Down and out

Yesterday, my bus was leaving City Mall at Crossroads at 07.00, so I had asked the receptionist to book a taxi for 06.00, so I would have enough time to take into account delays and other unforseen problems. I got up at 05.00 and packed my bag. Sat in the reception and surfed until I saw the time passed 06.00. I asked the receptionist if they had booked my taxi. He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes ooozing of "No we haven't, but I cannot tell you, so I'll have to figure out some excuse that sounds plausable". "I'll call and check." He called and booked the taxi. I sighed loudly. He understood. He made another call. The landlady came a few minutes later. Wearing her night-gown and her sleepy face. "Madame will drive you!", the receptionist said. Really? Yes, really. She walked out the door and got in her tiny little car. She was an old and tiny Korean lady. She never looked in any direction when driving. Just looked straight ahead and drove onto the main road. When she spoke, she remineded me of the "chinese lady" on Mad TV.
Her : "Vea u gaw?"
I : "Blantyre"
Her : "Aaaaah. Blantai!"
Silence.
Me : "You from South or North Korea?"
Her : (laughing) "Soothe! Soothe! Not is bed! Bed pesiden! Soothe goo!" (laughing)
Me : "I have been in North Korea!"
Her : "Bed! Bed pesiden! Naw goo!" (Something incomprehensible) "Naw goo!"
Me : "Yeah..."
She drove past the City Mall and I tried to make her aware of this.
Me : "You just p..."
Her : "Naw. I ask!"
Me : "But I'm going over there!" I pointed towards the shopping centre, but she insisted on driving into the gas station next to it.
Her : "No pawblem! I ask! Naw see bass!"
Me : "I'll just get off here!"
Her : "U saw?"
Me : "Yes, I'm sure!"
I thanked her and got out. Walked to the shopping centre and to the stand where the bus was to arrive.
The morning was one of the coldest so far. But it wasn't too bad after all. After hanging around for 15 minutes, the bus arrived. I got on and sat down beside a local guy named Mark. As we started driving, we started talking. He turned out to be on the national team for 400m track. His personal best was 45.91. He was hoping to qualify for the Commonwealth games. But since he wasn't in the world elite, it din't pay off much, so when he wasn't training, he worked at the KFC in Blantyre. He would have loved to be a proffessional, but had to cope with lack of infrastructure and financial problems in Malawi. We talked about the current state of Malawi for most of the trip. He was born in Zambia, but since his parents where Malawi, they moved back, and he moved with them. He wasn't as dark as most Malawis and he told me his great grandfather was Indian.
"I am also volunteering for the church. They have a program for helping children on the streets. They are in bad shape. You can buy satchets of vodka on the streets for 100 kwacha. And many of the sellers don't care if the buyers are under 18. SO many kids beg for money, and buy alcohol for the money. They hardly ever eat, and collapse in the end. And some are exploited by criminal gangs to steal and break into cars. It is terrible." It was obvious that his heart was with these kids. He didn't have any of his own. "You know. I am trying to make the poor people understand that they cannot get a lot of kids. They cannot take care of them, and they end up on the street. But they will not listen. It is important to have kids."
We had a long and very interesting conversation during the trip. When I got off, I thanked him for the talk and he wished me a safe journey.
I walked from the bus-stop to the same shawarma-shop where I had eaten on Thursday. Ordered the same meal and sat down. I could feel it now. I started feeling it on Saturday morning. My batteries was nearly depleted. On the road for four days to get to Lilongwe, with precious little sleep had taken its toll. The battery lamp was flashing. I needed some rest. Serious rest. After the meal, I checked the guide I borrowed from Sigrid, and wanted to check out two cheap hotels. They both lay a bit out of the city centre. But I was OK with that. I started walking (I like to walk when I am mentally tired), and walked. And Walked. After 2-3 km it was getting obvious to me that I had taken a wrong turn. I headed back to the starting point and tried again. This time I was more in luck. I found the hotel where I wanted to stay the most, but it was full. So I walked back towards the other. They had vacancies in all categories. The receiptionist asked if I wanted the most expensive room. I said I wanted the cheapest. "But it does not have bathroom!" she said. "I don't care. I don't mind sharing a bathroom." She looked at me as if I was a space oddity or something. But gave me some form to fill in. She walked me to the room. It was big, with ample bed space for three people, if needed. It was clean, and smelled clean. I told her I needed a towel. "I will tell the girl to bring it to you!" she said and left. I dropped the bag on the floor and sat down on the biggest bed. I didn't even close the door. Then I just dropped backwards on my back, with arms out. And closed my eyes. About half an hour later, the maid arrived. I could hear her footsteps. She stopped outside my door. Waited a few seconds, then knocked on the open door and said "Mister? Towel!". I lifted my head slightly and said "Yes, come in!". She came in and laid the towel on the other bed. Then she left. She looked at me, or more precisely : Stared at me the whole time. She closed the door behind her. I lay there for almost an hour. Just resting. I was down and out.
Then I got up and walked to the gas station next door and picked up some water and snacks for the evening. Returning to my bedroom, I watched a movie on my computer, and just more or less sat in my bed the whole evening. It was good. It felt good. My batteries were charging. In the end I fell asleep, and slept like a baby. More than 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was a delight to wake up and see that it was morning. My batteries were still not fully charged, but definitely up and running.
I got up, and had a shower. I needed to wash a t-shirt, so I brought it with me into the shower. Soaped it in and washed it. It became reasonably clean. I wringed the water out of it and hung it over the shower wall until I was finished. I brought it back to my room, and realized they probably hadn't washed the top of the shower walls since the independence days. It was full of brown and black stains. "Ah, whatever!" I thought and hung it up to dry in one of the giant closets in my room.
The receptionist had told me that the price of the room included breakfast, so I headed for the restaurant. I was the only one there. A girl came up to me and said in a voice so weak you'd need the ultrasonic hearing of a mouse to be able to make it out. "What?" I asked. "Do you..........?" she repeated. "What?" I said again and turned my head slightly to indicate I didn't hear what she said. "Do you stay here?" I could barely make out. "Yes!" I said. "Ok s......" she said. "What?!" "Sit down please!" she said a bit louder. I sat down and after a while she came back and asked "Y... w.... o ....?". "What?!" "You want toasted or plain bread?" "Toasted please!". After a while she brought a plate with two pieces of toast, a dubiously fried egg and some chips. I ate the toast and the chips. Not properly cooked or fried eggs are like asking "you want salmonella with your fries?" "No thanks, not today!"
Today, I had two goals. One was to visit the Mandala House. Reputably the oldest standing building in Malawi. Given that most houses here are made of mud and straw (and have a tendency to wash away during the rainy season), it's not so hard to believe. The other was the Malawi Museum. The latter was build the same year as Malawi got it's independence and supposedly contained some artifacts from it's history. I think such things are interesting, so I wanted to check it out.
I walked to where the map said Mandala House should be. I found a business compound of some kind. I asked a few guys standing there where it was. After thinking and dicsussing it a bit, they all said "It's behind this building". I walked into the compound and found the building. I walked between some parked cars to get to a padlocked door. I saw some girl inside, and called out to her. "When do you open?" "It is open. Just wait a minute!" So I waited for a minute until a guy came and opened the door. "We are open, but the entrance is on the other side!" he said and smiled. Ah. Stupid tourist... The ground floor was a gallery packed with artifacts from all over. Paintings, figurines, handmade chests and such. I looked through the gallery and then went upstairs, where the library was. I walked in and found a small library of old and new books. I browsed the shelves and to my astonishment found orginial copies of the books by Stanley and Livingstone. And they were not on display behind a glass. They were books I could pull out and browse through like in any other library. I carefully pulled out the book by Stanley. "How I found Livingstone". Opened it carefully. This was a gem! I looked at the illustrations. Read a bit. I could almost feel a tingling sensation in my body. I just love this! If I could, I would have sat there reading the whole book. But that would have taken weeks, probably. Given the book was 720 pages long. And fragile. I carefully placed it back on the shelf and pulled out one book by Livingstone. "Expedition to the Zambezi". Original from 1865. I opened it carefully and browsed through some pages. Unfolded a map made from the descriptions of Livingstone. I put it back and sat down in a chair. Dreaming away. I am not an explorer. I ride SUVs and airconditioned buses. These dudes walked, rode and climbed thousands of kilometres through unknown territory. Communicating with local tribespeople. Studying alien customs. Traditions. And wrote thick volumes brimming with details about them. I'm writing a superficious blog. They explored, I travel. I think it is best described in the following poem I found in the gallery at Mandala House. (In case you haven't figured out yet, click on the images to enlarge them...)

New and old mixed together

Precious gem

Beautiful illustrations

Final words by Livingstone

Mandala House. A big attracion in its time. And even now.

After spending a few hours at the Mandala House, I continued on to the "Museums of Malawi". It was a 3 km walk from Mandala House. I watched closely some dark clouds ahead. Hoping they would not release their contents until I was safely there. It rained when I was at Mandala House. I got there without getting wet. Inside the compound, I found a traditional hut, and some old machinery. I like this old stuff. It is like true engineering. When the field was young. Steam engines and such. Made from tons of steel. Some local kids were playing with them. These are made so solid that I don't think even kids can break them. Inside the museum, I paid 200 kwacha to go downstairs and look at the artifacts they had on display. It reminded me of too many museums in Africa. Artifacts are put on display and left there to rot forever. Several items had fallen off their designated space and lay in a pile at the bottom of the display. Dusty and dirt everywhere. But despite this, I find them interesting. They show old history. Old traditions and old items. I don't know why, but I love looking at stuff like this. It was "strickly verboten" to take photos inside the museum, so no pictures from the inside, unfortunately. The sign on the outside said "Preserving Malawis cultural and natural history". I think that was stretching it a bit. "Letting the history rust and dust away in a controlled manner" is more precise. I understand that in a poor country, spending money on a museum isn't the best investment. When people are hungry, the priority should be in feeding them. But it is still a shame that all this stuff is just sitting there, rusting away. I wish that somehow, money could be found to preserve it in a better way than this. But then, I come from a rich country. Guess I'm spoiled...

Mud and straw hut.

Inside the hut

Big equipment!

Locomotive 1902

Bus or cattle-transport?

Maybe a little of both?

Very descriptive sign

Malawi used to be called Nyasaland.

In the bathroom inside the toilet, the mirror had been turned into a "ghost" mirror.

Caught by Nkhotakota

I didn't sleep much in the dorm room. The party outside died after they stopped serving at 10pm, and I slept well until I had to go to the bathroom. I got back and tried to get back to sleep. Then I noticed that the girl sleeping in the bed underneath made a lot of strange noises. In addition to talking in her sleep. I lay there listening to the noises for a while until an obvious drunk guy entered the room, sweared a lot before he found his bed. Then sweared a lot more while he obviously struggled with the mosquito net. Then sweared even more when he realized he had to go to the bathroom. I heard him swearing even more in the bathroom before he came back and sweared som more while trying to find his bed. And then some more while trying to get the mosquito-net back in order. It took maybe half an hour. Then he settled into some less swearing while falling asleep. I may have slept some hours more. But anyways. I got up at around 7. Sigrid was going to pick me up at 9.
I wanted to take a shower, but they didn't have any towels to borrow, since "the guests tended to 'forget' to hand them back when finished". So I couldn't shower. And the toilets had no more toilet paper, so I had nothing to dry myself with. I didn't smell, so I guessed I was OK. They had, btw, very interesting doors into the showers and toilets. They were divided in the middle, with a lock. But when locked, there was a 1 cm slit where you could see what-/whoever was inside. No place for the shy.
I ordered an English breakfast and was told to go down to the restaurant. I walked down, and found it almost deserted, save from Zoe. A girl from Australia. She was here to do some volunteer work on a school for a few months. The breakfast was big, and filling. And I was more than satisfied when I went back to the reception to check out. The receptionist gave me the bill. I looked at it with some degree of bewilderedness.
Me : "Excuse me? 11 000 kwacha? How did you arrive at that number?"
Receptionist : "The room is 3500, then you had breakfast today and lunch and dinner yesterday!"
Me : "Eeerrr. I wasn't here yesterday. How could I have had lunch and dinner?"
She brought out a sheet and found my name. I was listed with lunch and dinner.
Me : "I do not know where you got this from, but I had lunch with a friend and didn't come back here until after dinner."
She looked at me, thought for a while, and reduced the bill to 7000. Which was correct. I still have no idea how those numbers came on my tab. Anywho. I walked out into the sun and waited for Sigrid.
She arrived and I hopped into her car. After a few short stops to fuel and get some samosas and water for the trip, we headed for Nkhotakota, on the shores of Lake Malawi. We had looked at the map of Malawi the previous day, and decided to go to the Nkhotakota Pottery Lodge. The road took us through small villages, a number of police checkpoints, and beautiful landscapes. 3 hours later we had arrived at the sign for the lodge. The road down towards the lodge was terrible at best. We were glad Sigrid had an SUV available. I suspect a sedan would either fall apart or be stuck at some point. After about 10 minutes of jumping, buffeting and jolting, we finally arrived at the lodge, where a guard asked Sigrid to sign in before we were allowed into the compound.
The place is built around (surprise, surprise..) a pottery. So the reception is also a shop where you can buy pottery made at the spot. We checked in and now Sigrid was ready for her longed-for cup of coffee. The restaurant was beautifully set on the beach, where we had a great view of Lake Malawi. We decided to take a walk on the beach. The sand was not as fine as that on the beaches in Mozambique, but it was possible to walk barefoot all the same. So we walked up "our beach" to the next and then one more. Watching cows walking past, men tending their boats, women walking with firewood on their head. And just generally enjoyed the view and the walk. On the last beach, Sigrid made some new friends when a lot of children came after her, and took her hands. "Give me bottle!" they all chanted. Sigrid tried to explain she didn't have any bottle, but they persisted. She asked one of the girls her name in the local tongue. But she seemed to shy to want to answer. I took a picture of them. Sigrid said goodbuy to them and we walked back to the lodge.

Coffee! Finally!

Cattle on the beach

The young man and the sea

Sigrid and the beach

Permanently stranded boat

Elaborate sand-fortress

Dug-out canoes

"What's you name?" Sigrid making new friends

Big bugs on the beach

After a short rest, we were ready for dinner. We both opted for chicken curry. "It will be an hour!" the waitress said. "Maybe we should get a starter?" Sigrid suggested. I ordered a toast with humus. After a while, the waitress came back, apologised and said the had no humus. So instead of trying to find out what they did have, I ordered the same mushroom soup as Sigrid. Which was delicious! The chicken curry was also excellent! Well worth the wait. We sat there talking until we were both tired. We walked outside, and I noticed the skies were clear, so I invited Sigrid to come with me down to the beach to see the Milkyway. It was truly a stunning night. Almost no turbulence and no clouds. The Milkyway glowed in the sky. We stood there amazed and talked about the magnificense and the vastness of the universe. I suggested that we shoudl try to take a photo of the MIlkyway using Sigrid's camera. I had done it on the beaches of Mozambique with my own Lumix. The results were impressive given the camera, but I suspected an SLR would be better. It took some time before we figured out the controls, but in the end we managed to take 10 20-second exposures. I processed them the usual way and the result was surprisingly good. And better than what I had accomplished with my camera. After this, we both went to bed.

The centre of the Milkyway. 200 second exposue. 17mm/f.3.2. 

After breakfast the following day, we discussed how to drive back to Lilongwe, and decided on driving through the Nkhotakota Wildlife Reserve. And on the way there, stop at the Livingstone Tree Mission. Dr. Livingstone was there in 1861. So we expected a museum and such. When we arrived at Nkhotakota, we saw no sign. So we drove on for a bit. But saw no sign. We decided to ask someone, and a guy directed us down towards the lake. We asked someone at every junction and in the end, we stopped outside what seemed like a hospital. I pointed to a rusty old sign so deteriorated you could barely make out "Livingstone tree". This was it. We drove inside the compound, and found that the "sight" was a tree. That was supposedly the tree under which Dr. Livingstone sat with the local chiefs when he signed a treaty to stop slave trade. A bit less than we thought. I thought it was a bit funny. There was a church service nearby, so I walked over to film some of the beautiful song. Some very old ladies smiled at me when I entered the church. I smiled back, and filmed a procession towards the altar, and the singers singing. Loved it. Would have loved to stay, but we had to leave if we where to get back to Lilongwe not too late.

The Livingston tree...

We drove towards the wildlife reserve, and stopped at a checkpoint when entering. Sigrid had to sign in, and we were allowed to enter. No fee, but we had to register. We didn't expect to see any excotic wildlife, and we didn't. The roads went from potholed tarmac overgrown with grass, to dirtroads, to bad dirtroads. But the landscape was beautiful. And we did get to see some monkeys and some strange and beautiful birds.

It took an hour to drive through. At the other side, Sigrid had to sign out. Then we found we had two options, driving the dirt road via Ntchisi. That was shorter, and we initially decided to go there. But when we saw the actual road, we had second thoughts. It was narrow and in a bad shape. So we turned around and took the long way home, through Kasungu. I loved the drive. Especially since I wasn't the one driving, so I could enjoy watching the scenery, the people and everything that was going on on the road.

Small village by the road

Mountain rising up from the plains

We arrived back in Lilongwe in due time for some dinner. So we stopped at Sigrid's favourite pizza place. She tried to call a local friend, but he was unavailable.
After a short stop at her place, I took a taxi to my new place in Lilongwe. Korea Gardens Logde. Sligthly more expensive, but I guess I will have a better sleep here...
Tomorrwo, I am going south again. And from there work my way back to Lilongwe to fly out of Africa on Friday.
Thanks, Sigrid, for an enjoyable weekend!

Local resident up to some monkey business at the Nkhotakota Pottery Lodge

The man who walked up a hill, and came down into Malawi

I wanted to get an early start. I hoped I could make it to Lilongwe by the end of the day. So I got up at 5.30, packed my bag and left the room. Down in the reception, the manager sat sleeling in a chair. He woke up when I walked down the stairs, and switched on the lights. I paid for the room and left. It was a tad cold outside. LIke it always has been this trip. It is, after all, winter in these parts of Africa. I walked towards where the chapa had dropped me off th night before. I asked around for a bus or chapa for the border. In the end, I found one that was heading there. A guy who spoke some English pointed me to the correct one, and adviced me to get into the front seat. "There are so many dirty people in the back." "Ok?" I said. Admittedingly a bit surprised at his comment. But I didn't mind riding in front. It was the best seat, and if the trip should take some time, I would arrive without having to break my feet into shape again. An hour after I arrived, the chapa was finally full, and we could set off.
The road towards the border was terrible, to say the least. Giant potholes everywhere. Big long-haul trucks trying to navigate between them. It was obvious this would take time. It did. So I just tried to enjoy the scenery, and accepting the fact that Lilongwe seemed like more of a distant dream the longer it took. We arrived at the border at around 10. almost 3.5 hours after we left Tete.

The good part of the road from Tete to the border 

We were immediately surrounded by money-changers. And when they saw me, the massungou, they almost started fighting to get my attention. One of them opened my door to get to me, and this resulted in the bag with my water and coke fell onto the muddy ground. He looked down and realized what he had caused. Picked up the bag and handed the mud-soaked plastig bag to me. I just shook my head, took out the coke-can and walked off. With a tail of money-changers behind me. I just waved them all off and walked to the immigration-building. Inside, I was given a small form to fill out, and the guy behind the counter said "go outside to fill!". Ok? I walked outside, and a money-changer slipped in by my side. "Cambio?" I ingnored him, and filled out the form. Walked back in and gave it and my passport to the guy behind the desk. He barely looked at the form, and stamped my passport. Now I was in the mood for changing the rest of my meticais.
If you think "tax-free"-shops at airports is the worlds greatest scam, you haven't tried money-changing at border-crossings. I have seen every trick in the book on how to scam foreigners. I took out 1300 meticaisand said I wanted to change them. The guy gave me 7000 kwatcha. I did a quick calculation in my head and based on the exchange rate my friend Sigrid had sent me, it was about half of what I should expect. I waved him off. He "apologized" and said he had given me the wrong sum. He gave me another 1000 kwatcha. I laughed and gave him back the wad of money and walked off. He came running after me. And showed me a calculator. The number 8000 flashed on the display. I took the calculator and wanted to show him the calculation I did in my head. And here is the beauty of the scam. He had already punched in 8000 into the calculator. And no matter what calculation I wrote into the "calculator" it always came out as 8000. I tried dividing 1300 by 30 to show him how many dollars it was, and the result was 8000. He pointed to the display and said "See? 8000! Like I told you!" I laughed and gave him back the calculator. "It is fixed!" I said and walked off. He didn't give up. I told him that I knew the exchange rate should be at least 350 kwatcha to the dollar. "Off course. But that is dollar, and this is meticais! Meticais is 1 to 10!" "Ok, and if I give you 1300 meticais, that should beeeeee...?" I said. He did the calculation in his head. "13000!" he replied. "Yeeees! Imagine that. Not 8000..." I did a quick calculation in my head and found that it wasn't too far off. And he was the only moneychanger still hanging around, so I just accepted the small loss. He gave me 13000 kwatcha and I counted them. After confirming the sum, I gave him the 1300 meticais. He counted them, and I said goodbuy. I later found I should have gotten around 14000, but I was happy with the deal. So there you are. This is about as many tricks as you can encounter. And the rules are :
1) Never trust "calculators" they show you. They are fixed into giving the "correct" answer. I saw this the first time on the border between Equador and Peru in 1996. A bit more advanced. It actually did a calculation, but the answer was just redicoulous. And always in favor of the money-changers.
2) Always check the exchange rate before you reach the border, and decide on how much you want to change, BEFORE you do it. So you have a rough estimate on how much you should get. You will never get that sum. No matter how much you haggle. The banks are the only one who give you the correct amount.
3) Never be intimidated by "insulted" money-changers who have no scruples (sometimes loudly) calling you rasist, liar, thief and the lot to get you intimidated enough to accept their offer. Just walk away and choose someone else.
4) Never give them your money until they have given you their money, and you have counted them. If, after you have given them your money, they offer to "add some more and count again", refuse. They will surely replace some of the big notes with smaller ones. And if you try to count again, they will say "police is coming, we must run" or something and split. Leaving you with half the money you expected. (Some places moneychanging on the street is illegal)
5) Always check the notes that they are the correct value and not the least : currency. Or you might end up with the right number, but some worthless currency.
6) Women are the worst scammers. Most people (expecially women) trust women more than men, and some exploit this to the max. They can rob you blind while they give you the sweetest smile. Haven't experienced this myself, but have spoken to people who have.
7) If there are a lot of moneychangers around you, there is bound to be one or more pickpockets around too. Do not take your money out until you are either alone with one a few. If you cannot get rid of the mob, stand against a wall to control them. Again, never take out your money until you are satisfied with the money you have been given, and are ready to close the deal. The pickpockets are waiting for you to reveal the location of your money. So only keep the money you are planning to change at that location.

That's about it. The Ragnar's guide to moneychanging at the border.

After I had changed my money, I started walking to towards the Malawi border post. I knew it was a bit of way, but thought it would be nice to walk after the long chapa-trip. Some taxi's and motorbikes shouted at me and said it was impossibly far to the border. I ignored them and walked on. Soon I was walking up a hill. The landscape was beautiful. Mountaneous, with mist-covered peaks. A slight drizzle, but not that bothered me. I liked it. A tad cold, but when I walk, I heat up quickly. Some cars and motorbikes zoomed by from time to time, but most of the time, I was alone. I sniffed the air. Watched villagers going about their daily life. At some point, it was dead quiet. I just had to stop and enjoy it. Just a few birds chirped. I closed my eyes and soaked it in. Took out my camera and filmed a 360 view. I wanted to save the moment. Then I walked on. Up ahead, I saw a small village on the edge of a cliff. I hear the unmistakable sound of children playing. As I was closing in, they saw me, and they obviously became excited. They probably had seen white people before, but I suspect not many walked the few km across the border. When I passed the village, they all stood around a large rock. I smiled and waved, and they screamed and laughed and waved back. I took up my camera, and they all stood very still until I had taken the photo. Then they screamed and ran back to their village. You just gotta love these children. After about half and hour, the solo walk was over. The Malawi border was closing in. I saw the cargo trucks piling up. Waiting for customs clearance. And heaps of people. Back to civilization. I stopped for a few seconds. Took a few deep breaths and walked into the pit.

Walking into the hills

Beautiful

The kids in the village watching the road show

Marketing, even at the border

Into the pit

Immigration was surprisingly easy. Fill in a form, stand in line, show my passport and get a stamp. That was easy. I walked into Malawi and started looking for trasport to Blantyre. I was hoping I would get there early enough to catch a bus to Lilongwe. I found a chapa, and was given the front seat. White folks ride shotgun. I know that now. It took an hour to fill up the chapa. And we were off. At least for 5 minutes. Then it stopped for people to buy some fruit and nuts and other essentials. Then we were off again for 2 minutes before having to stop at a police checkpoint, where the driver took out a 1000 kwatcha note and jumped out. Came back half a minute later and said something in local tounge. But I got the word "contribution". Right. That's what they call it here... And in this way we stopped our laaaazy way to Blantyre. It took almost 3.5 hours to drive 98 km. So we weren't breaking any speed records. More slow records. So it became obvious to me I would not be able to get to Lilongwe before nightfall. I got off the chapa at the chapa station in Blantyre. Which was basically a mudfield. I had to take a leak and found a public toilet on the field. Paid 30 kwatcha to enter the sewer inside. The whole place reeked of old urine and faeces, and since there was no water to flush the toilets, it was obvious that urine was the way the solids where soaked. I stood there and did my deeds while studying the pile of floaters in the toilet. Not the worst place I have seen. But close. I have a strong stomach. It comes in handy at times. Washing my hands in the sinks? Naaaah. It was probably better if I didn't. I have disinfective gel anyways.
I walked into the city and found the shawarma place I saw when we drove past. Ordered a chicken shawarma plate with coke. And then rang my friend Sigrid. I had been trying to text her, but for some reason, it failed all the time. I received text messages from other people, but couldn't send any. I told her I would arrive the day after.
The meal was great, and did not cost a fortune. Unlike Mozambique. After the meal I went to the bank to change a fistful of dollars. I entered the first bank I found and found a huge line of people. I love standing in line...NOT! I looked around and found that there were a lot of teller counters and one forex counter. I asked one woman in the line if anyone was chaning money. "No, this is the deposit line!". "YESS!" I thought, and walked straight up the the forex counter. The woman behind the glass at writing something, and I sat there for about a minute before I knocked on the window. She turned and saw me. "Oh! Sorry! Change money?" I put the money and my passport into the slide-drawer. She counted them. "$200 sir?" I nodded. "Ok". She checked each note carefully before putting them away. Then she started filling out the details of my passport on a form. "Where do you live in Blantyre?" she asked. "I don't know." I said. She smiled. "You dont know? You have to live somewhere!". "Yes, but I need money to get a hotel, so I need to change money before I know where I am going to live." I could see she was trying to figure out what to do about it. "Ok, write your home address." I jotted down my home adress and returned the form. She was satisfied. Then she started to assemble the money. I say "assemble" because it is a BIG stack of notes. She even had to leave her booth to get more. In the end I had 136 500-kwatcha notes in a bug wad. It made a huge bulge in my pocket. Oh well.

Feeling like a millionaire after changing $200

Next : Hotel. I walked around town trying to find the el-cheapo's. Backpacker joints. But they where obviously not around the centre. I only found the big, western-style hotels with $200 rooms. But in the end, I found a cheaper hotel at $45 a night. I decided to look a bit more. And while looking, I ran across a bus-company with buses going in the morning to Lilongwe. I bought a ticket. And walked across the street to a internetcafe with wifi. I set up my pc and enjoyed the blistering speed of at least 128 kbit/s. I searched for cheap hotels in Blantyre, but only got the expesive ones I had already found. So I gave up, and published the last entry for Mozambique in my blog. The I walked out into the windy streets og Blantyre. It was getting dark, so I knew I had no more time to find a cheper place. I found a small shop and bought something to drink and some snacks, and walked to the "cheap hotel". I checked in and was taken to a room on the first floor. It was big. And had what appeared to be an altar in just the right height to bang your teeth out if you accidentaly bumped into it during a nightly trip to the bathroom. Which was without water... I went down to the reception and complained about the water. "No hot water?" the girl asked. "No water at all!" I said. "Ok, we will fix!". After half an hour, there was a knock on the door. A girl stood outside with two huge buckets of water. "For the toilet?" I asked. She nodded. "But there is no water in the shower either!" I said. "But this bucket has warm water for you to bathe in!" Aaaaah. But of course. How silly of me. She used one bucket to fill the toilet flusher, so now I could flush once. Would have to save up for the big event... And I managed to wash in the warm water. But no shower. Ah well. I didn't smell like a monkey anymore. And I got to shave.
I ate the snack, listened to some music and started writing this entry. But around nine, I almost fell asleep over the keyboard. So I decided to call it a day. I fell asleep in an instant.
At 4 in the morning, I woke up. The wind was howling outside. I dug farther under the sheets. I was getting up at 5.30 to get to the bus. But I was unable to fall back into sleep. At 5.30 I got up and packed my bag. Went down to the reception. There was nobody. I had paid with a $50 bill the night before (foreigners HAD to pay with dollars), and she had promised me change later. And now I was leaving. I asked a girl who was washing a corridor. She went into a room and talked to someone. A drowsy woman came out with 1800 kwatcha. "Your change!". I thanked and left. The air was cold. But I had warmed up, so it didn't bother me. It was a nippy 12 degrees in the air, and windy. I found a shop where I bought some crap for the trip. The bus left almost on time. The seats were nice, and the bus-attendant served us drinks and a small snack (samosa and a muffin). It was nice. But when we got out on the highway, there was a real loud and schreeeking sound in the bus. After a short while I realized it was an alarm, and it only started when the driver was driving fast. I told the attendant that the sound was really annoying. She said that the bus was fitted with a speed alarm. If the driver drove faster than 80 km/h, the alarm sounded. Like constantly. She told me that it would be impossible for them to keep their timetable if the driver didn't speed. I told her that O would go nuts if I had to listen to that sound for 3.5 hours. She talked to the driver, and ther rest of the trip, he always slowed down when the alarm sounded. We arrived 45 minutes late. Massungou was to blame. Oh, well.
The bus stopped outside City Mall in Lilongwe. I found a supermarket and bought some simple snacks before calling my friend. She was preparing lunch for us (wish I had called her before I bought the snack...) and she said she could come and pick me up in her car. I waited around the mall for her to come.
She drove me to a backpacker place she had found so I had a place to stay. I checked in and we went to her place for lunch. She lives in one of the more affluent areas of Lilongwe. After a delicious lunch, she took me to a cafe with guards that saluted us when we arrived. It was obviously a place where the rich came to dine. "You have to see both sides of Malawi!" Sigrid said and laughed. I had one of the best vanilla shakes ever, and a brownie. It was great. After this, she took me for a brief spin around town, including a trip to the presidental palace. Or more precisely, the gates. You couldn't see the palace. All in all, a great day. Not many pictures from Lilongwe. Maybe later.
I am now back at the backpacker place, and what a place it is. The joint is packed with people from all over. In my dorm I spoke briefly with 19-year (!) old Sara who had worked as a teacher at a school for a year. I expressed my surprise at her young age, given she was working as a teacher. "Ah, it's a form of charity.". Whatever. The place is loud now. But hopefully, it will calm down before I go to sleep.

So long, and thanks for all the fish

I slept a bit longer than I should my last day in Vilanculous. I was supposed to have started around 6, but didn't leave until after 8. I said goodbuy to the spaniards, tought Gina some math (she didn't understand that when 1 dollar is 30 meticais, then 100 is 3000... and I was trying to pay in dollars), and left for the bank. The bank proved to be a challenge in its own right. It took a number of paper signings, and keyboard tappings, and waiting, and more signing, and keyboard typing before I could hear the relieving words : "Wait five minutes, and you will get your money!". I stood there for a few seconds trying to comprehend. For the n'th time, I walked away from the counter, this time letting out a loud sigh to show my complete lack of satisfaction. 30 minutes after I started the process, did I finally get my money. I walked out the door and headed for the chapa station. I didn't even bother to ask the girl for smaller notes. That would probably require even more papers to sign and more waiting.
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.

In the middle of nowhere in Mozambique

Armoured vehicle getting ready to start the convoy

Who needs a 50 cal when you've got a goat?

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.

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.

Bathroom of the dump

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!

Street outside my hotel in Tete

No power, no internet, no water, no problem!

Saturday :
It was time to move on. More precisely to Vilanculous. A lazy fishing town north of Tofo. In itself not very interesting, but it was a cheap access point to the Bazoruto archipelago. And that was a recommended place to visit. I got up early, had a shower and packed my bag. Had a grand "Nest breakfast". Basically a breakfast with everything except the kitchen sink. Why not splurge when I was leaving anyway? Full of food I checked out, paid my bills and left. I walked to the market, where I was told I could find chapas for Inhambane, where the ferry to Maxixe left. I found a chapa and asked for the price. "400, leave now!" he said. I reacted a little to the price, but was not in the negotiating mood. This was a backpackers joint, so I expected they took advantage of that. I accepted reluctantly, and got onboard. I asked one of the other passengers how tmuch they would pay, but got just a smile. When the driver got in, he said something to him. The driver looked at me and once again said "400, leave now!". "Ok!" I said. Then the two other passengers got off. And took their luggage. I wondered what was going on. The driver got in, and off we went. Then it dawned on me. "Leaving NOW!" meant I would pay for the ride. It was my private taxi. Otherwise, I would have to wait for enough passengers. So the others were simply thrown off. I felt bad. At least I could have offered the poor passengers a ride, since I had already paid for the ride anyway. So there I sat, watching with growing embarrasment that the driver flew by one after the other waving the chapa down. I was the massungou on my way. VIP. Man with the dough. I was dropped off at the ferry landing. I got into the ticketing office and a guy wanted to sell me tickets he had in his hands. Another guy pulled me away from him and pointed me to another guy who also sold tickets he had in his hands. I paid the 10 metecais for the ticket and headed for the ferry. It was big, and we had to wait for it to be full before we set off.
Onboard were also the people I assumed to be Portugese, but they were in fact Spanish... I found that two of them spoke some English. Alicia, a journalist, and Pedro, an English teacher (...). The ferry became jam packed before they decided to take off. The trip took about 10 minutes. I got off and walked into town to find a chapa to take me to Vilaculous. It took a while before I found the correct street. And when I arrived, the spaniards were there already, discussing heavily with a guy. Alicia smiled when she saw me and asked if I wanted to go with them. They were negotiating a price for a chapa for just us massungous. The thought of sitting in a cramped Hiace with 15 others for 6 hours, compared to 6 people for 4, made the choice easy. It would be 500 metecais instead of 250. But it was worth it. After some heavy discussions and bargaining by the spaniards, we got a deal. The 6 of us plus two others. We accepted. And we were off. We only stopped a couple of times to go to the toilet and buy some fruits and nuts. And the trip took 4 hours instead of 6. And my legs weren't falling apart. But my butt was still killing me. The seats doesn't get better even when we are fewer... The chapa driver dropped us off at a site with bungalows. They had no room for us. But now we were a bit too hungry and tired to start searching. So we went to the "Tropical Bar" by the beach. Where we were served a nice meal of chicken and chips. We knew the chicken was fresh. We could hear them being captured and killed nearby. :-) Two of the spanish ladies went on a walk to ask around for rooms and prices while we waited for the meal. They found that the best prices were at a hotel just across the road from the bar. A big mama greeted us with the biggest smile this side of Africa. 1000 metecais per person. I talked a bit with her, and even though she didn't speak English, and my Spanish is terrible at best, I managed to understand that she had worked for a few years as a housekeeper in Italy before returning to Mozambique and building this place. She was making a fortune from it. At least by Mozambiquan standards.

The ferry

My humble abode

What's this?

Ah! A freeloader on my toilet!

Meet my small friend!

Sunday :
I got up late. Somewhere nearby, the music was playing all night long, and the "thump, thump!" was knocking me out of my sleep all the time. I tried the shower, but found that it only squirted water every now and then. Sometimes it worked for a few seconds, and then the water stopped for a few minutes. In the end I gave up, and just left to find some breakfast. I walked into town and found a supermarket where I could buy something to drink, and some bisquits. There was a bakery in town, but the line outside was too long for me. So I just walked past. When I came out from the supermarket, I heard a familiar sound. Church! I remembered it was Sunday, and time for church. I didn't understand what the pastor said, but I recognized some of the words, so I guess he was speaking about Elija. And when he had finished speaking, or more precisely, shouting (no PA-system), the congregation broke out in a song with wonderful harmonies. I sat there and enjoyed it until the end. Then I left and walked back to the hotel to try to sleep some more. Just before the entrance to my hotel I looked down on the beach and noticed a local guy lying there. Like he was sunbathing. I thought it a bit odd, given he wasn't white. But whatever makes your day. But wait! Was that? Really? In broad daylight? On the beach for everyone to see? I had to look again. Yup. He had pitched his tent on the beach. For everyone to see. Ok. There are people with no shame everywhere. That's for sure. I walked back to my hotel.
After a slight nap, I decided to head into town again to see more of this little village. It had been transformed, like many other places in Mozambique, into a tourist place. And like other places, it assumed tourist were willing and able to pay exuberant prices. I passed many hotels and resorts where it was obvious that they were expecting foreigners with big wallets. How that's going to work out for them if/when we get a new financial crisis? Probably not good. But that's for them to find out. The town was obviously one that had existed through the colonial period. With many buildings of european style. And big resorts.
One thing I needed to do was to change some money. But I realized that I was unable to do this, since today was Sunday, and tomorrow I would go to Bazeruto and be gone the whole day. But I managed to find an ATM that accepted my card, so I could withdraw some money. Enough for the trip tomorrow, and then some. So I will probably have to do the same when leaving, to pay for transport and accomodation enroute to Malawi. Unlike many countries I have been to, there aren't any moneychangers in the street. The banks give such a good exchange rate that they simply cannot exist.
I walked the road we entered Vilancous and to my enjoyment, I found a place were they palyed a football match. Not that football in itself interest me. But I always find it interesting to see people in such countries as this, playing sports. While at home, most people are used to well-prepared fields, here they played a match on sand. So it became more of a game of sand-football than what I have played. A big crowd of at least 20 watched the game. And I stood there for a few minutes, taking some photos. It was enjoyable. To say the least.
I walked back to the place we stayed and met the others. They told me there was a concert in a bar next door. At Zombie bar (...). It was a chilean artist who had grouped up with a Mozambiquan drummer. I thought it sounded interesting. So I joined them. It was not a great experience. More amateurish. And the chilean admitted he and the other guy had just met, and was asked by the management if they could play here. They had just said yes. :-) I left and went back to my room to sleep. Preparing for the day ahead.

Hotel "White folks" (Massungo)

Football on the sand

Monday : Bazaruto Archipelago.
We had to get up early to get to the boat. Gina had prepared a breakfast. Bread, some jam and tea/coffee. I sat with the spaniards and listened to them speaking. I got about 1% of the conversation based upon the few words I know. But I didn't mind, I am not in a very talkative mode in the morning anyways. We had to be at the dhow place at 07.30, and we were (supposed) to leave at 8. Since we were to snorkle at the coral reefs in the archipelago, we needed to be there a bit early to have flippers fitted. And to pay, of course. Sometime after 8 we finally were allowed onboard. We had to vade through the relatively cold water, and climb aboard using a ladder they hung over the side of the dhow. We had to wait for a couple of girls who had to run back to the hotel to get a new camera. One of the girls' camera didn't focus properly. The three of them sat down beside me, and to my surprise, she was Norwegian. We started speaking Norwegian and she told me this was the first time in four weeks she had spoken Norwegian. She was here on what was supposed to be an environmental project, but when she arrived, nothing was prepared, so she ended up building a chicken-farm for the locals instead... She (Bushra) was on the boat with two Brazilian girls, named Alina and Anna. They were also involved in charity programmes. I have to admit that it was great speaking a language again that I could understand properly. Even though the spaniards were great, communication was always a problem. As is only natural. The two Brazilian girls spoke adequate English for me to strike a conversation with them too.
The navigator on the boat was a big guy that looked like a typical African rebel leader. Tall, square face, sunglasses and an army hat. But he looked too young to have been fighting with Frelime or Renamo-millitia when they were fighting. They set sail for the journey, but looking at the sail made me think the outboards-engine did most of the work. It took the better part of three hours to get to the coral reefs. Bushra wanted me to take her waterproof camera and take some photos. She was afraid she would drop it. I took the camera and jumped in. It wasn't too bad temperature. So I swam towards the reef itself and found a spot where I could sort of stand. And then I dipped down the take photos. But the waves and currents on the reef pulled me so hard that I fell over a number of times and most of the photos where blurred due to the movement. But I think some of the photos were ok. She promised to e-mail me them when she got back to Norway. I checked the boat from time to time. And after too short time it looked like most of the others had had enough, and had climbed on the boat again. So I swam slowly back while taking photos of fish and corals underneath me. You just gotta love coral reefs. I reluctantly climed onboard again. The guide asked if anyone wanted to go snorkling again. I hoped somebody else wanted to, but the general concesus was "Naaaah!".
The raised the anchor and we were off. The started preparing our lunch. Which would consist of fish, crabs, rice, sauce and assorted fruits. We headed for Bazeruto island. The captain steered the boat into a small inlet on the island. In front of us where the beautiful sanddunes of the island. We jumped ship and everyone climed the tall dunes. It was exhausting, to say the least. But we got up in the end. On top of the dunes, a beautiful view opened up. Sandunes in all directions. Color splendor agains the azur-colored ocean and the blue skies. Desert plants clinging to the fertile soil they could find with their roots. I just love this. We were allotted 1 hour on the dunes while the crew prepared the lunch.
We all gathered for the lunch on the boat. It was delicious. Especially the sauce. After eating the fish (yummy!) with rice and sauce, I ended up eating two whole plates of just rice and sauce. It was splendid! Alina told me this was the best meal she had had in Mozambique. I have to admit that it came close to the best meal I've had. The fish was delicious, as always in this country. The sauce....ooooooh the sauce. And all the fresh fruit. I, and possibly everybody else, ate far too much. Bushra concurred.
Time ran out for us, and we had to leave. Just a quick stop at another sand island. Just as beautiful, but not with the tall dunes. 15 minutes later, we were heading home. But this proved easier said than done. The winds were picking up, and since the tide was going out, the sandbanks and reefs popped up everywhere. "Mr. Renamo" stood in front and shouted when he saw dunes or reefs in front. We touched several of them. The whole boat "tugged" a bit every time. And the winds made the ocean frothy, so big splashes of cold water splashed down on everybody, drenching our clothes. With the cold wind picking up, it became a very cold experience indeed. Bushra was completely soaked and together with Alinia and Anna, they tried to keep warm as much as possible. Bushra laughed and said that people asked her if she wasn't Norwegian. "Yes, but it is warmer than this in Norway now!".
We were supposed to arrive back on shore at 3.30, but it was closer to 4.30 when we finally arrive. My shirt was soaked. I was cold, like everyone else. And my glasses had fallen out of my trousers. I managed to find them in the keel of the boat. Luckily. We all walked as fast as possible back to our respective places to get a hot shower. I arranged to meet Bushra later to get her e-mail-address. And here I am, at the Zombie bar. Writing this blog entry and enjoying an incredible pizza baked on open fire in a pizza-oven. Bushra has just left. I am satisfied with what I have seen and experienced here on the coast. Now it is time for me to start the long way to Malawi. It will take a few days, I suspect. Maybe I'll get there by the weekend. Maybe not. I'll see. Hakuna matata. This is Africa.

 

Mr Renamo himself at the rudder