Malawi: The Warm Heart That Stays With You
I went to Malawi with little expectation and left with a deep, almost indescribable fondness for the place. This is a country that doesn’t roar—it hums. Gently, consistently, with a kind of quiet grace that stays with you long after your feet leave its red earth.
Over three weeks, I meandered across the country—through tea fields and dusty villages, alongside turquoise lake shores and through forested national parks. I wasn’t in a rush. And that’s the key to Malawi: you don’t travel here to conquer. You travel to be—to listen, to smile with strangers, to slow your rhythm to match the heartbeat of the land.
The first impression: Lilongwe and the road south
Lilongwe doesn’t charm you right away. It’s not a city of sights or flash. But it’s functional, friendly, and easy to navigate. I stayed a night at Mabuya Camp, a well-worn traveler’s hub with a pool, some shady trees, and a casual bar where stories are swapped over cold Carlsberg beers.
From there, I headed south toward the tea-growing region of Thyolo, and suddenly, Malawi began to bloom. The air was cooler. The hills were draped in rows of lush green. I stayed at Game Haven Lodge near Blantyre—technically a game reserve, but more of a peaceful countryside retreat, with zebras grazing quietly in the distance and warm evenings around a log fire.
Zomba Plateau: Misty mornings and forest trails
Zomba is where you come to think. Or to stop thinking, depending on what you need. The Zomba Plateau rises like an emerald fortress, blanketed in pine forests and curling mist. I stayed in a simple stone cottage at Zomba Forest Lodge, which, by the way, might be the most soulful guesthouse I’ve ever come across.
There’s no Wi-Fi, no TV, just hand-cooked meals served at a communal table, trails that wind through forest and fern, and hosts who care deeply about every guest who passes through. It felt more like staying in someone’s home than a lodge. One morning I walked to Chingwe’s Hole, a deep limestone fissure with a story involving spirits and chiefs, and I didn’t see another soul for hours.
Lake Malawi: Water that heals, sunsets that linger
Ah, Lake Malawi. It’s not just a lake—it’s the lake. The kind of place you dream about when you're stuck on a grey Monday, hunched over your laptop. Clear water, soft sand, barefoot dinners under the stars, and that unmistakable African rhythm humming in the background.
I spent time on the southern end first, in Cape Maclear, where the backpacker vibe is alive but mellow. I stayed at Thumbi View Lodge for a few nights—modest but right on the water—and then moved to Mumbo Island for something more remote and dreamy.
Mumbo is a castaway fantasy, with eco-chalets perched above the lake, hammocks that sway in sync with the breeze, and snorkeling that surprises you with an underwater world full of colorful cichlids. There’s no electricity here. You read by lantern light. You sleep with the sound of water under your floorboards. You wake up more rested than you’ve been in years.
On the way north, I stopped at Nkhotakota Wildlife Reserve, which is still recovering from heavy poaching but is one of Malawi’s quiet conservation stories. I stayed at Tongole Wilderness Lodge, and though I couldn’t afford more than one night, it was unforgettable—an open-air room, views over the Bua River, and the kind of hospitality that feels genuine rather than trained.
Nkhata Bay: Slow rhythms and lake life
Farther north, Nkhata Bay is a lakeside town that’s small, scrappy, and endearing. Here, everything slows down again. It’s less polished than Cape Maclear, but just as addictive.
I stayed at Mayoka Village, a favorite among long-term travelers. Perched on the hillside, the rooms are simple and open to the breeze. There’s a dock where you can dive straight into the lake, and a communal vibe that’s hard to leave behind. I met travelers who came for a weekend and stayed for a month. I started to understand why.
Days here are lazy in the best possible way: swim, read, wander into town for fried cassava or a plate of nsima with beans. There’s music in the air, sometimes from a nearby bar, sometimes just someone strumming a guitar under a tree.
Into the wild: Nyika Plateau and back again
The far north of Malawi is often skipped, which is a shame. Nyika National Park is one of the most unique landscapes I’ve seen in Africa—rolling grasslands that look more like Scotland than the savanna, with herds of eland, zebra, and even leopards if you’re lucky.
The drive in is long and bumpy, and accommodations are limited, but Chelinda Lodge is a beautiful, remote place to end a journey. Log cabins, a roaring fireplace, and misty mornings that make you pull your blanket tighter. This was where I finally stopped trying to do or see anything. I just sat, watched the antelope graze, and breathed it all in.
What Malawi taught me
Malawi isn’t about high drama or big-ticket attractions. It doesn’t shout, it doesn’t show off. It draws you in gently, then keeps you close with warmth you can’t quite define.
It’s in the way kids wave as you drive by, in the calm patience of a boatman waiting for the wind, in the way lake water cools your skin but warms your spirit. It’s in the simplicity of being somewhere that doesn’t ask you to be anything more than present.
It’s not a country to rush. Or to tick off.
It’s a country to feel.
And if you let it, Malawi will soften something in you. It did for me.