I have a history of hooking up with attractive European sheilas whilst travelling and then disrupting my plans in order to look at their pretty hair and kiss their pretty faces, so it should come as no surprise that it’s happened again. I had the option to spend a few more days by the water, or follow an Austrian chick into the middle of nowhere before heading off to Tanzania. And that’s how I ended up in Zomba for a couple of days.

Zomba? Where the fuck is Zomba? It’s a crumbling village in southern Malawi that’s barely on the maps and a long way from anything resembling a tourist trail. There’s a couple of nice hills nearby to walk up and that’s pretty much it, so Zomba won’t be replacing Paris and San Francisco on lists of the world’s greatest cities anytime soon.

With Amilcar along for the ride, we were able to keep the Kool Kayak Krew (KKK for short, although we might wanna rethink the acronym) together for the 200km bus trip. Now, you might think that Malawi has a world class public transport system, but you’re wrong, because it’s rubbish. The journey was a six-hour nightmare of overcrowding, breakdowns, chickens, crying babies, street food and third world shenanigans.

The next day, with the Ggermans and Austrians off making the world a better place, me and Amilcar decided to check out the delights of Zomba. Alright, so there’s a bank, a supermarket that sells food even a goat wouldn’t eat, and a bus stop. I dunno, there might be a 300m-tall statue of a robot that shoots laser beams out of its eyes, but I didn’t spot it. The town is bustling but feels safe, and provided a good look at genuine African life.

Bus stops are usually a good place to find drug-addicted prostitutes, but rarely a decent spot to get a quality feed, but Zomba is an exception to that rule. We bought chicken, chips and rice from a tiny restaurant hidden in the smog, and the food was tops. We even met some blackfella who decided he was coming back to Australia with me, and made sure I had his phone number, email address, home address, university address, parents’ names and date of birth written down before I left. I’m surprised he didn’t offer me he dick size and the age of his pet goldfish.

The closest thing to a tourist attraction in Zomba is the Zomba Plateau that stands proudly above it, so me and Amilcar found something that almost looked like a track and headed straight up. It was very bloody steep, but by the time we got near the top the view was phenomenal. Zomba’s landscape reminds me of southern China; surprisingly green, with mountains that reach for the sky. Before long the heavens opened up and I welcomed the first rain since I left Australia more than six weeks ago.

And that was pretty much it for Zomba. Well, you know, as far as the sightseeing goes. Now it’s time to say buenos dias to Malawi and head to the tropical delights of Tanzania. I wonder if there are any European chicks up there looking for a handsome Aussie to keep ’em company for a few days…

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