The final leg of my journey proved to be harder to accomplish than I had anticipated. Not that I mind. I like a challenge when I travel. This time around, I had decided to skip the guides all together. Go fishing in the sea of information available to anybody who could speak the language. Which I don't. But money is a language spoken all over the world, so it gets you a long way. And if you happen to be white, you are assumed to have lots of it. I knew that to get to Malawi, I would have to go through Chimoio and Tete. I asked at the bus-station in Vilancolous. Yes, there was a bus. It leaves tomorrow. But I needed to go today. "You have to leave?" one guy who spoke a little English asked. I smiled. "No, not HAVE to. Want to. I am going to Malawi." He told me something I didn't understand squat of. After a few times I finally understood. I would have to go to Pambara (the crossroad where the road to Vilaculous meet the N1 highway north), the I would wait for a bus to take me to Inchope. From Inchope I could take a chapa or bus to Chimoio. Then I could take a bus to Tete. Phew! What a thrill.
first leg : Pembara
I caught a chapa to Pambara. They dropped me off by the side of the road. Pambara is little more than a cross with a few restaurants and a santitario. So I stood there, like everyone else. And waited. And waited. Aaaaaaand (wait for it...) WAITED! Like everyone else. Every time a chapa stopped, my hopes rose. Just to be chopped down when the driver told me he was going somewhere completely different. Fortunately, this day (the Big Guy upstairs really like me) there was clujds in the sky. So it was actually possible to stand there for hours without boiling away. After three hours of waiting. A big, modern bus stopped. I and another local guy ran to the door. "Inchope?" I asked. She nodded. They had just two seats left. One for me and one for the other guy. I paid and jumped aboard this airconditioned bus. Sat down in the seat. First leg finished.
Second leg : Inchope
The bus had inbus movies. They showed the latest "Mission: Impossible" movie. After about an hours drive, they stopped outside a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I went into the restaurant, only to find that all the food had been preordered by the passengers. So no chance for me to order anything on the fly. I bought a couple of cokes and walked outside. Checked my cell phone, and found I had a message from a friend. I replied and took some photos. After about 15 minutes, we were off again. But only for an hour. Then we stopped again. But this time to become a part of a convoy. Renamo militia had been attacking civilian transports lately, so in order to increase security, all buses and cars were driving in a convoy. Led by an armoured vehicle with a 50 cal machinegun on top (at least it looked like it). Next was an ambulance in case we got attached. After about 40 minutes, the convoy was off. I was at this point tired after the waiting, and the heat. So I slept as much as possible. But since the vehicles in the convoy where all fighting for the closest position to the armoured vehicle in front, I was buffeted to and fro, so I never slept more than five minutes perhaps at a time. But after about an hour, the multiple power-naps had done wonders. I was a lot more rested, and could enjoy the scenery. After a few hours the escort left. We had made it. Now it was just straight to Inchope. I looked at my cell, and saw that it was getting late. I tried to remember the map of Mozambique in my head, and thought Chimoio would be too far to reach before night-fall, so I was starting to prepare mentally for hotel search in the dark in Inchope. We arrived about an hour after sunset.
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| In the middle of nowhere in Mozambique |
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| Armoured vehicle getting ready to start the convoy |
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| Who needs a 50 cal when you've got a goat? |
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| Convoy on its way, with armoured vehicle and ambulance in front |
Third leg : Chimoio
When I got off the bus in Inchope, it was pretty obvious to me that finding a hotel in this place would prove a "mission : impossible", or close. All I could see was darkness everywhere. Only bars and restaurants lit up the area. Which was basically just a crossroad. I asked the bus attendant where I could find a bus for Chimoio, and she pointed in the general direction. I walked down to find some chapas in the dark. I asked about Chimoio. Yes, there was one. It looked like something they had dug out of a scraphead and put together with duct-tape and tin foil. Oh well. You only live twice. I ran across the street to take a leak before running to the nearest bar to get a bottle of water. When I came back to the chapa, and elderly Brazilian woman was striving to get into the back seat. She saw me and said something in Portuguese. I said I didn't understand and she apologized and switched to English. "I think you might as well sit with me here, they want four people per row, so you would have to move anyway." I eased my body and bag into the seat next to her. Just squeezing my butt onto the seat. I asked her how far it was to Chimoio. "About an hour. It's 60 km." I had thought this would last for hours. One hour was livable. In the end, they had squeezed 20 people into the chapa, and we were off. There was an intense scearming noise coming from the rear of the chapa. It was so loud I was afraid my ears would ring for days afterwards. An so we screamed (in more ways than one) towards Chimoio. Vilma, the Brazilian lady asked me if I had any hotel to stay in. I said no. "If you like, you could come with me to a church I usually stay in when I am in Chimoio. They have a few beds they rent out to travellers. It is cheap!" I smiled. "I do not mind staying in a church." She looked at me a bit apologizing. "It is very basic and simple I'm afraid." I smiled to her again. "No worries. I am a very simple guy." She was working in a charity for children in Mozambique. We spoke a little on the way. But the noise and not at least the pain in my butt and back made me more and more eager to consentrate on getting there in one piece. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we stopped outside the local "Shoprite!". "It's not far." Vilma said in her very mild tone. I don't think I have ever heard anyone with such a mild, yet clear voice. I took her suitcase and we walked for about 10 minutes before arriving at the church. The nightwatch let us in. He showed us to our separate rooms. It was basic. But clean. And only 200 meticais (about $7) a night. More the pricelevel I would have expected anywhere else in Mozambique. I set my cell to be charged during the night. Jumped into bed and fell asleep. It had been a long day.
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| A room at the church |
Fourth leg : Tete
I woke up before sunrise. But the room was cold, so I didn't really want to get up. I am normally a quite warm person, so no problem there. But when the air temperature is around 12 degrees C, and I only have a shorts and a t-shirt, even I have to admit it gets a little cold when the breeze blows. And I could hear the wind howling. I stayed in bed another hour or so. Got up and went to the toilet. The cell was fully charged, so I decided to stay an hour longer and give my laptop a slight charge before I left. I stood there in the room, trying to let the tiny rays of the sun warm me as much as possible. Since I didn't know what kind of hotel I would find in Tete, I thought it best to charge when possible. At 8'o clock I unplugged the laptop and packed it in my bag. I left, and met Vilma and the nightwatch outside. I payed the nightwatch and said goodbuy and thanks to Vilma. I wanted to go to Shoprite to get some snacks for the journey ahead. It was bound to take longer than I wanted it to. It always does. I tried to backtrack our walk from the evening before, but obviously made an early left-turn, because I did not arrive at Shoprite. I asked a girl passing where Shoprite was. She laughed and pointed. "That way sir. I work there. See!" she said and opened her jacket to show me the Shoprite t-shirt she had on. "Lets walk there together!" she said. We chatted about the usual stuff. Where I came from, how cold it was now in Mozambique. Where I had been, and if she could meet me later. She was dissappointed when she learned I was leaving. The shop opened at 9, so I had to hang around the place for 40 minutes. I grabbed a lot of crappy food. But one thing was juts unbelievably good. Freshly baked bread. I love the smell of fresh bread in the morning! It smells like....breakfast! I walked to where Vilma had said the bus station would be. I asked around and found that there was a bus leaving at 10. I waited, and ate the bread. Ah! The bread! Only 5 letters can describe it : Y U M M Y! While I was in bread-heaven, a guy I had asked earlier, came running. "Boss!" he shouted and pointed to a bus that passed. "Come! Tete!" he said and ran with me to the bus. I arrived short of breath, only to learn the bus was full. I asked the guy in my own version of "spaniguese" : "Otra bus?". He shook his head. "Chapa?" I asked. He shook his head again. Why didn't I get up earlier?! I was a bit disappointed in myself. I should know better. Rookie mistake. Then he started laying out the possibilities for me. I could take a chapa to Guro, then switch for one to Changoro, and there switch for a new one the final leg to Tete. Sure, why not. He found me a chapa to Guro. And then he smiled and asked me, almost embarrased, for some tip for the help. Sure. No problem. I took out one of the cans of coke and gave it to him. He smiled broadly. "Obrigado! Obrigado!" he said. Gave me the thumbs up and left. I was to ride shotgun in the chapa. The best seat. I could stretch my feet. I loved it. Even though I had to wait for an hour for the chapa to fill up.
First part : Guro. It took the best part of three hours to get there. The roads were ok, the speed was high and the stops many.
Second part : Changoro. In Guro the operator took me out of the chapa and took me to another that would take me to Changoro. This time, I got the "sit with your knee in the metal of the seat in front"-seat. And the operator didn't stop filling the chapa until people where standing (in a Hiace)... I think there where about 25 people. It was hot, cramped and filled with women who were trying to speak louder than everyone else. It was a trip to forget. I was glad when it was over.
Last part : Tete. I got to ride shotgun again. Loved it. I could stretch my feet. I could take the window down if I liked. The roads were terrible. The speed low. The stops many. And most of the traffic consisted of trucks for Malawi. It was obvious I was closing in on the target. The Sun was setting when we drove in to Tete. I started looking for hotels. The first I saw was a sign for Motel Tete. I made a mental note of it as we drove on. I wanted to stay as close to the chapa-station as possible, to get an early start. After a while we passed the only hotel I could see. Hotel Kassungha. The chapa made its final stop about 1 km further ahead. I got off and walked back to the hotel. The manager looked at me with surprise when I asked for the cheapest room. He tried to explain just how bad it was. I didn't care. I just wanted someplace to crash. He reluctantly took me upstairs and showed me the $25 room. It is now officially the second crappiest room I have ever slept in. Only beaten by a hair by Hotel Al-Arabia in Smara in West-Sahara. $25 for this dump? Figures.. This is Mozambique. No question there. I almost broke out in laughter when I saw the bathroom. I think I'll be cleaner if I avoid taking a shower tomorrow. There is an ant-track by my bed. The paint is falling off the walls (which btw looks like someone with severe diorreah has accidentally spraypainted when they failed to reach the toilet in time). There is a balcony ( a big plus!) with doors that has no lock, so I am using my bag to keep them shut. There is a hole where the door-handle used to be. So mosquitos can fly in and out as they please the whole night. And no mosquito net. Even the room in the church in Chimoio had that... Ah, well. Last night. Last night.
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| Bathroom of the dump |
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| The room |
So here I am. My final night in Mozambique. I have complained a lot about the price level here. And I still think it is ridicoulus. Gina where speaking with the spaniards on the last night about why the prices where so high. She spoke Spanish, so I didn't understand everything she said, but I think she said that "everyone thinks that Africa should be cheap. But why shouldn't we have just as high prices as everywhere else?" I wish I could speak more Spanish, so I could explain my view. Bushra told me that an average monthly wage in Mozambique is $50. Our small rooms with partly non-functioning bathroom and low standard breakfast would still be lightyears out of reach for the average Joe and Jane in Mozambique. It would be almost an impossible dream. Even this dump where I am sitting now would be only a dream. They would have to save up for a year just to stay here one night. That does not make sense. In any country I have been, staying in a hotel may be out of the league for beggars on the street, but not impossible for the average person. And there lies my argument against the high prices. It has almost become a mantra that everywhere, prices should be on international level. And that's what I think is ridicoulous. Transport is one thing. The prices are driven by fuel prices. And no country can magically make the oil price go away. But hotels? And everything else? Bushra said that she was trying to build a chicken-farm for the locals. But no matter how much money she managed to put together, they always asked for more. It wasn't enough to buy the chicken. And then we are talking about higher than Norwegian prices. Which are among the highest in the world. If you want international prices for the cheapest accomodation, you would expect international wages. But they just aren't there.
There, I'm done with the blowing off steam part.
What is good about Mozambique? The beaches. The reefs. The food, aaah the food! And the people. Friendly, although a bit shy at times. And they let me be. Even when I stood for 3 hours at Pambara, nobody bothered me. I could lazily walk around and buy what I wanted without one zillion sellers screaming in my ears, like in Ghana. In general, Mozambiqans are very honest people (with a few exceptions I have met along the way, mostly chapa operators), and they would never cheat or steal from you. Mozambique have their problems, and some quirks I would want to see gone. But I have no regrets coming here. So Mozambique : It's been real!
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| Street outside my hotel in Tete |
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