My Mozambican Trip
The word trip elicits a variety of definitions. The feeling experienced whilst on drugs, the loss of balance (resulting in a fall) or a holiday. All of these definitions are incredibly apt for my experience of Mozambique – the East African country home to millions of palm trees, white beaches, whale sharks, friendly faces and, for approximately 3 weeks, 4 German volunteers and two South African sisters. What a ‘trip’ it would be.
The word trip elicits a variety of definitions. The feeling experienced whilst on drugs, the loss of balance (resulting in a fall) or a holiday. All of these definitions are incredibly apt for my experience of Mozambique – the East African country home to millions of palm trees, white beaches, whale sharks, friendly faces and, for approximately 3 weeks, 4 German volunteers and two South African sisters. What a ‘trip’ it would be.
The trip began on an early Friday morning in Cape Town, where a giant fruit would fly us to O.R Tambo International Airport in (Ekurhuleni) Johannesburg. Amazingly our bags made it on the fruity airline. The over-weight, cumbersome backpacks were to be broken into for sure, considering their distinct lack of security. Since it has become quite fashionable to have one’s bag broken into at a South African airport – this notion was not at all daunting. Besides, I had packed nothing of value in the bag, so I’m sure the would-be thief would have been disappointed. Upon inspection of the bags at ORTI, all was still intact. It seems airport thieves enjoy the challenge of breaking in (i.e. breaking a lock.) Our luggage was not a challenge to get into; instead it was a challenge to carry. Even more astounding was that the large airborne fruit arrived early. A mango will be my choice of weapon in the next food-fight. They travel well.
Orti, the loving acronym that I have bestowed upon the airport, is not all that exciting for 3 hours. We were to wait until our host for Friday evening could fetch Yvonne and I from the airport. The nachos were enjoyed as were the free newspapers, but the metal benches (which are always cold) were not that comfortable. This thought struck home on the return again. And so our time at Orti was spent eating junk food, being over charged by chemists and walking around the various terminals, dreaming of all the interesting places that I probably wont ever go. Yes, Orti is a trip!
And then a knight is a shinning white Mazda rescued us. Johan! He was to play host to the weary travelers (yes, weary before having gone anywhere!) We were treated to therapeutic drinks by his swimming pool, gourmet braai cooking and over-indulgent Italian ice cream from Monte Casino. Why were we traveling to Mozambique for a holiday when we could have just lived this life for 3 weeks? Clearly Johan was just being a good host.
The following morning came cruelly early. Again. Our bus was to depart from Midrand at 05:45. When an Intercape bus did arrive we assumed it to be ours, when in fact it was going in the opposite direction. With his somewhat pitiless sense of humour, the bus driver informed us that we were at the wrong station. The wrong side of the road! The particular station that we were at was on a highway, so the only way to get to the other side of the road is to race down the N1, take the next off ramp, get back onto the road and pull off at the petrol station on that side.
05:55
Please let the bus NOT have left!
We call the Intercape office whilst we are on the road. Inform the operator to hold the bus for us. We can see it, waiting kindly for the two (now very) late passengers. Johan screeches to a halt and we gladly hand over our bags to the bus attendants who confirm that we are now going to Uppington.
No!
Maputo!
That bus left 15 minutes ago.
Why then did the operator inform us the bus was waiting for us? Stupid operator. No wonder he is still working the graveyard shift. He’s not very good at what he does. Thinking we had missed the bus, the kind Uppington bus drivers allowed us to catch a lift to the next station, where the majority of travelers would embark. Just to ensure that Intercape was still expecting us (now at Park Station, Johannesburg) I call the lovely operator once again and inform him of the change in plans.
Oh! But the bus is late. It hasn’t got to Midrand yet!
Arg!
So we didn’t miss our bus, we just ran ahead of it.
After enjoying the comforts of Park Station’s benches the Intercape bus headed to Maputo arrived. Late. The bus was not full. Yvonne and I were able to secure a couple of seats each for our sleeping pleasure. Whilst Gauteng is a very scenic province, I slept through most of it. From Nelspruit onwards, the scenery got nicer. It enticed me to stay awake. It was not long before we crossed from South Africa into Mozambique (through a very hot and irritating border crossing) and soon we were delivered to a, seemingly random, office on one of the main roads in Maputo. Feeling somewhat lost, we catch a taxi to The Base Backpackers. Home for the next 3 nights.
We were greeted by Laura, Maria and Wiebke at The Base. The five of us would enjoy Maputo for the next 3 days, until the arrival of Swantje and our departure to the more tropical parts of the country up North.
The capital city is a busy place. Hot and humid, people don’t seem to stop. The city was built around the harbour and the port is still one of the country’s biggest channels of income. Despite the centrality of the harbour, the presence of the sea does nothing to refresh or cool one down. The sea has a moderating effect on the temperature…well, everywhere else it does. The bay of Maputo is simply vindictive – it taunts you because it looks refreshing but does nothing to quench your needs. As a result, Maputo nights are sweaty. Showers don’t help. Once you towel off from the moisture of the shower, you are required to continue throughout the day from the moisture streaming out of every pore on your body. What a trip.
Maputo is a port city. The beaches are further north. However, when the locals want to cool down after a hard city week – they go to Catembe. Catembe is on the otherside of the harbour and is accessible, most efficiently, via ferry. It is not an island (although it feels as such) and it is not tropical. But is a place where you can swim. A typical city beach.
Everyone in Africa pushes and runs. Its standard practice. When in Rome…
Half our group almost missed the ferry from being too polite and not pushy enough. Well, we thought they might miss the ferry. Then we saw how many people were clambering aboard. Cars, motorbikes and no more standing space is the signal for departure. 5 minutes later we were in Catembe and making our way to the beach. Being a local beach, we stuck out like sore thumbs as we did not appear “local” by any means. Most tourists stop and go from Maputo – we stayed longer than is generally expected. We proved to be something of a hit once we got into the water. Even men who could not communicate by any means with us, attempted to gain favour. Proposals were just seconds away. Then we met Julio, an Angolan who spoke Portuguese, English and French (as such he could communicate with all of us.) We enjoyed drinks in a tumbledown shebeen type bar and were invited to go to the infamous Costa da Sol Fish Market. Another little trip.
After being squashed into a bus (and prodded with fingers and sticks so as to ensure maximum space in the bus) we arrived at the fish market. No directions needed – just follow your nose! The fish market is great. Hundreds of prawns, interesting looking fish and the biggest crustaceans you have ever seen. Maria and I decided to go big! Big tiger prawns. You select your fish and then the raw items are taken to the beer garden-come-restaurant where it is cooked up in a traditional Mozambican style. This was going to be good! Or at least it was meant to be: instead when our tigers arrived some of them had shrunk into kittens. Magic! When I tried to explain to the waiter there was a mistake he duly passed blame. This guy was “tripping!” We were ripped off and some chef behind the restaurant was enjoying a couple of our big cats! Despite this, the prawns were still nicer and cheaper than if we had bought them in Cape Town.
Day three of our trip was spent walking the streets of Maputo. We visited the Iron House, a house made completely of Iron (a bit of a kit, so it can be taken apart and packaged at will) and it was built by the same Mr Eiffel that built a little structure that adorns the river Seine in Paris. The cathedral was massive and the town hall traditionally stately. We also visited the Revolutionary Museum. Really it is an ode to Samora Machel, and the captions are mostly in Portuguese. The finer details that I was hoping to learn about were not available. But some of the questions were answered and it was worth the trip. Maputo and Mozambique at large was once a thriving country. Evidence of a once majestic city is scattered up and down the streets of the capital, however the lack of maintenance and the effects of war have left many of its prime buildings in near ruin. Unlike many African cities, Maputo had it all and then it was taken away. Tourism is now boosting the country’s economy and is resulting in the redevelopment of its infrastructure.
After a second day in the city and the arrival of our 6th party member, it was time to head to the beaches and take a trip up north.
Vilenkulos
An early rise was necessary to catch the 05:30 bus. If our morning taxi was anything to go by, we should have expected a bumpy ride for the rest of the day. The taxi (which was to take us to the bus) required push starting by the backpackers. It was raining, but this metered wonderland had no windscreen wipers. Or petrol. But this was soon remedied by filling up the tank at the local station (however, the tank was situated next to the engine – a beneficial modification I am sure!) We are alive at Junta, the bus station where we selected our transport, pay for our bags and ourselves, climb aboard and get going.
Unlike the Greyhound and Intercape standards that we are used to, and perhaps something that should be suggested to them, if the notion of paying per seat and not per person. The woman sitting opposite me had done just that –with one 5year old daughter on one knee and a 7-year-old daughter on the other knee. 1 ticket. 1 seat. I could save a lot of money in SA traveling like that…although I’m not sure how happy the person under me would be. Hmm…
On the road again and all is well. The sunroof acted well, for the most part of blocking the rain out and the chickens under my seat were mostly quiet. African transport is not slow. The drivers are as fast as their equipment allows and our driver had a fair bit of reign. I have never been so fast in a bus before. Speed! For the most part of the trip all was well and then an explosion. A shot? We’ve hit something? The bus started swerving across the road at 140km/h, we started hanging on to whatever one could. Finally, we screech to a halt.
A tyre had blown out. There is no reason that the bus did not roll. The speed, the condition of the road and the overall condition of the bus and its tyres did not suggest a happy ending for this trip. But we were smiled upon by the man upstairs and we stopped. The heat of the braking rose to such a temperature that, not only did the bus experience a blow out, but now also a fire down below. This was spotted by Yvonne, who duly alerted the drivers to get water and Wiebke-fish and I to get off the damn bus! Now!
The bus did not blow up and it did get going again. After a good 45minutes of attempting to remove the molded mesh of wires from around the wheel we were ready to go. For approximately 15kms. The message was eventually translated to us that there was no more transport.
Whilst the message was clear, my understanding was not. What does that mean!?! We were 12 hours into our journey and only 30kms away and yet there was no more transport (or refund I might add – seems the bus needed it!) A passing taxi kindly offered its rip-off service, which we could not afford and a pick-up truck arrived on the scene. Luckily we were not the only stranded people, there were 40 others. We might not of understood them, but we did understand that we were following them. And as luck would have it, everyone start jumping onto the back of this vehicle (no bigger that a large bakkie.) 45 people climbed on to this vehicle. 45 plus bags PLUS chickens, coconuts, month long supplies and plenty of babies. We were ion our way again. Or at least we thought we were. Never assume! Instead this truck did a u-turn and drove in the opposite direction. Great.
It seems Mozambique is too hot for even the tyres to handle – our truck needed a change. Although when I saw the replacement tyre I was secretly praying for the original to remain. The new tyre had chunks of tread missing from it. A sure safety measure when over-loading, I’m sure. A half hour of surfing on the back of the truck and our destination lay ahead. After being dropped off, a quick hike through the sandy streets of Vilenkulos was necessary until we arrived at Baobab Backpackers.
Vilenkulous is a more rural beach spot sheltered by the Bazaruto Archipelago. Accordingly the sea seems more lagoon like in nature. Ridiculously warm waters that travel miles due to the changing tides. Our first day here was spent swimming, eating, tanning (burning) and sleeping. The tough life of a traveler in Mozambique! Baobab as a backpackers was great. Reed huts with mosquito nets, a large vibey bar, palm trees a plenty with coconut concussion a clear and present danger and the friendliest locals.
We were invited to a pig braai the third evening. We all chipped in (about R15) Tau and Christian (our local artist friends) were going to buy the live pig in town, bring it to the backpacker sand “prepare” it for dinner. Needless to say, we avoided the preparation area. When dinner was ready it seemed to be a free-for-all. Basically you were handed a knife and were told to help yourself. Having never been a butcher, I was unsure of the various cuts. None of the girls knew what they were looking for (even the pig farmer’s daughter was confused!) Later that evening we met a young South African developer and inquired about the price of property in the area. I may just be investing soon!
Day 4, Vilenkulo
We spent a day at the Islands. A local dhow (traditional fishing boat) took us to Magaruque, the small Island off Vilenkulos. The ride was bumpy and wet but the island was sheltered and the reef awaited us! We grabbed our snorkels, fins and masks, ran up the beach and swam the current down the island with millions of the most colourful fish I have ever seen. The coral was great and the reef lined the outskirts of the land. We only swam 3 meters away from the land but we were swimming in a completely different world. We only stopped to eat. The boat crew braied barracuda (the fish that ate Nemo’s mom) and we feasted on local flavours. After allowing lunch to settle, it was back to find
Nemo!
Sundays in Mozambique are designated party days. And we attended our first local Beach Party. Think La Med, but just much wilder! A few marriage proposals later from a local Rastafarian and we left the party early (before it got really wild.) Our last couple of days in Vilenkulous were spent bartering with the locals, swimming, sleeping in hammocks and eating copious amounts of juicy fruit. Laura was anointed a Rasta, Maria learnt Portuguese, Swantje picked up a German gent and Wiebke was Christened “Wiebke-fish.”
Next stop: Morrungulo (Nelson’s Bay) a place no one had ever gone to, or heard of, just read about. Approximately 2-½ hours south, it was half way to our next main stop and worth a try. Another few taxi arguments and our backpacks were attached in the most dubious of way and we were off. The national road runs 10 – 15 kms from the coast. So one travels from town to town along the main road and then catches a separate chapa (taxi) to the coastal town. This was once again the case with Morrungulo. However, I very much doubt that anything other than a 4x4 could make it all the way. Our new chapa was a bakkie. All 14 of us squeezed on (bags, beers and all) and we went along the gravel road up hills and through the most picturesque and wild scenery of palms. Our view was only shielded by the sheets of torrential rain that was soaking us through. We were pleasantly surprised (and concerned) when the reception area of the camp site resembled something more 5 starish than backpackers. Luckily, it was out of season and completely affordable to camp. The camp site was stunning. By far the nicest site on the trip. We set our tents/mosquito nets up in the barraca/lapa-type area (each site had one for eating, but it would do for our sleeping.) We were soaked through and exhausted, so sleep was the order of the day. The concrete floors somewhat more comfortable than the hard ground I experienced at Baobab. It was only around dinner time that we realized that we had no camping equipment and since Morrongulo was not a backpackers, there was no equipment to use. There were no geysers so cooking 2 minute noodles with warm water was not going to work. Instead, Swantje had been exploring and noticed that one of the chalets was open (and unoccupied!) Stealth Operation Cook Food was launched. At the fall of darkness, Yvonne and Swantje snuck into the $120p/n chalet and cooked our dinner, running down the beach with pots and pans. This operation was required on both nights but on the second evening we made friends with our near neighbours who also provided food and drink (too much drink for some.) The coast line of Morrongulo was very different to Vilenkulos. Consistent 2ft surf, miles of white sands and supposedly the best dive spot in the world. We attempted to negotiate a free dive with the local dive center, but were unsuccessful.
The following day we said our goodbyes to Laura and left for Tofu. More fierce arguments with the chapa drivers but we finally settle on a fair price. We travel from Massinga (the main road town of Morrongulu) to Maxixe. From Maxixe, we catch a Dhow across the bay to Inhambane (rated one of the nicest towns in East Africa.) Inhambane is a thriving town with a large Portuguese influence in its architecture. A free shuttle then takes us to Tofu, the tourist spot of Inhambane, and to Bamboozi Backpackers.
Tofu is a great little coastal village with a larger western presence than we had seen before. Tofu has brilliant diving spots and surfing spots accordingly a few Australian and South African people have set up shop. There are awesome little coffee shops and beach bars along this tiny coast and the little village market during the day is a must for cashew nuts and trading for shell bracelets. Bamboozi’s bar area/hangout spot is perched right on top of some majestic dunes and provides a great view over Tofu. However, it also seems to be a mosquito hot spot. I established this after counting 9 bites on one hand. We stayed 3 nights and then moved further down the beach to the infamous backpackers ‘Fatima’s Nest.’ A younger, party vibe was found here as well as cheaper camping facilities (which everyone paid but not everyone enjoyed the luxury of camping, some snuck into the dorms!) We were also privileged to meet Fatima! Or, instead a screaming German received ice for her foot from Fatima (a bench landed on her foot!)
One of the highlights was swimming with a whale shark. It is the biggest fish in the sea and named for a whale due to its monstrous size. I was therefore expecting to see something more whale-like. Instead, it is a shark! A huge shark!
There were times when we were swimming around the spectacular creature that I was grateful that it didn’t have teeth. They are gentle creatures but detest being touched. Wo, as I named it was as curious about us as we were about him/her. We swam with it for a good 45minutes. Wow! I have been bitten by sharks now (in the sense that I am a huge fan now!) We were fortunate to have a New Zealand Scientist aboard, who had been studying the whale shark in Tofu. Tofu is said to be the best place in the world for sighting a whale shark and having an expert onboard was fascinating! He later gave a lecture at the local lodge explaining his latest research and I am in complete awe of these animals!
Our last few days in Tofu were spent snorkeling, watching the fisherman bring in the biggest sword fish ever, fending of marriage-proposing locals and eating cashew nuts. We also returned to Bamboozi for their seafood buffet. I have never consumed so much seafood in one helping without feeling any qualms about going for seconds. Note to Tofu Travelers: Bamboozi, Friday night! Wow!
Unfortunately the malaria tablets I was taking started to take their toll at this stage in the game. I became incredibly sensitive to the sunlight. A common symptom. My time outdoors was limited, but still enjoyed. It was not long before we were all off again. We left on an early Monday morning and after 33hours in transit, arrived back home in Cape Town. Very dirty, a bit broke, slightly tanned and in complete reverence for the fantastic holiday!
Bryan Adams will now always remind me of Mozambique, Pineapples will never taste so good and I will probably never receive marriage proposals the way I did in Mozambique and I am completely grateful for it all!
Orti, the loving acronym that I have bestowed upon the airport, is not all that exciting for 3 hours. We were to wait until our host for Friday evening could fetch Yvonne and I from the airport. The nachos were enjoyed as were the free newspapers, but the metal benches (which are always cold) were not that comfortable. This thought struck home on the return again. And so our time at Orti was spent eating junk food, being over charged by chemists and walking around the various terminals, dreaming of all the interesting places that I probably wont ever go. Yes, Orti is a trip!
And then a knight is a shinning white Mazda rescued us. Johan! He was to play host to the weary travelers (yes, weary before having gone anywhere!) We were treated to therapeutic drinks by his swimming pool, gourmet braai cooking and over-indulgent Italian ice cream from Monte Casino. Why were we traveling to Mozambique for a holiday when we could have just lived this life for 3 weeks? Clearly Johan was just being a good host.
The following morning came cruelly early. Again. Our bus was to depart from Midrand at 05:45. When an Intercape bus did arrive we assumed it to be ours, when in fact it was going in the opposite direction. With his somewhat pitiless sense of humour, the bus driver informed us that we were at the wrong station. The wrong side of the road! The particular station that we were at was on a highway, so the only way to get to the other side of the road is to race down the N1, take the next off ramp, get back onto the road and pull off at the petrol station on that side.
05:55
Please let the bus NOT have left!
We call the Intercape office whilst we are on the road. Inform the operator to hold the bus for us. We can see it, waiting kindly for the two (now very) late passengers. Johan screeches to a halt and we gladly hand over our bags to the bus attendants who confirm that we are now going to Uppington.
No!
Maputo!
That bus left 15 minutes ago.
Why then did the operator inform us the bus was waiting for us? Stupid operator. No wonder he is still working the graveyard shift. He’s not very good at what he does. Thinking we had missed the bus, the kind Uppington bus drivers allowed us to catch a lift to the next station, where the majority of travelers would embark. Just to ensure that Intercape was still expecting us (now at Park Station, Johannesburg) I call the lovely operator once again and inform him of the change in plans.
Oh! But the bus is late. It hasn’t got to Midrand yet!
Arg!
So we didn’t miss our bus, we just ran ahead of it.
After enjoying the comforts of Park Station’s benches the Intercape bus headed to Maputo arrived. Late. The bus was not full. Yvonne and I were able to secure a couple of seats each for our sleeping pleasure. Whilst Gauteng is a very scenic province, I slept through most of it. From Nelspruit onwards, the scenery got nicer. It enticed me to stay awake. It was not long before we crossed from South Africa into Mozambique (through a very hot and irritating border crossing) and soon we were delivered to a, seemingly random, office on one of the main roads in Maputo. Feeling somewhat lost, we catch a taxi to The Base Backpackers. Home for the next 3 nights.
We were greeted by Laura, Maria and Wiebke at The Base. The five of us would enjoy Maputo for the next 3 days, until the arrival of Swantje and our departure to the more tropical parts of the country up North.
The capital city is a busy place. Hot and humid, people don’t seem to stop. The city was built around the harbour and the port is still one of the country’s biggest channels of income. Despite the centrality of the harbour, the presence of the sea does nothing to refresh or cool one down. The sea has a moderating effect on the temperature…well, everywhere else it does. The bay of Maputo is simply vindictive – it taunts you because it looks refreshing but does nothing to quench your needs. As a result, Maputo nights are sweaty. Showers don’t help. Once you towel off from the moisture of the shower, you are required to continue throughout the day from the moisture streaming out of every pore on your body. What a trip.
Maputo is a port city. The beaches are further north. However, when the locals want to cool down after a hard city week – they go to Catembe. Catembe is on the otherside of the harbour and is accessible, most efficiently, via ferry. It is not an island (although it feels as such) and it is not tropical. But is a place where you can swim. A typical city beach.
Everyone in Africa pushes and runs. Its standard practice. When in Rome…
Half our group almost missed the ferry from being too polite and not pushy enough. Well, we thought they might miss the ferry. Then we saw how many people were clambering aboard. Cars, motorbikes and no more standing space is the signal for departure. 5 minutes later we were in Catembe and making our way to the beach. Being a local beach, we stuck out like sore thumbs as we did not appear “local” by any means. Most tourists stop and go from Maputo – we stayed longer than is generally expected. We proved to be something of a hit once we got into the water. Even men who could not communicate by any means with us, attempted to gain favour. Proposals were just seconds away. Then we met Julio, an Angolan who spoke Portuguese, English and French (as such he could communicate with all of us.) We enjoyed drinks in a tumbledown shebeen type bar and were invited to go to the infamous Costa da Sol Fish Market. Another little trip.
After being squashed into a bus (and prodded with fingers and sticks so as to ensure maximum space in the bus) we arrived at the fish market. No directions needed – just follow your nose! The fish market is great. Hundreds of prawns, interesting looking fish and the biggest crustaceans you have ever seen. Maria and I decided to go big! Big tiger prawns. You select your fish and then the raw items are taken to the beer garden-come-restaurant where it is cooked up in a traditional Mozambican style. This was going to be good! Or at least it was meant to be: instead when our tigers arrived some of them had shrunk into kittens. Magic! When I tried to explain to the waiter there was a mistake he duly passed blame. This guy was “tripping!” We were ripped off and some chef behind the restaurant was enjoying a couple of our big cats! Despite this, the prawns were still nicer and cheaper than if we had bought them in Cape Town.
Day three of our trip was spent walking the streets of Maputo. We visited the Iron House, a house made completely of Iron (a bit of a kit, so it can be taken apart and packaged at will) and it was built by the same Mr Eiffel that built a little structure that adorns the river Seine in Paris. The cathedral was massive and the town hall traditionally stately. We also visited the Revolutionary Museum. Really it is an ode to Samora Machel, and the captions are mostly in Portuguese. The finer details that I was hoping to learn about were not available. But some of the questions were answered and it was worth the trip. Maputo and Mozambique at large was once a thriving country. Evidence of a once majestic city is scattered up and down the streets of the capital, however the lack of maintenance and the effects of war have left many of its prime buildings in near ruin. Unlike many African cities, Maputo had it all and then it was taken away. Tourism is now boosting the country’s economy and is resulting in the redevelopment of its infrastructure.
After a second day in the city and the arrival of our 6th party member, it was time to head to the beaches and take a trip up north.
Vilenkulos
An early rise was necessary to catch the 05:30 bus. If our morning taxi was anything to go by, we should have expected a bumpy ride for the rest of the day. The taxi (which was to take us to the bus) required push starting by the backpackers. It was raining, but this metered wonderland had no windscreen wipers. Or petrol. But this was soon remedied by filling up the tank at the local station (however, the tank was situated next to the engine – a beneficial modification I am sure!) We are alive at Junta, the bus station where we selected our transport, pay for our bags and ourselves, climb aboard and get going.
Unlike the Greyhound and Intercape standards that we are used to, and perhaps something that should be suggested to them, if the notion of paying per seat and not per person. The woman sitting opposite me had done just that –with one 5year old daughter on one knee and a 7-year-old daughter on the other knee. 1 ticket. 1 seat. I could save a lot of money in SA traveling like that…although I’m not sure how happy the person under me would be. Hmm…
On the road again and all is well. The sunroof acted well, for the most part of blocking the rain out and the chickens under my seat were mostly quiet. African transport is not slow. The drivers are as fast as their equipment allows and our driver had a fair bit of reign. I have never been so fast in a bus before. Speed! For the most part of the trip all was well and then an explosion. A shot? We’ve hit something? The bus started swerving across the road at 140km/h, we started hanging on to whatever one could. Finally, we screech to a halt.
A tyre had blown out. There is no reason that the bus did not roll. The speed, the condition of the road and the overall condition of the bus and its tyres did not suggest a happy ending for this trip. But we were smiled upon by the man upstairs and we stopped. The heat of the braking rose to such a temperature that, not only did the bus experience a blow out, but now also a fire down below. This was spotted by Yvonne, who duly alerted the drivers to get water and Wiebke-fish and I to get off the damn bus! Now!
The bus did not blow up and it did get going again. After a good 45minutes of attempting to remove the molded mesh of wires from around the wheel we were ready to go. For approximately 15kms. The message was eventually translated to us that there was no more transport.
Whilst the message was clear, my understanding was not. What does that mean!?! We were 12 hours into our journey and only 30kms away and yet there was no more transport (or refund I might add – seems the bus needed it!) A passing taxi kindly offered its rip-off service, which we could not afford and a pick-up truck arrived on the scene. Luckily we were not the only stranded people, there were 40 others. We might not of understood them, but we did understand that we were following them. And as luck would have it, everyone start jumping onto the back of this vehicle (no bigger that a large bakkie.) 45 people climbed on to this vehicle. 45 plus bags PLUS chickens, coconuts, month long supplies and plenty of babies. We were ion our way again. Or at least we thought we were. Never assume! Instead this truck did a u-turn and drove in the opposite direction. Great.
It seems Mozambique is too hot for even the tyres to handle – our truck needed a change. Although when I saw the replacement tyre I was secretly praying for the original to remain. The new tyre had chunks of tread missing from it. A sure safety measure when over-loading, I’m sure. A half hour of surfing on the back of the truck and our destination lay ahead. After being dropped off, a quick hike through the sandy streets of Vilenkulos was necessary until we arrived at Baobab Backpackers.
Vilenkulous is a more rural beach spot sheltered by the Bazaruto Archipelago. Accordingly the sea seems more lagoon like in nature. Ridiculously warm waters that travel miles due to the changing tides. Our first day here was spent swimming, eating, tanning (burning) and sleeping. The tough life of a traveler in Mozambique! Baobab as a backpackers was great. Reed huts with mosquito nets, a large vibey bar, palm trees a plenty with coconut concussion a clear and present danger and the friendliest locals.
We were invited to a pig braai the third evening. We all chipped in (about R15) Tau and Christian (our local artist friends) were going to buy the live pig in town, bring it to the backpacker sand “prepare” it for dinner. Needless to say, we avoided the preparation area. When dinner was ready it seemed to be a free-for-all. Basically you were handed a knife and were told to help yourself. Having never been a butcher, I was unsure of the various cuts. None of the girls knew what they were looking for (even the pig farmer’s daughter was confused!) Later that evening we met a young South African developer and inquired about the price of property in the area. I may just be investing soon!
Day 4, Vilenkulo
We spent a day at the Islands. A local dhow (traditional fishing boat) took us to Magaruque, the small Island off Vilenkulos. The ride was bumpy and wet but the island was sheltered and the reef awaited us! We grabbed our snorkels, fins and masks, ran up the beach and swam the current down the island with millions of the most colourful fish I have ever seen. The coral was great and the reef lined the outskirts of the land. We only swam 3 meters away from the land but we were swimming in a completely different world. We only stopped to eat. The boat crew braied barracuda (the fish that ate Nemo’s mom) and we feasted on local flavours. After allowing lunch to settle, it was back to find
Nemo!Sundays in Mozambique are designated party days. And we attended our first local Beach Party. Think La Med, but just much wilder! A few marriage proposals later from a local Rastafarian and we left the party early (before it got really wild.) Our last couple of days in Vilenkulous were spent bartering with the locals, swimming, sleeping in hammocks and eating copious amounts of juicy fruit. Laura was anointed a Rasta, Maria learnt Portuguese, Swantje picked up a German gent and Wiebke was Christened “Wiebke-fish.”
Next stop: Morrungulo (Nelson’s Bay) a place no one had ever gone to, or heard of, just read about. Approximately 2-½ hours south, it was half way to our next main stop and worth a try. Another few taxi arguments and our backpacks were attached in the most dubious of way and we were off. The national road runs 10 – 15 kms from the coast. So one travels from town to town along the main road and then catches a separate chapa (taxi) to the coastal town. This was once again the case with Morrungulo. However, I very much doubt that anything other than a 4x4 could make it all the way. Our new chapa was a bakkie. All 14 of us squeezed on (bags, beers and all) and we went along the gravel road up hills and through the most picturesque and wild scenery of palms. Our view was only shielded by the sheets of torrential rain that was soaking us through. We were pleasantly surprised (and concerned) when the reception area of the camp site resembled something more 5 starish than backpackers. Luckily, it was out of season and completely affordable to camp. The camp site was stunning. By far the nicest site on the trip. We set our tents/mosquito nets up in the barraca/lapa-type area (each site had one for eating, but it would do for our sleeping.) We were soaked through and exhausted, so sleep was the order of the day. The concrete floors somewhat more comfortable than the hard ground I experienced at Baobab. It was only around dinner time that we realized that we had no camping equipment and since Morrongulo was not a backpackers, there was no equipment to use. There were no geysers so cooking 2 minute noodles with warm water was not going to work. Instead, Swantje had been exploring and noticed that one of the chalets was open (and unoccupied!) Stealth Operation Cook Food was launched. At the fall of darkness, Yvonne and Swantje snuck into the $120p/n chalet and cooked our dinner, running down the beach with pots and pans. This operation was required on both nights but on the second evening we made friends with our near neighbours who also provided food and drink (too much drink for some.) The coast line of Morrongulo was very different to Vilenkulos. Consistent 2ft surf, miles of white sands and supposedly the best dive spot in the world. We attempted to negotiate a free dive with the local dive center, but were unsuccessful.
The following day we said our goodbyes to Laura and left for Tofu. More fierce arguments with the chapa drivers but we finally settle on a fair price. We travel from Massinga (the main road town of Morrongulu) to Maxixe. From Maxixe, we catch a Dhow across the bay to Inhambane (rated one of the nicest towns in East Africa.) Inhambane is a thriving town with a large Portuguese influence in its architecture. A free shuttle then takes us to Tofu, the tourist spot of Inhambane, and to Bamboozi Backpackers.
Tofu is a great little coastal village with a larger western presence than we had seen before. Tofu has brilliant diving spots and surfing spots accordingly a few Australian and South African people have set up shop. There are awesome little coffee shops and beach bars along this tiny coast and the little village market during the day is a must for cashew nuts and trading for shell bracelets. Bamboozi’s bar area/hangout spot is perched right on top of some majestic dunes and provides a great view over Tofu. However, it also seems to be a mosquito hot spot. I established this after counting 9 bites on one hand. We stayed 3 nights and then moved further down the beach to the infamous backpackers ‘Fatima’s Nest.’ A younger, party vibe was found here as well as cheaper camping facilities (which everyone paid but not everyone enjoyed the luxury of camping, some snuck into the dorms!) We were also privileged to meet Fatima! Or, instead a screaming German received ice for her foot from Fatima (a bench landed on her foot!)
One of the highlights was swimming with a whale shark. It is the biggest fish in the sea and named for a whale due to its monstrous size. I was therefore expecting to see something more whale-like. Instead, it is a shark! A huge shark!
There were times when we were swimming around the spectacular creature that I was grateful that it didn’t have teeth. They are gentle creatures but detest being touched. Wo, as I named it was as curious about us as we were about him/her. We swam with it for a good 45minutes. Wow! I have been bitten by sharks now (in the sense that I am a huge fan now!) We were fortunate to have a New Zealand Scientist aboard, who had been studying the whale shark in Tofu. Tofu is said to be the best place in the world for sighting a whale shark and having an expert onboard was fascinating! He later gave a lecture at the local lodge explaining his latest research and I am in complete awe of these animals!Our last few days in Tofu were spent snorkeling, watching the fisherman bring in the biggest sword fish ever, fending of marriage-proposing locals and eating cashew nuts. We also returned to Bamboozi for their seafood buffet. I have never consumed so much seafood in one helping without feeling any qualms about going for seconds. Note to Tofu Travelers: Bamboozi, Friday night! Wow!
Unfortunately the malaria tablets I was taking started to take their toll at this stage in the game. I became incredibly sensitive to the sunlight. A common symptom. My time outdoors was limited, but still enjoyed. It was not long before we were all off again. We left on an early Monday morning and after 33hours in transit, arrived back home in Cape Town. Very dirty, a bit broke, slightly tanned and in complete reverence for the fantastic holiday!
Bryan Adams will now always remind me of Mozambique, Pineapples will never taste so good and I will probably never receive marriage proposals the way I did in Mozambique and I am completely grateful for it all!
