Extremely interesting article/blog:

http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/africa/101213/wanderlust-taxi-queens-south-africa-aids

Dedicated to Maine adventures with T&L...

For the first time in a long time, I felt a little homesick yesterday morning. Maybe homesick is the wrong word - it wasn't a sad, depressed, melancholy homesick, but more of a nostalgic, reminiscing, bittersweet homesick. I jumped in the car, alone (and the tiniest bit hungover) to drive to Zumba and had a momentary jolt back to Saturday mornings at school, hopping in the car, going on adventures. Piling in sometimes one too many people deep, music blasting, emergency pit stops at Dunkin' Donuts along the way, always on some sort of bizarre mission, even if the mission itself was just to get off campus for a few hours and go on an adventure. A search for the best lobster rolls. A hidden beach. A pretty drive. A cute cafe. Life outside of college. Time and space to talk with someone you may have accidentally ignored the week before. And it's decompression time, thinking time, time to remind yourself that you ARE human and that normal people don't dedicate their lives to one sole thing (school, when you're a college student), time to regain your sanity. It's a sweet nostalgia I haven't really felt yet, a romanticization that comes with time and distance and the headspace to look back without a cynical eye

Mozambique is heaven. That's all. (Travel stories, part 2).

Portuguese is such a sexy language. I just want someone to read me bedtime stories or whisper sweet nothings in my ear in the romantic tongue.

After making our way back to Durban for a night, and a pretty gruelling 24 hours, Alice and I finally made it to Maputo, Mozambique. Since the bus route from Durban to Maputo was non-existent or since defunct, we found a cheap flight to Johannesburg less than 24 hours prior to our departure, spent the night (x-mas eve, no less!) in the airport, made it standby onto a bus to Maputo, and got there a full day earlier than anticipated.

One night in Maputo. Colorful, derelict colonial buildings. We spend less than a full day here, but I know that I like this city a lot already. What isn't there to like upon first glance? It's an african city, so yes, there's trash on the streets and hawkers and always some people catcalling you, but we're relatively ignored at least compared to Zambia, the people are a mix of shades and colors here, European-esque cafes, patisseries and restaurants spill out into the streets, and there's a vibrant energy that mixes Southern Africa's pulse with Europe's style. One night here, what to do? Dinner at a seafood market where you haggle and bargain for fresh fish, prawns, calamari, crabs despite the fact that you know they're likely ripping you off regardless of your negotiating skills. You round the corner and pick the restaurant or stall that you want to cook it. Simple, simple. Simple is best. Fish on the grill. Prawns with peri-peri (chillies). Crisp juicy fries. A waiter who barely speaks English. And the meal is perfect. The most perfect thing to have touched your lips in a long time. It might be that Zambia has no ocean access, but I have rarely had seafood that delicious.

Before...

And after!

* * *

We took a shuttle up to Tofo, a beach north of Maputo but still in southern Mozambique. I think I'm in love. Or in heaven. Tofo is one of the most gorgeous places I've ever been. At first, I attributed my amazement to my months of landlocked-ness, but it can't just be that; the beach is many kilometres long, stretches wider than Ogunquit, wider than an elephant's ass. It's only minimally inclined so you walk for meters and meters and the water only reaches mid-thigh. The waves are rough enough for bouncing over and diving under, but calm enough that you are rarely ambushed with mouthfuls of salty water. It's surprisingly warm, so despite a constant breeze you're not cold post-dip. An idyllic turquoise-blue, it imparts feelings of an isolated paradise, and despite the fact that this is surely their highest or busiest point of the year, the beach isn't overwhelmingly crowded.

Alice and I got our snorkelling fix too, which was something I was totally craving. It wasn't quite what I was expecting or used to in that they dubbed it a “water safari” and we went out looking for whale sharks, not fish. Whale sharks are breathtaking creatures. Mysterious and friendly, they are not quite endangered but threatened, and a lot about them is unknown. Apparently there are only about 1000 of them remaining (that they know of) and Tofo and the bay near Inhambane has the largest year-round concentration. Technically they're sharks but they're completely harmless to humans – they feed on zooplankton by opening their mouths and filtering water, and they can grow up to 20 meters long! The one we saw, followed and swam with was about 5 meters long and overwhelmingly huge as it is. Its fins had cartilaginous ridges that seemed as though they were formed from Fimo or Silly Putty and the spots and patterns on its back rivalled the most intricate leopard print. Colorful and delicate, they were big splotches of shades of brown encircled with darker and lighter complimentary colors. We would jump into the water, scramble to see the massive creature, split onto both sides of it and swim several or multiple minutes with it until it dove down. Dolphin fins and manta rays emerged out of the water at certain points, and the impending pressure, excitement and panic when viewing the animals was an adrenaline rush I'm not usually used to when it comes to snorkeling. We also got to jump in on the nearby reef and saw the jovial and colorful clownfish, angelfish, blue starfish and a multitude of other fish I couldn't name if you asked me.

Tofo beach

Me and Alice, relishing the beach!

* * *

The unh-tzz unh-tzz unh-tzz of the pounding bass until 7am shakes your soul and causes our cabana of a dorm to vibrate back and forth – soul-shaking at worst, a bizarre lullaby at best, indicative of a raging party and a joie-de-vivre at best. It can make it difficult to sleep but in an exhausted, sun-soaked state sleep comes easily.

* * *

The days at Tofo began to blend into each other: mornings of strong French press coffee, languishing over a book in the shade, reapplying multiple layers of sunscreen as we sprawled on our chitenges, waiting until our own sweat almost drowned us before running across the scorching sand – so fine it actually squeaked beneath our feet – making our way to the turquoise water that splashed in our faces, caked salt residue on our bodies, and left us with sexy beach hair.

I just have moments, specific images that come to mind, replaying on the backs of my eyelids: traipsing up sand dunes at night to get to the point of the beach that juts out, arriving at the top to find the moon illuminating the ocean, so bright you could almost read. The tides came in diagonally from either side and the reef several hundred meters out pushed them back, creating a trapezoidal shape not seen every day in nature.

New Year's Eve day was epic: some of the Peace Corps people we were hanging out with befriended an older Italian/South African couple who invited us to their rented house in Barra, a beach about 25 minutes up the road. They picked us up and we arrived at their house to find a plethora of snacks, about four coolers filled with booze, and chairs and a big tent to pack up and bring down to the beach. Oh, wait, also the hitch for not one, but TWO jet-skis that they let us play on. And did I mention they took the meat out of the freezer for a big post-beach braai (the South African word for a BBQ)? We were all in heaven. Picture this: cruising on a jet-ski in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Mozambique, a scorching hot cloudless day complete with a minor alcohol buzz, catching air, exhilaration soaring...it was other-worldly. The rest of the day only got better: BBQ-ing at the house of the Italians, drinking, talking, taking silly pictures, hanging out in their blow-up pool for adults. I don't know if I've ever had a better New Year's (although seafood dinner in VT and the beach in Thailand DO come close...)

Braaiing with the Italians

* * *

Cashews are like peanuts in Mozambique, both in their ease of acquisition and in their cost. Young boys scour the beach for tourists to buy their big bags laden with roasted cashews. Of course, I need to add salt to mine, but apart from that they're perfect – fresh, sweet, smokey – and only $3 a bag! The perfect mid-afternoon snack before indulging in fresh seafood brought in that day by local fisherman. As I've said before, I really, really like Mozambique...

* * *

A 5am goodbye to Tofo

It's a melancholy feeling, the end of a vacation. All the planning and time and thought and excitement swirling slowly down the drain, and you go back home only left with the empty carcass of the trip. Leaving this vacation is going to be hard – it's exponentially more beautiful, more exotic and more fun than recent trips I can remember. At the same time though, my parents are coming in March which is certainly something to look forward to, and it'll be great to have the whole ZamFam together again. Happy New Year! And 2011, bring it onnnnnnnn!

Ponies on the Beach? Whatever works... (travel stories, part 1)

As promised, an epically long blogpost is here. I actually hate writing such long posts because as a reader I hate having to slog through pages and pages of writing – I get bored, distracted, annoyed, whatever – but with almost 3 weeks of backpacking through South Africa and Mozambique behind me, I feel like there's no other option apart from epically long. Bare with me. I'll post it in two parts – both to give you time and space to read it, and to stop myself from having to sit down for a full 3 hours to write it all. South Africa's first...

I don't think I realized how much I missed big city life. Or exploration. Or walkability of a city. Landing in Durban, South Africa (SA), Alice and I were flabbergasted by the overwhelming greenness of the surroundings, the steep hills of the city that *gasp* actually give a view of the city (Lusaka is totally flat), and the beautiful houses not necessarily encompassed by tall stone walls. Durban has a Miami Beach art deco vibe and the largest Indian population outside of India which makes for an interesting mix. We only stayed the night there before hopping into our little blueberry of a car and making the 8-hour trek south to Coffee Bay.

The Coffee Shack (our hostel) was precisely what they claim it to be – a backpacker's paradise. Clean, tropical, conducive to conversation with mid-sized tables, little enclaves, hammocks strewn in the shade for lounging and vegging, as well as flowers, activities and friendly people aplenty. I witnessed an older wrinkled woman in hippy-ish low-crotched gauchos encouraging a blonde-topped two-year old, fat, happy toddler to do sun salutations. It was one of the cuter things I've seen in the water. Coffee Bay made up the more active part of our trip. The mountains buttressing the ocean there weren't jagged and angery, but softly rounded off in plush green. At certain points they just fell off. Ended. Disappeared into empty air that toppled into the ocean. The scenery surrounding Coffee Bay is a mix of Ireland's green fields, Australia's plump sheep, a rainforest's lush jungle, all blended together in a kaleidoscope contained by the cliffs. It pulls me from one continent to another until I'm totally discombobulated and I don't know what part if the world I belong to.

Alice and I hiked to Hole in the Wall, a massive striated rock with a perfectly symmetrical hole washed out of the middle, waves lapping through the center, now we're Koh Phi Phi, Thailand, or Ha Long Bay, Vietnam. We had pre-signed up for a horseback riding trip after our long hike (not thinking things through too clearly...). Parts of the ride were sluggish and sleepy, but it was refreshing to be on an animal again, and whenever we trotted or cantered I was electrified with an exhilarating jolt of energy. We ran the horses on the windy, salty beach at sunset, then walked them up a nearby mountain for panoramic views. I turned behind to Alice and said, “This is too much beauty for one day. I can't take it.”

* * *

The huts around the Wild Coast, particularly near Coffee Bay, are simultaneously awesome and baffling. Although people tell me that the Eastern Cape is the poorest province in SA, the huts are nowhere close to as dismal or primitive as those in Zambia. In Zam, it's an anomaly to find a concrete hut – most are made from mud. On the Wild Coast, almost all of them are concrete and they have corrugated tim roofs instead of thatched straw ones. Moreover, there must have been a recent shipment of bright turquoise and soft coral paint, because if the huts aren't white then they're one of the above two colors. As a result, the lush green undulating landscape is dotted with bursts of color. It imparts a festive sentiment, and I imagine indirectly lifts people's moods. How can you be bitter and morose when you live in a turquoise house?

* * *

Do you think the goats look both ways before crossing the street? The rate at which they bound across and narrowly escape, then jeeringly look behind them with what I imagine is a little giggle, I'd have to say yes.

* * *

I thought I liked Coffee Bay, but Port St. John's may have won me over even more. The jungle-and-mountains-and-ocean combo seems even more exotic and decadent than the wanna-be Ireland-ness of Coffee Bay. Our one full day there Alice and I were blessed with the gift of a gorgeous sunny and hot day (it had been surprisingly chilly thus far on our vacation) and took advantage of it by driving to the beach 4 km away, then walking a short 30 minute hike into a nature reserve to find a sprawling long beach, deserted save for a few families lounging in the shade. The slope of the beach was oh-so-gradual and the ocean was filled with many long waves as a result. The water was a miz somewhere between Maine and Thailand – colder than I imagined it would be, but refreshing enough in the heat of the clear South African day that it wasn't numbing.

Something I learned and embraced this vacation, and definitely lived out to the fullest in Mozambique, is that to give in to the presence of sand everywhere – in your bag, between your toes, wedged in the crevices of your ears, caked to the back of your neck – is a wonderful think. Instead of fighting the inevitable, you merely accept that it will be there and that you'll get it out at some point, hopefully in a warm shower, but you never know. Sometimes beggars can't be choosers.