Slowly slowly packing up in the near-empty campsite. Pity we missed the NYE mayhem here less than a week ago.
Up at 0730 and feeling fine and fresh. An unusual but very welcome feeling. Rashers and eggs on the skottel again straight away accompanied by the obligatory mug of coffee (i.e. tin of 2M). In spite of our gastronomic enthusiasm we were far more reluctant to pack up and get going. The fine day would surely have been better spent splashing in the froth and wooing German lasses instead of heading back south and getting return miles under our belt. A slow pack up so was followed by a very quick swim at Tofo beach. An incredibly strong cross shore rip led to more flailing really than swimming, but refreshingly challenging nonetheless.
Looking to the beach from the campsite (Fatima's Nest) bar. Not too shabby.
On the way back to the mainland proper we stopped off at Guinjata beach once again to meet the Kennet's (?) who were going jetskiing and tubing for the day. How could we resist taking the frankly grossly overpowered Sea Doo RXTs through clearly oversized breaking waves for the day? As it turned out the tubing was great fun, but only for 120 secs at a time whereafter each spin begin a gruelling fight for survival. Hang on at all costs, despite the forearm cramping, abdominal pounding and groin busting. We decided to call it quits when Chris was catapulted vertically, toes over head, executing a flawless 180 degree pike while being towed through a terrifying breaker. Better him than me.
Having wisely headed ashore after that unintentional vertical launch we racked the jetskis back up on the trailers and polished off some chicken pregos at the beach bar. The overhead sun was far too punishing to consider hitting the road just yet so we took the opportunity to pre-hydrate with some cool beverages.
Guinjata beach.
The sun having past its zenith we made the call we were stalling all this while. Time to hit the road. Home. Awww. In no time at all we were waving goodbye to the Inhambane peninsula and back on the trusty EN1 motorway, heading south once more. By god was the sun hot though, far too much for the notoriously underpowered A/C of the LandCruiser. We quickly discovered that a sarong fashioned from a beach towel was possibly the best defence a gentleman could muster against the sloppy personal discomfort of sweaty seats.
We also found that the combination of extreme heat, dehydration and glassy smooth and freeflowing motorway dealt us another unwelcome obstacle: sleepiness. To prevent either of us (ultimately both of us) from dozing off we stopped around every 30 - 60 mins at roadside spazas to pick up some ice-cold refreshments. It was too hot even to stretch the legs so we'd drink up as we rolled. Cruising out of the coconut district and into the peri-peri district I picked up a bottle of homemade produce from some withered mother by the roadside. The clutch of eight or so little ones that tailed her out of the grass shack begged me to buy the biggest bottle for her sake, and lord knows she needed the few bob. So I did, and I haven't been brave enough* to open it yet.
Goodbye to the coconut plantations of Inhambane.
So after a long hard and very sleepy day on the road we took the wee turnoff again at Chidenguele, deciding to sleep again at Sunset Lodge, as we had done a few days previous. After trundling along the 15km or so of dirtroads and impossibly sandy hills we reached the lodge only to be greeted at the front door by two police 4x4s. The local chubby police chief and his right hand man must have been doing their rounds and collecting their bonuses as they were in great spirits and having a right oul laugh with the hefty female lodge owner. For some reason, perhaps even genuine conviviality, the chief jumped up to greet us and shook us both warmly by the hands as we approached the lodge. What a welcome.
A quick dip after a long day on the road. Splendid.
Beertime.
Knowing the territory we quickly parked up and pitched tent, this time a little further away from the double-family of rowdy ill-disciplined kids and depressingly uninteresting parents that flanked us during the previous stay. With our precious time in Moz rapidly running out we decided to indulge in a mini beer tasting session at the bar for posterity's sake. They were out of Manica unfortunately, but did stock the unusual pale lager Raiz which we hadn't come across yet. Not bad stuff and a nice change from the watery lagers we'd been cooling down with all week. Of course the standard 2M was sampled, as well as the three styles by Laurentina; Clara, Preta and Premium, which are far superior in my mind.
The Laurentina range. The dark amber dunkel style Preta was a winner in my books.
Crayfishes for supper again, though this time they were less than impressive. Certainly undersized and could've done with a few more weeks of bottom feeding for extra bulk. While waiting for our meal and in between those prolonged bouts of mutual silence at our table (the ones you only get at the end of a very long and very hot day) I partook in a bit of entertaining eavesdropping. A very colourful Motley Crew had assembled at a bench nearby and were sharing beach stories from the day. Nationalities were mixed, with some definite Natal South Africans in there a few Brits and maybe an Italian or two, all quite young ish. Quite a large gang to be out here in this family-orientated lodge in the middle of nowhere. While listening one voice and accent kept niggling me. I get very frustrated when I can't pinpoint a person's accent and this one was really eating at me. There was quite a strong cockney twang on a lot of his words but the words didn't flow like a true Londoner's. Indeed, though the English language usage was absolutely perfect but an awful lot of the pronunciation seem forced. I could ascertain that the individual was perhaps not originally from England but had spent the majority of his life there by the strength of his language. But why did such an atypical voice sound so familiar? I couldn't fathom it. A closer piece of detective work was required. However after staring with squinty eyes at the chap for 15 minutes it very slowly came to me, and then clanged me in the face.
"Excuse me. Are you George?"
"Yes?"
"George Dimitroff? Who once worked in Airbus Toulouse?"
"Ah, yes?"
"I'm Padhraic. O' Connor"
"Ahhh. Yes."
And so it continued. George and I had both worked in Airbus in 2004 for the same stint though I really only knew him through the regular and highly debaucherous parties we threw or attended back then during the Golden Era. The very last time I spoke with him was to reimburse him for criminal damage to the elevator in his apartment building after a social gathering. Time wounds all heels however and there are no hard feelings. The poor bugger landed in South Africa about 10 days earlier with the intention of driving from Pretoria up to Tofo for that wild NYE party that we missed by 4 days. The 4x4 they had rented began to show some pretty ominous signs while they were cruising along the tarred EN1 about 250km north of Maputo. Of a sudden she began losing bucketloads of oil. Recognising the symptoms (though not the cause) the troupe of four (?) stocked up on oil at a petrol station that was luckily in the vicinity. When the sump ran dry over a half hour of driving they decided to pull off the road and find someplace to lay their heads for the night. With newly replenished oil she barely crawled the 15km to Sunset Lodge, perhaps the only real habitation for a 60km radius, before the sump was dry again. One week later, and a very quiet NYE celebration in between, they were still stuck in the lodge with a banjaxed jeep. Holiday come and gone. What's worse was his flight was in 2 days from Pretoria and he was still a long way from civilisation. No choice but to start hitching the next morning. Some craic.
Georgie Peorgie.
After some commiserations (though it really wasn't the worst place in the world to be stranded to be honest) I returned to my now cold crustaceans and now warm beers. After all was put away neatly in the belly we hit the sacks. Check the watch. 20:55. Lovely!
*I was brave enough to open it yesterday. I'm certainly not man enough to finish it.
