1, 2, 3… Testing

 

After less than a month of something passing for winter, we are welcoming spring the best possible way: testing our 6m semi-rigid Navegador. Navegador is a very reliable and playful boat. Thanks to design, lightness and motor performance, it can cross this bay with three times less fuel than any other boat. Most of them dock during long periods, while Navegador only docks because of weather or laziness conditions.

 

There’s a lesson we have to learn from all this long period without boat. Three years ago, when Navegador had an accident, we assumed the motor was completely doomed. So, we sat and waited for an opportunity to buy a new one. JP even offered parts of it to a friend. Assuming is a terrible thing…

 

Due to some pressure from the club, we sent the boat to a repair dock in Durban and after a couple of days we were informed that the motor was in perfect health. As a conclusion, we have just paid for service and the parts JP had alienated. The total repair cost represents 7 or 8 times less than our estimative. I couldn’t ask for a better way to start our 2009 beach season.

 

We have three tests planned: one short distance (Catembe), one middle distance (around the bay) and one “long” distance (Inhaca Island). The short distance test was absolutely successful. The motor roared softly, yet powerfully, as it should have.

 

Leaving behind the city humming and a white foamy path across the blue bay, to Catembe we sped. We were lucky to have picked the most perfect day, almost “mar espelho”. We had champagne on the beach and prawns at the nearby quiet, friendly restaurant. It was a bit stormy during the trip back to the club, but Navegador behaved till the end.

 

The only problems noticed were: 1) We have to improve the anchor system. 2) We have to get a light cover to protect the navigation instruments, since the original cover is too heavy and only useful for travelling proposes. 3) We have to repair the working trailer in order to ease the docking procedures. The travelling trailer is new, but the one where the boat sleeps is rusty and difficult to manage. 4) When hydraulically upped, the motor touches a seat bar. It could have badly crushed my hand, but, as most of the time I protect hands and feet on beaches and at sea, the thickness of a glove saved me for the worst. We have to do something about this.

 

Other than the boat, here are some exciting news from this corner of the universe:

 

- World Cup 2010 construction frenzy seems to have reached Maputo.

 

- Guard Albert is now a father of a healthy baby girl. That same day (August 4), one boy and 15 other girls were born at the same hospital, confirming Andy’s theory that men are on the verge of extinction or Chanda’s theory that people are eating the wrong food.

 

- Speaking of food, our house has been functioning as B&B for two crocodiles. Again. One of them, full of vim, jumped from the travelling container and, if it weren’t for my checking on them from time to time, he would be lost or smashed by a car. I caught the guy two steps away from our front gate. We are feeding them with liver and I have to say that these two guests are not very sociable. Soon they will join two other male crocs living up North. Andy swears this time he is sending a female too. The lucky girl will not know what competition is in the near future…

 

- Keket celebrated six months in good spirit. She is growing pretty fast and learning basic lessons during our daily walks: no, come, stop, sit… With the right incentive (read biltong), I believe that I can teach my dogs to sing “This Paws Are Made for Walking”.

Business of the Poor

 

Almost a week ago we returned to Macaneta after an unjustifiable period of sedentariness. Things change quietly in this country and only attentive eyes can spot slight differences here and there.

 

Since our last winter visit, when I slept wrapped in a soaked sarong and chilled to the bone, it’s possible to see that the access to the ferry improved and lodges and camping areas multiplied. It’s reported that there are around twenty places for tourists to stay along the stretch of coast between Macaneta and Bilene, almost exclusively owned by South African small investors. Tourists keep showing up, if not massively (thankfully) at least steadily. South Africans drive 1000km or more just to spend 2 or 3 days in one of those new destinations.

 

Just like with Ponta do Ouro, the access road to Macaneta is still a big problem. Rain turns impossible to cruise it. I have seen skilled drivers and their latest 4×4 being rescued by heavy machinery from nearby farms. The dirty road from the ferry to the beach becomes too risky. The craters opened remain as a souvenir of each rainy season. Here come the locals, intruding where authorities and private sector fail.

 

Marracuene and Macaneta population took the road matter into their own hands, in the perspective of making a living out of it. We found people gathering soil and dried forage to cover the numerous holes along the road. They stop what they are doing and stare at the passengers of each passing car, indicating that they expect a reward.

 

The question is that you give some money to the first one and before you reach the crossing roads where you have to decide between the old lodge and going any further, you are asked to contribute to the entrepreneurship of other 8 or 10 hole coverers.

 

It can be seen as an irritating nonsense to the passing visitors, but for them it’s business. They offer a service and expect, quite naturally, to be paid for it.

Messy Toast

 

Saturday we went to Macaneta to celebrate winter. It was a bit messy. This is the mess list:

 

- One to two hours of traffic jam on the way out.

- Same traffic agony on the way back.
- Babysitting dogs and photography are obverse efforts.
- Where on earth is Mr. Winter? The water was cold, but the weather is still very summery.
- Keket and Thoth decided that spilling a little of champagne wasn’t enough and spilled half bottle.
- Picnic? Never had been in such a messy one!
- Any good? Indeed. Walking good stretches of beach with dogs and music.

 

But today is supposed to be food talk. Recently I collected what initially seemed to be a very useful newspaper page listing nice stuff for picnics. However, when the moment comes we always stick to the same menu: champagne, fruit and salmon.

 

Paul was driving back home and complaining about the traffic. I told him: “At least, while you drive slowly I can have some fun reading the little shops names.” They are countless, boarding kilometers and kilometers of road and many of them have cute or even hilarious names.

 

“Look at that one!” I exclaimed pointing to my left. Over the door of a 2×3m shop selling from second hand televisions sets to soap bars, a name painted in red stood out: Jesus Is Lord. 

 

Paul smiled and asked: “Have you seen our mechanic-driver Américo’s motorbike? He has painted in big black characters what I thought to be some local idiom (neva dey) until I discovered what he really means: never die.”

How It Was

 

Our recent stay in Ponta do Ouro was very comfortable thanks to a friend who owns the best house I know down there. I was also glad to see it was well organized, a consequence of past bad experiences in the few restaurants available.

 

Better let you cast an eye over my notes to give you an idea of how it was:

 

February, 14

– In the future we have to check the ferryboat first. A couple of days after returning we read about the “eminence of a disaster”. No wonder we were only two cars crossing to Catembe that morning.
- Terrible roads and nice people describe well this country.
- Arrival. Little rest. Green bikini and beach for a short swim. Due to a very high tide, the sand extension was reduced to ten per cent. Someone referred to the global warming.
- Classical dinner of oregano chicken breasts and linguini.
- Internet available thanks to mobile system.
- French tunes.

 

February, 15

-We toasted the first morning in Ponta do Ouro. We would toast a lot more.
- Blue bikini and beach. The tide wasn’t so brave, but the crowd was. We did enjoy meeting a couple of friends though.
- Paul and I had our first and only disagreement due to his supermarket addiction.
- Return to base for fish and salad lunch.
- Blue and red bikini for a stop on the beach café and a long sunset walk.
- Nice dinner of bacalhau (code fish), internet and Brazilian music.

 

February, 16

– I love unexpected gifts in unexpected places! Don’t you?
- A few moments on the beach with brown bikini and one of the handy sarongs I had brought with me. Beach dogs are extremely loyal. When I arrived they had already adopted another couple. As soon as the couple left I had around me not only the adopted ones but also a few I suspected to belong to other visitors.
- After negotiating an extra day in Ponta do Ouro for a supermarket stroll in Manguzi (20km after Farazela border), we both didn’t get a lot from the deal: Paul hated the supermarket (What a surprise!) and the perfect day never happened.
- Mid afternoon snack of smoked mussels bought in Manguzi gave me an allergic reaction. Paul insisted my carrot muffins weren’t enough as dessert and added a colorful small cake to our shopping list. It happened to be so disgusting it now features as number one in the list of the worst things ever tasted.
- Finally, I did enjoy my first moment on the water during the afternoon thanks to a quiet beach, a mild afternoon and a lilac bikini.
- Sushi dinner requested and prepared by Seabell, though she started to feel guilty when she remembered this guy.
- Internet and soft music.

 

February, 17

– Colorless beach morning with yellow bikini.
- Colorful lunch of steak fillet, spinach puree and chips.
- Cozy silent afternoon writing these notes while Paul slept.
- Second best moment snorkeling alone. Well, with a white bikini to be precise.
- Concerns around fishing nets and the behavior of people on the beach grew all the time. In the same place were once we could easily watch medium size fish and stingrays, only scattered plants, small and minuscule fish have survived.
- Risotto dinner, tango music and playing with pictures taken so far.

 

February, 18

– Return via Boane to avoid the ferry trauma. Once again we were saved by a Ponta do Ouro group and so we could avoid the worst muddy bit of Zitundo. Still, roads are so bad I strongly recommend not only 4×4 cars but also 4×4 bras – if you intend to arrive in just one piece.

 

Final note: I do intend to return to Ponta do Ouro but let’s say that after this time I won’t miss it the way I used to. Maybe I just picked the wrong tide to be there.

The End of a Love Affair

 

I think my love affair with Ponta do Ouro is coming to a close. It was kept alive for too many years. It survived distance, negligence, wartime and touristic invasions since 2000. How can one explain the end of a love affair?

 

First of all I can sense it’s not only me. Tourists are seeking other available options for reasons too obvious to say, but I intend to say – anyway – a few of them just as a note of disappointment.

 

For a paradise resort, Ponta do Ouro is too close to Maputo. If the idea was keeping the nightmarish dirty road as it is and the access via South Africa so easy to ride to stop the city crowds flux, they still come to know the place, visit friends and family. They simply don’t stay because there are no jobs and costs are prohibitively high. They just count in number, side by side with tourists, to the floating population visiting that small beach village.

 

Private sector has been shyly investing in Ponta do Ouro. I know for sure that tourists leave a great deal of cash, as tourists usually do, still it’s not possible to see social or structural improvements. Basically, what you see in Ponta do Ouro is natural or colonial. Can you believe there’s only one school for starters? Can you believe there’s no clinic or hospital? Can you believe that you cannot find most of the things needed to keep a house running and the few you manage to get are pretty expensive? What to say about the inexistence of a bank?

 

Despite all this and a lot more left to say, my love affair is ending because of a certain decrease of environmental quality. Tourists come from Maputo and react what they do in Costa do Sol. For the first time I saw so many bottles being consumed on the beach I could get drunk only with the sight and smell of it. What about people walking their dogs and leaving the dirtiness behind? I’ve never seen beach dogs dirtying the sand where people and dogs walk, seat and lie. There’s only exceptional territory questions to solve now and then, mainly at the end of the afternoon when the beach is left alone and watchful dogs are not sure who is going to show up.

 

Add to the above the fishing nets being used in the ‘pool’ where small fish breed and I can say my killing instincts rose as high as the tide.

High Tide and Stones

 

High tide changes the beach landscape. If it’s a sandy coast, like Ponta do Ouro is, the transformation can be drastic. On the 14th and 15th, precisely a week ago, Ponta’s impressive stretch of sand was reduced to almost nothing.

 

On the other hand, marine life vestiges were scattered all long several tidal lines. I spent a few daily minutes collecting little things for little reasons. Shells attracted my attention because of their colorfulness against the pale tone of the sand. Coral flowers (coral algae, as my expert friend MJ says) and sponges seem always more alive than the rest of the pack. Stones are wonderful objects to study. At first I thought the high tide had brought with it small round river stones. But then, during the collecting process, I concluded that those stones are petrified sand. Here you can observe three phases of stone formation from beach sand: the left ones are easily breakable, but at the same time perfectly individualized as stones; the middle one is very similar to the previous ones but cannot be broken, at least with naked hands; the last group is composed of rough, smaller stones, completely formed, whose origin is clearly sand. A long, patient process I was glad to witness. My interest in sand has greatly increased since I learned that my name means a color that is nothing else but the color of sand.

 

I also collected coral stones. I photographed the process from coral (left) to what looks to me coral smooth stone (right), though my coral researcher friend pointed out to me that coral usually degrades into sand. Even recognizing these presumably coral stones are more sophisticated in terms of final result (color, shine and softness), I’ll only treasure the heart shaped one (sand stone with a touch of coral) and this this sand stone to wear as a pendent. They’ll remind me that sand can become hard stone, that time and nature remarkably and inexorably change things. They are as precious to me as the costly, blindingly shining stones.

Mother Nature Is Pro

 

Maybe because I was anti-Valentine’s I could have the necessary detachment to stare at the moon on the 14th, photograph it and amazingly surprised concluded it was heart shaped. How more romantic than this can nature be?

 

Then I started to collect yellowish stones on the beach. Every single day I returned home with a handful of them. On the afternoon of the 14th, during my first beach stroll, I recognized two heart shaped stones. I was kind of amused. The second day I had a small heart shaped stone among the lot. I kept quiet. The third day I got another heart like stone. I just smiled. I was spending less then five minutes minding about stones per beach visit and chances of finding heart shaped stones were small. Then, on the 17th, I found such a perfect heart shaped stone I couldn’t avoid acknowledging the coincidence and showing it.

 

In normal circumstances I would be moved because of so many hearts. Maybe I would talk of signs. Maybe I would change my mind. But no. Mother Nature can be pro, but I am still anti. And I’ll be anti for as long as I have to.

These Roads Are Like Life

 

These roads are not to be lightly taken. Just like life. We plan, we organize, we worry and we have to know how to get from here to there. Just like life.

 

We pre-concluded that last week rain should be dry by the time we started our journey to Ponta do Ouro and ended up facing 120km of continuous muddy pools. We had to live a nightmare before reaching paradisiacal Ponta do Ouro.

 

But then, like sometimes happens in life, we were lucky. The last minute two guys appeared from nowhere and suggested that we reversed and attacked a large pool from the middle to avoid a killing hole. “Huuuuuge!” they said. When we looked back and saw the crater we couldn’t believe how close we had been to end up Valentine’s weekend right there.

 

The road continued fastidiously the same: water, holes and constant trepidation. Suddenly I saw a van turning to the right and told: “That is unexpected. Better check why they turned there.” Paul stopped and I asked. The road ahead wasn’t passable. So we followed the van.

 

You cannot imagine what it’s like driving miles and miles through one way dirty roads with no other orientation but a public transportation van appearing and disappearing behind the green coastal hills.

 

Paul speeded up so we could catch the driver and at least confirm if we were following the right direction. We were. He was too. From that moment on and as any good Mozambican would do, he adopted us.

 

After one hour of blind obedience, full of adventures difficult to narrate without turning a mere comparison into a road odyssey, he stopped and left his passengers waiting while he informed us: “We separate now because I am supposed to go to the border first. You shouldn’t have problems if you follow this road. I am Zimba.” And with a smile and a friendly gesture he returned to the packed van. A driver with a lion’s name!

 

These roads are meeting points. They teach solidarity and humbleness. Drivers loudly buzz at us. At first I though we were doing something wrong, but someone explained to me they are energetically saluting a “brother” sharing the same fate. Mostly we meet nice people. From time to time we meet rude people. Just like in real life.

 

The drive from Ponta do Ouro started the wrong way, but then another angel called Thomas saved us. Thomas is a new sort of person justifying why Mozambique is part of the Commonwealth: he speaks a new language half Portuguese, half English. I think this is common around the borders with English speaking countries. After rescuing us, he and his group guided us through the worst part of the road. Bad roads and good people again. No doubt, this is Mozambique!

Il Faut des Rites

 

Il faut, indeed. Saint-Exupéry wrote it and I fully live it or at least I try. Though a bit late to be heard by Marracuene spirits, now all drunken and confused after the commemorations of their past braveries, we finally toasted to summer 2009.

 

These are my notes under the date 10-02-09: 1) I wonder if today I inaugurated a series of events I might one day call “Sunsets and Champagne in Macaneta”? 2) I wonder for how long an average tourist can take the coexistence with business as usual and heavy machinery? 3) I wonder what an average tourist has to say about these roads, but he surely pray for car or driver not to quit before arriving to the intended paradisiacal destination. 4) I wonder why only cows and not tourists seem to grow in number. 5) I wonder if Macaneta camping is now a war zone due to the muddy cars parked there. 6) I wonder how many people might use champagne as a sun lotion? 7) I wonder how many people need the sea to keep their hearts beating? I wonder how many people are able to catch butterflies with their naked hands – and release them unharmed, of course? 9) I wonder how many people keep photographing places where they would like to build a house?

 

This is the diary entry of a red skin Macaneta tourist under the same date:

 

02-10-09
Macaneta Lodge, Mozambique
It happened on the stretch of beach extending to the left of the lodge where our party stayed. I was unaware then of the effects of the sun on my skin, but that same night and the next morning it was like hell. I remember feeling tempted by the idea of a swim when I saw a couple coming from a nearby hill. He was wearing white board-shorts and she was in blue.

 

They seemed familiar with the place. She kept photographing around an area where two large casuarinas trees stood tall, while he reached a fishing canoe over which he placed a seemingly light straw basket. That basket and the camera were the only objects they carried.

 

Convinced of my first impression, I approached and asked something like: “Have you been here before? How safe is swimming around here?”

 

“Not very safe,” one of them told. “It’s very deep and currents are too strong. Unless you are a trained swimmer, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 

So I sat not far from the couple and watched how they seemed to enjoy a sandy foam bath, the kind we usually see children taking before learning how to swim. Right after they returned to the canoe and I heard the unmistakable pop of a champagne bottle. I couldn’t avoid discreetly looking while he purred half of the content of the bottle over the sand and they slowly sipped the other half. I do believe she could have used part of the liquid inside her conventional flute as a lotion. I never heard of champagne used as sun lotion, but then why not? (I have to confirm whether champagne is good for red skin sufferers or not. It could be a relief for me when I forget my SPF at home.)

 

They quietly finished the bottle sitting on the fisherman boat and left as smoothly as they had emerged from the dune. It took them less than an hour for all that. The episode seemed to me quite unexpected in such a remote corner of the world.

 

Meanwhile I was burning my redness even redder and considering following their example in terms of swimming possibilities. Comparing with what that couple managed to do in less than an hour, I might be getting a little slow.

Seafood and Poetry

 

Even if quietness is my modus vivendi these days, things seem to happen faster than I can write them down. A week is usually gone when I post about a certain fact. I’ve been trying to write about the previous day but that never happens, be it because reportable facts are more than days to live or because, due to the ups and downs of the local Internet, it’s too risky to consider last minute work.

 

A week ago we returned to the Costa do Sol restaurant. I can say we are now mid summer, but this particular Sunday felt as if we were living the first days of it. A bright blue sky and a feeling I cannot put into words but was suspended in the air surprised us all the way down to Costa do Sol.

 

I played photographer for a bride and the way people kept asking me to take pictures I would have photographed all Costa do Sol visitors if I only got time for that. There are periods when white bridal spots are part of Costa do Sol scenery.

 

We sat on the restaurant veranda and chose seafood for lunch: crab and prawns. I remember commenting: “I don’t know if people coming here are aware that they get a lot more than seafood…” It’s evident I was referring to the immense blue sky, the silvery blue sea or that don’t know what in the air.

 

I am sure there’s another aspect making people came back: friendly service. Besides, where else in the world would you find someone like Manuel, restaurateur and poet? He shared with me some of his writing attempts and I selected two less private to show here.

 

The first one Manuel wrote on his way to Havana, and I bet he had the restaurant in his mind. I took the liberty to translate it to English, introducing a couple of changes to benefit the new language.

 

Sitting Here

Each one sitting here
Each one stepping in here
Where yellow and blue play
They all come in and say
About ones’ victories
And others that have failed
Between a grouper and a xerne
Between past and present
Life turns and life passes
Each laugh stopping here
This soul, that life
The past still sitting here
The present here stopped.

 

Be it figurative or not, I liked the second one. It remains in Spanish for the sake of the international character of this space.

 

Cigarra Cantante!

Una cigarra canta!
Pero la otra no baila
Otras quieren dormir
Pero la primera si canta!

 

Hay otras bailantes cansadas

Hay otras cansadas bailantes
Pero mi cigarra cantante
Si canta sola so canta!

 

Las que dormen no se despiertan

Prefiren seguir dormindo
Asi la vida no imagino
Que todas juntas bailantes
No siguen cantando, cantantes,

 

La harmonia sinfonica

De mi cigarra cantante
Que un dia se despiertara
De una cancion euforica
Viva mi cigarra cantante
Viva mi cigarra cantante!