Nhkata Bay is one of those places that travellers seem to rave about, touting it as one of the highlights of the area and a great spot to chill out and relax. Conversely, this often means that the place is a little overcrowded with backpackers and bars, all trying to partake of the "relaxed vibe," and this sort of stereotypical hangout was what I was hoping not to find in Nhkata Bay. As I got into town, I found a decent spot at a hostel situated at the end of the first of two lush peninsulas that jut out into the lake, forming a small bay in between. My tiny wooden bungalow sat just a few feet from a few large rocks and the lake below, providing a nice comfortable little retreat. I was also excited to see that, being a sort of Westernized (though not "touristy") area, my hostel was having fajita night, so I might get a tiny semblance of Mexican food, something that I always miss while on the road.
After dropping off my bags, I walked down the hill into town, which is essentially just the piece where the main road runs down past the bay, along with just a few blocks consisting of local houses, a few restaurants, a couple of lodging options and more local shops selling various fruits, breads, fish, supplies and second-hand clothing. Lining the streets were the omnipresent minibus drivers, all trying to guess where you were going and get you to get into their van first, as they don't leave until the vans are packed full of passengers, maximizing their tiny profits. As with most small towns in Malawi, the look (at least during dry season) is a fairly dusty, just slightly chaotic main road surrounded by the shops and many residents out wandering the streets and patronizing the shops. Though this town is adored for the fact that locals and travellers seem to mingle as one, not feeling separated from each other, I didn't particularly get any great vibe from my first few hours around the place, feeling that it was a little too hectic for my idea of a relaxing place to spend some time. I also felt like the people there, though friendly, were a little too quick to try to befriend the mazungu (the local word for foreigners/particularly white people) and then perhaps ask for shirts for their football team or supplies for their school. The main beach in the center of town was mostly obscured by little shops built along the road, as well as possessing a few garbage piles on either end, so I can't imagine wanting to really hang out in that area. Surely down the road on either side would be some nice, relaxing areas, but I didn't get the urge to stay in this area for too long.
Later in the afternoon, I went up a block or two and found the local soccer field, a long dusty stretch filled with the local children. About four separate games featuring children of similar ages grouped and playing together were taking place at the same time, getting their time on the field before the young men and adults took the field for their evening match. I had a great time just watching the children laugh and play for quite a while before I headed back around dusk, excited about the prospect of fajita night back at the hostel. Sadly, when I got back, I was informed that there was literally no chicken left in the entire town, meaning that our fajita night wouldn't be happening, so I had to settle for a basic burger to tide me over for the night. Back in my bungalow, as I was setting up the attached mosquito net around my bed, I noticed a nice large wasp nest just above the net, with two huge wasps tending to it. Unfortunately, there was no way to kill them, so I made a pact of peace with the two of them, promising not to squash them if they didn't bother me, and also hoping that my mosquito net didn't have any holes to allow them through.
In the morning, I packed my bags and headed the few minutes back into the central part of town, assessing my options for onward transport. Though it's faster to jump into the most filled minivan, as that will be leaving first, I tend to opt for the more empty ones if I'm going to a popular destination, allowing me to jump in the front seat for more legroom and less baggage and possibilities of people hanging over me, as it's not often that they try to stuff way too many people in the front. As usual, the drivers argued and fought over who should get the next passengers, but soon enough our bus filled up, and we were on the slow ride up Mzuzu, a hub in Northern Malawi. Within minutes, we were already stopping for new passengers, letting off others at every other hut along the roadside and picking up bags of tomatoes, rice or onions along the side of the road to be passed on to some future destination. Fortunately, I discovered a tasty little bread roll that is essentially just slightly fried sweet bread sold by many little children at any place a bus or van would conceivably stop. On the buses, the children and others hold their goods high, offering all sorts of drinks (Coke, Sprite, Fanta, juices - though you pay more if you don't have an empty glass bottle to be exchanged for the deposit back at the bottling facilities) and food, ranging from bananas and oranges to breads, roasted corn on the cob and not-so-fresh samosas (fried Indian turnovers with some sort of meat mix inside). People hang out the windows calling for what they want, often getting the product and then having to toss a few small bills out the window to the seller as the bus begins to drive off. On the van, things are much easier, as the lower height allows you to get a good look at the goods, providing me with a nice starchy breakfast for a ridiculously cheap price the rolls are about 7 cents each.
Heading into Mzuzu, the ride was mostly uneventful, though I found the city to be a relatively busy place, particularly in the crowded, hectic bus station in the center of town. As I got off my minibus, I was assailed with offers and requests to my next stop. This bus station proved to be particularly crazy, with drivers grabbing bags out of the back of other vans and putting it into theirs, along with pushing, shoving, yelling and locking doors and windows of other cars, preventing the poor passengers from getting into the van of their choice. As my driver yelled and pushed another driver, a few locals stepped in to hold the two angry men back as a fight was just seconds away. Inching our way out, we jockeyed for position among the buses and minivans, finally leaving the crazy bus station behind. The next drive was another interesting one, heading up into slightly more dense vegetation for a while as we stayed inland, away from the iconic lake that runs the length of the country. At one point, we encountered a scenic bridge crossing that proved to be a little tricky, since the bridge wasn't usable at the moment, with crews working to put the wooden planks back across the steel beams below that make up the one lane bridge. Traffic was stopped from both sides, so we piled out of our jam-packed van, where I was stuck in a corner seat with half a television on my legs and a teenage boy facing me, sitting between my legs, crunched up against the wall. It was a nice break to stretch my aching legs, but it was hard to tell how long we'd be at this tiny outpost. About an hour later, the worker's truck finally backed up to allow people to pass through the mostly finished bridge, though another melee ensued as each of the drivers urged their passengers back in and fought for position to be the first across the bridge. A few minutes were wasted as drivers backed up and inched forward, yelling and pointing to fight for their right to be next in line. As ridiculous as this all was, even worse was the fact that when the bridge opened up, drivers from each side of the one lane bridges surged forward, predictably coming to a stalemate at the middle of the very short bridge and standing off for another 10 minutes of arguing before our side finally all had to back up and allow the oncoming traffic to pass. This again altered our spot in line, leading to more childish arguments, though we were finally on our way again, winding up the small mountains along the escarpment formed by the Great Rift Valley of Africa. Coming back down to the coast, we had some incredible sweeping views of the vast lake and surrounding hillsides, dotted with a few villages here and there.
(I had a small thatched hut perched on the water in Nkhata Bay. Though it was nice, I did find a nice little wasp next in the top of my hut just before going to bed, though the mosquito net did its job to protect me during the night.)
(Looking from our lodge on the edge of town into the main beach, flanked by a nice green hill and vegetation, though I wasn't as impressed with town when I walked there.)
(The hectic main road was full of honking minibuses and vendors selling fruit, fish and any sort of random clothing.)
(Though it's just a small place, Nkhata Bay's one main dusty road seemed a little loud and crazy to me, given that I was expecting a laid-back backpacker's sort of town.)
(Strolling down one of the backroads, I found a few local kids playing soccer in the dirt field while the older kids dominated the goals until being kicked off by the older guys playing their evening match.)
(There may be a better beach somewhere around one of the peninsulas, but the beach in central Nkhata Bay is certainly not a place that I'd want to swim with the backs of a few shops and some trash piles lining the way.)
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