coconut rice, no succulent Mexican rice, not even India’s simple addition of cumin seeds to make jeera rice, just plain rice. Ok well to be fair there are often little stones mixed in to add tooth-chipping flavor. The chips are not really much better, served kind of soggy; having soaked up far too much oil for you to even pretend that they aren’t unhealthy. One of the most popular dishes here for a snack is called Chips Mayai. It is just soggy French fries put into a skillet with several eggs cracked on top, then cooked like an omelet and often served in a plastic bag. French fry omelet, you either love it or you hate it, but regardless of your opinion you can’t say anything for this dish’s creativity or bold flavors, because they just don’t exist. Moral of the story is that local food is definitely not one of the things that you can sell as an attraction to people considering traveling here.
We finished up our meal, I collected my bike, took a final swim in the lake and then I was strapping my gear on to leave. I left Matema around 3:00pm giving myself what I thought would be plenty of time to reach Mbeya, my goal for the day. I had arranged to stay with my Mwalimu wa Uyoga (Mushroom Teacher), whom I had studied with for a few days about 2 months earlier. So I set out from Matema, feeling like for once I could relax a little, like maybe I had a little time to spare and appreciate the ride even more than usual. I stopped and took a few pictures along the way, trying to capture some of the rugged beauty of the countryside. I also decided that I should take a video or two of riding the dirt back roads, an almost disastrous decision.
In order for me take a video while riding I would hold the camera with my left hand against my chest. This allowed my right hand to both steer and maintain throttle on the bike. So long as you do not need to make any major reactive correction, say stopping or swerving suddenly to avoid something, then this is a very easy task. I was filming one small stretch of road as I bounced and rattled along, when ahead of me was a small group of cows wandering about on the road. I slowed the bike, but continued forward, thinking to myself that it was a cool shot to ride through a herd of cows on the road. One for the scrapbook. The aggressive growl of my bike gave the cows ample warning of my approach and they were currently walking on either side of the dirt track. On the other side of the road another bike was coming towards me, providing further motivation for the cows to stay to the sides of the road. Aiming for a gap I proceeded, confident that the cows were not quite so dumb as to jump out in front of traffic. Of course that is exactly what happened. One cow decided that its current course was not to its liking and it would be better suited crossing to the other side of the road just then. This was one of those moments where time slows down and the images are indelibly imprinted on the mind. With only one hand I swerved left hard, almost to the point of losing control of the bike before reefing the bars back the right, slipping past the hindquarters of the cow by inches.
All in all I suppose I am impressed that not only did I not T-bone a cow, but that I also managed to keep myself and the bike upright, but it definitely got the adrenaline going.
Eventually I bounced and jostled my way back to Kyela and got back on the pavement. I needed money, fuel and to have the chain on my bike tightened, so I headed into town in search of these things. First stop was to be a bank as the trip to Malawi had essentially bankrupted my cash supply. As I am sure anyone who has traveled in the last few years is aware the Interact card technology has fundamentally changed and greatly improved the traveler’s ability to have access to money in many parts of the world. These days carrying travelers cheques is largely unnecessary in most places as it is easier, faster and often cheaper to just hit up the nearest ATM. The catch of course is that not every ATM in the world is necessarily going to be friendly with your foreign card. Unfortunately in Kyela I could not find a single bank that would play nice and give me some money. I had about 20,000 Shillings, and I would just have to make it go the distance, otherwise I was pretty much screwed. I stopped briefly at a Fundi to get my chain tightened and oiled and check the pressure in the tires, to make sure the patch was holding. Of course things being what they were the Fundi informed me that what I really needed was a new chain and new front and rear sprockets. Motorbikes are nothing if not money pits, fun money pits and well worth it, but money pits all the same. I couldn’t afford a sprocket and chain set on my meager 20,000 and so I figured I would wait until the next morning in Mbeya and deal with it then. After paying the fundi I spent the rest of my money to fill up my bike and set out towards Mbeya hoping that the reduced weight of my wallet would be sufficient to ensure I would have enough gas mileage to reach my destination.
By this point it was about 5:30pm and I only had about 1.5 hrs of light left in the day. I really have no idea how it became so late in the day. It is a funny thing here the way time flows. Some days seem to stretch on forever while others flash by. I think on of the big reasons that time here seems to be so unpredictable is because you can never really count being able to accurately estimate how long any single action will take, regardless of how many times you have done it before. A meeting scheduled to start at 8:00am may not begin till 10:00, if it happens at all, and no one here thinks that is strange. What we would consider to be a quick and simple job, such as tightening the chain on a motorbike, which should take 10-15 minutes can easily consume an hour because the Fundi doesn’t have the part or tool he needs and must run around town buying them while you sit waiting. A Daladala ride, which ought to take only 15 min, could take you an hour, with the Dala stopping every 20 meters, maybe catching on fire, maybe even turning around and going back in the opposite direction to pick up more passengers. On the other hand, however, if you plan your day around things taking a long time, those are inevitably the days that things actually run like clockwork and suddenly you are finished. All in all it tends to be both mind boggling and entirely unpredictable, but almost always working against your western sensibilities. And thus on that particular day what I had thought to be lots of time to reach Mbeya from Matema, before night would set in, turned out to be about 45min too little. There I was once again in the exact same situation I had found myself in when I had last ridden that stretch of road. Night setting in quickly, swarms of bugs rising from the grass, and my weak headlight vainly fighting to hold back the encroaching darkness. Fortunately this time I actually had some idea of the distance and time it would take, removing some of the stress of the previous journey. This night, however, also brought with it a sharp edged cold.
I grew up and have lived nearly all my life in Canada, my favorite activity in the world is skiing, cold is something that I was effectively born and bred to, and yet that night I was cold. My hands became slightly tingly, my cheeks burned slightly, and I shivered occasionally. I do not know how cold the night really was, perhaps it was cold by my usual standards, or perhaps I had simple become accustomed to a different standard. What I do know is that it was wonderful. To really feel cold, true cold that gets into you and sticks with you, after months of nothing but heat and sweat was truly beautiful, like a little taste of home.
Eventually my ride brought me to the crest of the hills flanking Mbeya and I began to descend into the valley. I actually surprised myself with the ease with which I was able to find Gerald’s house through the warren of small dirt roads, but in short order he was opening the gate to his yard for me and I was rolling the bike inside. It was very nice to visit with Gerald and his family again. I had met Gerald a few months earlier when I was searching for a training course that would give me the proper skills and scope of knowledge on rural oyster mushroom production. Gerald is an amazing character; highly educated, fantastic English, and a jovial and captivating personality, which draws people in, and makes him a fantastic educator. Gerald has been involved in nearly every large mushroom production project in Tanzania in the last 20 yrs and his breadth of knowledge is very impressive. What makes Gerald even better to talk to, than his vast knowledge, is how simple he keeps it. I have met with other people of similar education and experience with mushroom production in the country, and invariably they seem to over-complicate and ‘acemedify’ everything. Gerald has a real gift for keeping the process as simple as possible while still imparting all the critical knowledge to guarantee success. It was a pleasure to spend an evening chatting with him, but the true highlight came in the form of a hot bucket shower. The cold of the evening had stuck with me and to fill bucket after bucket with near scalding hot water and pour it over myself was a little taste of heaven on earth. That night I, for the first time since coming to Tanzania, went to sleep under multiple blankets, snuggled in against the night chill and slept a deep and satisfied sleep.
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