Mozambique

Waking up in Pemba the next day, we realized that we were at an aging beach strip called Wimbe Beach. A bit of a letdown since we had read fairly positive things about it. The beach is perfectly beautiful, as is Pemba Bay, but the accomodations available are either 5-star or just tolerable. The strip has a few beach restaurants, vacation homes, one or two hotels, and not much more.

Another element of staying here is that if you plan on spending time on the beach itself, you have to be prepared to be constantly asked by the adolescent boys of the town to buy their trinkets. Not so bad, but this doesn't end up being your "private paradise" experience, as our friend Joan well knows.

We decided to take a short flight to Ibo Island, one of the larger islands that makes up the Quirimbas Archipelago. The 30-minute flight itself was almost worth the trip...amazing views of the sea and islands.

Ibo has a similar history to Ilha in that it has a sad history of Portuguese colonization and slave trade. To this day the residents still can recount the brutal treatment slaves endured here. We saw some of the holding cells at the fort on the tip of the island. Here's a shot of Ibo's "stone town" from the air:

Our first evening on the island, we decided to take part in the island's "home stay" program. This meant paying a small fee to the community group so that we could stay in one of the villager's homes. We ended up staying with a woman who was the bread baker for the inhabitants, including the one or two commercial lodges, of the island. When we arrived, she was busy baking rolls. Before we really had the chance to explore the island or figure out what we would do, she served us a lunch of goat curry, rice, those excellent rolls and bananas. Delicious curry, tough goat. Oy!

After lunch, we went to find Dimitri, who we hoped would be our snorkeling guide for the following day. When we arrived at his home, we discovered a very tanned, Frenchman with a huge abcess on his foot. This led to a very troubling conversation about the lack of healthcare on the island and in the country as a whole. We found out that tropical climates can lead to dangerous infections for foreigners whose immune systems have difficulty fighting the local bugs. We offered him antibiotics, but he refused. He did however follow our suggestions to soak his foot in warm water several times a day, and by the last day we saw him, his foot had greatly improved. It was a sobering reminder of the possibility of becoming sick on the road without any real access to medical help (knock on wood). So far, we believe we've prepared our medical kit to cope with whatever we might encounter.

He recommended that we hire a local dhow captain to take us to the "sand bank," a well-known snorkeling location with reefs. We found our man, Moussa, that day and he agreed to take us early the next morning to benefit from the high tide, that is if you consider 5am early.

That evening, we had a drink at the Ibo Lodge, the island's one luxury accomodation. We realized that most of the other islands have the kind of accomodation you might see in a slick spread in some travel magazine. White sand, blue water, your own private bungalow and very few people. Of course, this is VERY expensive. Ibo doesn't quite fit this mold as it has a small town, a couple of villages and no beach. I think we both had the fantasy that we might have that kind of experience in coming here. Although it wasn't to be, we did have an amazing day of snorkeling the next day.

The slow sail back to the island on the dhow was great. Alas, our previous evening with our host "mother" wasn't so good. I think we went into the home stay thinking we would get to know our host and spend time with the family. She was perfectly pleasant to us, but she treated us with a more distant respect, more of business proposition. It gave us a glimpse into her family's life, but not much more. After our snorkeling trip, we decided to stay at the upscale lodge and splurge a bit. The couple running the lodge offered us a room at half price, their "walk-in" rate. We had a smashing time and it was a nice way to leave the island in good spirits. Here are some photos taken around the grounds and on the lovely terrace:

Let's make this a short one. This sucked! We woke up at 3:00am to catch a van from the island that would take us across the causeway to an awaiting, larger bus. This went mostly well: got our seats and waited a bit for more people to fill up the empty seats. We needed to catch a bus that was leaving another town on the way to Pemba. That meant this bus had to get to the transfer point on time...it didn't. This meant waiting with our bags on the road for whatever vehicle would drive by that happened to be heading for Pemba, our final destination in the country. Unfortunately, this meant waiting for four hours as many vehicles passed, but none going all the way. Finally, a large flat-bed truck stopped and the driver, who thank God was going all the way, and looking to make some extra money, agreed to take us for the equivalent of $8 apiece...a bargain. When we got in the cab, we realized we were sharing the space with his "woman," and two other passengers, one of whom also had a toddler. A bit of a tight squeeze, so Carina stayed in the cab, while Will joined several men on the top of the flatbed (he was hauling a large shipment of construction tiles). Will was lucky because he could stretch out a bit and see the passing sights, while Carina was "hemmed in" and had to listen to non-stop yapping between the driver and his gal. Even though we're complaining about the day, it turned out to be a good experience since we passed amazing terrain. This part of the country is less travelled and there's a real "frontier" feel to it.

Here are some pics from the day:

All in all a loooooonnnnnnnnngggggg, but beautiful day "in the bush." We ended up getting to Pemba town around 8:00pm that evening, a total of 17 hours since we started.

Not much to say about Beira, just a small city, with a big heart, fast women and fast food. (Okay, there wasn’t any fast food but we definitely saw some fast women.) We stayed in a place with the foulest smelling bathroom, but you get what you pay for. The best part of our story is the bus ride to Beira, where Carina watches in mouth-gaping horror (look away PETA), as they tie a live goat to the bare roof, which has no rails. He's visible as the light brown thing on top:

Guess what happens a little after we’re under way? The goat’s ass begins slowly creeping, lower and lower, off the roof. Lucky guy gets tied back on, giving him an opportunity to piss on our bags. It turns out that goat pee washes out pretty easily. (BTW, he survived the trip to piss again.) Here's a shot of the road on the way to Beira:

Roosters, unlike goats, are welcome to ride inside:

After an uneventful plane to Nampula, we caught a chapa to Ilha de Moçambique (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Island_of_Mozambique), the place we have enjoyed the most so far, even though there’s nothing to do. It’s a small island, maybe 3 km by 500m wide, which was once the Portuguese capital of their province of Africa, and prior a major Arab port. Thus, there is a mosque, a Hindu temple, and Catholic churches. The people here were very friendly and warm, in particular the younger children who were eager to interact with us in any way.

We stayed in a lovely five room place, Casa do Gabriele (http://www.mozambiqueguesthouse.com/eng/amazing_guesthouse.html), whose owner was an architect who had renovated a couple of small buildings, which had housed small shops.

Our room had a bed suspended by ropes, and each night we were rocked gently to sleep. Gotta get one of those when we get back. At 4:20 each morning, we ignored the call to prayer from the Mosque immediately adjacent, as neither of us is Muslim, yet. We had a great laugh the first morning because it seemed the muezzin may have had a cold…or a breakfast of crackers and peanut butter.

We spent four days chilling, just walking around, doing laundry, and meeting some of the locals and a couple of interesting travelers staying at our place. Seafood is the major source of income for people working on the island:

We caught a beautiful sunset at one of the few restaurants, Reliquias:

The place was obviously once quite segregated by the Portuguese, who lived and worked in the northern half of the island, in what is called Stone Town, while the local Macuans were relegated to an area in the southern part, referred to as Mecutí (perhaps the Macuan name for reed houses). The homes in Stone Town are mostly dilapidated but oddly beautiful, with a pastiche of hues.

We felt really lucky to see the island before Moçambique’s northern areas are totally developed as tourist destinations, which seems likely, given that ex-pats who have been here some time are slowly renovating places that will cater to wealthier tourists. One can only hope some residents will be able to benefit directly, and that there is a sense to conserving the land from overdevelopment.

After about 9 hours we got into Vilanculo, we walked down a hill from town towards the beach to Zombie Cucumber’s, a backpackers owned by an English couple, which was a huge step up from our last place. Prices for accommodations in Moçambique have been as expensive as back home, so we’ve been paying between $28-40/night for so-so places. But Zombie’s broke the mold, and for about $28/ night, we had a spotless “chalet,” and great ambience at the small bar and eating area. Plus hot showers! The beach at Vilanculo was pretty, but sadly, filled with broken glass. The real beauty lies offshore, in the islands that compose the Bazaruto Archipelago, which have sparkling white beaches, and coral reefs. Only a few are inhabited, and some are protected lands. We arranged a snorkeling trip to one of the islands—Magaruque--with Junior, an interesting businessman, who owns the Dolphin Dhow, a dhow safari company. The dhows have sails, but also small engines, as the winds are unpredictable and under sail the journey can take up to three hours.

There was only one other couple on the trip, Sean, a young South African guy, and Emma, his Swedish-Dutch girlfriend. Much time was spent by Sean, often sheepishly, describing the beauty of South Africa, especially Cape Town. Hmmm...maybe next time, Sean. Actually, we had worried that we might be trapped on the dhow trip with obnoxious folks, but these kids were great companions. They shared they had had the same worry, too. When we arrived on the island we spent a little time going through the pail of snorkeling gear and with a warning from the crewman about being careful not to cut our feet on the rocks, we headed up the island, so we could float back down with the current. Okay, so that warning about getting cut did us no good, because as soon as we approached the water both of us lost our balance and got cut. (Look for the picture of Will’s bleeding finger as he reaches for the crab at lunchtime…For those of you with a high degree of anxiety, or sea smarts, fear not, no sharks were attracted by the streams of blood in the water.) The reef followed the coastline, with a drop off of about 20-25 feet. We saw an absolutely amazing variety of fish, and Will spotted some lobsters hiding in the reef—all you could see were their antennae. He actually saw one on the sea floor that was as big as one of his legs! (Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was still pretty big.) While we swam one of the crew (one of three) prepared us a simple but delicious lunch that was incredibly abundant and yummy: steamed crabs, sautéed chicken, calamari curry, coco rice, bread, salad, and succulent pineapple (and bad oranges) for dessert. Way more than we expected—the whole day cost us $50 each.

After lunch it looked like impending rain, and we went in for one more pass of the reef, during which we managed to miss the little rain that fell.

Time to hit the seas and get to Junior’s, who kindly had his woman make us some galao (i.e., latte). Loving this place!

Back at Zombie’s we met another couple, Tom and Keira, a young British couple, who were to be our traveling companions for the next leg of our journey…that’’s right another incredibly long bus ride and painfully early departure. But by now, we’re pretty used to it. Hey, after all, if you’ve taken the Lexington Ave. subway at rush hour, this ain’t so bad. On the other, the subway doesn’t usually allow livestock…Our plan was to take the bus to Beira, the second-largest city, with a reputation for being tawdry. From there we decided we would catch a plane from there to Nampula, because it would have taken us three full days to go overland, and we wanted to save the time for our two northern destinations.

The predominant form of transportation here is by road. There’s only one large bus company in the south which doesn’t have daily service and requires advance registration. Most people can’t afford this, and so instead take privately owned, small buses, chapas, which are minivans (Flatbush Ave. anyone?), or ride in private trucks, perhaps the cheapest. The goal with any of these transports is to fill it with as many passengers, cargo and animals as possible to make it worthwhile for the driver (see picture of goat and chicken later). Most buses here require very early starts because the distances are frequently long, road conditions are poor and the day is hot. We picked up our bus at 4:00am from a local “backpackers” (the term for very low-priced accommodations with dorm rooms and some private rooms for more independent travelers) and headed for Tofo Beach. The trip was around 470 km (280mi) and took us nine hours, giving you some idea of the road conditions. Also contributing to the time is the fact that the bus makes frequent stops along the way to pick up and drop off passengers, and also to let passengers buy water, sodas, produce and snacks, villagers who rush to the open windows. Haggling is often involved. We had the greatest bananas we’ve ever eaten at one of these stops. Oh yeah…and lots of BO, including ours. Mmmm, BO.

Our first view of the Indian Ocean…rough, but home to many surfers. Tofo is a crescent-shaped stretch of beach that appears to be frequented mostly by South Africans who fly or make the drive themselves. It’s also home to scuba diving outfits who take clients out to the open sea to see whale sharks during their season there. Alas, we have no PADI certification to do this. We ended up taking a long walk along the beach, watched the locals fishing for whatever they could find in the tidal pools and enjoyed the companionship of one of the areas many stray dogs.

Young boys also work the beach trying to sell trinkets, however, we find they’re not so aggressive and in fact curious and sometimes have a nice sense of humor. We also stayed in our first thatched hut “chalet,” a common accommodation all along the beach. Unfortunately, this was a lousy one: dark and dreary and the bedspread looked well used..he he. There’s not much to do in Tofo except hang on the beach and go to one of the few restaurants or bars in the vicinity. We’ve heard from other travelers that they loved the spot, but we were less enthused and didn’t find the beach to be that great. Sacrilege! We also were more interested in pushing on to the north to see Vilanculo, Ilha de Moçambique and Pemba, so after two days we checked out and made ready for the daunting day of travel ahead: small chapa from Tofo to Inhambane (a small town described as charming in Lonely Planet…NOT), motorized dhow from there across the bay to Maxixe, and then managed to catch a large, “fast” bus from this mainland town to Vilanculo (another 480km/300mi). Phew. Part way we saw a sign marking the Tropic of Capricorn—cool. On the way to Vilanculo, this girl offered to sell us a chicken...nice.

Before we left Tofo, we stopped for coffee at Mondo’s, the town’s pizza place. Our bad luck, no power, no java.

By the time the plane touched down in Maputo, we were pretty tired, having only slept a couple of hours. This certainly contributed to our first dose of culture shock, which happened as we exited the terminal into a mass of people all vying for our bags. Of course, there was no need for anyone to take our bags as we had nowhere to go, not having booked a hotel. Will managed to buy a Blá Blá phone card (Moçambiquans have a certain sense of humor) and we proceeded to call most of the cheap hotels in our guide book, all of which were booked. Yikes! We ended up deciding to go to an overpriced business hotel, ‘cause we were just too tired to keep trying. We spent the next couple of days taking care of business—that is buying our first sim card for our phone, figuring out transportation to our next destination, and other research. Euro cup fever continued strong. Our big splurge was going to a restaurant a little outside of town, called Costa do Sol, where we ate the most amazing grilled prawns, Moçambique’s signature seafood dish. With it we had our first Moçambiquan piri piri, the chili sauce accompaniment that is ubiquitous here…as is “2M,” Moçambiquan lager.

Maputo, the capital of Moçambique, like most big cities, has a mixture of expensive tourist hotels, places where the locals go, and shanty towns on the outskirts. Like many places in Moçambique, there are many dilapidated buildings from the Portuguese colonial era, and often the sidewalks are sketchy at best. All along the streets people sell various items, typically produce, cell phone minute vouchers, and cheap goods. Moçambique is a country consisting of about 8 different tribes, each with their own language, but Portuguese is still the common language, and not too many people speak English, although this is probably changing as English is being taught in schools.

We note two things about the country in our short stay here. Because it’s the winter, the daylight ends around 5:00pm, sort of a miscalculation on our part. The weather is actually beautiful: in the 80’s, dry and sunny, with only an occasional brief shower. However, it also means it’s the slow season for tourism. We’ve enjoyed seeing no tourists some days… and have been told by some more seasoned travelers to not expect this on the rest of our tour throughout the world.