Don’t get me wrong – I simply adore wildlife safaris. After all, aren’t they the quintessential reason for travelling to Africa? But sometimes, after several days out there in the bush, I can start to feel bushed myself. I think it is the lack of sleep that gets to me in the end – all those long, drawn-out nights of excitement where unseen things with teeth snuffle and sniff at the tent flap.

“Will that canvas deter that flatulating elephant who is, judging by the sound, just metres from where my head rests on a pillow?”

“Will the giggling hyena at the window succumb to the smell of my socks or break in through the flimsy sheet separating us?”

It really is quite easy to spend an entire evening fretting in bed, staring up into the darkness with eyes wide open. I do it all the time. Then, when Mr Sandman finally arrives, it’s already too late. The sky has begun to lighten, those bloody African doves start with their infernal racket and somebody shows up with a tray laden with coffee.

“Good Morning, Sir. It’s 4.30am, and your early morning game drive will depart shortly.”

While in the process of cursing to myself I usually remember that I’ve come there for a reason, and time spent in bed is time wasted. After all, there are leopards, elephants and lions to see.

As expected, the aforementioned events were played out on my recent trip to Zambia’s South Luangwa National Park. It was a wonderful week for so many reasons: I’d walked alongside elephants, observed impala pronking and lions bonking, and witnessed a monitor lizard swallow one of those terribly noisy doves (good riddance). However, after all the enjoyable early morning antics I found I had acquired some excess luggage – nothing from the gift shop mind you, just large saggy bags hanging like hammocks from each of my eyes.

As my new acquisitions were not unexpected, I’d planned day seven to be the start of some serious R&R, with piña coladas, beaches and all…

And so I bade farewell to Luangwa’s marvellous wildlife, hopped aboard a nice little plane, and within hours found myself sprawled out in the front of a boat, heading for Mumbo Island across the glassy blue surface of Lake Malawi.

Trailing my hand in the cool, clear water, I stared up into a sapphire sky and watched a pair of fish eagles circling above. They wailed like seagulls, unsuccessfully requesting scraps from a passing man in a dugout canoe.

We both waved at the man as we chugged slowly by, and he skilfully waved back – how anybody can stand upright in those narrow contraptions is beyond me. I tried once, and sank as a result. The eagles above did one more graceful circuit, shook their tails with what I imagine was frustration and then glided off into the sun.

The fresh open expanse of Lake Malawi was a welcome relief after the scrub and dusty heat of the bush. The cool breezes ruffled my hair, and I was instantly lulled into a state of blissful relaxation.

I imagine Livingstone had similar sentiments when first he laid eyes on the place back in 1859. After all, he had just come from a rather long safari himself and was probably, like me, in dire need of a sun lounger and cocktail.

“The finest lake of a thousand glittering stars,” he is rumoured to have said with regard to the water’s shimmering qualities. “A place of splendour where one feels not the slightest compulsion to go on a pre-dawn wildlife drive.” Okay, I made that last bit up, but there is a certainly something in and around lake Malawi that brings out the sloth in you.

Arguably, the southern end of this enormous lake has the most interesting scenery due to the presence of the Nankumba Peninsula, a mountainous finger that points north towards a series of small tropical islands. Here, forest clad hills tumble down from an African sky and dip their exposed granite toes into an expanse of water so vast that it appears to be a sea.

Golden beaches and curvaceous bays offer sheltered locations for bustling fishing villages, while the islands themselves remain relatively untouched due to their National Park status.

Mumbo Island, my first destination on the lake, is probably the nicest of them and has a rustic, yet up-market, Robinson Crusoe-esque lodge nestled unobtrusively between the granite boulders and the cactus-like candelabra trees.

Colonial-style tents, perched high up on wooden decks, peer out over a vista of turquoise water punctuated by precariously balanced figures on their small dugout canoes.

“It’s a romantic spot, isn’t it?” asked Ryan, the Mumbo Island Camp manager, rhetorically, while we stood at a bamboo bar and supped on girly-style drinks.

The tiny sheltered beach and shallow waters were peppered with a smattering of what I assumed to be honeymooners, or at the very least, folk having trysts. They gazed at one another in that rapturous way reserved for couples who don’t really know each other that well.

“Go collapse on the loungers and have a snooze,” continued Ryan, “or, if that’s not your sort of thing, you can always go explore. I’m going for a paddle. Would you like to come along?”  I politely declined in favour of a few more pink cocktails, a Daniel Steel novel and a comfortable-looking hammock.

Mumbo Island is a small affair, a little pile of boulders coated in forests. And for want of a few palm trees, looks for all the world like a Seychelles transplant. In less than an hour you could hike around its watery perimeter, or circumnavigate its shoreline by kayak (while seated).

Each luxurious tent is privately situated so that the romantically inclined can smooch outside on the deck without getting caught, and when the sun sets the whole place is lit up with oil lamps and candles (who needs electricity?).

All in all, it’s the perfect venue for that special ‘castaway’ experience. Rustic yet comfortable, basic but sufficient, and what’s more, you don’t have to eat barnacles or drink your own urine to survive.

After spending the best part of two days enjoying the fact I was doing very little, I finally decided to go out on a kayak. I have to say it was jolly nice, but for a few potentially embarrassing encounters with the honeymoon couples.

With so much romance in the air on Mumbo, I inadvertently found myself needing to silently back paddle away from all manner of rocky islets, hidden coves and secret caves due to the presence of lovebirds. I did see some otters though, but they were in amorous embraces too.

The following morning I set off to a new, but nearby, lodge: Pumulani. Perhaps the plushest place on the lake, its suave set-up contrasts with Mumbo’s rustic simplicity. Nestling on a hillside at the heart of the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Lake Malawi National Park, Pumulani’s ten individually-designed, opulent villas are each a work of minimalist art. The massive windows and outside decks all have commanding views of the surrounding forests and lake, while the rooms are big enough to swing a lion about by its tail (should the compulsion take you).

The scaling up of the swank factor began from the moment I was picked up from Mumbo’s Jetty. The putt-putt of my previous ride was replaced with the vroom-vroom of a slick speedboat’s throbbing engines. As I was zipped across the lake’s glassy surface, I began to fancy myself as the next James Bond.

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I requested a Martini from the driver (to help prologue the fantasy) but alas, I spilt it down my shirt (something 007 would never do). Thank heavens there were no Bond girls aboard to see that.

Pumulani, which means ‘to rest well” in the local Chichewa language, had only been open a few months when I visited, and hence the relationship between the lodge’s staff and the locals was still finding its feet.

 “At the moment we are still having unannounced visitors,” said Stephane, Pumulani’s training consultant. “They have never seen an open-air restaurant before and the temptation is proving too much for them.”

“The baboons and monkeys are also interested,” muttered Stephane. “I find them very entertaining, but turn your back for a minute and the finger food is gone.”

Primates, although part of the welcoming committee, aren’t the only wildlife to be seen in the park. Klipspringers, hyrax and kingfishers are abundant within the grounds, as are cormorants, lizards and, of course, sea eagles.
 “There is even a leopard somewhere around here,” Stephane told me, “but I have yet to see him. However, I’m sure when I do I will find him trying to steal our canapés!”

Although the emphasis at Pumulani is all about relaxing on the beach, there is still plenty to do in terms of experiencing the local environment and culture; the lake being central to both.

Measuring almost 600km long and up to 85km wide, Lake Malawi’s 29,600 square kilometres make it almost the size of Belgium (though I dare to say it is far more interesting than its European measuring stick). It’s bottom, some 1000m below in areas, looks up upon an impressive array of freshwater fish – 500 or so species in total. It’s ironic that Malawi, a landlocked country, is a nation of fishermen, with almost everyone relying (in some way) on fish for their survival.

That evening, from my verandah on the hill, I watched the setting sun turn the sky ochre and the lake mauve. Adolescent monkeys played on the rocks in the dwindling light, and in the distance, floating out from a little fishing village, was a fleet of dugout canoes, each illuminated by a row of gas lanterns. As they glided over the mirrored surface, through a pink and subtle mist, the men’s voices sung in rich and rhythmic tones, reaching up to me like harmonious ghosts.

It was a magical moment, unlike any I have had in Africa before, and, like Malawi, I owe it all to the fish.

Early the next day I decided I should go see these very important creatures, so I donned my snorkelling gear and re-boarded the sumptuously-curved speedboat to head out into the deep blue.

“We’re going to the aquarium,” said my guide Glyn. “It’s a special place where you can find the most fine-looking species.” And it was true – I have never seen such a fantastic kaleidoscope of colour in a freshwater lake.

There were blue ones, green ones, red ones, white ones, yellow ones, striped ones, and yes, even spotted ones. No wonder cichlids (the dominant variety) are very popular worldwide as aquarium pets. The water was balmy and clear, and I spent quite a few very pleasant hours drifting around feeding canapés to the beautiful fish.

My final sunset on Lake Malawi was spent aboard Pumulani’s traditional dhow, a beautiful vessel equipped with billowing sails (and a well stocked cooler box). As the sun and some Pimms went down, I sank too, deeper and deeper into the dhow’s comfortable cushions. It was there that I absorbed, for the last time, the emblematic atmosphere that is Lake Malawi.

Fishing Eagles wheeled overhead, resplendent dugout canoes with their ‘fairy lights’ drifted here and there, and baobab trees reached for the darkening sky from a boulder strewn shore. I thought to myself, I should like to take one last dip. But that’s when I saw the hippos – lots of them. Bustling, blowing and grunting as hippos always do, they were right next to the fishing village too. I really wasn’t expecting that.

Thanks to the hippos’ sudden, surprising appearance, I was not only rested and relaxed after my time on Lake Malawi, I’d had my adventuresome side reinvigorated. I felt the safari juices began to stir anew…


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