Shiwa N'gandu to Rift Valley Hotel, Mbeya

Day 17 - 7^th  February 2007

Received probably the biggest shock of the trip - the Kapishya Lodge bill! Breakfast, then the set off for Mbeya. Mike was very concerned about the fuel situation , but we found a small village where fuel (smuggled over the border from Tanzania) was dispensed in plastic bottles!

Before we reached Mbeya, we had to cross the border into Tanzania. This started off incredibly well! Having done the formalities for leaving Zambia, we entered a clean, modern building that is Tanzania passport control and customs. The reassuring presence of square 13 amp plugs (a sure sign of civilised behaviour in my book!) gave a warm fuzzy feeling. Paperwork formalities were done in a fraction of the time normally taken at previous borders. People were friendly. Could this be a day of bureaucratic bliss? No. Just as we got to the very last gate, the policeman manning it asked to see our insurance documents. 90 minutes later, we departed!!

Rain, poor roads and lorry drivers from the Stevie Wonder school of driving made the journey uncomfortable (and in parts, very dangerous). In Mbayo itself HS had to mount the pavement to avoid a lorry that had decided to overtake while I was already halfway along overtaking it.

Our destination was the Rift Valley hotel in Mbeya, a growing industrial town. The hotel will stand out in everyone's mind for a long time, for all the wrong reasons. It was also unique in that it was the first port of call where both the water AND the towel were dirtier than me (before I started washing!). Ample stocks of cold Tusker improved matters considerably.

By early evening discussions started about where we were going to dine. A casual question to one of our fellow drinkers in the bar was met with the response "for gods sake don't eat here". Fair enough. We decided to walk into the main town, and asked the hotel owner directions and advice. He then suggested that it was probably not a good idea to venture forth with any form of visible bag (we should have got the hint at that point). Despite this, everyone was fired up for a walk into town. About 10 yards from the hotel gates Mike stopped walking and said "No" - "lets go back". A rather dark empty road in front of us, had obviously convinced him that it probably wasn't a good idea.

Seated back in the Hotel restaurant we then asked various dishes contained in the menu. As it transpired, fish was off, chicken was off, but they had "meat". We were unable to elicit a more accurate description, feeling we were fast slipping into a Monty Python sketch, Mike asked to see the kitchen. Three minutes later he emerged ashen faced and suggested that we most certainly didn't want to dine there.

Two taxis later, we were being led into a passable new Hotel by a man with a big rifle which served "chicken"*, fish and beer! Matthew decided to beat himself up by seeing the rooms, big mistake, they were nice!

Retired to rooms for a mosquito free night (the bed bugs had eaten all the mosquitoes).

* Various theories were formulated about what African "Chicken" © really was. It smelled like chicken, it had the same sort of joints on its legs, but we never seemed able to find enough meat on it to determine whether it actually tasted like chicken. Glenn reckoned it was Road runner, I think he may be right.