Hopping on to the Monkey Bay-bound minibus I made my way to Cape MacClear, a standard stop on the backpacking circuit along the shore of Lake Malawi. After waiting an hour for the minibus to fill up, I got to Cape Mac at it's most beautiful time: just before sunset. Checking in at the backpackers, I settled on to a beachside lounger and watched as the sun sank behind Thumbi West island. I was sharing my dorm with a Japanese Medecins Sans Frontiers volunteer, and joined her on a snorkelling trip out to the island the next day. Entering the water was like being dropped into an aquarium, and as I looked behind me in the water it wasn't quite clear who was watching who: I had become the leader of a massive school of small fish. The water was calm and it was great to be able to immerse myself in the undersea world. After a big lunch of rice and fish and another dip, we were back on the boat and taken around the edge of the island. Here, they stopped the boat and as the skipper whistled a high-pitched call and threw a fish into the water, a fish eagle appeared from nowhere and swooped down to grab the fish in his claws. Very impressive!

Back on dry land, I was keen to just laze on the beach, but the combination of stubborn ants and beach boys incessantly trying to sell tours or wares made for a not-so-relaxing time. Instead I headed back to the backpackers, which was on the beach after all but slightly more sheltered from ants and people, and read my book in the soothing semi-shade of rustling palms. As it was getting dark I suddenly felt something heavily drop onto my head and reaching up felt something warm and wriggling: horrified, I threw it onto the table only to find that it was a gecko! I have always thought they are very cute, but when unexpectedly falling/crawling on me, it gave me the heebie jeebies and I decided to head into the village to eat at one of the small local places - they are much cheaper and more fun than the touristy places along the shore (and with fewer ants!)! I was soon joined by a friend I'd made on the beach earlier (who had been trying to sell me a tour) and he taught me how to play a local game called Bao (also known as Mancala). We played a couple of rounds before my food arrived, and we chatted away in the meantime. I've found throughout my travels that it takes an average of about 5 minutes before the inevitable question comes up: are you married? My replies have varied from claiming I'm running from several suitors back home, insisting nobody can afford to marry me (my father insists on no less than 500 cows as dowry), or that I am simply too unbearable. Either way, it's a subject that I find equally boring every time and never ends in agreement - indeed more often than not it ends in awkwardness and me politely taking my leave.

After a couple of days in "Cape Mac" as the cool kids call it, I headed to Zomba - a small town on a plateau where I was looking forward to doing some hiking. Apart from a fancy hotel, the only accommodation in the Lonely Planet guide was the "Trout Farm", so I went there thinking it was a creatively named backpackers. Indeed, it actually is a former trout farm that is now made up of a couple of cottages, a campsite, and what looked like some kind of classroom or conference hall. There was no electricity and nowhere nearby to eat (other than the fancy shmancy hotel), so I made my way to the roadside shacks that provided limited options and bought what was on offer - sweet potatoes and tomatoes - not really knowing what I would be doing with these ingredients.. As it began to get dark I realised I had no idea where there was firewood and should really have started thinking about "cooking" much earlier. Being in a higher altitude the temperature dropped fast as the sun set, and I went to the guards' quarters where I could see a healthy fire burning. The guards were kind enough to let me use their fire after they finished cooking nsima (the Malawian version of pap, porridge, ugali, fufu). It was cosy sitting around the fire with them trying to learn the local language, Chinyanja, and sharing stories. The trout farm used to be a successful operation owned by an Indian family, but after they sold it the new owners didn't know how to farm trout and allowed the farm to run down leaving the accommodation as its only source of income. It was a shame to hear that a successful business had so easily been allowed to slip into disrepair, and the guards seemed genuinely disappointed that standards hadn't been kept up.

The next day, after an unexpectedly cold night's sleep (it was hard to believe I had just come from a warm beach a few kilometers away!) I packed a lunch and met the guide who would be taking me hiking around the plateau. I had been contemplating which would be the comfiest gear to wear for the day, and felt foolish with my well-stocked backpack as I saw that my guide was in a t-shirt and shorts, barefoot, with nothing but a small water-bottle. On our way, he explained that the village he lived in was a three-hour walk from the trout farm and he made this trek back and forth every day. He asked whether I would want to take a detour via his village and I was very keen to see the place he described. Given the option of a 3-hour or 6-hour walk (both at ridiculously low prices) I opted for the 6-hour one that would take us in a wide arc around the peaks of the plateau. The hike did not disappoint - the views from Emperor's View (where Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie had visited) and Queen's View (after Queen Elizabeth came here) were breath-taking, and the village of my guide was beautifully nestled in a valley surrounded by maise fields and trickling streams. Getting back at 3-ish, I was intent on being more prepared for dinnertime, and as my guide got back with a bunch of firewood I got to work straight away trying to get one going. Again, I struggled (my girl-scout days were a long time ago after all) and the guard took pity on me eventually coming out to where I was steadily making my way through a box of matches with glowing embers from his own fire to get one started for me. I gratefully accepted but the wood I had been given wasn't great and I was only just managing to keep the fire alight when it began to rain. I realised the world was against me, but eventually managed to get my potatoes boiled and had another mediocre meal of sweet potatoes, tomatoes, and salt… When I left Zomba for Blantyre the next morning, catching a lift with a couple who were heading off at the same time, I have to admit I was looking forward to electricity, warmth, and other luxuries - I was clearly not cut out for such intrepid travelling!