DISTANCES, DIRECTIONS, & PREDICTIONS

Arriving in Mocimbao at dusk a few days ago, I was exhausted after a long day and booked into the 1st shabby overpriced room I could find. The bed collapsed during the night, but fortunately there was a spare. I wanted to get Mocambique behind me, and left early the following morning for Palma and the border. After asking directions I was surprised to find that the road was tarred, and assumed it was a recent development as I'd been (reliably) informed otherwise. Twice more I was told that I was indeed on my way to Palma, until after 25 k's I realised that this was the same road I'd used the previous evening. The following day I made it to Palma, and asking for a room or camp site I was pointed down a track which disappeared amongst the palm trees. Enquiring if the place was further than a km, I was told that it was indeed 26 km's, but the road was good (via bon! - thumbs up) and the facilities were of the best. I was a bit apprehensive realizing that he was probably talking about Quionga and I'd been (reliably) informed that the road was terrible. However, it was still early in the day and I had to go that way to reach the border. Two k's later I was sliding down donga's and dragging my bike across sand dunes, but I didn't have the time or energy to concern myself any forther with the misinformation. Three and a half hours (and 22 k's later) I dragged old Saartjie by her ears into a village and, unsure if I had the strength to continue, enquired about the distance left to Quionga. I was informed that I had indeed reached Quionga, and my spirits sank as I couldn't see any nice hotel or camp site (where was that shower and cold drink I'd been looking forward to?). Some of the locals helped me plough through the sand to the far end of the village where a log cabin stood apart on a sprawling plot. There I met Andre and his wife who run a mission station. They were rather amused to hear that they were operating a hotel and camp site, as they'd allowed passing travellers to camp on their grounds from time to time. As it turned out I did camp there and even had a shower (the fresh bread for breakfast was an added bonus). I needed the energy from that bread, because there was another 25 k's of the soft and rough stuff before crossing the river by motorboat into Tanzania. Talking about directions, I think Malawians have been the most inventive so far. A favourite distance there is 9 km (which turned out to be anything from 2 k's to 37 k's). Weather predictions are just a tricky. In Blantyre I pointed out the overcast sky and asked the locals if it meant rain. The response of "no" was still echoeing in the passages when someone shouted from outside to remove washing from the line (it rained for the next 3 days). One day in Mocambique I looked at the heavy sky and asked the guy cycling alongside whether it meant rain (of course he said no). Five minutes later we were sheltering from the heavy downpour under the thatched roof of a roadside market. I did my laundry this am, and when I hung it out the locals predicted no rain. This is already my second day in Mtwara, and hopefully I don't have to stay a third. Distances since Pemba have been:- Sunate 85 km; Macomia 122 km; Mocimbao 149 km; Mocimbao Bay 54 km; Quionga 109 km; and Mtwara 65 km.

MEETING MOTHER EARTH

After joking in previous reports about the misfortunes of others, it was bound to backfire on me. The 4 days on back roads since Nacala have been fairly tricky (just because the map indicates a road it doesn't mean it still exists). Bridges are missing, and I even had to cross the Lurio River Estuary by dugout canoe. Heading down one of the many steep hills the other day, a bump in my path sent me into a pile of loose gravel. After one or 2 big fishtails old Saartjie decided to flip. After that it was me and Saartjie, Saartjie and me, and when we eventually came to rest in the bush the bike was on top. Fortunately neither of us sutained any serious damage. I was surprised that the accident didn't attract spectators, as in those isolated regions I was drawing record sized crowds. Camping in a fairly large village the other night I estimated at least 200 people surrounding me so close that I was having trouble pitching the tent (and none of them could speak a word of English). A translator was summoned (obviously from the bar), and upon arrival he fell on the tent - breaking one of the poles. So, in fading light and in front of 200 + expectant people, I had to do some quick improvisation (no pressure!). It didn't get any better from there, because besides his drunken state the translator knew only about 3 words of English (mostly used in a begging context). At one point I got the impression that the crowd was lining up to put their requests to me via the imposter (I suppose old Saartjie was also up for grabs). Unfortunately I must have been a major disappointment for many people that night. Now I'm in Pemba, at a comfortable camp site next to the beach. I have another 9 days to get to Tanzania without extending my visa. Distances since Nacala were:- Memba 92 km; Mosua 67 km; Natuko 87 km; and Pemba 65 km.

ADVENTURES DE ILHA

After my last report, I unfortunately had to remain in Nampula for a few days due to a stomach problem. It's no fun throwing up in a communal toilet that doesn't flush (and I didn't need any more encouragement!). Also, during that time I heard that my mother was in hospital with a heart attack - not the sort of news one wants to receive at any time. I was pleased to get out of the place, and a couple of days later I was at the coast, on the Ilha De Mocambique. This island is linked to the mainland by a narrow bridge about 3 km's long, and the island itself is about 2 km by 500 m in size (and built up wall to wall). There are many historic buildings, making it a world heritage site (the old castle dates back to the 1550's). After 2 days on the island I took a dhow across the bay to Mossuril, and cycled on to the small holiday resort of Chocas. When loading the bike (Saartjie) on the boat the skipper insisted on taking charge himself. He nonchalantly pushed Saartjie down to the beach at a trot, but when the bike hit the sand she flung the poor guy towards the water in true acrobatic fashion. While the man was down I had a strong urge to stand on his throat, as Saartjie was lying on her side with clean oiled chain in the sand. In the end I took pity on the hapless mariner, as the ever present spectator crowd was bent over in raucus laughter - at his expense. Now I'm in the port of Nacala, camping at Bay Diving just outside the town in a beautiful spot on Nacala bay. I'll probably move on up the coast tomorrow or the next day. Distances since Nampula have been:- Namialo 92 km; Isla De Moçambique 97 km; Chocas 18 km; Nacala 119 km; and Nacala Bay 23 km.

CULTURE SHOCK

After leaving Blantyre I camped at the golf course at the foot of Mt Mulanje for 2 nights, where I had an interesting game of golf with 3 guys from Johannesburg - picture - who'd been up the mountain (sand greens and ancient rented clubs). There I met Jim Melrose, MD of Lugeri Tea Estate, who invited me over for a night (thanks to him and Vicky- in photo - for the royal treatment, I even had a guided tour of the estate and factories). The taste of the full English breakfast was still fresh in my memory when I crossed into Moçambique. Untill then I'd been travelling through former British colonies where most people could speak a manner of English. Suddenly nobody could understand a word I said. I only knew 2 words of Portuguese, and one of them I'd rather not mention. I headed down the dusty road to Mocuba, 200 km away. Within minutes it was raining, and by the pm I was sliding around in the mud trying to keep Saartjie (my bike) on her feet. Old Saartjie herself was sounding like a worn out windmill, due to the mud and gravel on the chain and coggs. As darkness fell I arrived at a small village where I was granted permission to pitch my tent (the rain didn't deter the spectator crowd). Headman Jaõ Cordosa brought me a bucket of hot water to wash (perhaps they wanted to see what I looked like under the layers of mud). I was further provided with a warm supper of chicken and nzima, and given rice porridge for breakfast (the villagers also helped me clean the bike). After the rain a "good path" is formed by the many cyclists, zig-zagging across the road. On this narrow path I was nearly involved in a head-on collision with 2 men on a bike, but the driver did the honorable thing by taking to the bush in spectacular fashion. I did stop to ask if they were OK, but I'm sure that in a country with a recent history of more snakes than ladders this was not their worst experience. The towns here in Moçambique are larger than I'd expected, with Portuquese influence evident in the mostly dilapidated architecture (although the cathedral outside Murrupula seems well preserved - picture). Nampula, where I'm staying over, is the 3rd largest in the country - and capital of the North. My hotel is the worst to date, but what did I expect for R30 per night (I pitched my tent in the room). In this inland region there are very few whites, and the rural people seem rather scared of me. Yesterday a bee got into my helmet and stung me on the forehead. I hurriedly stopped to remove the culprit, about 100 m from a group of women in the road ahead. Later I looked up just in time to see the last of these women escaping into a nearby cassava field. Distances since Blantyre have been:- Mulanje 70 k; Lugeri 30 k; Tamboni 89 k; Mocuba 122 k; Muserawa 85 k; Moloque 113 k; Calima 96 k; and Nampula 130 k.