I arrived in Blantyre early this morning and checked in at the Chez Makay, making this officially my fourth hotel in 40 days. For those of you who are new to the blog, or don't remember, I came here in late September for dinner, drinks, and a spectacular view of the mountainside. As I walked in through the front door (which, it should be noted, is more akin to walking into a house than a hotel/inn; it's like a wilderness bed & breakfast) there was Makay, dreadlocked and smiling. "Hello James," he said while extending his hand and either remembering me from before or looking at his reservation book and being a damn good host, "welcome back home." He then proceeded to shout through an open door to the in very fast Chichewa, prompting a smiling, hurried gentleman to rush in, grab my bags from me and quickly rush out of the lobby. As I began to follow, Makay, in his slow, laid-back tone urged me to stay. "No need to leave so quickly. He will make sure your bags are settled. We will put on some jazz and drink a Green." Keep in mind, it is somewhere around 8:00 am. And you know what? I didn't care one bit.
This is the allure of Chez Makay. If the first and second hotels (Sunbird Lilongwe/Sunbird Mount Soche) were all business, and the Annie's Lodge was a mountainside resort, then Chez Makay is like an island, floating in the Caribbean and unaware of the hustle and bustle all around its shoreline. Getting here is an adventure in itself, off the beaten path that veers off from the beaten path, and when you arrive, its exterior is as unassuming from the outside as it is magical on the inside. In fact, of all the hotels I have ever stayed in, I think its the first one I can ever describe as being cool. As we sipped our early morning beers, sun peeking over the top of the mountain clearly visible from the deck and a soft trumpet playing 30s style prohibition jazz, I couldn't help but wonder if this was all real. Makay and I sat and chatted through three bottles of Green (all on the house of course), talking about everything from his early life in Cameroon, to his purchase of the 'Chez' to what has brought me to Lilongwe, Blantyre, Zomba, and back again.
After we finished, I excused myself to go to my room, and Makay gave me directions. "Go through the lawn, and turn right until you see the staircase. Go down three flights of stairs and you will find your apartment on the left." "Alright," I said, and as I wondered if three Greens and no breakfast would inhibit my stair descending ability, Makay's words slowly made their way from my ears to a workable portion of my brain. "Wait, apartment?" I turned around and asked. "I told you, you were home, right?" Makay said with a grin, "Well home can't be a hotel room James. Enjoy" I nodded, supposing there was a certain sense of logic to that, and wondering where that sensibility had been the past couple weeks.
After making the trek down the stairs, I arrived to my one bedroom, one bath apartment. It's not fancy, don't get me wrong, but a full two rooms, a lounge area with a nice TV and refrigerator, and an ample sized bathroom, and fully stocked bookshelf, filled with everything from old classics (Chaucer and Hemingway), contemporary summer reads (Crichton and Thomas Harris), and old, leather bound, well worn books in French, Italian, and Spanish.
I took a moment to settle myself, and, due to precise combination of a late night packing, an early morning drive, and Makay-inspired morning brews, decided it was time to take a nap.
I awoke one hour later. I was staring at a lizard.
There I laid, for an hour-long sixty seconds. It blinked. I didn't. It was breathing. I am still not sure if I was or not.
There was about six inches of white, bare sheet between my nose and its nose. I remember thinking absolutely nothing. Actually, that's not entirely true. The transcript of the moment would have read something like this.
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Am I asleep?
Me: I feel pretty awake.
Me: Do lizards bite?
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Beer?
Lizard: *Blink*
Me: I'm sleeping with a f$#%# lizard.
Then, something weird happened. I heard music. It wasn't the jazz from earlier, and it wasn't a radio. Unless the lizard/beer/nap combination completely messed with my perception of reality (and at this very moment, such a conclusion seemed plausible, if not preferred) I could swear that it was a live band.
Spurred on equally by my desire to track down the source of the music and to end my overly-courteous bedside manner with a reptile, I lept out of bed and quickly rushed to do to things: put my shoes on, and grab both my camera and my lizard removal kit (ie. the back page of a magazine and empty glass). I quickly snapped a picture of my bedmate (so that you'd all believe me), carefully trapped him (her?) underneath a glass and moved him outside so that it could complete its lizardy walk-of-shame. I then, as corny as it sounds, I followed the music.
What I found, down by the pool, was a group of six musicians, all native Malawians, practicing for their gig tomorrow night here at Chez. The lead singer, a tall, lanky, dreadlocked guy with a raspy voice, penchant for animated arm movements and oversized aviator sunglasses was named Marco and the band name (I think) was the same. What happened next should come as no surprise to anyone who even remotely knows me (or my Father, from whom I learned to never leave 'a happening): I sat there for two hours, just on the periphery of their practice circle, listening to some of the coolest, funkiest, hippest reggae I have ever heard. (Fellow Bloomingtoners: THIS is an act for the Lotus Festival next year, for sure) I can't wait to see them here tomorrow and let you know what a full performance is like. In the meantime, I bought both albums, have been jamming to them all afternoon, and will share with anyone who wants to hear when I return.
So that's the first twelve hours at Chez Makay. Lord (and lizard) only knows what I will experience for the next twenty days.
Cheers.
