Day 3. Sat 12th August

Blantyre

I am at the bus station at 7 prompt with my rucksack straining at the seams (I have been told that there is a 25kg limit on the bus, but nobody weighs it). I am forced to wear my boots again in order to get everything in. (The ghastly green plastic sandals I bought as a stop-gap are definitely not wanted on voyage, and I gave them to "Q" in Don Brioni's to give to a poor shoeless African of his choice).The Shire Coach I don't have to wait long before a man arrives with a ticket he doesn't need, so I buy it off him and I'm on.
The bus is definitely an improvement over the minibuses, with a real guide with a microphone, toilet (which fortunately I don't ever need to investigate), snacks and even a film. However, it is also a very old bus (I believe they are exported from England when they are no longer viable, and have probably been in service in Malawi for at least ten years since), and we are not much more than an hour on the road before it breaks down near Dedza, with brake failure.Kids with balloons
Now, the Shire Coach Line runs two buses a day from Lilongwe to Blantyre, one at 7am and one at 2pm. It is nine o'clock when we break down, so the logical thing to do would seem to be to ring the bus station and get them to send the other bus, which could take us on to Blantyre. Then, with luck, they would probably be able to get this bus repaired and back to Lilongwe in time for the 2 o'clock run. But no, this is too logical. Instead, the driver rings the bus station and tells them to send a mechanic.
I while away the time chatting to the other passengers, including a very nice family who live in Saudi but are back to visit. I remember the bag of balloons that I carry in my rucksack for amusing children, and dig them out and amuse the kids on the bus for a while.
After about 2 hours the mechanic arrives, removes the back wheel (which is not a quick job on a coach), shakes his head, give a sharp intake of breath and announces that he can't fix it.Removing the coach wheel
So the driver gets on the phone to the bus station again and this time tells them to send another bus (imagine what this was like before mobile phone coverage, which wasn't that long ago). This finally arrives at 2:15 - we have been stuck for five hours and, not yet inured to the African sun, the backs of my legs are going very pink.
It is 6 o'clock and already dark by the time we reach the city (I shall never get used to the way it goes dark every night at 6 in Africa, whatever the time of year). Also, I had assumed that, like the minibuses, the coach would stop at the depot outside Doogles, but it doesn't, it stops at Ryles Hotel, which is not far away, but I don't fancy walking it in the dark and with all my stuff, so I grab a taxi.Doogles
Now, I have already emailed Doogles backpackers' lodge (probably the most famous pub in Malawi, if not in Africa) from England to book a chalet for tonight, but have been told that they have a convention of doctors (at a backpackers' lodge???) in for the weekend and are completely full, although dormitories and camping will be available. So, as well as being tired and fed up after the journey from hell, I now have the prospect of putting up my new tent in the dark, or sharing a dorm with half a dozen snoring, farting backpackers. Oh joy!
However, my guardian angel must have only popped out for a quick fag, because when I finally arrive at Doogles I discover that the doctors have all gone, and there is a chalet available. And the showers are hot! By 7:30 I'm cleaned and polished and enjoying a Carslberg Green and a Monster Steak Burger in the bar. As always it is easy to get into conversation with people, and I end up chatting to a young guy called Alastair and a very nice middle-aged lady from Edinburgh called Maureen who is teaching over here. She apparently spends most of her evenings in Doogles as she is staying at the Grace Bandawe Hostel, a Christian establishment just up the road which doesn't have a bar. We chat for a while, and then she heads back to her hostel and I head for bed.
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