Manchewe Falls

I had another lazy morning, pottering around camp as I finished washing my clothes and cleaned up my cookware from the previous evening’s dinner. This apparent industry was heavily interspersed with prolonged bouts of strenuous reading and intent listening to music, in case any of you were worried that I might be over-exerting myself. To be honest, even chores like laundry and washing-up can be pleasurable experiences when conducted in such a relaxing and aesthetically pleasing environment and, before I knew it, it was 2pm and I was eating corn chowder and home-baked bread for lunch. Pleasing as it would have been to sit around and do nothing in camp for the rest of the day, I’d decided that I’d be moving on the following morning and wanted to get out to see the impressive Manchewe Falls whilst in the vicinity.
With a few bottles of beer, my camera and a book I took the short walk down the road to the falls, where I spent the afternoon basking on a sun-kissed rock, listening to the hypnotic rush of tumbling water and occasionally raising my head to take in the sight of it cascading down the jungle-strewn cliffs of the escarpment.
I’m unsure as to the origins of the bug – spray from the river, poorly sterilised drinking water (which would be my fault) or a momentary lapse in hygiene at the camp kitchen – and, practically, it’s unimportant as stomach bugs are a part and parcel of 3rd world travel. However, my so far thoroughly enjoyable journey through Malawi was suddenly brought to a juddering halt by a nasty attack of the runs, which began later that evening.
My plans to move on to Vwaza Marsh Game Reserve the following morning had to be postponed as I spent much of the night staggering woozily from tent to toilet, feeling increasingly weak and dizzy. I can think of far worse places to be ill but, in the end, trekking to and from shared toilet facilities up steep hillsides with zero energy loses its novelty value and, after 2 nights and days I could only feel relief when the Cipro (purchased when Edd had his nasty bout in Tibet) annihilated all living organisms in my gut.
In need of a bed and lively good company (not to mention a chef to help regain some lost weight!) I decided to head for Nkhata Bay on Saturday instead of Vwaza – reasoning that I could always make the trip there when I was feeling stronger and more adventurous. I managed a good meal on the Friday evening and was sufficiently rested to agree to grab a lift from the owner, Bruce, down the hill to Chitimba at 5am. The prospect of packing up my tent at 4.30 am seemed too much and I gladly agreed to Bruce’s suggestion of sleeping in one of the cliff-edge cabins for my final night. My only regret was that the early start would mean missing the sunrise from my balcony…