Gourmet Road

 

There are two approaches in terms of driving from Maputo to Johannesburg and vice versa. The first one is making it fast in order to have lunch at your destination.

 

For the fast version you have to wake up very early, pray for the border (nearly 100km from the starting point) procedures to run smoothly, stop for petrol and quick snack in Nelspruit (nearly 300km from the start), repeat the same in the Ultra City stop (nearly 500km from the start and 150km still to go). We know it works because we have done it often.

 

The second road version of the same journey is the take it easy one. You spend two or three hours more in terms of time, but you arrive less stressed and a lot better fed. Instead of stopping at road joints you pick the best places to eat and take your time.

 

Suppose you are driving from Johannesburg to Maputo. First stop can be Ultra City (150km after the start) for petrol. Supposing you didn’t left empty stomach, you can have a serve of fruit (good for your health) and whatever you have to do. Next stop will be only 80km ahead, precisely the time to digest that fruit you had. This time you don’t feed your car but yourself. We suggest simple trout fillets with lemon and a drink of your choice. That’s a good starter.

 

You return to the road. At this stage both car and you have enough fuel to keep running. Next stop is in Nelspruit, another hundred kilometers ahead. There you have a wide variety of restaurants to select from. You can pick one of the various grill houses offering a nice steak or think seafood and Japanese.

 

After feeding your car too, from Nelspruit on you can have a last stop at the gas station before the border for water, fruit, petrol or whatever your car and you need.

 

Surely you aren’t going to be in Maputo at lunchtime, but you can have a late tea or a cozy dinner in the comfort of your home.

Listening to Reggae While the Winter Steps In

 

Our week in TD’s apartment in South Africa shrink to five days, two of them mostly spent on the road. We had just a business meeting and other punctual things to do. The main idea was to relax and enjoy the ride. Well, our ride this time was a Limpopo driver named Walter with a visible inclination for reggae. He fanatically listened to a wide variety of performers but when he tuned to hits like No Woman No Cry the volume was turned up. High up.

 

We had one day of summer (Monday 19), one day of Spring (Tuesday 20) and the winter stepped softly and unmistakably into our short holidays. It was such an unexpected change that I remarked locals heavily dressed and even a free spirited tourist who went to a Rosebank well known restaurant wrapped in a common blanket. Color? It had to be orange. I was really surprised because she was an average woman by all standards. Was it the case that we wore short sleeves because we enjoyed the contrast of the cold with the asphyxiating hot summer days in Mozambique? Anyway, that blanketed woman was with a partner and they seemed to be very much in love. Was she sick or too hot from love to cope with the cold?

 

During those days, fun meant walking, shopping and eating. Paul was lucky I only noticed three movie tittles I really wanted to watch the morning we left.

 

Walking was mainly at night and in the quiet streets of Rosebank. Shopping was the same old same. As I gave up one of my dream acquisitions, I had cash enough to buy all the rubbish I wanted. It’s evident I bought a couple of things with meaning and purpose. Paul seemed to be pleased too because he had the opportunity to buy all the nutritional supplements he could have need and a great deal more. Yes, I do believe he is a compulsory supplement buyer and consumer.

 

As for eating, we usually had a simple fruit breakfast in TD’s place, lunch out and mid afternoon tea also out or already at the apartment. Monday and Wednesday we dinned at TD’s: Monday was chicken and Wednesday a salmon salad. Tuesday we had dinner in one of TD’s favorite restaurants. It was a cold night, but not yet for a blanket. Ever? We had minestrone soup, grilled king klip for Paul and grilled calamari for me. I feel constricted to say baby calamari. It sounds like if I am contributing to the extermination of a species. Dessert was assorted cakes after a long walk with a stop to listen a saxophone busker. The next day a fortuity blood exam reflected the assorted cakes temptation. Only twenty-four hours later my nutritionist explained that the result of the test could be affected by that particular dessert.

 

Thursday was our traditional goodbye dinner with a Chinese or Japanese meal. This time was Chinese. It wasn’t good as usual (Where is now the Chinese restaurant functioning at the old nice Rosebank Hotel? I enquired and heard the owners just quit.), but the quantities were more than enough for ten. The Chinese waitress decided I was French and I decided not to disappoint her. I was inclined to make people feel happy, before I felt inclined the other way. I think I’ll confirm if people keep asking me if I am French or Brazilian because they might feel much happier if I reply “Spot on!” or “How could you guess it?”

 

From this short holidays I will also remember the cold nights sat in front of the computer, almost like if I was at home writing, sometimes too absorbed to notice that summer had turned into winter.

Living in the Slow Lane

 

Last week we visited Johannesburg. A couple of things making us drive from our base in Mozambique to Gauteng could not happen due to enterprises and services closing from December to January. It seems common in South Africa, but it’s a bit upsetting in terms of functionality. Services should honor the word. But then we live in Africa and here speed kills.

 

I have present Mozambique case. From 24 of December to 15 of February nobody works with capital W. Holidays multiply and are sacred days devoted to Holy Laziness. There is an interesting system to show that national holidays are untouchable. If they coincide with Sunday nobody works the next Monday. I don’t know if this is usual in other countries, but it seems to me pure nonsense. As if fate had somehow robbed people and it’s up to the government compensate them for such cruel injustice. I know people in general do similar manoeuvres, but it’s startling when they are institutionalized in a country desperately in need of human energy to grow from poverty and apathy into a viable project.

 

Besides the never-ending construction site South African cities have become due to the 2010 World Cup, there are other worrying signs here and there, now and then. Rubbish as we never witnessed before, especially all long the N2 and N3, is one of them.

 

Signs of slow pace are everywhere to be seen. In front of TD’s apartment there is a street lamp working intermittently. It’s like a strong holophote turning on and off from five to five minutes. It’s like if TD had decided to live right in front of a lighthouse. I don’t know how TD can take it. I am a lot less conformist because I was already plotting to kill that blinking eye. And before you start to think I am intolerant, I have to add a missing piece of missing information here: that street lamp, situated in one of the best areas of the city, is in the same state for three years now. If this is not apathy I have to improve my vocabulary and find some other appropriate word. A stronger one maybe.

 

I read this post to Paul. He is a supporter of my writing attempts, without being that supportive. He nodded all the time and in the end he asked: “Don’t forget to mention the phone operators. I don’t care if it’s a problem from the Mozambican or South African side, but the fact is that we have spent two days without connections. That when traveling and in more need of contacting people!”

Sushi and Worries

 

The idea came when JP brought home the fourth fish in a week. The last one was a “Dente de Cão” tuna or “Dog Tooth Tuna”. I am not sure if it has the same designation in English, but as soon as Paul saw it he said the tempting word: “sushi”.

 

We had active company for the first sushi dinner at home: TD and girlfriend. The active means TD had a role in the kitchen too. If I understood it well, local DJs decided to throw a goodbye party for JP and as a consequence we were only four at the table. The food was really good, but then for a sushi dinner you just have to have really fresh fish and a little of knowledge. We were lucky to have both.

 

This was our sushi dinner: 1) The completely ignored Tieta’s brown lentils soup. 2) Seabell’s sushi in a bowl with sticky rice, salmon and a few other goodies. 3) TD’s sashimi with various fish and the tuna as the shinning star. 4) Td’s seared tuna marinated in some oriental miscellanea I suspect he invented, but it was amazingly delicious.

 

In the end we all felt there was no room for dessert right away. Only half an hour later someone remembered Seabell’s mixed berries sorbet with fresh cherries and wafers. It was the perfect dessert for the dinner we had just had.

 

The next day things complicated as soon as Andy coldly dropped that JP refused to emerge from the chain of parties he had embarked a few days ago. He missed for the second time his flight to Cape Town and the course he is supposed to attend there.

 

Instead of a cozy Sunday at home we had to rush to the airport and book another flight thanks to a tax paid at the last moment. After that we stopped at the new in town café-bar Dolce Vita and had a late lunch of seafood salad and linguini del mare. I left thinking about JP’s dolce vita and the worries we get because of it.

 

Since I wrote this post a week ago, JP missed that third flight to Cape Town and, as it is evident, he passed the course for a more favorable tide. Meanwhile, proving that things have the tendency to happen three times in a row, we also had our third sushi meal last night. The second one was on the road from Johannesburg.

Difficult Subject

 

Age is a difficult subject. Recently I watched a movie dealing with age and making us feel how the “right age” seems to correspond to such a short period of out lives. I always liked joviality, be it in young, middle aged or old people. The only exception was a couple of ladies I knew in real life and a lot I watched on the screen. They were evidently old and effortfully trying to pass for twenty.

 

Recently I found myself analyzing why I didn’t like their looks and attitudes. I concluded the following: it’s not age what I really hate in them but the way they look. So the root of my displeasure is taste related and not age related.

 

My second thought was: if one has to have good taste to keep looking good that means only wealthy people can afford youthfulness. It’s an upsetting thought, but in general kind of true.

 

I would hate to be someone hardly trying to look younger as much as I like the idea of being someone naturally looking younger. As someone easily passing for a different age, I have to be aware of this factor. Am I looking for age related compliments? Fortunately the answer is no. For a start most people got my age wrong when I am not dressed up. It’s evident that people close to me don’t count because they can easily be regarded as plain flatterers.

 

Observing two people really close to me I discovered two curious attitudes. Paul is definitively a second mirror, the one I trust to control any kind of excesses. Andy is the nicest of my divers, not only towards me but women in general. He “always” notices a good-looking woman and he has a nice way to say it. “Ugly!” is his favorite compliment.

They Eat Cats, Don’t They?

 

Weeks ago Andy entered our TV room to find Paul and I deeply surprised with a news clip about people fighting over a square of sand somewhere in Mozambique. Maybe you are already thinking: “That’s the fate of humankind. People always fought for any square of land. Look what’s happening in Gaza.” Wrong. Your observation is not appropriated for this particular sort of fight.

 

The reason of our puzzlement was to hear about people fighting because they want to eat that sand, be it because of hunger, particular proprieties of it or both.

 

As soon as Andy was informed of the reason of our astonishment, he replied: “Why be surprised? After all they eat cats, don’t they?” And he told us about a day he was sitting with friends in a café and one of them pointed to a man carrying a skinned body. “A cat,” he said.

 

They started to bet. The majority couldn’t believe the cat possibility. They called the man and put the question. The man not only confirmed but also showed to the incredulous group a plastic bag where he was carrying another skinned and sliced cat ready for the pan.

 

Eating sand or any other living being is just one of the sad consequences of the extreme poverty people live in. It’s not pretty to see people eating sand, cats, cockroaches, rats, ants, grasshoppers or whatever. But then poverty is not pretty at all too.

If You Care About Baths with Ducks

 

I think most people like bubble baths. Even here, where shower is the norm, a bubble bath from time to time is very welcomed.

 

Bubble baths have this intrinsic relaxing quality. They go well with a few things like candle lights, music, a glass of good wine and ducks.

 

Ducks are a good company if you really are into bubble baths. My bubble lover ducks are called Lilly and Tae. Two identical sweethearts. I just don’t understand why Lilly swallows all the water she can put into her tummy and is always heavy with it, while Tae keeps the same weight since the three of us started to share bubble baths.

 

As these two ducks are particularly hard to squeeze, I’m having trouble with the liquid inside Lilly’s belly. Anyway, shouldn’t ducks be a little more water trained?

With A Little Help From a Diver

 

As I was cooking during the first days of 2009, TD decided to gave me a hand by putting together his marinated fish for lunch. I was expecting a mess (man and kitchens, you know) but it wasn’t that bad. Once more, the success of the meal was due to the old system of dividing the job. The menu included:

 

cream of spinach soup (S)

green salad (S)

baked serra (King Mackerel) with ginger and coriander sauce (T)

steamed brocolli (S)

parsley and butter rice (G and S)

 

Having in mind that T is TD, G is George and S is Seabell, you may guess I wasn’t looking into the blue sky that morning. Anyway, all the credits go to TD’s fish. The rest was good but simple and trivial. For the rice I just had to cook the usual portion of white rice and when ready softly stirring into it a generous amount of unsalted butter and all the parsley I could manage. If you use good quality products, this is an easy way of transforming white rice into something even sophisticated.

 

As for TD’s piéce de resistance, you have to follow these steps: 1) If you don’t have a George at hand, buy fillets of a fresh fish you like. 2) Prepare a marinade made of generous quantities of ginger, garlic, thyme, lemon peel, lemon-juice, coarse salt and olive oil. After blending all together the resulting paste remembers mayonnaise. 3) Let fish and marinade enjoy a long relationship, preferably inside a tightly closed plastic bag. 4) Layer the filets and marinade sauce in a baking tray. 5) Bake at 180ºC for 10 to 15 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fish. 5) Drizzle with olive oil if necessary, turn the temperature to grill and let it slightly brown. 6) Sprinkle with coriander and if necessary with more olive oil.

 

As you can see, TD’s fish is easy to prepare. It all rests on the care you put into the marinade. Enjoy it as we did.

Myths

 

When something not entirely true is regarded as an immutable principle a myth is created. Myths are sometimes dangerous, especially when people decide based on them. Generalization of partial truths is a mistake human beings seem keen to make.

 

I think the idea that coming to Africa represents instant richness and abundance is common. From time to time, when things are particularly hard somewhere else in the world, we witness another immigration wave. I think we are now assisting to a new tide of people coming to this country.

 

In reality, people never stop coming and going, but if I look back, without any scientific pretension, I can distinguish three main recent immigration waves: 1) The turn of the century boom, bringing the worst group of myth believers. They clearly believed they could get rich fast. Most of them are now gone. 2) A second more realistic wave characterized by the immigration from nearby countries, people with less fantastic dreams but still believing they could make it here. Most are still around, modestly thriving. 3) We observed a third wave now, hopefully made of hard working people. We recently talked about a few cases and we hoped a lot more would came to change the face of this land.

 

Sometimes I am afraid that I can lead people reading me into the African myth. If you are meant to be wealthy, that can happen wherever you are. It only depends on you, not on a particular continent or country.

 

When we arrived here I had such a perfect life! Paul was professionally successful in Europe, I didn’t have to work and we lived in the Cascais area. He entered in Mozambique as press attaché for the last colonial government. If we had decided to return to Europe we would go on living like that. For us, the decision of staying in Mozambique represented I had to work because one salary wasn’t enough for our needs. It’s evident that we also had a few advantages we would never have in Europe: 1) Space. 2) Tranquility. 3) Good weather. 4) Fantastic beaches. 5) Food not coming from a supermarket shelf. 6) Affordable help to raise the children. Wouldn’t you stay and work for that?

 

I truly think that we would do so well in Europe as in Africa. Maybe we would have more status and cash if in Europe, but then we would have lost so many other things making life worth living. Sometimes we live the myth, sometimes we don’t and sometimes we just live.

Have You Ever Been Loved… Like This?

 

This is an embarrassing theme, one I wasn’t sure of being able to post. Don’t read it if you are sensitive to intimate subjects.

 

(Pause for you to decide if you want to go further…)

 

I don’t have a single inclination towards my own species. Yes, I am talking about the lipstick species. If I ever kissed a girl, it wouldn’t be for love or curiosity. If I ever kissed a girl, it would be like kissing myself.

 

I know I was am loved by a girl. She used to come frequently to my house as a friend. There was only a moment when she had the courage to show her affection in a soft friendly gesture. How behaved some women in love are! One day she left this country and I forgot about her. I would never have guessed her feelings if not for: 1) Realizing that everybody in this house, even the children, knew about her inclination. 2) Hearing that she was living in Italy with another woman.

 

With her I also learned how faithful some women are. Even after so many years she keeps calling now and then, usually when she is having a good time. It’s like if she still feels guilty to be somehow happy. Aren’t some women truly amazing?