Exit Berenguerua Island was like jumping from head to heel the world. ¿Cómo the going, by plane or car? "A Chapa (local bus)”, I answer the owner of the hotel super. He moved the gesture. Did not even know how to organize the trip, how to leave us at the bus station (although the type was professional and charming to the last second). We went from having a guy who was waiting with a bowl on the beach to clean the feet of sand to get off the boat to get on a minibus full of people in foreshortening, bags, bags of food and live gallinas. Things professional and personal travel while. For parts.
We arrived at seven o'clock at the station Vilankulo. The hotel worker spoke with the owner of one of the minibuses and decides to wait for them 200 meters ahead in time to jump on the wagon there as other travelers. I do not know the reason, but it was. We pay the price for two people and bags that fit between the seats (500 MZN: 175 per person 150 for baggage. 12 EUR) and we got on a van that took us Maxixe, where they would catch a ferry to Inhambane.
Natasa y yo were literally the aliens in one carrier. It was absolute silence when we and all we heard was that occasionally mzungu (white man). The trip was more than four hours, awkward and charming at once. Mozambique is not a particularly open (that was my perception and so I confirmed it after a large group of Spanish aid workers who have spent years on this earth) Most would say that is some distance to the unknown, although there are always differences between the countryside and the city, and from working in a hotel or restaurant and that has no business relationship with you (is a perception, as such it must be taken). So was the trip, without many words, despite our efforts to engage in conversation and even by sharing food that we had the hotel and only a few accepted. No one was wrong, but we're used to the fun that exists at times in South African bus.
The way he taught us the deep rural Mozambique, which is not visible from planes, from which all the houses seem to luxury villas in the middle of beautiful beaches. The same Africa than in other countries: subsistence agricultural outgrower, lost shacks and towns full of brick and concrete houses with no windows or no furniture. That is progress for those who have nothing but dream with a roof that is not hay. Life is always in the street, on the road, looking at what others are doing. Then, at each bus stop in the villages are close dozens of people to stop selling all kinds of fruit or food. I can not forget the face of the woman who bought her bananas. His deep eyes and tender smile did not leave until the van pulled. We looked, We gently pierced.
¿El ferry? European ideas of a fool if you think ferry say a big ship
En route, course, are also small schools to which hundreds of kids who drag their bags on the sidewalks pilgrimage road. In the trees, observed a sequence, tens of thousands, huge spider webs. Were lost in the horizon. Within, in the minibus, passengers up and down the road waiting in a van that charge. Whenever there is a gap, always goes one more, well until it literally does not fit more meat and more bags. The funny thing is when you see someone surrounded by bags waiting in the middle of the road and the van because it is not for full. Perhaps no other bus pass tomorrow. There is a bus service that covers the line, or advance ticket purchases, there are private vans make the trip until they are profitable. You can spend hours there and if you have bad luck back home to wait for someone to pick up the next day.
After four hours, llegar a gherkin. A bus boy tells me where to catch the ferry. ¿El ferry? European ideas of a fool if you think ferry say a big ship. We pay the ticket and hope, hope, until we realized that decayed wooden boat before us in which dozens of people came up was our ferry. He seemed made of barrra. The climax was when the end came a guy who got his bike (the fit). Probably in Spain one is not made up to that barge, but here is one that you think "they do not like drowning, so it will be safe ".
I will make a leap in time, and left for the next post my stay in Tofo Beach, to explain that the trip to Maputo was even more fun and complicated. Three days later we were in the market square of two mzungus Tofo, a stray dog barking something heavy and dark and quiet and proper to be the 03:35 hours. Gave some frightening to see that there was absolutely nobody on the street that was not our friend pulgoso who followed us from the hotel and sought our strokes as hard as he scratched his body. There was no sound and, course, the bus arrived with 30 minutes late. Priceless scene to see us carry the bags with sand from the beach with the help of a hotel security guard while I was looking how to put the team photo, tripod, the bag ... I miss you catch me in your arms and take me to sprint for the sand. Then, having no change, I gave him the equivalent of five euros for the help. The man I think should now be waiting every night on the beach that another tourist euros for two leads to shoulder with their bags hanging from their ears. Pasta here is a five euro for ten minutes curro, not win it in one night.
Half an hour later and placed the bags under our legs, chickens pecked me shoes and holding a baby in arms
Soon, see a guy with a stick and a plastic bag, fifteen minutes behind the scheduled bus, and with the confidence that comes from knowing that you can spare 15 more. Saluda in disbelief and asked why it takes a stick. "For the dogs", sometimes become aggressive. I remember that one minute before I had said Natasa, "What's going to make a dog?”. We got on the bus "?, where were two backpackers like us mzungus. “Incómodo, but not many people ", thought, "I can even sleep well". Half an hour later and placed the bags under our legs, chickens pecked me shoes and holding a baby in her arms for a parent to look like another child placed in her lap. The air was thick and more than, at times, made me want to ask someone tied a rope and dragged me to Maputo (more scratches arrival, but stay more comfortable). To complete, driver, with some hustle and a lot of overtaking in change of gradient, decided not to stop at the first five hours for anything but pick up or drop off a passenger. So when he stopped at a gas station met with a riot of mzungus we left in droves to the baths. Nine hours later we arrived in Maputo ground, longing for the chickens forage almost forced you, at least, moving toes. Here the economy class syndrome hits you by the shoulders. Behind the window, yes, African life is chewed with eyes.
PD. This is not a photo post, just thomas. I have always understood that it is disrespectful, retratarte as a form of tourists who want to show who spent time among them. There's nothing special on this route, and also hundreds of Westerners traveling in the continent. Do not see it as an adventure, but as an opportunity.