I am now back in Stellenbosch after the excitement of escaping the (not too) harsh Western Cape winter for some sunshine. Again this has taken me a long time to update (I’m sorry!) I started writing this whilst watching the Wimbledon final, but the excitement of Murray’s triumph put me off, and then I got swept up with work and ROYAL BABY MADNESS (which I am petitioning the GMC to classify as an official condition). That I have gained the tan that I have during the depth s of the African winter is incredible—it may not be mahogany quite yet, but it is certainly teak!
Mozambique was a real experience: both good and bad. In the end the goods outweighed the bad, but it wasn’t wholly what I was expecting, and I was a bit disappointed, given how excited I had been about going there and had been looking forward to it for so long.
Our trip began with a night in Johannesburg before catching the bus across the border to Maputo (the capital) the next morning. Trying to get across Jo’burg during morning rush hour isn’t the easiest task in the world and I was rather on edge over whether we would make it in time. This being Africa, of course it all worked out and we were by no means the last. The whole system was very well organised and we were soon on our way. Only to stop virtually straight away for an hour on the ring road, which is how long it took for a woman to remember that the bag that was holding us up actually belonged to her! We eventually made it to the Mozambican border and with no hold ups were o n our way to Maputo.
As soon as we crossed the border there was a noticeable change in the landscape. Rich red soils, lush greenery and countless goats. In one of my favourite travelogues, Swahili for the Broken Hearted, Peter Moore comments that there is an inverse correlation between number of goats and prosperity. His observation seemed fitting for Mozambique- the poorer the areas that we drove through; the more goats there were. Immediately I felt like I was somewhere more tropical than South Africa. The resemblance to Tanzania was clear with the ladies selling their bananas, tomatoes and cassava leaves by the side of the road and the children- from babes to teens wandering to nowhere in particular. What struck me most was the variety of colours—the north-eastern corner of South Africa from Nelspruit to the border is a vast blandness of parched grass. To have crossed into somewhere with a brightly coloured natural environment as well as dukkas that are colourfully garbed—most commonly in the coloured hoardings of Vodacom (I have begun to wonder whether they are the new sponsor of Africa)—was enough to cheer us up, as was the blazing sunshine!
Our trip began with a night in Johannesburg before catching the bus across the border to Maputo (the capital) the next morning. Trying to get across Jo’burg during morning rush hour isn’t the easiest task in the world and I was rather on edge over whether we would make it in time. This being Africa, of course it all worked out and we were by no means the last. The whole system was very well organised and we were soon on our way. Only to stop virtually straight away for an hour on the ring road, which is how long it took for a woman to remember that the bag that was holding us up actually belonged to her! We eventually made it to the Mozambican border and with no hold ups were o n our way to Maputo.
As soon as we crossed the border there was a noticeable change in the landscape. Rich red soils, lush greenery and countless goats. In one of my favourite travelogues, Swahili for the Broken Hearted, Peter Moore comments that there is an inverse correlation between number of goats and prosperity. His observation seemed fitting for Mozambique- the poorer the areas that we drove through; the more goats there were. Immediately I felt like I was somewhere more tropical than South Africa. The resemblance to Tanzania was clear with the ladies selling their bananas, tomatoes and cassava leaves by the side of the road and the children- from babes to teens wandering to nowhere in particular. What struck me most was the variety of colours—the north-eastern corner of South Africa from Nelspruit to the border is a vast blandness of parched grass. To have crossed into somewhere with a brightly coloured natural environment as well as dukkas that are colourfully garbed—most commonly in the coloured hoardings of Vodacom (I have begun to wonder whether they are the new sponsor of Africa)—was enough to cheer us up, as was the blazing sunshine!
The slow crawl into the capital (we hit the outskirts bang on rush hour) was a real test of my patience, it really made the journey feel never ending. It was also tense because we were arriving considerably later than we were due, so it was now dark, we were somewhere we’d never been before, with a growing reputation for crime and had no idea where we were supposed to get off the bus, no local currency and despite Vodacom’s promises, I no longer had a working cell phone.
Nevertheless we survived the streets of Maputo and some of its more salubrious characters and made it (almost hassle-free) to our hostel. Now I have always been an avid user of Lonely Planet’s and have usually found them to be spot-on and ( shamefully, perhaps) have regarded them as a bible when venturing to pastures new. But for Maputo, I wondered whether they had actually ever been there. Concerned a few days later about whether I had got the wrong impression, I was pleased that fellow travellers were just as disenchanted with the author’s apparent love of Maputo and their recommended sights. A particular joke became the city’s train station—apparently in the top 10 of beautiful station’s worldwide—designed by Eiffel (of tower fame) it would appeal only to those interested in crumbling wrecks! Luckily few of my fellow travellers saw the appeal either. Having lived in Tanzania for 6 months and travelled to various other African countries I have got somewhat used to the sights and smells that may upset t hose of a more sensitive disposition, and in fact the open sewers, mounds of rubbish and gag-inducing smells I found bearable. What I really detested were the people. Knowing that portuguese was the lingua franca I had attempted to learn the basics. This, however, did not seem to win over the Mozambicans, who were hell bent on taking us for a ride, sexually harassing us and on the whole making us wonder if they really just hated tourists coming to their country. The final straw came for me with a visit to the fish market (another top recommendation from LP), where we fell for the tourist trap of buying our fish and then taking it to one of the restaurants next door to be cooked: we stupidly didn’t confirm t he price and were completely fleeced. I think I was actually angrier with myself than the guy, I couldn’t believe we had been so stupid. It put a bit of a dampener on proceedings and we went back to the hostel with heavy hearts; a sharp contrast to the spring in our step that we had left with.
Nevertheless we survived the streets of Maputo and some of its more salubrious characters and made it (almost hassle-free) to our hostel. Now I have always been an avid user of Lonely Planet’s and have usually found them to be spot-on and ( shamefully, perhaps) have regarded them as a bible when venturing to pastures new. But for Maputo, I wondered whether they had actually ever been there. Concerned a few days later about whether I had got the wrong impression, I was pleased that fellow travellers were just as disenchanted with the author’s apparent love of Maputo and their recommended sights. A particular joke became the city’s train station—apparently in the top 10 of beautiful station’s worldwide—designed by Eiffel (of tower fame) it would appeal only to those interested in crumbling wrecks! Luckily few of my fellow travellers saw the appeal either. Having lived in Tanzania for 6 months and travelled to various other African countries I have got somewhat used to the sights and smells that may upset t hose of a more sensitive disposition, and in fact the open sewers, mounds of rubbish and gag-inducing smells I found bearable. What I really detested were the people. Knowing that portuguese was the lingua franca I had attempted to learn the basics. This, however, did not seem to win over the Mozambicans, who were hell bent on taking us for a ride, sexually harassing us and on the whole making us wonder if they really just hated tourists coming to their country. The final straw came for me with a visit to the fish market (another top recommendation from LP), where we fell for the tourist trap of buying our fish and then taking it to one of the restaurants next door to be cooked: we stupidly didn’t confirm t he price and were completely fleeced. I think I was actually angrier with myself than the guy, I couldn’t believe we had been so stupid. It put a bit of a dampener on proceedings and we went back to the hostel with heavy hearts; a sharp contrast to the spring in our step that we had left with.
Eiffel's Iron House, Maputo
One of the most beautiful train station's in the world (apparently)
One of the most expensive plates of food I've ever eaten!!
The next leg of our adventure began with our first horrendously early bus journey of the trip. The bus was due to leave at 5am, so we were told to be ready by 4.30am, which meant crawling out of our mosquito nets just after 4—of course, as with everywhere else, Mozambique was truly on African time, and we really shouldn’t have bothered getting up until 5.30, as it was close to 6 before it arrived. The ‘bus’ was a cross between a minibus and a normal size bus- as well as the fixed seats there were also ‘flip’ seats in the middle. I knew that we were looking at an 8 hour journey so I was determined to pick a good seat- i. e. a fixed one with a back support. I also knew from experience that it was worth picking your neighbour wisely: livestock is a no no, as is smelly food and unfortunately, smelly people. Half an hour in and with my seating area reduced to half of what it should have been (both my neighbours liked to stretch out) I was beginning to question my decision. Stupidly I turned down the red wine which my Kiwi neighbour proffered (I thought it was a bit early, even for me) although I may have managed to gain some much needed sleep if I had accepted. The journey was largely uneventful if excruciatingly uncomfortable, except for my being handed a baby after our only loo break—I was quite happy with the content ‘little princess’ that my neighbour handed me, until she said happily, that her baby never made a fuss about being looked after by a stranger and would usually be quite happy for 2 hours—oh no you don’t, I thought, and swiftly handed her back!
I was very pleased when we eventually bumped down the dusty and sandy road to Tofo. As we walked out onto the sun deck of our hostel and looked out over the glorious Indian Ocean, I almost forgot about the hideous journey we had just endured. Almost, although the crick in my neck and aching back soon put paid to that! The beach was a vast swathe of golden sand contrasted against a deep blue crashing surf. The next day when we decided to test the water, the waves were even more spectacular and knocked me off my feet more than once. The water was also quite a bit colder than I had been expecting. I was hoping to wade into a nice hot bath, but instead felt myself prickling as goosepimples threatened to break out—I mean, it was still considerably warmer than home, or even South Africa. Tofo didn’t have a whole lot more to offer other than the opportunity to lie on the beach, go for a dip or engage in endless bartering with the beach boys plying their wares. This was, however, a welcome relief and the main objective of coming up to Mozambique was to laze in the winter sun and occasionally cool off in the ocean—mission accomplished!
I was very pleased when we eventually bumped down the dusty and sandy road to Tofo. As we walked out onto the sun deck of our hostel and looked out over the glorious Indian Ocean, I almost forgot about the hideous journey we had just endured. Almost, although the crick in my neck and aching back soon put paid to that! The beach was a vast swathe of golden sand contrasted against a deep blue crashing surf. The next day when we decided to test the water, the waves were even more spectacular and knocked me off my feet more than once. The water was also quite a bit colder than I had been expecting. I was hoping to wade into a nice hot bath, but instead felt myself prickling as goosepimples threatened to break out—I mean, it was still considerably warmer than home, or even South Africa. Tofo didn’t have a whole lot more to offer other than the opportunity to lie on the beach, go for a dip or engage in endless bartering with the beach boys plying their wares. This was, however, a welcome relief and the main objective of coming up to Mozambique was to laze in the winter sun and occasionally cool off in the ocean—mission accomplished!
Before moving further northwards, I spent a night in Inhambane, the provincial capital and a short ferry hop across the bay to Maxixe (where the bus north departed from). As lovely as Tofo was, it was definitely the type of place where you could suddenly discover you had spent two weeks without really realising. My bar bill attested to the fact that it was time to move on (Mozambique is the poster child for Africa not being the cheap backpacker haven that everyone assumes the continent is)! I had expected it to be more expensive than South Africa; just not as expensive as it really was (countless grumblings with my fellow travellers confirmed that they were equally shocked and struggling to budget too). It made my anti-malarial measure of at least one G&T a day harder to achieve—suddenly prophylaxis treatment seemed the easier, and cheaper option! I had a slight problem though : I had run out of cash. There was no ATM in Tofo, and although there was one about 10 minutes away, apparently it only accepted Visa. I therefore embarked on a near-3 hour round trip to Inhambane (only actually about a 30 minute drive away but a fully laden minibus (sorry, overladen—I gave up when I counted 27 people in a vehicle meant for 12) can’t muster much power and the endless stops and manoeuvring involved in trying to get said 27 people in and out at their various destinations. Such a way of travel provides endless entertainment, but is short on comfort and frays patience rapidly. Anyway, to Inhambane it was again that afternoon. Again, this is given a glowing write up in LP. Unlike Maputo I did feel it was more deserving of positive feedback (even if it was a bit O.T.T. in LP). Faded colonial grandeur is probably the kindest description, although in certain places, crumbling wrecks looking like a bomb has hit them, is perhaps more apt. There was, however, a charm to Inhambane with its mill-pond-like bay with dhows gently cruising across to Maxixe and Flamingos loitering close to shore and some of the best bread I had ever had (luckily bread was the cheapest thing available and completely delicious, so we never went completely hungry). Trying to get the boat across to Maxixe the next morning was pretty smooth-sailing except for the ferry-boy trying to get me to pay double the price of the fare because of my pack (despite arguing that I bet the woman opposite carrying what looked like all of her life possessions hadn’t had to pay any extra). I had already bought my ticket and nothing had been mentioned about a luggage charge. I tried arguing, fairly fruitless as neither of us knew the others language enough to sustain our point. Eventually, frustrated and exasperated and fearing I was going to be refused passage I paid up (all of 20p—but it’s the principle eh?!). I decided to use the experience as a research exercise for my thesis, proving that all levels of society really do engage in corruption, and are ‘on the take’. My anger didn’t last long as after disturbing some flying sardines as we left dock, we were rewarded with the beautiful (and rather magical) sight of a pair of dolphins leaping and diving in complete synchronisation.
The journey to Vilankulo was uneventful and the height of luxury on a South African coach (with purpose-built reclining seats—rather a contrast to the reclining seats offered by the minibus, purely because they were no longer fixed to the floor!) The bus didn’t actually go to Vilankulo itself, so instead I had to catch a ride in the back of a pick-up truck. Its owner had gone all out, screwing benches to the sides and protecting us from the baking sun and whistling wind by putting bamboo screens up and over the seats. Having negotiated walking with all of my gear (the first time I’d had to properly this trip) in the blazing mid-day sun down roads which were no more than dusty, sandy tracks I made it to Baobab Beach where I was to stay for the next week or so. the view when I arrived at Tofo had taken my breath away, but Vilankulo really knocked the spots off it. It was the scene of all the travel literature on Mozambique. The most incredible, beautiful sight of clear turquoise waters and white sand of the beach and sandbanks, with islands on the horizon with sailing dhows bobbing on the foreshore, fringed with palm and coconut trees. In fact words just cannot do it justice, so here you go....
Vilankulo was by far my favourite place in Mozambique that we visited. Undoubtedly it was incredibly beautiful; a real tropical paradise, but also it had a much more pleasant atmosphere than anywhere else that we visited. It was a pleasure to visit the market; to barter with the stallholders for their delicious, fresh produce. In one memorable exchange I asked the price of a crab—it was 20 meticais (about 50 pence)—satisfied with this, I said yes, only for the lady to fill a bag with six of them. Every night we managed to have a seafood feast, usually consisting of prawns or squid; bought directly from the fisherman in his boat, you couldn’t get anything fresher, cheaper, or more delicious! I have now become somewhat of an expert at gutting a squid in order to prepare calamari (another of life’s vital skills, I’m sure)! I got into a routine in Vilankulo consisting of breakfast in the sun, before a quick laze on the beach before it got too hot and then a stroll to the market to buy provisions for the day. After a leisurely lunch of fresh avocados and tomatoes, I would return to the beach to read my book or update my diary before going along the beach to meet the fishermen to inspect their wares and purchase our supper. We really were living the good life, and unsurprisingly we were in no rush to move on.
Step one: buy your squid
Step two: take it home
Step three: gut your squid
Step four: supper time!
We also managed to do a bit of sailing with one of the dhow operators: first a sunset cruise (gliding around the bay and across towards the islands, with no sound other than the wind in the sails and of course, the obligatory rap music that was favoured by our skipper and his crew)! I was then invited along for an afternoon’s sailing around the bay, on the premise of testing a new boat, the view was only better from the boat, as you could see not just across to the islands, but also back to the endless sandy beach—a real highlight. Then finally, having been delayed from leaving by rebel fighting further north (and the consequent cancelling of transport), with an extra day to spare we went on an island snorkelling trip. This was absolutely incredible, and without a doubt the best thing that I did, not just in Mozambique but during my time here, full stop. We snorkelled along two-mile reef in the Bazaruto Archipelago and the variety of fish, sea creatures and coral was breath-taking (quite literally when I had an incredibly ugly, giant orange octopus come right up to my face)! I just wish that I had an underwater camera to capture it, definitely somewhere to go back to! We had our lunch on Bazaruto itself and it was amazing what our chef managed to create for us—a huge lunch of braaied barracuda with rice and a multitude of salads and bread—it was incredible, particularly as he was equipped only with a fish holder and a pile of charcoal to cook on the rocks! Again, I cannot describe the beauty and scale of the island, which is dominated by a huge sand dune, which gives way to pools of translucent turquoise water at the shoreline. It was one of the most stunning vistas I have ever seen firsthand. next was an incredibly wet speedboat ride back to the mainland- having got rather sunburnt I thought sitting in the wettest position of the boat would cool me down. What I hadn’t realised was that the water had got considerably choppier since we left and I arrived back wetter than if I had swam back I’m sure! Regardless, nothing could put a dampener on such a wonderful day!
I left Vilankulo at 1.30am the next morning, having had only a few hours sleep. My plan to sleep on the bus back down to Maputo was somewhat hampered by the bus company’s insistence that they play the Mozambican charts in their entirety, accompanied by the ‘so bad, they’re good’ music videos. One thing is for sure, Mozambican’s seem in capable of producing quiet music. Also, I am pretty sure I am now an expert on Mozambique’s musical offerings! Despite this horrific experience (a close contender for the worst bus journey I took, although the trip to Tofo I think just pipped it for discomfort) I made it to Maputo in one piece, even if completely exhausted. After having one last mosquito-riddled night’s sleep I rose early to catch the minibus to Swaziland—overall, despite missing the tranquility and beauty of Vilankulo, I was not sad to leave Mozambique.
Our celebration for Georgie-boy!
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