Scribbles Abroad

It had been a few weeks of Mozambique and we still hadn’t scored epic waves.  But that’s how surf trips go.  We’ve learned that you can’t expect to score non-stop surf.  Such high expectations leave you disappointing.  The attitude we chose to take was one of, the absence of waves gives us the opportunity to see more of the country.  And that’s what we had and continued to do.  Once out of Pomene, surf potential becomes even more scarce but the beauty does not diminish.  We had heard of these islands off of Vilankulos that were perhaps some of the nicest in the country.

Collectively the islands were called the Bazaruto Archipelago.  We relaxed in this area for 3 days and the highlight was the trip to Margaruqe Island.  We charted a boat for the day.  Just Todd, Kim, Loiuse and I.  This boat was made in some guys backyard and would no way be sea worthy in the US, but hey this was Mozambique and all went well.

Todd and Kim (our traveling partners) kickin at the place where we stayed.  I love these guys, Todd is 40 something going on 17, and Kim is as relaxed as you can get.

We chose the cheaper slightly dodgier operation.  Seemed like two ruled the town yet there were plenty of others that wanted/needed business.  After some smooth negotiations I was able to arrange for us to have all our snorkeling gear, fishing gear, food and soft drinks all for less than the other operations were charging for just the sail.  But then they say, you get what you pay for.  We learned this in Indonesia, Ha Long Bay, and Hanoi, but they always worked out and you meet like minded individuals in the process.

The operater/boss picked us up the next morning and on the way to his boat his truck ran out of gas!  We were in shock, laughing, and thinking of what was in store for us.  As we walked the rest of the way to the boat we came across this beached boat that we thought might be a foreshadow of things to come.

We made it to the boat and a crew of three were waiting for us.  We dumped our beers into their coolers filled with soda, water, and a bunch of ice.  Ice is gold and crucial for any sea journey.  We set out on an all day tour.  The torquiose of the water rivaled any carribean or Hawaiian waters.

The beauty was stunning and due to its isolation, very few boats and tourists were out to enjoy it.  As we got close to the island of our choice (Margaruque) they lit up the onboard Braai/BBQ.  This Braai was just a corrugated metal box filled with ash at the back of the boat.  They stacked some fresh charcoal, detached the gas hose to the engines, sprayed a bunch on the coals, reattached the hose and then lit it up.  No OSHA has yet been through Mozambique.  Their technique worked although I wouldn’t say it was flawless, as the fire roared within a foot of the gas tanks we moved ourselves further up toward the bow of the boat.

The bathroom on the back of the boat was wide open.

Once we reached the island the crew found us a secluded little nook in the reef and anchored us perfectly.  We then got to enjoy one of our most exciting snorkels of our trip.  The reef ledge drops off about 30 feet and a current rips you along it for as long as the island goes.

Right under the surface lays a plethora of pelagic and reef fish.  See the video of just one section full of Uluas (Kingfish/Jacks).  The crew snuck out behind the boat to catch dinner althouh the Ranger was there.  Their technique involved sending beers with the two random local girls on the beach to take to the Ranger.  As the Ranger drank, they would drop into the water behind the boat, make their kills and then pop up behind the boat again.  It was tricky with the current but they still landed a bunch of good kine parrot fish, a couple others too that I didn’t know.

As we took laps the crew that wasn’t spearfishing was cooking our food.  We had enough of the snorkeling and begun relaxing on the deserted beach.  As we began to doze off we reveled in our current existance.  Fuck we are lucky.  Awoken by the crew announcing our fresh fish and vegetables being served under the coconut trees, we were nose deep in a great lunch before we were able to wash the makapiapia from our eyes.

This is the captain bringing us our lunch.

After lunch we just went exploring around the island.  Once around the corner we ran into a bunch of tourists and we were pleased that our crew chose the secluded area.  We could have walked all the way around the island had we chose, but a dive back in with the current before it turned was more to our liking.  Todd and Kim went inland to explore and Louise and I cooled off.  On this dive I saw the biggest Ulua I have ever seen in my life.  We also saw a bunch of lobsters and countless other tasty morsels that were forsaken as the area was a marine sancutuary, which our boat crew managed to disregard.

We sailed back that afternoon, landed a huge fish with Todd’s expensive lure only to have the captain of the boat lose it, along with the lure.  After the loss of the fish we pulled in the lines and just enjoyed the swift sail back to our hotel.  I convinced them to take us back to our hotel so that we wouldn’t have to walk.  Told them we’d give them a tip, and buy them a round of rum’n’coke.  How could they say no.

That evening we went to the best local restaurant in town and recommended by the locals.  Fishermen were bringing by fresh fish for sale throughout the night and not one tourist was there, except for us.  The power went out twice but that didn’t halt our perfect meal.  Fresh snapper, whole fish and filets.  It was soooo gooood.

The next morning we set off on our journey across the interior of Mozambique back to South Africa.  The start of the road was the end of the tar and it was time to get back onto the dirt.

My international drivers license, plus the fact I kinda crashed the car twice already, led Todd to drive for the rest of Mozambique.

Flying through the dirt, rock, sand, and a mix of all those, Todd was focused to get us to the border by 5PM.  We didn’t make it.  At about 4PM around 80km from the border, 9 hours into the drive, the fourth car we’d seen all day stopped us.  The two guys in the truck asked us where we were going.  When we told them we were trying to get to the border they replied that it was impossible.  They told us that they had a camp about 25km up the road and we could camp with them for the night.  They had extra tents.  We’ve seen a lot of horror movies, and my caution has kept Louise and I out of a lot of trouble thus far in our journey, but it seemed like we didn’t have any choice.  We stopped about 10 km further down the road at a village of 6 huts and a little store.  There were a bunch of locals and all we wanted to do was get a few beers.  A few beers turned into a few more and before you knew it we wanted to get the hell out of there.  They too let us know there was nowhere to stay at the border.  Then they started getting really pushy about buying them some gin, gin in a box.  The locals were beligerently drunk and I didn’t want to have to show them the one and two.  We jumped in our car and got the hell out of dodge.

This is what the locals were drinking at that place.  Gin out of a box!

Another 20 km up the road we came across the strangers campsite.  They had a trailer and a tarp covering all kinds of odd looking machinery.  I was still a bit cautious, worried they were axe murderers or something.  At the campsite they had a guy watching their stuff.  He was called “old man”, although he was probably only like 50.  Anyways, old man went and got us water from the Limpopo river to shower and then grabbed wood for us to start a fire.  He didn’t speak a lick of english and although I knew spanish, it didn’t help with his portuguese.  We started a fire and began to cook all we had.  A bag of rice, curry powder, and onion.  The guys we met whose camp it was still hadn’t come back and it was pitch black.  Right around the time our food was ready they pulled up, or should I say ebrake slide then burn out in the dirt, do some donuts and stop with the music still blaring at full force.

We had a fun introduction but when the saw what we were cooking they said, “What is that shit?  Looks like vomit.  Throw it away.”  Slightly taken aback we responded that that was all we had to eat.  They then told us to come with them to their car.  Inside the back of the truck was a giant electric cooler filled with steak, lamb, sausage (boewoers) and BEEEEEEEEEER!!!!!!

Our vomit food that we still nibbled on.

Cameron and Brent were diamond hunters.  Straight out of the movies.  Hunting for their fortunes……….again, because they were experienced, had already hit the jackpot but were now addicted to the hunt.

They fed the stuff we cooked to old man and then proceeded to cook us a Braai of lamb and boerwors that we will never forget.  We had very little to offer other than good stories of our travels but we knew they could trump us.  We offered them a few Valiums and they were very appreciative of our offer but they had that stuff and a ton of everything else you could think of.

As we drank beer and enjoyed other things they offered the night turned into one of those one in a lifetime encounters.  We spent the night dancing, singing, chasing and catching wildlife (crocodiles and scorpions), eating the best food, trying to pry the secret recipe of the Rookensmiths Drywoers, collecting firewood, hallucinating, and everything else into the late.  Cameron didn’t believe us when we told him we saw a crocodile but we told him we really did and where we saw it.  He disappeared for about an hour but when he came back he did with a baby croc.

We went to our private tents that old man set up for us late that night but were awoken to the sound of our hosts still partying sporadically till around 5 AM when they finally passed out.  We were able to wake up Cameron to say bye but Brent was another story and we had to say by to him as he snored in their trailer alongside the river.

We gave old man a few bucks and a tshirt and he was so stoked.  I think the amount of money we gave him was around what he made for the whole week.  He was deeply religious and made us pray with him.  Its what we needed because we were driving on fumes.  The gas light had been on for a few km before we got to the campsite and we were still 30 km to the border.  Our rule of thumb is 25 miles once the light goes on.  But on 4×4 roads that estimate drastically decreases.  Going up heavy rock hills the car began to sputter.  But luckily, we liked to thank old mans prayers, we made it to the border.  Once there we were able to sweet talk our way into a few spare liters a South African Border Post guy happened to have in his garage.  Fuck we were lucky.

What a great end to Mozambique.  We’ll be back and next time we hope to score better waves but we had no complaints from this journey.