Seven Mozambiquess. Maputo to Vilankulos

Getting to Mozambique was a nightmare.

Jo-burg to Maputo bus – 10 hours. Although I did not have a pre-arranged visa nor any of the required documents my single female traveller aura made the border crossing relatively easy. No hustle, no bribes, no disappearing passports.  I arrived in Maputo in the late evening and had rather disturbing night in a shabby hostel, where being eaten by insects seemed to be my biggest threat for the time being. I had to leave around 3am to catch machibombo leaving to Vilankulo between 4am and 6am (meaning: it will leave when it gets full). After the expected amount of chaos (protect your bag, protect your luggage, get rid of the ticket crooks, reason with the mobile vendors and explain English to Portugese that you do not need transistor, toilet paper, usb cable or a broom) we finally left. Leg space – quarter of a Ryainar. Open windows – zero. Pee stops – one. Fluids – zero (you need to take it easy with water when pee stops are scarce). Insect bites – million. Hours spent in machibombo – twelve. Recollection of the actual arrival – none. Moments of ‘why am I doing this’ – A LOT. 

A daily mozambiquess developed within a week that followed – seven. 

One. Mercado Municipale.  

Items purchased: 2 head scarfs, 1 capulana (local fabric that can be your jumper, towel, dress and cosy blanket), 2 bottles of vinho verde.

Two. Identified breakfast place: 1.

When you pass the market on your left there will be this wonderful bakery where you can eat Portugese goodies like pastel de nata and sericaria. And  - now please wait for it – they have REAL COFFEE there (to explain – if you can get yourself something different than instant coffee outside of the major cities in Africa, you just won a caffeinated lottery.

Three. Identified local restaurants: 2.

Leopoldina (where you’d be actually tasting her husband’s cooking)  and Zita (where you’d be tasting goodies brought to you by 27 year old mother of three who, next to running her business, cooks also for the local diving centre guests). Favourites: matapa or smoky tasting moringa (lord this is delicious), mouth watering chicken, paella with seafood and shakshuka.

Four. Skills gained: eating a crab.

Now, there is probably a fancy way of doing it, most likely including cutlery. Zita’s school will teach you the following: just bite, crack and suck it out. Probably not the best thing to do on a date. Distance to being sexy – unmeasurable.

Five. Kindred spirits.

Yoga teacher starting the day with coffee and cigarette and my dorm/yoga buddy from the Wild Coast (so we met again in Mozambique)

Six. Low tides enchantments: daily.

When ocean runs away it leaves a stripy pattern of sands and water in two colours of blue (pure dark blue and greenish light blue). All you see is endless corridors of imprisoned ocean refuge water and local dhowes stuck in the sand or hissing through the tiny corridors. When ocean does go back it will do it all the way down. I assure you.

Seven. Mistakes made – few minor and one major. 

Sailing on the local boat when ocean is at its best and wind proclaims its crazy ruling ain’t pleasant. If someone tells you it makes you feel alive - it is not true. It makes you feel horrified. Falling from the wave has a concrete landing feel to it -  one does not want to live through it the second time around.  


However, if you do want to sail to one of the Bazaruto Archipelago islands you've got no other option, brother. There is no other alternative, sister. But this is what you get when you do get there. A sandy, deadly paradise made of blinding sands. A desert in the middle of a big salty ocean. Painfully beautiful. Hard to believe in.