Fawlty Towers...alive and well in Zombe!

The atmospheric and intriguing facade

Terribly tatty and absolutely adorable – these were my initial thoughts as we tumbled out of the double cab at Masongola Hotel in Zombe, Malawi.

“Built in 1886” the signboards proudly proclaimed, and I was hooked. 

Welcome to Hotel Masongola

Ignoring the mutters from my husband, Alan, about investigating the few other adjacent lodges before we committed ourselves, I insisted firmly that THIS was the place.  After all, it was built in 1886, how often did we have the chance to sleep in a 127 year-old establishment?  This was History with a capital H!

The warning signs were there, of course.  The overly delighted staff overjoyed at someone – anyone - arriving through the gates, eagerly up-selling us an executive double room with breakfast for $50.  

Accommodation secured, we requested a liquid reward, well earned after travelling the challenging road between Blantyre and Zombe.

Torrential ‘white out’ rain enroute made the Seychelles monsoons we’d experienced resemble an English Lake District drizzle, turning the monstrous dirt road into a squelching morass of mud which proved a challenge for our 4x4 bakkie more accustomed to the dry sandy potholes of Tete.

The duty manager proudly led us to Sir Harry’s bar – “named for Sir Harry, you know.”

Sir Harry's Bar

The bar, situated in one of the two imposing (ok, rickety and vintage) towers was disappointingly modern - 70’s melamine, fake oak veneered with a small television screen broadcasting a scratchy picture.

But it was the shelves behind the bar which stopped us mid entry.  Images of a Cold War Soviet hotel sprang to mind, but ‘nah’, I told myself.  ‘They store their stock elsewhere for security.’ 

Chirpily, we asked for a single G n T and a Carlsberg Gold beer.  “Sorry,” the answer came back.

No Carlsberg.  No gin.  No tonic.  But hey, we’re experienced travellers of Africa, our back-up plan – a glass of wine, perhaps?

Oh, joy, the barman nodded his head!   Then he pulled a shabby box from under the counter.  Feeling rather faint by now, and studiously ignoring the waggling eyebrows and rolling eyes from behind me, I confidently placed an order for two glasses.  With ice. Please.

Oh dear.  No ice.  Eish.

Still blinkered to Alan’s burning death stare, the next request was to view our room while clutching glasses of wine tasting remarkably like Gluhwein – due either to the temperature, or perhaps a spicy stickiness developed with age?

Striding along the corridor, impervious to the whimpering and pleading to “look at another lodge, please, before we unpack,” I felt sure that finally, our historical experience was about to flourish. 

Sadly, though clean and neat, Room 43 matched the bar for dreary Soviet 70’s decor.

Investigating the bathroom revealed one threadbare towel, no soap and a toilet roll tenaciously clinging to its last 4 squares of paper, while my dearest one bellowed from the bedroom that a courtesy tea service was all very well, but surely they could run to more than a kettle, a single cup and one teabag in an ‘executive’ double room?

But the giggles really began when we opened the cupboard hoping to stash our computers away.

It was difficult to find shelf room amid the empty plastic bottles, used bar of soap and an unopened triple pack of condoms!

We composed ourselves and requested another towel, cup and an extra teabag from reception on our way to dinner.

The impressive menu offered lots of options, and we decided to forgo starters and get stuck into substantial sounding mains.  But Fawlty Towers struck again about 20 minutes later, when the waitress returned to advise that spaghetti with Thai vegetables was unavailable.

Frenzied questioning revealed that no pasta was to be had, and actually, despite the many items on the menu, our choice was really between beef stew and chicken escallops.  Both meals were fresh and tasty though, and our good cheer returned.

Rather taken aback when the bill was brought abruptly to the table, Alan’s enquiry as to dessert was met with an emphatic “No!”  Pushed, the waitron admitted that she could possibly rustle up a banana.  No, not fried or prepared in any way, just a banana off the tree. 

Hotel Masongola gave us one of the best laughs we've had in a long while. 

On one hand - our expectation of a formerly magnificent and historic residence, and on the other, the realities of obtaining supplies in modern day Malawi.  Despite the shortcomings, however, the hotel offered a welcoming and friendly staff along with basic and clean accommodation set in magnificently maintained grounds.  The meals were simple, tasty and well cooked. 

The lesson learned?  History is usually better as inky scribbles on paper, fleshed out in glorious Technicolor in the mind.  Matching these imaginings with real life service is hard to do.

The somewhat disturbing contents of the wardrobe, in situ