“But they’ll rob you in Maxixe…”
Most local public transport in Africa (so I’m told) does not work on any time schedule. Basically, it leaves when it’s full. So, although I got myself up at 6am to take this “direct” shuttle to Tofo, I still found myself sitting on this chapa (little converted passenger minivan) waiting to leave at 10am. I tried to sleep a little, but it was a difficult effort with people knocking at the window outside, offering bread, drinks, phone cards, plastic bags and many other things for sale and the man behind me opening and closing the window (which then hit into my elbow, arm, or head as it slid forward) to buy such items. Finally, as we filled up just around 10am, we headed off.
We stopped a number of times on the road – once so the driver could make a phone call, sometimes to fill up with gas (either from a conventional gas station or maybe in a small town, where they funneled in gas from a plastic container), other times for police roadblocks (where they would bring all their paperwork plus a little bit of money and would come back all smiles and friendly-like with the cops), and sometimes just for a pee/stretch/buy some food and refreshments from little ladies break. I slept on and off during the day, however I spent most of my waking hours contemplating what sort of nasty things were growing in the driver’s armpits; I was sitting right behind him, downwind from the open window, and nearly thought myself suffocating several times.
We reached the end of the road – a town called Inhambane, where the guy from the “shuttle” picked me up. He was eating dinner, so he bought me a beer and gave me a chicken leg while he finished his meal. I definitely let him know how I felt about the situation that morning (it was now about 6:30pm), and he went on about this weekend being Independence Day and yadda yadda. He dropped me off at the hostel, I set up my tent, and pretty much went to bed, exhausted.
The next two days I laid on the beach during the day and watched the World Cup at night – exactly what I had been searching for. Tofo is a town made for tourists, mostly inhabited by white South Africans zooming around on loud 4-wheel motorbikes, though your standard backpackers are found as well. Locals (mostly little boys who I learned have been kicked out of their houses by their families), stroll up and down the beach trying to sell souvenirs, particularly bracelets and necklaces made out of shells. I bought one from a little boy, who made it special for me; I also bought a kilo of cashew nuts from another kid named Coconut.
My third night there (after two days laying on the beach), I met Roy, from Chicago, who is living and working in Tofo, doing scuba diving trips. “The 25’s coming in” he said. What does that mean? The big winds; supposed to be windy and rainy tomorrow, then it will get better. Well, it was windy, rainy, and cold the next day, in fact for the next 5 days, and let me tell you, there’s nothing to do in a little beach town for 5 days when you’re living in a tent and it’s cold and rainy. But, I had decided I wanted to go diving there (to see whale sharks and manta rays), so I waited it out, which was pretty miserable at times, with minimal proper shelter. My tent pole ended up breaking with the strong winds after a few days, but I had half the campsite offering to help me (“Uh, is your tent broken?” Yeah, no…it’s supposed to be crooked and cock-eyed. I like it that way.)
Finally the weather cleared up and I was able to go diving. I hadn’t been since I took the class in Panama, so I took a refresher dive before “going deep”. The star diving attraction in Tofo is called Manta Reef, where seeing the huge manta rays is pretty much a guarantee; however, in order to go there, you have to be qualified to “go deep”, so I took the deep diving course while doing the dive. On the way out to the sight, we passed a whale shark (which is, indeed, a shark), so we got in the water and snorkled with it. Amazing – this huge, calm shark allowed us to float along with it. They’re not dangerous, but it’s size alone (and still knowing it’s a shark) makes it a humbling experience. We loaded back into the boat, just in time to see some humpback whales in the distance coming up for air. All that and we hadn’t even been diving yet!
The dive itself was amazing; many of the people who dive it all the time said it was the best time they had been there. We saw 3 (maybe 4) manta rays floating above us, along with some eels, and lots and lots of fish. Everyone afterwards was like “ooh, did you see all those lionfish?” or “What a great honeycomb moray.” I have no idea what I’m looking at down there, but it again left me in awe of the tranquil, colorful world below the sea.
In total, I had been in Tofo something like 10 days, and it was time to leave. I was headed back to Maputo (hate backtracking), but I needed to get a visa for Tanzania, and that was the only place to get it. As if I hadn’t learned my lesson about being tired while traveling, I had a big night out before leaving. Drinks with one person led to drinks with some other people, and with a chapa leaving at 4:30am, well, it got to a point where it just made sense to stay up until it left. At around 4am, I went to go pack, which becomes a little more complicated when camping. In the middle of the worst packing job ever, I aborted the operation, leaving all my stuff spewed out on the sand, went into my empty tent, and slept.
I woke up the next morning around 10am, as the sun was baking me alive inside the tent. I resumed the worst packing job ever, and left, bequeathing my bananas to some other campers (looking back, I assume I thought they were a liability on the trip ahead.) I walked to the market (5 or six wooden shacks selling a variety of things) and dropped my backpack as I asked about transport to Maputo. “You can’t go today.” Yeah, but I need to go today. “It’s better if you go tomorrow.” I wasn’t sure if they were talking about logistically, or for my own welfare, given my fragile state.
Really, I need to go today, I said, as I laid down on the concrete in the shade (filth was not a concern). OK. You need to go to Inhambane, cross the bay with the ferry to Maxixe, and get a chapa there to Maputo, but they’ll rob you in Maxixe (again, not sure if this was a general warning or if they were referring to the way I was sprawled on the ground). No worries, let’s do it. The chapa pulled up, and I got on, negotiating the price down to where it should be.
Before we left, Daniel from the hostel, who had been out with us the night before, climbed in next to me. We headed to Inhambane (incidentally, this time the chapa left before full, but was soon stopping, picking up people until they couldn’t close the door – you can’t imagine how many people they pile in these things), where Daniel walked me to the port. I got the ferry across and found the chapa to Maputo. We left a few hours later, so I spent a little bit of time in the dusty town of Maxixe. No one robbed me; in fact, people were extremely nice, showing me around the market to buy some food, and greeting me on the street, like they do everywhere else in Mozambique.
Tags: Mozambique, Mozambique, Tag Index
Tania