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| Booze and mixers for the beach |
I'm not a big 'beach holiday' person and
riding a heavy, heavily-laden motorcycle on soft sand is cruel - to both of us. So, whilst the islands off the coast are a
magnet to the backpacking crowd, I'm riding steadily north and letting the
tropical getaways get away. Vilanculos
becomes just an overnight stop, rather than a pier to pacific wonders.
The miles tick by steadily: I'm in no rush, as the logical stopping
points for each day are mapped clearly and reached easily. These are half-day rides, punctuated by gas
stations, small town and potholes, lots of potholes. Few bends mean the riding is a little bland,
actually, and I have to look out at the passing countryside for inspiration. A road sign warning of elephants gets me
hopeful, but it's a false alarm. The
occasional Baobab tree is amusing (they look like they're growing upside down),
but it's pretty thin entertainment and I forget to stop to photo them. |
| A lonely baobab tree |
Back in the bush, at the end of sandy
trails leading out to the main road, small groups of thatched huts hide their
occupants from sight. Often there is a
pile of neatly stacked firewood for sale, sacks of charcoal, or racks of reeds...
but nobody is around to make a deal.
Sensible folks stay out of the midday sun; but I'm an Englishman, so
different traditions apply.
Riding in the middle of the day is a bad
idea, usually: it's hotter, obviously, and the light is too fierce for
attractive photos. However, in
Mozambique the schools finish at about 1pm (I presume they start very early),
and so I get to people-watch for the rest of the afternoon.
The sandy verge on either side of the road
become busy. Smart white and blue school
uniforms contrast with the lovely bright colours worn by the adults. No pastel colours or subtle seasonal shades
here. Among the women, particularly,
scarlet and yellow are common; but any primary colour is popular, in
combinations that stand out against the faded, sun-beaten landscape. That flag of Mozambique makes more sense now.
Roadside vendors come alive at the passing
afternoon footfall and suddenly the dusty towns have a slight buzz and bustle
that grows as the heat dissipates.
Pickups (Toyota 4x4s) carry people home from work, or the market;
flatbeds crowded to the maximum. The
occupants watch me, curious about the bike and quick to wave or smile as I pass
them. It's the same in the gas stations;
wherever I pause for a few moments, folks are inquisitive and
enthusiastic. I never feel threatened or
unwelcome here, as it happens.
A couple of days pass and I progress north;
folding the map this way and that to stay on the page. It's so dry here, there's not much being
hawked to the passing motorist. Well,
except when I pass dozens of stalls loaded with juicy-looking pineapples. By the time I decide to buy one for dinner
the stalls have passed, and I'm left feeling foolish - no question of driving
back to find them. This is the common
complaint of road travellers: we don't stop, until it's too late.
Now I'm cutting west, along the belt of
road that squeezes Mozambique's middle and divides south from north. Away from the coast, then, and towards the
cooler inland regions. Since crossing
into the tropics the temperatures have risen to the low-30's, so I'm pleased to
be gaining a bit of altitude.
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| Reeds stacked for sale - thatching is very this season |
For my final stop in Mozambique I have one
night in Chimoio; it's a cross-roads kind of town, and close to the border with
Zimbabwe. There's a good mix of
travellers too, in the comfortable hostel guest house. I'm feeling like things are going well, and
manage to complete quite a few 'chores'.
Washing the bike is a good example, and it confirms that everything
looks in good working order, which is a relief: my direction tomorrow will be
determined by whether I need to visit the mechanic in Tete, or can continue
west into Zimbabwe.
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| Maputo architecture: communist legacy |
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