Mozambique

The spice route starts here....   Central Market, Maputo 

 Tuesday.  An uneventful border crossing brings Swaziland to a close with a whimper - there's not much to see on this side of the country, just mile after mile of desert scrubland.  I feel peeved that I couldn't ride through the game parks on the way out - for obvious reasons - and note that cars have three advantages:  better in foul weather, you get a radio, and you can keep the lions out.  For a bit longer.

The quiet border begets a quiet road into 'Moz', as the cool kids call it.  I'm feeling a little wary of the new country - especially after leaving the now-familiar setting of South Africa.  But this is just first-day nerves, and I felt the same arriving at Cape Town five weeks ago.

Negative feelings are something I'm always watching out for, monitoring and dealing with.  As I've explained before, alone in the helmet for hours at a time, I have to know which voices to listen to, and which to turn down - or off.   A new ingredient in this will be the likely side affects from my anti-malarial medicine.   I've known friends display anxiety after taking a similar Larium-based brand, so there's fun to come, I suspect.  Staying healthy (eating right, sleeping enough and getting my exercise) will keep my mind strong.  People go off when they neglect those basics.

I'm pretty relaxed as I arrive in Maputo, capital of Mozambique.   It's dusty - lots of sand blown from the nearby coast - and litter strewn.  This seems to be where surplus plastic bags retire.  I follow the evening traffic gently, slowly closing on the centre of the city and my GPS guides me to a hostel.  This one's full, so I find another and grab the last spot going - annoyingly, it's very expensive.  

Piqued at busting my budget, I'm staying only one night now.  At 7.30am Wednesday I go out for a look-see:  walking fast to get exercise, and to get around the nearby sights.

Down Lenin and up Karl Marx - not a slogan, just the ex-communist country street names.  An uninspiring spire pricks the blue heavens, and the city architecture lacks charm: big concrete edifices tower over more concrete.  It's interesting though, in a gruesome way.  Further on, I pick my way through the central market as the stall holders are opening up or laying out their wares.  This early, it's very peaceful.  I chat to Francisco next to his display of spices and he helps me with a few phrases - part Portuguese, part Spanish, part English.  The old lady shelling shrimps nearby is more grumpy, a fact her neighbour confirms with a twinkle.

Shafts of sunlight pierce the covers over the market alleyways; sellers slice open the shutters of their tiny shops.  I'm looking at some of the curios - wondering whether I ought to change my habit and start buying a few bits and pieces.  It'd be fun to have a bag full by the time I return to the UK.  On the other hand, I used to live near the Camden Market in London, and saw very similar looking pieces sold there!

It's mid-morning and I'm finally ready to go - fuel, air pressures checked, bill paid.  But my bank cards are playing up, and I have to resort to changing some hard currency.  It takes an hour - even at the local Barclays. Waiting patiently in the hot, stuffy branch office sweat runs down my back.  I'm in full riding gear and wishing I could just use the ATM as normal.  But that's not happening today, and I mustn't ride to remote towns without sufficient local currency. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

At last: I'm done.   I learn to love my GPS as it leads me a merry dance out of the city.  The mapping is out of date and I have to find alternatives to the streets that are now one-way.  One street is busy with minivans and lined with small market stalls, but this is the route I'm instructed to follow: the going is slow and a hundred eyes watch as I creep along with the traffic.  There's nothing to gain by pushing, and lots to lose, so I keep calm and carry on - enjoying the street scenes, and keeping an eye on my (air-cooled) engine temperature.

I'm a couple of hours out of the city by mid-afternoon.  Warned to be wary of police stops (and spurious fines), I've kept very carefully to the speed limits and other rules of the road.  With a bit of craft and guile I've not been stopped once today, which is good going.  A stop now would be simple curiosity from the official, but I keep a 'rabbit'  (a faster moving vehicle ahead) in sight anyway; and try to keep a truck blocking the sight of my approach for as long as possible.

The R408 branches right, and 33km later drops me at the edge of a lagoon.  I'm visiting the Praia de Balive, a lovely spot with great swimming.  I can gather myself here for 24hrs before the next stretch north.

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With sun, exercise and inexpensive food, this is much more comfortable than the basement cell I had yesterday.