After Uganda we drove back down into Tanzania, following lake Tanganyika to the southern highlands and Lake Malawi. The road south along Lake Tanganyika is maybe even more challenging than the half-built, Chinese disaster south of Dar Es Salaam. The variety of the road surface horrors (pot holes, corrugations and 'Oh, my god, Jackie. We're driving up a dried-up riverbed at 45 degrees') is only matched by the sobering number of refugee camps filled with the displaced of neighbouring Rwanda and Burundi.

Our first port of call and the main town on the Lake Tanganyika Free Trade Zone was Kigoma. We arrived late and all the accommodation was clogged up with Congolese businessmen and aid workers from Rwanda. It took two hours and twenty odd hotels to find a spare bed. But the following three days and nights we spent at the beautiful Jacobson's Beach Resort, a weekend safe haven for missionaries and aid workers. A great view of the lake, a charcoal filled barbeque area and just a few steps down to an idyllic tropical beach, which was deserted most of the time.

In contrast to this, we touched on real wilderness and potential banditry in the following three days it took to drive to Mbeya. The first day took us through a freshly made forest reserve, beautiful but empty. We drove for six hours without seeing a soul. This can have a strange effect on your psyche, especially in Tanzania where normally people are everywhere. The deserted road soon lost all structure and descended into hell-on-toast chaos. Then an irresistible argument erupted in the car and for the rest of the day; our individual fear of banditry was unable to find solace in the usual jokes and bullshitting.

We still weren't talking when we reached Mpanda, which is not helpful when viewing the accommodation choices. The recommended place in the Bradt Guide is now so neglected that it resembles a whorehouse in a squat rather than a hotel. In our eventual guesthouse, we met two South African miners, looking for potential tin in the region. Despite driving a new Japanese pickup truck, they resembled nothing less than 19th central gold rush prospectors. Piet wore a smart shirt tucked into jeans, drank coffee and sucked on cigarettes beneath his smart little moustache. The other guy, Jan, emerged half naked from his room with a beaten up face and a local girl draped around his waist. Piet explained that Jan was the financier of their get-rich quick project.

The next day started with being stopped at a roadblock and the car being sprayed. Oh no, what now? We were sprayed for Tsetse fly. Great. All day with the windows up! But no fear, we were entering Katavi National Park, and although we paid no park fees we managed to see crocodiles, hippos and elephants. Very nice.

In contrast to the whoring mine town of Mpanda, Sumbawanga showed us an altogether more pious experience. The Moravian Conference Centre, which hosts large church meetings for diocese all over Tanzania, is immaculate in conception with modern and understated décor. Great restaurant but no bloody bar!

The last day took us into Mbeya, which is the main town in the Southern Highlands. The highland area is littered with lakes, caves and waterfalls - and fields and fields of bright green tea plantations stretching up the steep slopes of several mountains. We walked/climbed Utengule and Mount Rungwe, the one with a view along the western plain to Zambia, the latter with views down to Lake Malawi.

We somehow managed to be persuaded to rent a whole house at the Utengule Country Hotel for two nights; maybe we needed it after all the refugee camps and terrible roads. When we were leaving the hotel that Saturday, along yet another bumpy rural road, the gear stick began to dance like a Muppet. I was in second gear but I couldn't get it to change. Fearing the almost worst (broken gear box - second only to broken engine), we pulled up into MVTC motors, as recommended by the hotel owner, Frank.

The MVTC guys didn't work on Saturdays but took extensive details and booked us in for Monday morning. Unfortunately that meant that we had to drive in second gear for two days but instead of staying somewhere local and not driving, we belligerently decided to drive another 70kms to Tukuyu. Pedestrians overtook us as we climbed the hills and, with my foot on the clutch, we coasted the downhill stretches and peaked at 63kms per hour.

We found a sign for Bongo Camping (http://www.bongocamping.com) at the side of the road and stormed up the steep bank into a village with a makeshift camping area signposted in front of a school building. We were tired and couldn't get into reverse gear so we stayed and, despite our initial misgivings, we had an interesting and enlightening few days.

Bongo is a local NGO project set up by Kasper - a tall gangling Dane - and his Tanzanian wife Anna. It's distantly supported by a Danish NGO but essentially the local villagers pay to be a part of it and profit from its activities. It's very new (two months when we were there) so inevitably there seemed to be many heated debates about its direction and a hundred and one things going on at once. But already they had the campsite up and running (just), were rehearsing a play to promote AIDS awareness and ran regular English and Adult Education lessons. For us, this meant a parade of interesting characters around the campfire and a grilling from the English class about our lives at home and opinions on everything ranging from AIDS awareness to carbon neutrality.

Overall, western Tanzania is quite a different prospect from the east. The roads are terrible but as with all places a little less touched by tourism, the people were more friendly and genuine.

Photos

Jacobson's Resort
Katavi - Hippo soup
Mount Rungwe