Mozambique pt 1 : Lost in translation

While in no mans land between Zimbabwe and Mozambique I bumped into a group of five students cycling coast to coast for charity. This was quiet a coincidence because I’d had contact with them through Twitter and didn’t expect to meet up. After chatting for 10 minutes we went our separate ways, they were looking fit and keen, their gear was looking shiny and new.

The crossing into Mozambique only took 10 minutes thanks to the overpriced visa I’d already organised in Mutare. I changed $100 with some money changers and was luckily quite awake and spotted their attempt to scam me out of about $20, putting a 100 Meticais note in the bundle hoping I’d think it was a 1000. On a bad day I may have missed it.

The first day to Chimoio was for no apparent reason quiet hard, after the 95km of undulating hills and headwind I was broken when I arrived at the Pink Papaya backpackers. What probably didn’t help was a little culture shock. Though I knew I’d have problems here because I don’t speak Portuguese I was a little overwhelmed how difficult basic communication is, luckily the people are friendly and patient with the dodgy white guy on a bicycle, and during my two weeks cycling in Mozambique the people continued to be some of the friendliest I’ve met to date but also the poorest.

This has been a great lesson, if I really want to travel in West Africa it is essential to sit down somewhere for a month and learn the basics of French. In a country where you don’t speak the language you’ll never go hungry or thirsty if you have a little patience and don’t mind looking like a fool, but what’s the point in visiting a country if you can’t interact with the locals, learning about their culture, history and point of view.

Chimoio to Dondo went smoothly despite the potholes and huge amounts of trucks, the Mutare- Beira road is a main artery for road transport from Malawi and Zimbabwe to the coast. My map indicated that I’d be going through a large forest or jungle, but I saw little of it, it seems that the Chinese got here before me and are busy ravaging the landscape, and what little wood is left is taken by the locals to make into charcoal.

Banana’s, oranges, coconuts and tomato’s are once again in season now that I’m at a lower and warmer altitude, which means a constant healthy flow of fresh fruit at $0.05 per piece, its been a while since I’ve eaten so healthily. Thanks to the occasional truck stop I’m also able to get the chime with chicken to keep me going ( Mille/maize porridge, also know as Sadsa, Pap, Nshima or Shima depending on which country you’re in ).

Though I’m accustomed to seeing children work outside of school hours in Africa, Mozambique is different. I’ve seen few schools and most children are busy working or hanging around looking for mischief rather than being in school. I always find it heart breaking to see children under ten years old doing hard and dangerous work such as stone breaking, for some reason it seems more cruel than farming or shepherding to me. Some of the children wearing the scares of their trade i.e. eye patches or broken hands.

I rode around Dondo for a while looking for a hotel or something (and also enjoying a sort of all you can eat buffet of street food at the market) but both hotels that I found where fully booked. I filled my MSR water bladders up at a borehole and resigned myself to cycling outside of town to wild camp. Usually I don’t stop for a beer until I know where I’m sleeping, but it had been one of those days where I was feeling great and nothing could go wrong, so I threw caution to the wind knowing everything would work itself out. After my second 550ml Manica beer I decided I really needed to make a move, by a stroke of good luck I bumped into a businessman while packing up who spoke good English. Within minutes we’d organised that I could camp outside of his hotel room, and the rest is history, all he wanted in return was a drinking partner and a wingman while he made a fool of himself chatting up some very young girls…..

Once in Beira I headed for the Savoy hotel which Google assures me is the cheapest hotel in town ( I don’t have or want a guidebook), at $17 a night including breakfast it´s as cheap as they come in Mozambique, this is probably the poorest country I’ve been to so far yet accommodation is very expensive, hotels usually starting at $30 (and not worth it) and even a backpackers dorm is $15.

Beira maybe the second largest city in Mozambique but it seems to live the legacy of so many ex European colonies. It looks like little has been done since the Portuguese left in the 1970’s, classic Portuguese buildings are crumbling and in disrepair. Whilst walking around town the occasional assault on the nostrils is an indication that the sewage system is equally crumbling.

Beira appears to be as poor as the rest of Mozambique, many people trying to make a living selling second hand clothing on the streets, selling fruit, airtime or stolen goods or good old fashion shoe shine for a dollar, the market has hundreds of stalls where people sell pretty much the same imported Chinese crap as their neighbours.

Though Mozambique wears many scares of it colonial age it has one redeeming beauty spot, that being its bread buns. At 5-10c a piece and often tasting like Ciabatta’s and available in almost any reasonably sized village they are quite a treat.

I had my doubts about cycling 40km out of town on a dead end sand road to then catch a boat to a beach, but as the beaches in Beira were not ideal for a day pretending to be a beach bum, I thought I’d give Mozambique a chance to show me what its famed for, its beaches. So I headed out to the Rio Savana resort and wasn’t disappointed.

During a first look of the beach on an evening stroll I noticed how hard the sand was with the tide out and was instantly overcome with excitement and adrenaline and the buzz that only comes with conjuring up a new adventure.

I wonder if I can………