Day 270 / 35

Date: 7 January 2023
Sleeping location: Uwanji Classic Hotel, Tunduma, Tanzania 
Distance (km today/total/total Part 2): 135 / 16769 / 1932
Estimated climb (m today/total/total Part 2):1100 / 145000 / 27000
Loser of Mango Jenga: me
Day in three words: Sturm und Drang

I set off at a pretty civilised time, after a pretty civilised breakfast, into perfect cycling weather - white cloud, nice temperature, no wind. There was a nice amount of hill* and the morning’s progress was good and uneventful, aside from the usual speed bumps of doom and at one point mass of huge ants swarming across the road with no apparent purpose. They were so big and swarmy that they created a faint rustling sound. The vibes in the villages were sleepy, quiet and friendly. I was starting to recognise some of the buses that ply the route between Mbeya and Tunduma, having passed them a few times in a few days, and they seemed to recognise me too as they often honked and waved. After two hours and 40km I stopped for a rest, and a tasty chapati and omelette, at a pleasant restaurant with a friendly owner. 

Shortly after this I saw a little tortoise slowly crossing the road, like the one Charles had moved yesterday, and moved him to the other side before he got squished. He tucked inside his shell when I stopped but when I picked him up by the shell his little legs started flailing in a very cute way. He wasn’t the only road wildlife I saw today; there was also a little chameleon slinking across the road into a bush, eyes swivelling in that special way that they have, and a squashed snake almost as thick as my wrist. Just before lunch I saw a strange fuzzy cloud ahead and realised something was amiss when fat raindrops began to fall. As I rode into the “fuzz” I realised it was torrential rain and in seconds I was drenched through. I popped out the other side in ten minutes and aimed to ride myself dry, but it was still drizzling so instead I stopped for lunch earlier than expected and hid from the rain whilst eating a chips mayai. I’m not sure if the guy who served me was trying to get some extra money or was just really inept, but the large number he initially said became a smaller number when I drilled into it. People trying to extract a “mzungu tax” have been few and far between here, Tanzanians seem to be very honest.

After lunch all the villages seemed to have had a glut of mangos; there were loads of buckets and bags piled high and left unattended by the side of the road**. I considered taking one as a snack but wasn’t sure of the etiquette and was scared that someone would appear and force me to buy a whole bucket. I took a picture of one set of buckets and whilst riding away accidentally knocked a load of mangoes off the top with a pannier, then tried unsuccessfully to reassemble it whilst holding Maggie one-handed. Around 90km in I started heading, trepidatiously, towards a huge black storm cloud. Thankfully the road veered left and the storm stayed on my right, every so often letting off huge thunderclaps. I realised that I was only hundreds of metres left of the border with Zambia and that there must be some very wet Zambians over there. 

100km in I had my last break, took my dues from Tour de France riders of yore and enjoyed an isotonic sports drink with mild pain-killing properties - a beer. This did not have the desired effect as thereafter things were tough, it was seemingly all uphill and a slog for tired legs. Coming into the outskirts of Tunduma there was a sudden appearance of wealth in the form of big houses. Is this cross-border Zambian money? Border towns are often unpleasant and I took an immediate dislike to Tunduma. It was all noise traffic and chaos, swarms of tuktuks, a long queue of lorries waiting for the border, an endless parade of shops and bars and restaurants competing to blare out the loudest music, all under an angry sky that finally burst just after I arrived at my hotel. The terror of the place did at least take my mind off my tired legs for the last 10km. 

My hotel was pretty nice but sadly I didn’t figure out the hot water until the following morning, thus denying myself a well deserved hot shower. A quick dinner and a couple of beers and I was grateful to curl up in my surprisingly comfortable bed. A big day, a good day. And the madness in the back of my mind…what could I do if I really went for it…?

*Too much hill is difficult for obvious reasons, but not enough hill is a challenge as well, because every pedal stroke is the same all day long and your legs never get to ease up on descents.

**As if in celebration, a tuktuk around here had “Much fruits” written on the windshield. Apropos of nothing, I also enjoyed a tuktuk with the phrase “Scoppion Boy” on it. A dyslexic superhero with a sting in his tail?