AN ITALIAN LAKE 219 



the northern end of the lake, African paths pursue a 

 winding and uncertain course, and when we had 

 been dawdling along the valley for six days, I began 

 to think that Tanganyika must be a myth. But, as 

 we came over a little hill, there it was, not half a 

 mile away. I said at once to myself : ' Lago Mag- 

 giore !' There was no doubt about it at all : it was 

 as though we had been coming down from Bellin- 

 zona to Locarno. The hills on either side were the 

 same in form and height ; there were clusters of 

 villages scattered along their sides ; there were deep 

 gorges and mountain torrents. There was a dark 

 promontory pointing out where Canobbio lay, and 

 the bluest water I had seen since I saw the Lago 

 Maggiore, with here and there a patch of purple, 

 where there was a puff of wind. A long dark line 

 to the south showed, not the * sirocco ' blowing up 

 from Italy, but the daily south wind coming up from 

 Rhodesia and Nyassaland. The black euphorbias 

 took the place of cypresses, and at Uvira, where we 

 arrived a few hours later, the illusion was strength - 

 ened by the gardens of lemon-trees laden with golden 

 fruit. 



A violent storm a few weeks earlier had swamped 

 most of the available canoes, and there was difficulty 

 in finding a sufficient number to transport us and 

 our belongings down the lake, so we had to stop at 

 Uvira for a few days, but we were not altogether 

 sorry to have an excuse for loafing in such a pleasant 

 spot. Uvira is the chief post of the Rusisi-Kivu 



