Svan Lakes

Mestia, Georgia - 29th October-1st November 2011

We were awoken from our slumber by a rapping on the door at 6.30am. A peek through the window revealed a cloudy morning in one of those beautiful lump-of-concrete towns bequeathed to humanity by the USSR. We scooped together our stuff and stumbled off the train and were immediately accosted by a minibus driver who, seeing our backpacks, assumed (correctly) that we would not be staying in Zugdidi, and (correctly) that we would be going to Mestia. In all honesty, this was not very hard to work out. We had come from the east, south was Batumi (reachable on another train), north was Mestia (where the road ended), and west was Abkhazia, a de facto independent state propped up by the Russian Army. Interesting to see, no doubt, but not very easy to get into. And even more difficult to leave back to Georgia. Our new minibus-driving friend must have been slightly confused by our "yes, but no" answer. He spoke no English and our Russian was not really good enough to explain to him that we were meeting a friend here but weren't sure at what time he would arrive and hence didn't want to reserve three seats and consequently make everyone wait for his arrival. Or at least not at this time in the morning.

Our friend, of course, was Cole whom we last met in Africa. It had been nearly 2 years since we last met but on our reunion it seemed like nothing had changed. He and I both had holes in our clothes, all of us were half asleep. He was half an hour late because realised too late that Georgia is not in the same time zone as Turkey, where he'd just arrived from. The other minibus had just left so we were left standing around waiting for another one, unsure as to when or if it would come. It was great to see him again. We went through the African motions of a) being assured that a minibus was coming so we should wait here, b) realising this was unlikely and dragging our bags into town and c) finally finding a minibus and waiting three hours for it to fill up. Finally, around 5 hours after we arrived in Zugdidi, we started chugging up into the mountains of Svaneti (the name of the region we were heading to, named for its inhabitants, the Svan) to the regional capital Mestia for a bit of fresh air and mountain walking.

"Where you sleep ?" asked the driver. Charmingly enough, he was going to drop us to the door

"Nest Hostel", we replied. The Nest was the cheapest place we'd found online. There were plenty of accommodation options on the road into Mestia but they all seemed like quite nice-looking homestays, obviously way out of our league. This seemed to confuse the driver, who proceeded to ask everyone in sight if they knew where it was. We trundled into the centre of town, out the other side, over a bridge and seemingly were heading out of town. Mestia may be the regional capital, but enormous it isn't. Just as civilisation was about to disappear behind us, we spotted the Nest through the window, It looked pretty run down but quaint. The driver gave us a questioning look, to which we responded with a cheery thumbs up. With a look that said "oh well, if that's what you want..." he hopped out, gave us our bags, and we wandered in. The place seemed more like an abandoned house than a hostel although a room full of bunks with a few backpacks in gave us hope. A woman eventually wandered over from next door.

The Nest

The river

And Svaneti in a nutshell. Traditional Svan tower, cows, church.

"Khostel ?" she enquired.

"Yes ! Is it open ?"

Another inquisitive look as we realised that we shared no common language. She pointed at a door which led to another room full of bunks, smiled and disappeared. We settled in, wandered around and eventually a girl came to greet us. Mako was a cheery, bouncy character who had given up a job in an insurance company in Tbilisi to come up to the mountains and run a hostel. Mestia was going through a construction boom, she told us, although all of the workers were in town and she couldn't get hold of anyone to fix up the hostel for love nor money. That explained the slight insulation problems although the Nest Hostel had the most delightful bathroom I'd seen in a long time with a boiler half the size of the room which made it positively sauna-like. We had a long chat during which she explained our mountain-walking options to us and gave us the price of the beds - 15 lari each. A steal. Mako was more of a friend than a hostel boss and made us feel at home straight away.

With Mako, the queen of Mestia

Cole tries his hand at one of our events in the Olympics darts championship: the hammer. Amazingly, no one was injured on this day

We spent the evening enjoying the local chacha (Georgian firewater, bought by the litre from jerrycans and decanted into water bottles), chatting with a bunch of Poles who'd come up to the mountains, and with Tom, an Australian guy who was wandering around the Caucasus by himself. He was good company and realised we'd made a friend because, only a few minutes after meeting, we took the piss out of each other mercilessly. Cole was on the receiving end for his poverty, M for her slightly-less-than-photogenic nature, and Tom for staying at BoomBully, the most expensive backpackers in Tbilisi, and for wearing jeans without any holes in. We plotted together on some mountain walking the next day. It seemed that we'd be aiming for a cross on top of a mountain visible from town but about 900m higher.

"My mother would be so proud", he exclaimed

We were later joined bz Dom, an English guy who spent all of his time with us but barely spoke and didn't seem to enjoy our company. Maybe he was just shy.

Our resolve on getting up was dented by the fact that we were to get drenched as soon as we stepped outdoors. The rain continued all day. We played darts, drank chacha, ate khachapuri. A delightfully lazy, fun and unhealthy day.

M and Cole demonstrate the art of keeping warm in the Nest. The radiator did spend a few minutes in our room but the socket exploded and our source of warmth had to be repatriated.

Ready and equipped for the trek

Already knackered...

The gang look at something. From this, it would appear to be a beautiful panorama but it was actually Mestia airport, a mind-bogglingly ugly construction

Mestia from above and, on the other side, a ski station. Who needs Courchevel ?

Next day looked slightly threatening but we decided that it was going to happen either way and slogged our way up the mountain bit by bit. Every hairpin on the path would give out over breathtaking views of the surrounding snowcapped mountains. Just to the north, behind the range of the Caucasus which accompanied us, was the Russia border and Mount Elbrus, the highest mountain in Europe. My stomach was giving me trouble (as it tends to do whenever I go more than 20km from home) but the vistas kept me going and with the promise of an amazing view at the top, I refused to let go. After 3 hours of stop-start walking/climbing and a final trudge through the snow on top of the mountain, we reached what was probably the ugliest cross I've ever seen.

Even the cow dung is interesting in Svaneti. Apparently.

M has obviously been watching too many Chuck Norris movies

I don't think I could get tired of this...

My legs were about to pack in, but reaching the cross gave them a second wind. We tried to head off for a set of lakes which were apparently in the area. A short phone call later, we found out that they were 4 hours away and, with darkness soon descending, we abandoned the plot and wandered back, bumped into a group of Lithuanian girls and our friend Dom suddenly discovered that he did have an ability to talk after all, disappearing with one of them down the hill. Cole had had enough of the holes in his shoes and ran back to the hostel, leaving Tom, M and I to walk down, take a wrong turn, and get lost. The route back to the hostel included about half an hour clambering over rocks by the riverside looking for a place thin enough to wade through, breaking and entering into two separate private properties, and vaulting over a barbed wire fence. It all ended with chacha and khachapuri. If only every day could end that way.

M tries to mask her disappointment at the ugly cross

And Tom proves that getting lost on the way down need not stand in the way of fun. The cow did eventually go for the scarf, and our walking pace picked up slightly...

The night was curtailed as Mako announced that the minibus to Tbilisi would leave at 5am although our dear host did call the transport company and get them to pick us up at the front door.

She came downstairs to see us off in the morning, as as we climbed into the minibus her voice rang out in the darkness. "Remember what you say to your friends about Nest Hostel Mestia ? Very nice ! And VERY WARM !!!". In terms of temperature it wasn't, but the warmth of the welcome more than made up for it.

On your marks....

Tbilisi, Georgia - 26th-28th October 2011

And the're off !!

We started off the day with one challenge and three unknowns. Georgia was a total unknown to us, as was the entire Caucasus region. Ukraine International Airlines, our ship of the desert (or rather our ship of the skies) was also an unknown. The challenge for the day was to have a beer in each of countries on the same day. It seemed doable.

Our little escapade began in the small village of Sergy in the Jura. We had breakfast with my parents, shared a beer (it was 9am, after all, and we're not that wild) before heading off the the airport in Geneva, Switzerland, where we had beer number two. Our flight to Kiev was uneventful, and we stepped out into the beautiful Ukrainian sunshine where my friend Marina was waiting for us. As if to make our challenge easier, she'd brought a selection of delightful Ukrainian beers with her and we decided to find a bench somewhere for a chat and a drink. Sadly, she had to inform us that with our 3 hour layover, Kiev was too far to drive and so she suggested that we go to the neighbouring town of Boryspil. "I've never been there though", she warned us. It was a one street town with a few casinos, a few shops, and many cars. Unfortunately though, no benches. Marina's car bounced through the potholes of a few sidestreets looking for a bench before she decided we should probably head back to the airport car park and find a bench there. And thus ended our tour of Ukraine. The beers and the company were lovely though, even if the setting was less than exotic, and it was with great sadness that I realised at some point that we only had one hour left. Marina kindly pointed out that I hadn't changed my phone's clock to Ukrainian time and that in fact we had to leave right now. And that was that. Back to the airport. As it happened, our onward flight to Tbilisi was delayed by four hours which meant that a) we could easily have gone for a nice wander around Kiev, b) we got a free sandwich from the airline, and c) we would land in Tbilisi at 4am, which would not only end up with us being very tired, but also completely scuppered our "4 countries" plan. We did eventually end up at the Why Not? hostel, though, and settled down for a large amount of sleep.

Marina joins in for number 3 !

The Why Not? Hostel, typical Georgian courtyard house. Note the unlikely-looking balcony at the top. Tbilisi is full of these and strangely, none of them ever seem to collapse

Dragging ourselves out of bed the next day was quite a challenge but we eventually managed it and let ourselves loose on the streets of Tbilisi. It's a charming place with a nice old town, plenty of parks to wander through, and a few grand boulevards thrown in for good measure. It was up one of these, Rustaveli avenue (named after the famous Georgian poet Shota Rustaveli, of course) that we wandered in search of food. At the feet of a statue of Rustaveli himself, we found a little shack with a terrace (which went by the name of "Vache", meaning cow in French) which served us our first Georgian food and drink. Natakhtari beer passed the taste test with flying colours but it paled in comparison with Khachapuri, Georgia's greatest contribution to the world's culinary scene. A sort of pie with Sulguni cheese melted inside (you'll have to take my word for it), varying according to where in Georgia it's from. Imerulian is plain, Mingrelian has melted cheese on top, and the George Foreman cholesterol award goes to the Ajarian Khachapuri, which has large amounts of cheese topped off with a fried egg. Slightly difficult to eat without making a mess but tasty. We ordered another one for good measure, by which point it was time to meet up with Tiniko.

Tiniko is a friend of Marina's who offered to show us around Tbilisi while we were there. Over the two evenings, we probably covered the majority of Tbilisi's eating and coffee-drinking options, as well as finding the somewhat bizarre sight of an outrageous new bridge of the Mtkvari river. An impressive sight, although completely out of tune with the neighbouring old town. In the image of our friends the Sudanese, Tiniko's eyes clouded over with thinly disguised anger whenever we tried to pay for anything to thank her. M, of course, is an ungracious guest and insists on paying for everything and I just sat back and watched these two ferocious women argue over who would pay. When it started to go on for too long, Tiniko's friend Tako would sneak off and pay the bill while no one was looking. M would then insist that we go somewhere else to get them a coffee, and the whole circus would begin again.

Fortunately, Tiniko was at hand to help us read

Designer park

The Georgian parliament house looked a lot better lit up, hence I'm giving you a pic of it at night

Eventually, our new friends had to go to sleep (some of us have to work on weekdays, after all) and we went back to the hostel. There we met Ani, an American girl of Armenian descent who had jacked in her New York lifestyle five years ago to set up sticks in Yerevan, despite knowing no one there and not being able to speak Armenian. She was a fascinating character who told us a bit about the history and culture of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh, and offered us a bed whenever we came to Yerevan. Which was, of course, accepted with pleasure ! Ani was also a keen football fan and said she'd try to sort us some tickets for the upcoming Armenia-Macedonia European Championship qualifying game. It looked good already.

Tiko (l) and Tako (r), our delightful guides

M is either deciphering the Georgian alphabet, or having a jealousy fit regarding the statue's ice cream

Tbilisi old town square

Some parts of the old town are seemingly older than others

Getting up the next morning was even more difficult - I felt somewhat ashamed at only getting out of bed at 12.30 but M snoozed on until 3.30 in the afternoon. Her slightly tougher working life probably contributed to that, as did the fact that our declared "early night" didn't materialise and we finished chatting with Ani at around 5am. Cue another wander around Tbilisi, taking in the golden-statued Freedom Square (formerly "Lenin Square", surprisingly), the park on the other side of the outrageous bridge (featuring an equally outrageous musical fountain), old district on the other side of the river which we believed was the Armenian quarter (featuring more narrow streets and more delightful old churches) and a deeper walk around the old town. It's a place full of cobbled alleyways, old small churches, cafes and a few tree-lined streets, easy to get lost in for an afternoon. And that's pretty much what we did, until Tiniko called to announce that she'd got out of work.

Outrageous bridge

Old church. With apologies to the purists, I can't remember its name...

M lives the hard life. Once again.

Tonight was to be slightly different - it was Tbilisi International Theatre Festival week and Tiniko had got herself a ticket and asked if we wanted to come long. "I'm the only person interested in these kind of things so I'm sure there'll be space !" she told us. And so there was. Which is why at 8pm, we were sat in Tbilisi's Marjanishvili theatre, contemplating a stage with three identically-dressed Iranian women on a stage with 6 toilets. One brushed another's hair for an hour while the other frantically attacked a pile of chicken with a large meat cleaver, and the three of them discussed their suicidal thoughts in Farsi. Thankfully, we were given subtitles in both Georgian and English and the chatter was broken up as one or other of the women went over and flushed one or more of the toilets. At several points during the play, a large bag or suitcase came crashing down from the heavens. And then it was over. The regular theatre-goers gave the women a standing ovation, the three of us had no idea what had just happened, and we went out to find a terrace. An interesting evening.

It's MY turn to flush the toilets !!

During the day, we'd somehow managed to decipher the intricacies of Tbilisi central railway station and ended up with 2 tickets on that night's train to Zugdidi where we were to have a long overdue reunion with Cole (see various African blog entries) and Tiniko accompanied us to the train station. Having failed to work out the system for buying tickets until we stumbled across the right desk that afternoon, we also failed to understand the platform system. The non-existent "departures" board wouldn't have helped, had it existed, given that the platforms were not numbered, and Tiniko went around asking until we found our right train. She waved us off, but not before inviting us to her summer house near Mtskheta for a barbecue on our return. We'd liked Tbilisi but Tiniko had already single handedly given us a warm feeling about Georgia and its people.

Start Your Engines !

5th September 2011 – Armenian Embassy, Geneva, Switzerland

The visa run can only mean one thing - we're on the road again ! The Caucasus awaits us and we'll be bouncing around Georgia and Armenia looking for adventure and seeing what we can find. Hopefully the well-known tourist destination of Nagorno-Karabakh will be on the list as well but it's a different challenge this time - we're on a time limit. No African-style sitting around or week-long lounging just to charge up the batteries. Between our landing in Tbilisi and our taking off from Tbilisi, we have exactly 14 days. This will be hardcore. So let's see what happens. Watch this space...

Thank You !

Over the 13 months we have many people we'd like to thank - for the small things, for the big things, for everything...

In EGYPT - Thanks for Ruben and Natalie for the company, and for Ahmed for the tour of Alexandria !

In SUDAN - Thanks for Waleed and Mohammed for their "nothing's-too-much-trouble" style hospitality! You guys deserve the best in life and we hope that we will see you again!

In SOMALIA - Thanks for T's dad for wading through Geneva's red light district during his lunch break to send us the much needed dollars when we were immobile !

In KENYA - Thanks for Tom for his wonderful hospitality, to Natascha for her company and for taking us out to Ngong where I lost lots of money on the horses. I'd also like to thank Natascha and M for looking after me when I was at my lowest with the lip infection...

In UGANDA - Thanks to Mzungu Derek, Angela and the girls for their company in Murchison Falls, we had a wonderful time with you - all the best for your hostel in Entebbe and hope that we can sign the guestbook some day !

In CONGO - Thanks to Ismael and Beatrice for the breakfast and tour of Aru - best of luck for the school, it really is an inspirational project. Hopefully we will be able to come back to your some day.

In TANZANIA - Thanks for Freda for your company !! We may have had our differences in looking at things but hopefully we learnt from each other and it would be a pleasure to travel with you again someday !

In MALAWI - Thanks to Liam and Kathryn for their hospitality !

In MALAWI and ZAMBIA - A big thanks to T's parents for taking over the planning and taking us to possibly the most relaxing house in Malawi and possibly the best national park in Africa.

In ZIMBABWE, BOTSWANA, NAMIBIA, SOUTH AFRICA - Another big thanks to M's parents for their company and for believing in our judgement enough to not only come to Zimbabwe, but drive us all around it. And for putting up with two night buses in a row and that bowl of mopane worms!

In SOUTH AFRICA - Thanks to Christine and Nik for their great hospitality, and to the girls in Stellenbosch for putting is up at very short notice! Thanks also to the Davies family for putting us up and looking after us so well! Thanks to Lynette for taking us to the rugby game in Durban and the ensuing night out! And of course a massive thanks to the Strand Gang - Carl, "Kak Barman" Chris and Estelle for keeping us watered, Ivan for his wonderful hospitality and THAT enormous braai, Graham for his amazing tales of adventure and being T's partner in crime against Italian football, Jason for those deep late night conversations and that lift to Cape Town, Gerard for his company and lifts back in the dodgymobile and of course for impressing us with his snorting skills, Stefan and Ruann for putting up with us, Addie, Matthew and Lorraine for the day out at the beach.

In SWAZILAND - Thanks to Erno and Riku for sharing the ride to Mbabane ("Route not possible") and showing us around, leading us to Bombasos and to "Phoenix" for those enchiladas. Thanks to Laura for more company and taking us to Bholoja and for tales of the Umhlanga... One day, maybe you will really become Queen of Swaziland!

ALL ALONG THE TRIP - Thanks to all of you for your company and for the wonderful memories - Bast and Grant, Mav and Dixon, Rui, Sean, the Crazy Slovenian Motorbike Gang of Grega, Boris and Josko, Cole and Amanda.

And of course thank you to all of the Africans which made this trip what it was. We may not have spoken the same language as you, and if we did, we may never have known your names. We may have known you for a minute or for a day. But you have made this trip what it was, and it is for you that we want to return some day.

The End.. For Now...

16^th October-19^th October – Days 380-383 – Maputo, Mozambique and Johannesburg, South Africa

The final days are always tough. It doesn't matter how long the trip is, the final days are always days of lethargy mixed with energy. You want to fit in as many things as possible before going home but your mind is already on the plane. For us, after nearly 13 months, it's particularly tough. We've forgotten how to live a life of routine, we've forgotten how to have a home and do the same things day in, day out. Going to work, taking public transport along routes we know inside out, not having the stimulation of the new and unexpected are going to be difficult. Most of all, it'll be a return to Europe - not only are we going back to the continent and culture that we know well, but we'll be leaving a continent of mystery, excitement, and the unexpected. Africa has tested our nerves, tested our patience, enthralled and frustrated us. It's a continent that inspires the whole range of emotions and the prospect of going back to a continent which is bland and empty of the unexpected leaves us uninspired. The bus to work will be full of silence and apartment blocks. Looking out of the window we'll no longer see savannah, tropical forest, desert, unregulated commerce, buzzing markets where anything goes. The bus itself will not be full of noise and life, it will stop at the same place at the same time every day. For us, the culture shock will not have happened on the first day of the trip, but on the day after the last. But this is how life goes. The biggest challenge will not be how to get from A to B in some of the poorest and most disorganised countries in the world, nor will it be how to communicate with people who do not speak the same language as us or come from a totally different culture. The challenge will be reintegrating ourselves into a place which we know all too well and with people who have not lived what we have lived over the last year or so. Of course, we had a few days left and we were intending to make the most of it. And so we jumped into a Maputo-bound minibus at 4am from Tofo and headed back to Maputo. We found ourselves a cheap hotel to crash in, found ourselves a nightspot to watch live timbila music, a quite surreal James Brown-style singer, and wandered back, happy to be living our final days in this magical continent, at 3am.

The last minibus-taxi picture

The last "Waiting for something" pic. In this event I can't remember what it was...

The last "panoramic picture from Mozambique" picture. Maputo from the hotel.

The next day's minibus taxi ride back to Johannesburg was uneventful but we savoured it as our last long-distance trip. Our last evening meal on the walk from the intersection where we were dropped off by our Jo'burg local minibus was too, aside from a curious couple who noticed our backpacks lying on the floor next to our table. "We have noticed your bags", they told us, "and so we are supposing that you are not from here. Tell us, how do you like South Africa?". We were delighted to regale them with tales of our months here and how much we loved the country. They smiled, another couple who are very concerned with the reputation that their country, and I suppose their continent, has abroad. "We are always happy to hear that people have enjoyed our country! We hope that you have a good trip", they told us. And we were alone again, heading to the Brown Sugar hostel where we were to spend our last night.

We took Inna around the parts of Joburg that we had known last time we were here, and to an Ethiopian restaurant somewhere out in the suburbs where we had another typical long trek without a sure idea of where we were. People smiled and said hello as we walked past. I just couldn't imagine myself back home. That night, I couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the Ethiopian coffee, maybe it was the nerves about the return, maybe it was that I wanted to make the most of my final hours in Africa for some time. I know that I will be back some day, but when will that be?

Those dark glasses don't hide the pain! M chugs her way through her last Jo'burg cocktail

The last African Ethiopian meal

Admittedly cheesy. Do I look bothered?

The next day passed by and before we knew it, we were in a car headed from Johannesburg International Airport. The sky was black and the huge storm that broke out as we were on the road persuaded me that Africa was crying for our departure, as sad about this day as I was. The thought that our departure might be delayed crossed my mind but it would just be a case of putting it off for a bit. We had run out of money and our time was up. We waved Inna off on her flight and waited in the departure lounge in silence. The EgyptAir flight to Cairo was called and we disappeared into the night. Until the next time.

The final journey

T is busy plotting. Where next? And when will I be back here?

Having A Whale Of A Time

11^th October-16^th October – Days 375-378 – Tofo and Inhambane, Mozambique

And so we returned to Tofo.

Bamboozi Guest House

As good tourists sometimes do, we'd sorted out a few day activities from Tofu. Firstly, we arranged to go snorkelling with whale sharks. This is something that M wanted to do as far back as Djibouti. It was whale shark season in Mozambique, Bamboozi offered a snorkelling, and we were ready to go. We'd have to be up early and hop onto an inflatable boat to a place called "whale shark alley", quite an ominous sounding name although these creatures are docile and don't ruthless rip humans limb from limb. In short, unless we had an unexpected visitor in the form of a more carnivorous shark (which we were told was possible), we'd live to see another day. It seemed worth the risk. As Inna was swooning over one of the guides, we were fed stats about the creatures we were hopefully about to see. They could easily grow to 7 or 8 metres long and would swim around feeding on plankton (which seemed to me a bit of a contradiction as I've only grown to 1m86 despite eating rather more than plankton in my lifetime). We were sat on the edge of the speedboat, snorkel and mask at the ready, waiting for the shout to fall backwards into the water and marvel at these enormous animals.

Divers at the ready

"WHALE SHARK! GO!" came the call. I did just like on TV, fell backwards into the water and felt my mask and snorkel both slip off. I rose to the surface coughing seawater out of my lungs, readjusted my equipment and went under again just in time to see a hazy shadow disappearing off into the distance. The girls managed not to have a salty drink but didn't really see much either. A rather poor start by anyone's standards. The second shout came and I was careful to hold onto my mask and snorkel this time and ended up slightly disorientated, finding that I was looking straight into the faces of everyone else in the ground. I turned around to see what they were looking at only to see an enormous tail coming straight towards me, and that thing was BIG! Thankfully the tail didn't quite hit me (and if it had I think I'd have sent the next post from Madagascar) and we managed to follow the guy for quite a while as he went on his plankton hunting mission. The silence of the sea was a nice change from the group on the speedboat, as you just float smoothly to keep up with this animal that could probably beat you in a fight if it tried, but you somehow just don't think of that. The spectacle was just so impressive. A few more sightings occurred before we went back to shore happy. Inna invited the guide for a drink of course and took a bit of a niggling from us in the afternoon about it...

She must have been a bit shaken up by her lack of a holiday romance as, as few days later, she went out for a morning swim while M and I were struggling to get up and came back wailing. "Did he turn her down again?" I wondered. Actually it seemed that she had an unfortunate collision with a parasol and had ended up with a gash in her head. The ups and downs of travel.

The patient recovers courtesy of amateur First Aid

Our great return to Inhambane was for the dhow trip that we had lined up. We waded into the sea, hopped aboard and got poled out deep enough to rig up the sails and with the wind rippling against them we sailed off to and island offshore. As I'm writing this many months later I don't remember the name of the island or of the extremely friendly guide but I hope I'll be forgiven for that... Our boat contained a barbeque and some fish and the guide and captain whipped up a tasty grill for us at lunch after which we went wandering around the island which seemed to contain nothing but an old abandoned hotel and, bizarrely, a homeless guy who asked us for the leftover fish. Homeless isn't anything I've really considered as a career before although if it's in this setting, abandoning European standards of living may not seem such a bad idea. It's on the "to think about" list. Our guide told us tales ranging from the ecology of the island to his first experience driving a car ("I got in, reversed into a coconut tree and the car wouldn't work any more") and we had a delightful afternoon.

Pole man featuring playful local kids

La bella fa'niente

Dhow/Island

This was, naturally, followed by a return to Tofo for beer and piri-piri calamari on the beach, and a total failure to spend the night in Inhambane (for the second or third night in a row). But who cares, really? Finally, the next day, we were set to leave back to Maputo en route for Johannesburg Airport. The home leg of the trip was beginning.

We have survived!

The long walk back to the bus station

Big City Trip

11^th October – Day 375 – Inhambane, Mozambique

Less than an hour's minibus ride from Tofo is the Portuguese colonial town of Inhambane, maybe one of the most attractive towns that we've seen on the whole trip! History leaks out of its buildings, and the upkeep of the town is mixed with a laissez-faire African attitude that sees paint stripping from the walls and results in a very charming little place. In the centre are the market and bus stop, the centres of activity in Inhambane. Surrounding them are the old streets, a real pleasure to walk around.

Old street.

Another old street (pic. Inna)

Another old street... (pic. Inna)

Inhambane isn't the kind of town you'd spend several weeks in, mainly due to its small size, but it's a great place to spend a day or two. I know how small it is as I walked around it several times waiting for the girls to finish their interminable haggling sessions at the market for various souvenirs and also a huge pile of textiles, some of which were destined to become shirts and some of which were doubtless destined to sit in a pile for ages while the owner wonders what to do with them. Some of the most tourist-orientated vendors spoke English to cater to the majority tourist market of South Africans but with others we ended up speaking Spanish while we were replied to in Portuguese. It wasn't always easy but everyone eventually ended up understanding and with smiles and repeated utterances of "Tá bom" (which I suppose roughly means "that's good" but stand corrected by anyone who knows better...), business was concluded. Over dinner at a small place by the seafront, we thought it might be a nice idea to spend some more time here and we reserved a set of dorm beds in the attached hostel. We'd be back tomorrow, we said, although our hospice syndrome may well lead us to just staying in Tofo instead.

Tic-tic restaurant

Dogs have the right of way...?

After a final wander through the Art-Deco streets of Inhambane we headed back on a minibus to Tofo, ready to come back tomorrow or, failing that, in a few days to have a dhow trip to the neighbouring islands. Life is hard indeed.

Generic sunset picture #8742387234 (subset:Inhambane)