Finally we made it to the lodge. David was fine, if a little bloody, and the bike was christened at least.
‘Are you all right, mate?’ I asked him.
‘Now I know about sand. Jesus Christ, how the hell have you guys managed to cope with so much of it?’
‘A case of having to, Dave,’ I told him. ‘You get used to it.’
‘Not if your name’s Claudio.’ Clouds walked past me, shaking his head. ‘Fucking sand, it’s shit. Slow down, power on: it doesn’t make any difference.’
Eve was tired and a bit shaky from picking the bike up but she told me the pain was worth it. ‘I only did half a day off-road before,’ she said as I started unpacking my gear. ‘At home, Ewan, in England, and it was nothing like the sand. Sorry if I wasn’t very good.’
‘You were great. In fact you were more than great.’
‘The sand though, it’s just much harder than it looks.’ She glanced across to where Dai was taking a look at Dave’s cuts and bruises. ‘Is Dave OK? He didn’t have any gear, not even a helmet.’
‘Dave will be fine. Won’t you, mate?’ I called.
He lifted a hand. ‘Oh yeah, no worries.’
The lodge was built above a small beach, with an open area of tables on a veranda, and the lake stretching blue and grey to the horizon. It was owned by a British couple who told us they’d lived in Africa for eighteen years – he’d been a tour guide and she a doctor. They had just built a cottage, but the place was so beautiful they thought they ought to share it. It was indeed spectacular: our bungalows overlooked the beach, a handful of trees, and water as far as the eye could see. Just about the perfect retreat for a man who hasn’t seen his wife in a couple of months.
CHARLEY: Enough of that. Come on. There I was on my lonesome with Ollie back in London and Ewan had his wife with him. No wonder I was up before the sun. Last night I’d read the newspaper Eve had kindly brought me, I’d eaten the chocolate, had a swim, a shower, eaten dinner and generally twiddled my thumbs.
I slept pretty well though, not a hint of envy – honestly. Now I was on the balcony outside my bungalow, watching the sun coming up across the lake. I’d seen some pretty spectacular sunsets in Africa but this was wonderful, the sun rising in pale gold as if from the water itself. It was a quiet moment and I was having a few of those now. We were on the downward slope of the trip I suppose and as I looked back over the past few weeks, I realised just how much I was enjoying myself. In the early stages I’d been worrying too much, missing Ollie and the kids. I don’t think I settled into the rhythm of the journey until much later than I expected. But since Ewan and I cleared the air in Ethiopia it had really kicked off in the way I’d hoped. Every morning I’d wake up with a sense of excitement and couldn’t wait to get cracking on with the day.
This morning I would be ‘all by myself’ though (like it or not I’m going to enjoy singing that song, might as well aim for all the sympathy I can get). This was Eve’s first full day on the bike, so to ease her in she and Ewan would stay on the tarmac and head south to tonight’s camp site with Claudio. The Three Amigos, that’s what Ewan was saying. I’d been one of the amigos and now it cut to the quick. (My dad would be proud of this, there’s a future in acting, Charley!)
I was on my own then (wringing it dry), heading up a mountain track to where Dr Livingstone had lived. I said my goodbyes and hoiked a monster wheelie which Ewan told me later drew cheers and applause from a bunch of kids on bicycles.
Livingstone reached Lake Malawi in 1859. He was the first European to see it – this was long before Stanley met him in the bush. Seeing how beautiful the lake was, he asked a local what it was called.
Strange question, the local thought, it isn’t called anything. It’s just a lake; you know, a body of inland water. Nyasa, he said, nyasa. So Livingstone called it Lake Nyasa, only to find out later he’d actually named it Lake Lake. The country became known as Nyasa too and it was only in 1964, when it gained full independence, that the people got the name Malawi back.
Livingstone built a town in the mountains overlooking Lake Lake and it’s still up there, looking a little shabby these days, but it has a college and there are still little reminders of its British origins, such as the 30 mph signs on the roads. Livingstone built the town so high up because of the mosquitoes – they were so prevalent and malaria was so rife that his only option was to live at an altitude where they couldn’t survive.
While I was there I visited an old stone house that had been erected in 1903 as a meeting place for the elders of Livingstone’s church. It was a museum now, right on the hill overlooking the water. I found lots of references to missionary work; records of people being ordained and churches being built, boxes of old glass slides with etchings of ships and shipyards engraved on them. There was an oxygen machine for surgical operations, a film projector, even an old rickshaw. I tried to imagine some poor soul hauling the rickshaw up that mountain road. It had been easy on a motorbike but a rickshaw?
In a way I was enjoying my day on my own without the ‘three amigos’. I was able to do some Dakar-style riding – did I ever tell you I did the Dakar, by the way? I had taken it relatively easy on the way up, but on the other side of the hill I was catching air, popping the odd wheelie and backing it into the bends.
EWAN:The Three Amigos. Charley’s an amigo: he’ll always be the amigo. But Eve wasn’t up for the mountain road, and it was fantastic to have the day with her as she got used to riding in Africa. We pootled along at about fifty; the road was tarmac but potholed and pretty twisty – nice bends, mind you, not really tight stuff – and Eve was picking her line, watching the vanishing points and really getting into the riding. I was so proud of her. It was weird not having Charley there – my wing man for so many miles – but we’d catch up tonight, and tomorrow the three of us would ride together.
We stopped for a break and Eve said she was beginning to relax. At first she’d been tense and stiff, gripping the bars too hard. I told her she was doing really well; she’d picked a pace where she was comfortable enough to take in the scenery: the sweeping hills, the forests, the baobab tree – these massive trees that look as though they’ve been planted upside down. Eve loved them: she told me she’d heard a tale where God got so annoyed about something he pulled up the trees and replanted them so they had their roots in the air.
We were passing lots of people riding bicycles; what I call the standard third world machines, with no gears but sturdy and with a headlight and twin bells. Most had decorations on the frame and an old fashioned dynamo on the back wheel. I quite fancied the idea of one of those for London.
We took our time and stopped for lunch at a place called Mzuzu. It rained hard and Eve said it reminded her of riding in England, but by the time we came to camp for the night the light was that incredible African blue. There were lots of roadside vendors, mostly kids selling balls that looked as if they were made from thousands of rubber bands. The woman who owned the lodge where we camped told us that’s exactly what they had been made from – the rubber having been stolen from various plantations in the area.
Charley arrived. We were waiting for him as he sped up, locked the back wheel and skidded to a halt. Helmet off; he was full of the day. He showed us a rubber-band ball he’d bought that was about the size of a tennis ball.
‘I was ripped off,’ he said. ‘fifteen hundred kwacha, which I reckon is about ten quid. But he was just a kid with these big panda eyes and…’
We took a walk on the empty beach. The lake stretched to the horizon, and it felt as if we were by the sea. It was hard to imagine the water was fresh and not salt. As it was still quite warm, Charley and I went for a swim.
‘Eve’s really into the bike,’ I told him. ‘She really understands how it allows you to get closer to the people and the countryside in a way you never can in a car. By the way, did you see the chickens?
‘You mean the suicide squad?’
We’d seen them all day, like the geep in E
thiopia, chickens that skittered out in front of us, just appearing from nowhere as if they had some kind of death wish.
‘And that cheese or whatever it was?’
‘Ah, yeah, the really smelly stuff.’
Along with the kids selling rubber balls, we’d seen lots of sheets laid down by the side of the road with squares of white patties spread on them. They stank to high heaven – made of some kind of goat’s cheese, I think.
It was weird in a way: this was the first day when I hadn’t ridden with Charley, yet we’d seen the same things, and apart from his sojourn into the mountains we’d still travelled the same stretch of road. All the way to Cape Town, the same sights and sounds and smells, in a way it was nice to know that, although we’d made our own way to the camp, we’d all shared some of the new experiences on the road.
CHARLEY: I was glad Ewan and Eve had had a day to themselves; if it had been Ollie coming out I’d have done it for sure.
And it was great having her around. I know that when the idea was first mooted I’d had some reservations, probably born of not knowing how the dynamic would work. I’d had plenty of experience being on the road with Ewan. We’d been through the pitfalls, both emotional and physical, and we knew how to handle them together. Adding a third person even for a short time, especially one of our wives, had raised the odd question. I needn’t have worried of course, Eve was fantastic: I’d known her for years, what kind of a person she was and deep down I’d always known she could handle it. Now she was here and, far from being any kind of burden, her presence was very refreshing.
From then on the three of us rode together. The pace was easy but that didn’t worry me, this wasn’t a race and it’s vital that no one in a group feels pressurised, otherwise people start taking risks and accidents happen.
Eve was riding well, she kept it smooth and I was pleased for her because I wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to do once we got to Zambia. We kept hearing conflicting stories about how good or bad the roads were, but the latest news was that there was some pretty serious off-roading ahead of us.
I loved Malawi. I’ve heard it called a ‘hand-out-state’, and it’s true that UNICEF is active here, as is Christian Aid. But hand outs or not, there’s not much of an economy. The people were so friendly; they didn’t hassle or crowd you and I hadn’t once felt threatened. But then I’d felt that about every country we’d been through. All the horror stories we’d been told were just ridiculous.
There was one weird incident, mind you. We were headed for a place called ‘Cool Running’, a campsite at the southerly end of the lake. Rounding a bend, two blokes leapt into the road waving their arms at us and screaming away like banshees. They were wearing only loin cloths with canvas wrapped round their heads and were covered head to toe in soot. It was totally unexpected and pretty unnerving. We never did find out who they were or why it happened, but it was kind of spooky.
Every time we ventured down to the lake we had to leave the tarmac, and Eve found herself on dirt once again. She didn’t fall through: feet out, she paddled the bike all the way down the slope until we got to the camp site.
‘You’re doing brilliantly, Eve,’ I told her. ‘I mean it. You’re not scared to fall and that’s the most important thing.’
‘Charley,’ she said, ‘thank you for being so patient.’
‘Patient, Christ. You’re doing really well.’
She was. The last bit was really mad, though, stones and ruts and divots; massive holes where the front wheel would just stick. In the end Eve decided discretion was the better part of valour and jumped in the truck. Dave got on her bike and guided it down the hill.
Arriving at ‘Cool Running’ we went for a walk along the beach and came across a group of fishermen mending their nets which was fascinating to watch. The nets were a patchwork of squares, intricately formed and all manner of colours, white and lobster pink, bright red and blue. We also helped a couple of younger guys launch a canoe they’d shaped from a log.
At the site we met Steve and Dana. Steve was this crazy guy from Cape Town, and Dana was from Israel. They’d met at a trance party. Steve was a massive Long Way Round fan, and couldn’t believe it when we showed up in the very spot where he was camping. He was living in a roof tent on top of a truck. It was all he owned these days, apparently. He told us that he’d been so inspired by Long Way Round that he decided to follow a dream he’d always had. He sold everything: house, business, the lot. He bought the truck and the tent, hooked up with Dana and drove all over Africa. They’d landed here in Malawi and planned to start a lodge somewhere close to the lake. I’d never met a more infectious soul or someone who laughed quite as much. He told us how much he admired what we’d done, but we were well known and didn’t have to take on a challenge like Long Way Round; we could’ve stayed safe in our careers back in London.
‘We’re not that hardcore,’ Ewan told him. ‘I mean, there are plenty tougher than us. Remember Addis, Charley?’
I rolled my eyes: ‘Oh God, yeah.’
Ewan explained. We were riding out of the city and had pulled up for a moment. This little kid walked over and in the strongest south London accent imaginable, he said: ‘Where is you boys from, innit?’
‘London,’ I told him.
‘London, is it. I’m from London. Whereabouts in London, innit?’
‘Fulham,’ Charley said.
‘Fulham!’ He looked aghast. ‘You posh boy rough riders then, innit.’
EWAN: It was the middle of Ethiopia, for God’s sake, and there was this little hoodie telling us how it was. In a way I suppose he was right. Then again, at least we were doing it.
Steve was a great guy and hats off to him for following his dream with nothing to his name but a few quid in the bank and a roof tent. His parting shot was: ‘Give my regards to Cape Town.’
We set out again and Eve carefully negotiated the dirt from ‘Cool Running’ and as we hit tarmac she came alongside me.
‘Did you see that, Ewan? Zambia will be like a tea party for me.’
We stopped early that day at another lodge near the capital Lilongwe; there were so many lodges, it was winter and we were happy to just chill out whenever we could. The rest of the team was there and Russ said he and David wanted to interview me for the website. We were sitting on a veranda overlooking a few head of cattle that grazed the land and I was thinking how mellow it was meandering along with my wife. Russ disappeared for a few moments and I was thinking, Where’s he gone now? I thought we were doing an interview. He came back again and said he’d ordered a coke for me, which of course was very thoughtful. David started asking me about Tanzania and I was thinking, what the fuck are we talking about that for?
I looked quizzically at Russ. ‘I thought you said you wanted an interview for the website.’
He had the biggest smile on his face. ‘Yeah, that’s right I did.’ He glanced at David, aimed a mock kick. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Dave?’
‘What the…?’ I looked from one to the other, both grinning like a pair of prize Cheshire cats.
‘Here’s your coke,’ Dave said.
I looked round and the waitress handed me the coke. ‘Thanks,’ I said then jumped, and I mean physically. The waitress looked just like – the waitress was my mum. I did a double take. The last time I’d spoken to Mum she’d been at home in Crieff and now here she was in the flesh handing me a can of coke.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘What’re you doing here?’
She gave me a big hug and told me she’d come out to make sure I was behaving myself.
It was fantastic, a real surprise, just about the last thing I would’ve expected. You’re on a bike trip with your mate and then all at once there’s your mother handing you a coke. She told me Russ had brought her out, arranged it as a surprise and suggested she could kill two birds with one stone by looking in on Sightsavers, a charity she’s involved with here in Malawi.
‘It was last year,’ Mum said, sitting down. ‘H
e suggested it to me at the premiere of Miss Potter.’
‘Miss Potter!’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘That was a year ago.’
‘Planning ahead, mate,’ Russ said with a smile. ‘Dave and I thought it would be nice, you know, given Eve would probably be here too.’
I was gobsmacked. I really didn’t know what to say: typical Russ and Dave, thinking about a gesture like this as far back as a year ago. Like when I broke my leg and missed out on the ski trip, they’d been concerned about me being on my own and had come round to make sure depression didn’t set in.
It was wonderful to see my mum. We took a walk in the grounds and she told me that she’d been to see someone undergoing a cataract operation and visited some schools where visually impaired kids were being integrated into the mainstream.
All too quickly, our time in Malawi was coming to an end and I was so glad Eve was staying on through Zambia. She had wanted to come for the trip itself, of course, the landscape and the experience, but it was also for the UNICEF visits. I’d been to Malawi before when we put together a TV programme about AIDS called The Missing Face, but this was Eve’s first time.
Hooking up with Sarah and Wendy from UNICEF, we set off for a community childcare centre in Chimteka to see how under-fives whose lives had been affected by HIV were being assisted. UNICEF supports thousands of these centres all through Africa – they’re usually set up in or close to villages and the young kids go there in the morning. They get food and some basic education, they play with their mates and are able to just be kids for a while. This time out also gives whoever is caring for them (often no longer their parents) a chance to earn some money. One in every thirteen people in Malawi is HIV positive and over half a million children have lost either one or both parents to an AIDS-related illness. The communities struggle to cope with the enormous amount of orphans left behind, and centres like this give them a chance to keep going.
Long Way Down Page 28