The Way of The Chooch

On these long drives we have developed a philosophy of the road to keep ourselves sane. It runs like this

1. Our objective is to reach the next hotel in time for dinner. But it’s not enough just to do the drive, we must also Chooch. Chooching means enjoying the journey, taking in the sights and scenery and appreciating what we are doing. It also means keeping up a good average speed and getting on with the drive. 

There are many obstacles in the way of good Chooching. 

2. Trucks - good chooching means that trucks have got to be overtaken. This is an art form - since R&C hasn’t got much overtaking oomph. It requires patience and looking for the moment. When the opportunity to overtake comes then it must be grabbed and not fluffed. Some courage is necessary. 

3. Trucks. Having overtaken a truck it’s important to understand that there is always another truck. 

4. Goats. From time to time a goat will run out onto the road in front of you. You will swerve to avoid it. But it’s useful to know that where there is one goat another is likely to be close behind. Don’t get complacent. 

This is the way of the Chooch. 

Malawi

Crossing into Malawi was a massive undertaking including four hours of pointless paperwork at the border crossing. 

Once across the road swept alongside the vast expanse of Lake Malawi - the other shore is quite invisible. There are beautiful sandy beaches here and the road is flat. What’s more, thank god, there are almost no trucks so finally we can make serious progress. And we need to as we have a long way to go until tonight’s hotel. 

But. The road leaves the lakeshore and starts to twist up into the hills. The road surface becomes rough and uneven and our speed drops dramatically. At least Rhubarb and Custard is built for the rough stuff, other cars are in real trouble and one of the Porsche’s breaks it’s rear suspension. 

Now it’s a race to avoid driving in the dark, but we just aren’t quick enough. The sun sets and we have half an hour of twilight before it’s totally dark - not even the moon to help out. 

We had assumed that when darkness came the villagers went to bed but in fact everyone becomes more lively and huge numbers of people are strolling up and down the side of the highway going who-knows-where? It’s terrifyingly dangerous as they are totally invisible until the last moment. 

Our right hand headlight is useless and points up into the sky, illuminating the trees. The left hand one gives us about 15 feet of visibility. Oncoming drivers are on full beam and so are those coming up behind. It’s a nightmare. 

The broken Porsche gives up but somehow a flatbed truck arrives from a nearby village and the spectators at the village football match lift the car up onto the truck. Their fee is £20. 

Finally, at 8pm, we roll into the hotel car park - exhausted. It’s another 10 hour day tomorrow and another border crossing. Shit. 

Village People

Back in Dar es Salaam we visited a museum of village life where traditional village huts had been reconstructed to show city dwellers what rural life had been like. 

Now we are driving through modern rural villages we can see that those old types of buildings no longer exist. There are some homes still made of mud, stone and straw but they are roughly put together and don't have the elegance of those in the museum. 

Most people live in a mud-brick built house with a tin roof. Some neatly kept with a garden and satellite dush, but most fairly basic. Shops and community buildings are built in the same way. Only schools have more substance to them, perhaps because here you have to pay to get an education. 

And people are willing and able to pay - we see School children everywhere wearing imacculate uniforms - including jumpers, which to us seems mad in such a hot climate. The children are wildly enthusiastic when they see Rhubarb & Custard go past. 

Getting an education here is the route out of a mud-brick building and into the modern world. Sure, the villages here have power and water and schools and some basic healthcare. And there's no shortage of beautiful local produce either. But everyone we see has a smartphone and is connected to the world outside their village. They see what the rest of the world has, and some at least will leave their villages to get it. 

The next generation may look on today's Tanzanian village houses as something for the museum of village life, alongside ancient tribal huts. 

If so that will be a good thing, and it will mean that Tanzanians are building their own future. 

Motor Sport is Dangerous

Even before the start of the Rally two cars will not be on the starting grid. One of the seven Mustangs broke a back axel just as it was about to be shipped to Dar es Salaam. The driver and navigator have hired a Toyota Hi Lux to follow the Rally to Cape Town. 

Ten kilometres from the point where we collected the cars, one of the Mercedes was involved in a hefty side collision. The steering is affected and it isn't safe to drive - so John and Colleen hitch a ride in the Hi Lux.

It's pretty dangerous out on the open road too. At many cross roads there's no obvious priority and trucks and buses will pull out from side roads in front of you with no warning. 

The roads aren't too bad and there are crawler lanes on the steeper sections - just as well as overtaking is only for the brave. The 200km to our first stop takes us five hours - and this is the A road. Others are quicker but several drivers encounter the local police and are handed on the spot fines. One of the Fangio coupes was stopped for having only one working rear light. It's pointed out that the 1930's car was only built with one rear light. The puzzled policeman was told to, 'Blame the Americans.' The BMW 2002 got away with a fine for crossing the white line because the number plate wasn't on the system. An invitation to accompany plod to the station was turned down. 

R&C of course has a flat battery again so we are jump started but after that it's a smooth run. Some swearing from the driver when other vehicles don't appreciate R&C's brakes aren't up to modern standards, but that's to be expected. 

The first 200km are in the can. 6,800 to go. 

The Road

We are now several hundred Kilometers from Dar es Salaam (I could tell you exactly how far but that would require getting off the bed, and I'm too exhausted to move). As it's a rally I guess I should tell you something about the road itself. 

We have been on the same road (I think the A7) for the entire time, without deviating left or right. Parts of the road are newly made with Chinese money. The tarmac is smooth and the painted lines are clear. We hate these sections because they are zealously policed and subject to rediculous speed restrictions, which are supposed to apply to villages only. And whichever Chinese Mandarin painted the no overtaking lines has never driven a car, as long sections of perfectly straight road forbid overtaking. 

As a result we have been stopped once for crossing the no overtaking lines and once for speeding. The latter is a total scam - no receipt is issued and the fine is simply  pocketed by the traffic cop. I think everyone on the rally has been caught out. 

By contrast the old sections of road are full of potholes and rough surfaces, often the road is rutted and deformed and the white lines have worn away. Here there are no rules of the road and it suits Rhubarb & Custard perfectly. We thrive on deformed roads because the car was built for Mongolia, and overtake when we think it is safe, not when we are told to. It's much more fun. 

Progress is chronically slow as the local lorries are overloaded and gutless or both. Overtaking here is an art form. Our system is that both driver and navigator have to agree to go - R&C doesn't have much oomph in the lower register so overtaking is like winding up an old clock. But we have surprised a few people with what the car can do when we put our foot to the floor. 

All is running well. We have low oil pressure at idle and a bit of oil weeping from the engine seals but nothing to worry about we think. 

Dar es Salaam

Out in the Indian Ocean, between Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar we can see the distinctive triangular sails of Dhows, traditional boats that would ply between Dar es Salaam, India and the Middle East. 

The Dhows have a surprising turn of speed, but the winds are strong here - the menus at the beachside restaurants have to be firmly held if they are not to blow away. 

In between the Dhows are columns of container ships, waiting their turn in port and bringing a world of manufactured goods to Tanzania and all the landlocked countries of Africa that lie behind. 

The Arabs and Indians always traded with the East Coast of Africa and Dar es Salaam. Add in occupation by the Germans and British and the resultant mix combines Swahili with Arabic and Indian dialects overlayed with colonial English. In our taxi the radio news is in Swahili but I can make out 'Manchester United' in English and (lower down the news order) 'Theresa May' and 'Dominic Raab'. Bloody Brexit being discussed even here!

Everyone is trading - the taxi stops at the lights and dozens of boys appear with bags of nuts, tissues, footballs and (strangely) windscreen wipers. Every piece of pavement (for which read dust at the side of the road) has a stall on it. Some with just a few coconuts for sale or offering to polish your shoes, others with extensive selections of bedroom furniture or just plain old junk. The city screams of enterprise and hustle and making your way in life. It's the complete opposite of the socialist republic that Tanzania's first president - Julius Nyerere - had in mind for the country.  I guess that the ancient trading spirit of the Dhows is too deeply in the blood here for any other way of life to take root - and everyone seems quite content that it should be that way. 

Breakfast Coconut