The Mushroom Farm - Part II
Perched on a steep hillside, high above the shimmering shores of Lake Malawi, the Mushroom Farm Backpackers is famous for one thing…the view!
An avalanche of amber, rust and copper intermingle with a steady stream of greenery, carrying your gaze happily down the horseshoe of hills. Terminating on the deep blue shores of Lake Malawi, the vista is intoxicating.
An avalanche of amber, rust and copper intermingle with a steady stream of greenery, carrying your gaze happily down the horseshoe of hills. Terminating on the deep blue shores of Lake Malawi, the vista is intoxicating.
The campsite itself is a terraced marvel. Each natural platform home to a series of tents, bungalows, hammocks and bathroom facilities. The key to the site, is watching your step - especially when sleeping in the tents. With hardly enough room for a two-man tent, the tiny, circular platforms leave little room for error. "First steps a doozy!" As for the bungalows, brick walls, thatched roofs and worn wooden shudders provide rustic, yet charming, abodes. The balconies aren't bad editions either.
To no surprise, life at the camp revolves around the bar - a tiki-style hut with hardy wooden stools and a selection of dining tables. Milling about within, either the head chef or one of the managers are more then happy to cook your chosen fare while you enjoy your evening first ice cold beer. Another unique and respectable camp quality is it's green nature. And I'm not just talking about the surrounds. Solar panels provide plenty of energy for battery charging, water heating water even wifi (albeit slow). A natural spring provides the water supply, a variety of terraced gardens aid in the roughage effort and a small chicken coup assists in the protein portion of the menu. |
But my favorite perk of the Mushroom Farm came when nature called, the "Kings Throne". Pushing open the creaky wooden door, I was first surprised by the size. Spacious and open-air, the bamboo walls housed nothing more then the toilet, a sink and a view (leaving half the wall missing for a potty-side visual delight). But this wasn't just any toilet. Situated on a raised platform, the throne required a small step up. Once on the platform, a heavy piece of fabric rested over a polished seat of smooth red wood. Hesitantly lifting the fabric, I expected something putrid to fill my nostrils. Instead, the smell of nature received me. No water is required for flushing. Simply drop a handful of leaves and scoop of ash over your business, and your, "flush", is complete. This composting system not only keeps the property green, it keeps it remarkably odor-free.
The showers were another open-air fascination. Slatted bamboo walls surrounded a floor of smooth lake stones. In the middle of the stones, a small wooden stand awaits. Standing atop the small platform, the waterfall can begin. A strong pressure of hot water (can you believe it, "hot water") cascades freely and as you lather, the view cleanses.
After such a pleasant campsite description, how could anyone complain? Well, the Mushroom Farm has one big trick up its sleeve - their remote location. The owner must realize traveling to this site is no easy task (unless willing to pay 50 USD for their "private" drive up) and once at the campsite, you'll want to make the effort worthwhile by staying a few days. Enter the dreaded VAT (Value Added Tax). Instead of including the government VAT in prices, as most other backpackers and campsites do, an unexpected 16.5% VAT charge is tacked onto each and every purchase. Suddenly the already expensive (by Malawi standards) $10 per night grows to $11.65 and that $8 hamburger becomes $9.32. Are you kidding me, those are western prices! I respect the cost must be slightly higher due to the remote location, but so much higher??
These ludicrous prices left such a sour taste in the mouths of me and my fellow travelers that not even the friendly staff and beautiful vista could replace it. Instead, the girls and I focused on free activities i.e. hiking.
The showers were another open-air fascination. Slatted bamboo walls surrounded a floor of smooth lake stones. In the middle of the stones, a small wooden stand awaits. Standing atop the small platform, the waterfall can begin. A strong pressure of hot water (can you believe it, "hot water") cascades freely and as you lather, the view cleanses.
After such a pleasant campsite description, how could anyone complain? Well, the Mushroom Farm has one big trick up its sleeve - their remote location. The owner must realize traveling to this site is no easy task (unless willing to pay 50 USD for their "private" drive up) and once at the campsite, you'll want to make the effort worthwhile by staying a few days. Enter the dreaded VAT (Value Added Tax). Instead of including the government VAT in prices, as most other backpackers and campsites do, an unexpected 16.5% VAT charge is tacked onto each and every purchase. Suddenly the already expensive (by Malawi standards) $10 per night grows to $11.65 and that $8 hamburger becomes $9.32. Are you kidding me, those are western prices! I respect the cost must be slightly higher due to the remote location, but so much higher??
These ludicrous prices left such a sour taste in the mouths of me and my fellow travelers that not even the friendly staff and beautiful vista could replace it. Instead, the girls and I focused on free activities i.e. hiking.
Latticed with dozens of fabulous walks, the mountain is a hikers haven. Our chosen hike, would take us a few hours up the road to the historical mission town of Livingstonia.
Once home to hundreds of Scottish missionaries, including the towns founder, Dr. David Livinstone, today the village resembles more of a creepy, ghost town. Sure there are people around but it's the eerie quiet and peculiar housing arrangements that felt odd. Uniform in design, small brick houses lined the towns main street boasting fire places, small yards, shuttered windows and weathering covered patio's. This wasn't Malawi, this was Scotland. And the town "market", meant to be the most lively area in town, was nothing more then a dozen women selling the exact same products. Tomatoes, onions, dried fish, dried beans and rice - the presumed diet of all Livingstonian’s And although not a gourmet selection, for $2.50 we purchased enough groceries for a, "poor mans chili". A savings of at least 25 dollars from the camps dinner menu. |
But the most memorable activity at the Mushroom Farm was the most simple of all - enjoying sunrise. Waking bright and early, 4:45 am, we assumed positions. Either snuggled on a cliffside hammock or an over-sized wooden chair, our drowsy eyes danced to life with dawn. The oranges and reds of morning raced across the placid lake setting the entire horizon ablaze. Glowing for a few fiery minutes, the colors would expend their energy and slowly dissipate into the soft hues of morning.
The bitter taste was almost gone thanks to 2 incredible sunrises, that was, until it was time to leave the Mushroom Farm. Surely, the journey down couldn't possibly be as perilous as the journey up (see Mushroom Farm - Part I)… famous last words. |
The camp managers recommended sitting on the side of the same remote road we ascended a few days prior and waiting for a passing vehicle. Baking in the sun, we waited for 3 hours...nothing. Frustrated and sick of playing the game on "their" terms, I there in my patience towel. "I'm walking down", which might not seem like such a feat, but with over 40 pounds of combined weight on my small frame, not to mention the smoldering afternoon heat, it would be an epic effort. Due to a knee injury, Emanuel and Nofar chose to wait it out, but with frustration as my fuel, I set out alone.
Singing to the cliffttops I passed the first 30 minutes with surprising ease. Sure my shoulders were on fire and my back felt like splitting in two, but singing somehow took the pressure off.
I was certain a vehicle would eventually pass with Nofar and Emanuel offering a lift from within, but after the first strenuous hour passed, the severity of my situation settled in. It was all or nothing Reg. Following the ever so windy, rocky mountain road, my end goal (the town of Chitimba, on the shores of Lake Malawi)) was always in sight. A blessing and a curse. So close, yet so far.
Huff, Huff. The final 20 minutes were by far the worst. My small water supply had long since been consumed and my shoulders felt 2 inches lower then before. My body screamed but my mind screamed louder. You can do it!
Arriving at the bottom some 2 hours after beginning, I practically collapsed at the sight of a kiosk. Water! Guzzling one bottle and splashing another over my sweaty skin, life slowly flowed back in. Teetering somewhere between reality and heat stroke, a familiar face emerged. Two, to be exact. "Nofar? Emanuel?" Rubbing my weary eyes, I realized, it was truly them! On one hand, I was ecstatic to see them. On the other, I was insanely jealous. They got a lift down! I just put myself through hell only to arrive at the same time. Ah well, I thought, a fitting ending to a crazy "trip" to the magical mushroom farm.
Singing to the cliffttops I passed the first 30 minutes with surprising ease. Sure my shoulders were on fire and my back felt like splitting in two, but singing somehow took the pressure off.
I was certain a vehicle would eventually pass with Nofar and Emanuel offering a lift from within, but after the first strenuous hour passed, the severity of my situation settled in. It was all or nothing Reg. Following the ever so windy, rocky mountain road, my end goal (the town of Chitimba, on the shores of Lake Malawi)) was always in sight. A blessing and a curse. So close, yet so far.
Huff, Huff. The final 20 minutes were by far the worst. My small water supply had long since been consumed and my shoulders felt 2 inches lower then before. My body screamed but my mind screamed louder. You can do it!
Arriving at the bottom some 2 hours after beginning, I practically collapsed at the sight of a kiosk. Water! Guzzling one bottle and splashing another over my sweaty skin, life slowly flowed back in. Teetering somewhere between reality and heat stroke, a familiar face emerged. Two, to be exact. "Nofar? Emanuel?" Rubbing my weary eyes, I realized, it was truly them! On one hand, I was ecstatic to see them. On the other, I was insanely jealous. They got a lift down! I just put myself through hell only to arrive at the same time. Ah well, I thought, a fitting ending to a crazy "trip" to the magical mushroom farm.