Maputo

The 7 hour trip from Tofo to Maputo was smooth - surprisingly no bus breakdowns involved. We checked into our hostel no problem, and headed out for dinner. 2 blocks down the road, we were stopped by 2 police officers with semi-automatic machine guns. "Show us your passports," the one said. Les produced hers while I silently said to myself "fuck, the travel guide said to carry your passport in this country," and I informed the officer that I didn't have it with me. "Oh no this is big trouble," he said. The law of our country is that tourists must always carry their passport - otherwise how would we know who is here illegally?" Clearly, yes, there is a big problem here with illegal immigrants, especially Canadian ones, in Mozambique. Always the quick thinker, Les offered to run back to the hostel and grab my ID, and took off before the police really had time to figure out another way to get a bribe out of us, and I stood there in virtual custody.

As she left, subtle threats entered the conversation. "You will have to come to the police station with us, this is a very big problem." As always, I just smiled, apologized profusely for being a dim witted tourist, and played the game. "No problem," I said, "I completely understand the law and I'm very sorry I forgot and of course I will be happy to come to the police station with you. Would you like a cigarette? What is your name? Ahh yes Mozambique is a beautiful country." By this time they probably figured I had no clue what was going on, so out came the bluntness. "My friend, I am very hungry. I have been working since 8 this morning and I finish again at 8 tomorrow morning. This job is shit... They only pay me $100 per month. Can't you please give me some money so I can eat?"

Stepping out of my shoes for a minute I realize how bizarre this was, a police officer pleading with me as if he were a beggar. I felt really bad for the guy and the state of the country as a whole; if a person with a government job is having a hard time, how bad is it for the multitudes of unemployed? Its the story of most of Africa, unfortunately.

Les came to my rescue, literally running down the street to meet us. The officer made the obligatory glance at the document, we shook hands, and were on our way. Dinner at a great Italian restaurant. Ahhh... we're getting closer and closer to those Western comforts I've done without for 6 months.

The next day we spent the morning on the net with some of the fastest internet I've been on in a long time (and believe me, fast is relative when you've been on the net in Malawi for 3 months. Home is so close I can feel it! In the afternoon we did a bit of sight seeing, walking over to an artists commune to see some really great sculptures and paintings. It inspired me to do some sculpture with a lot of metal and whatnot when I get home. We had lunch at an authentic (relative term!) Thai restaurant, which Les was ecstatic about, Thai being her favourite food, checked out a garden by the waterfront and arrived at the natural history museum in time for them to tell us it's closed. After dinner at a local place of authentic Mozambican hamburgers and fries, we broke out the cards and played drinking Texas-hold em' (poker) all night. All in all it was one of the best days I've had in a long time. Until of course Les and I had a conversation about 'things' and the next morning we decided we can't be together.

I still don't know how to treat this subject publicly - some of you may think its nobody's business, and maybe you're right. But I have never been a person to hide things about my life and I think life is richer when you're able to talk about these kind of things. I want to share this aspect of my experience here eventually because it has been an inextricable and beautiful part of my journey, but I want to do it in a way that is fair and accurate and of course I'll need Les to be comfortable with it. So if I can figure all that shit out, I'll talk about it eventually.

That brings us to the fancy hotel. As it was to be our last day together, I thought it would be as good a time as ever to get ourselves out of hostels and into a really nice hotel for a bit of splurging. So we checked into the Cardoso Hotel for $140 a night (a fortune in Africa) and enjoyed some amenities - a hot shower for example; more towels and pillows than I knew what to do with; a balcony overlooking the Bay; and of course, satellite TV!!!

Conveniently, we were across the street from the natural history museum so we took that in. The words grotesque and diabolical came to mind very quickly. The central atrium of the building was filled with stuffed animals - lions, elephants, a giraffes, etc. - all once living animals that have become sad victims of taxidermy. And filled with a musty smell reminiscent of the equally bizarre national museum of Namibia. The travel guide boasts that it is probably the only museum in southern Africa with a collection of elephant fetuses!

In the evening we again decided to splurge. We split a bottle of really good red wine on the balcony and watched the sun set. Then we went off to dinner at really nice restaurant on the waterfront (the name eludes me). While sitting at the bar for a quick cigarette, glass of wine in hand (you couldn't smoke at the table, which is unusual in Africa,) Les came to see me with a big devilish grin on her face, one that I will never in a million years forget, and said "Your dinner is served." The bartender just look at me with my big smile and said "You have a pretty nice life bro." He was right.

As an appetizer we had mussels in a garlic-cream sauce, I had Zambezian style chicken, which is surprisingly similar to Canadian barbecued chicken, prawns, calamari and a whitefish. Mmm, delicious. We managed to stumble home in time for a 3rd bottle of wine. I found it mostly un-consumed in the bathroom the next morning. Gooood times. We ordered room service, a first for both of us, and ate our omelets on the balcony, overlooking the city. Unfortunately it was now time to return to reality so we checked out and did some errands. As the universe would have it, bus timetables would see Les leaving the day after, so we managed one more day together. Like a couple of crazy kids, we just decided to have another great day, including another dinner at another fancy restaurant. Tonight was steak for me, and prawns for Les, with clams and seafood ravioli appetizers. Seriously, if you love cheap seafood, make the trek to this amazing country.

At 6:30am the next morning I put Les into a cab and that was that. We cried, a lot.

The rest of the day I was pretty much in a daze but I didn't want to be at the hostel, so I decided to walk around the city snapping pictures. I came across the botanical gardens, which has fallen into an intermediate stage of disrepair. At the West end of the park is what I can only guess is an aviary, giant and dilapidated; a sad statement on decay and yet immensely beautiful. The walls and the ceiling have started to fall down, but the gardens inside are thriving and beautiful. You can see the city skyline through the rusting girders. Although I clearly wasn't supposed to be in there, I climbed through a wall and did a bit of exploring. I ended up sitting in there for almost an hour, contemplating life in solitude (something I haven't had in a long while). Unfortunately I reached no conclusions, came no closer to an understanding of the world, in the process.

After this I proceeded to city hall and the old Portuguese fort, two unremarkable buildings, before arriving at the real heart of Maputo - the shopping mall (thankfully, I'm kidding). The rest of the afternoon I just wandered the streets, stumbling upon the beautiful train station, and basking in the phenomenally dichotomous architecture of a city caught between African, European and Latin cultures.

Although I assure you my opinion is not shared by all, I love this city's beauty. I love that Portuguese is the primary language, and that Portuguese culture, including the ridiculously good bread, has stuck around. I love sidewalk cafes and restaurants in every neighbourhood and the fact that people drink coffee, a far cry from Malawi. That culture is reflected in the architecture, which is often European. The architecture is also reflective of the country's struggle for liberation from their oppressors. I freely admit to knowing nothing about the struggle, but my guess is that the communists were welcomed here with open arms during the Cold War. The street names - Ho Chi Minh, Mao Tse Tung, Vladimir Lenine and Salvador Allende betray that fact. Maybe its just because I'm a political scientist at heart, but I get excited being in a place that was caught up in the ideological struggle between East and West.

The reality of the language also means that Mozambique has close ties with Brazil. Now Africans are all freakin' good dancers to begin with, but when you pair them up with the Latin Americans, holy shit look out, you'll get a pretty good vibe in the city. Now this is the part where Les calls my bluff - we didn't actually do any dancing or see any dancers, but I know that 'Marabenta' is here and I like it.

On top of everything, the architecture is still what gets me most. Stately colonial European buildings share wide, straight street-fronts with new and modern Western-style buildings, while ugly, decrepit, Soviet-style egg-carton housing blocks towering over them in the background, complete with laundry hanging from every second window. What was really a perk for me is that I didn't feel like everyone was watching me all the time. Maputo is close enough to South Africa and filled with enough white Portuguese descendants that I didn't feel like it was risque to be white (compared to Lilongwe when I was eyeballed every day walking to work). The city took hold of me very quickly, and I love it, eyesores and all.

Alas, all good things come to an end and I jumped on the bus the next morning - although I very nearly didn't. Admittedly, there was some drowning of the sorrows the night before, complete with drinking games and my first experience with a ridiculous shot that involves snorting salt and squirting lemon juice in your eye. Maybe for that reason or maybe because my alarm sucks, I missed the wakeup call. For some reason I happened to open my eyes about 20 minutes before I was supposed to meet the bus. I packed in about 2 and whipped up a cab driver into a frenzy in order to get there in time to remember this is Africa and nothing happens on time.

10 minutes into the ride the bus started beeping, which is never a good thing, and we had to pull over. It took the driver about an hour to figure out that it was fine to drive so we just kept on truckin' to Pretoria, South Africa. That is until 30 k outside of Johannesburg. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a major problem with the bus, we're leaking oil." So we sat by the side of the highway for 2 hours waiting for the bus from Pretoria to fetch us. We got there at 10pm, 15 hours after starting, and 7 hours behind schedule. Opening my bag, I found it was all wet because my body wash had exploded all over... but it smells great!!!

So I fly outta here in 3 days, and although I don't have a connection from Madrid to North America at the moment (working on it, while cursing airlines and the peak season), I'm confident I'll be back safe and sound on August 2nd latest. For the next few days I plan to do a whole lot of nothing except enjoying fast internet and maybe seeing a movie or two. Peace out.

Lesley's Inaugural Post!

I've been pestering Lesley, my partner in crime, for ages now to write a guest blog. To my surprise, she actually agreed to do it today. Here is her masterpiece!!!

- Mike

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From Malawi to Mozambique
(How it took 3 days to travel 1000km)


Looking at maps of Africa, things look deceptively simple. There is a nice, big-looking road that takes you from Lilongwe (Malawi) to the border crossing at Zobue (Mozambique), and down to Tete. From there, there is yet another nice, big-looking road that takes you straight to Chimoio, which is a good 2/3rds of the way to where we are headed: a small ocean-side village called Vilanculos, where we plan to be beach bums and not much else. "We can make it to Chimoio in a day!" says Mike, eternally an optimist. "Then half a day to Vilanculos... we'll be on the beach eating crab in 2 days baby! I promise!"

No such luck. What the maps don't show you are potholes. Nor do they warn you about the reliability of African minibuses.

So, full of the aforementioned optimism, we set off bright and early. We packed ourselves onto a minibus heading from Lilongwe to some town (name forgotten), where we could transfer to another minibus that would take us to the border, where we could catch another minibus to Tete, where we could catch another minibus to Chimoio. Easy.

Minibus # 1 picked its way for hours along the 'big-looking' road, swerving perilously around the man-sized potholes (I exaggerate, but only a bit) - when suddenly there is a loud beep sound coming from the bus, and it grinds to a halt at the side of the road. This is breakdown #1. We all pile off the bus, the bus driver calls for a new minibus to come get us, and we sit in the scorching sun and wait. At long last, minibus #2 comes and rescues us, and we're on the road again. We stop and hop into Minibus #3 (where some guys tried to convince me to give them my camera... uh... no thanks) and we set our sites on the border, more than few hours behind schedule.

We cross the border without too much fuss, and hop into Minibus #4, which unexpectedly stops and transfers us to Minibus #5, which again makes slow progress along the beaten-up roads. Mike and I are dozing in the back (with someone else's children on our laps) when we are roused by that foreboding beeping sound again. Breakdown #2; we are out of petrol. A bicycle emerges out of nowhere, and someone hops on to cycle to the nearest gas station, plastic jug in hand. Sitting on the side of the road in the pitch dark, Mike and I decided that Chimoio is no longer looking like an option, so we start looking though our guidebook for places to stay in Tete. It sounds like the armpit of Africa, and so it is. We arrive eventually, and make our way through the concrete city to a place to rest for the night. The room consisted of 2 horribly uncomfortable metal cots, 1 broken sink that flooded the bathroom, one seatless toilet, and one giant giant cockroach. Mmmm.

The next morning we got up at 5 and headed to the bus station, where we discovered that the only bus to Chimoio had left 2 hours earlier. Not relishing the idea of staying in the lovely Tete for a moment longer, we opted for some hitchhiking. We lucked out and found an 18 wheeler willing to give us a lift, so we climbed up and made ourselves comfortable in the back of the cab, perching on the driver's bed. We spent the rest of the day picking our way along the road at a maximum speed of 60 mph, but at an average speed of about 5. But sitting on a bed is significantly more comfortable than sitting on a Minibus, so I'm not complaining.

Eventually we made it to Chimoio, where we slept for a few hours. At this point I am wondering, "Where is my beach?! Where are the promised crabs?! Damn you and your optimism Mr. Pietrzak!!!" We awake at 2 am to catch bus #6, which leaves at 3am for Vilanculo. Cue breakdown #3. Sitting on the side of the road, again, listening to the beeping sound, again, we watched as our bus driver disappeared under the bus to locate the problem. "We'll be sleeping here tonight" one of the passengers said to me. Looking down the stretch of highway and seeing nothing in either direction, I found myself wishing that I had brought my tent.

20 minutes later, the bus driver emerges from under the bus, oil covered, and orders everyone to return to their seats. "What happened?" I ask, to which he responds something about a broken pipe that carries the diesel. The work of potholes, I assume. He says he thinks he's got it fixed. "Will it hold?" I ask. "Let's find out." Clearly I look skeptical, so he says "Do you know how to fix a bus?" Point taken, so I sit down and shut up.

The trip continues without incident, when without warning the bus stops at the side of the road, and Mike and I are ordered off. The bus driver points at a pickup truck and informs us that it will take us the rest of the way to Vilanculo. So, we pile on in and arrive - tired, dirty, and windswept - in Vilanculo. And it only took 6 minibuses, an 18 wheeler, and a pickup truck. And 3 very long days.

Throwing our packs on our backs, we start the walk under the afternoon sun to our hostel, when a 4x4 stops and offers us a lift to our hostel. And so begins our next adventure, but I'll leave that one for Mike.

- Les

Best news I've heard all day

Well I'm in a shit-eating-grin kind of good mood today on account of the news Lesley and I got this morning. We had a meeting with the head of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees in Malawi yesterday, and some of his staff. It was a meeting to 'get to know us', to talk about what the organization does, and to see if we would 'fit' into a role.

It didn't seem to hurt our chances that everyone at the office was in business attire and I was sporting sandals, jeans, a shirt that showed off my 14 chest hairs and a 5 day beard. It turns out that because we're both so lovable, they want us. Sweeeet. What does this mean? Essentially, we're both working in a refugee camp of over 8,000, mainly Rwandans and Congolese. In all of the possible scenarios that I imagined vis-a-vis volunteer work, I could not have envisioned a better outcome. I am ridiculously excited to have the opportunity to do something that matters greatly to me.

Although we're likely going to be flying by the seat of our pants, working wherever the need for that day is, in general I will be doing case work, interacting directly with the camp residents. Tasks like investigating alleged cases of say, a Hutu harrassing a Tutsi (the two main ethnic groups in Rwanda that don't like each other very much) or seeking out people that might be eligible for scholarships in the US. Lesley will also be working in the camp, working with committees of refugees that deal with women's issues. For example HIV/AIDS education and teaching job skills. Did I mention I'm excited? I was born for this shit.

Well, we're off to sign the paperwork now, and to find a place to rent. Tomorrow, it's off to the lake for a weekend of fun in the sun; one last getaway before we get knee-deep into the chaos. Love it.

Leavin' Las Cape Town

Tomorrow I enter a new phase of my trip, leaving the relative prosperity and familiarity of South Africa to discover what will surely be a very different, more impoverished Africa that is less affected by the 'West' and more traditional. I've signed up for a 7 day tour of Southern and Central Namibia. Although I'm loathe to be on camper with other tourists for that long, the itinerary matched almost exactly what I wanted to get out of this leg of the trip; and having everything arranged for you is a hell of a lot easier and cheaper than renting a car. Not to mention having a knowledgeable guide will allow me to get more out of this.

So what have I been up to in Cape Town for the last few days? After the penguins, Lesley and I spent a day on a wine tour. The region around Cape Town and neighbouring Stellenbosch is very hospitable for making wine. It also one of the most gorgeous landscapes I've ever seen (anyone seeing a trend here?) For a total cost of about $50 each, our very knowledgeable guide took us to 5 architecturally impressive wineries to taste a total of about 35 champagnes, wines and ports. It was just Les and I, which was nice, and we had perfect weather that day. We started by walking through the bowels of the area where they process the grapes, glass of champagne in hand at 9:30 am, which was bizarre, learning how wine is made. I felt incredibly posh. By the end of the day I was enveloped in a cloud of absolute blissful oblivion - what I imagine taking Soma would be like.

We had a great pasta lunch overlooking one of the vineyards. At the next winery, owned by the 5th richest man in S. Africa, we enjoyed some fresh olives in a building so beautiful that Lesley has decided she will buy at the earliest opportunity. We ended off, slightly tanked, at a spot where they not only allow you to choose your last 6 wines from a list of about 40, but they let you sample their local cheeses, from Blue to Parmesan to Havarti to Sundried Tomato Goat's cheese. Complete Heaven. I managed to get away with trying each one about 9 times before they stopped me. In my defense, we did end up buying half of everything they sold including some amazing sweet chilli spread that I'm still having on fresh bread every morning. Seriously I'm way too spoiled and need to get out of here. Despite being very drunk, we got the guide to drop us off at a restaurant he recommended, 'Jimmy's Killer Prawns' (Prawn = large shrimp), where we kept the party alive with another bottle of wine, a helping of oysters, and my main course of Hake (a white fish), Queen Prawns and the best calamari I've ever had. Have i mentioned that the seafood here is out of this world? Oh, and they put this spice on all the french fries which makes them taste 10 times better than normal. I'll have to figure out what that is.

So the next day we woke up late (obviously) and took the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain (about 1,000 m high). The result was a 360 degree view of the city and some pretty amazing pictures. We attempted to hike to the highest point of the mountain but that was cut short as Les wasn't feeling well so we headed home.

The next day was my turn to be sick as a dog. Not literally - that would be weird - but ya I really don't have my sea legs. We signed up for a shark dive that took us to 'Shark Alley' about 2 hours north of Cape Town. After only 20 minutes on the boat, we arrive at a very small rocky outcropping, an atoll, if you will, that was home to 60,000 seals. Yes, sixty thousand. And the island was so small that we could have boated around it in 5 minutes flat. So, check out the pictures of the seal throng. Shortly after leaving this area to search for Great White sharks, I started getting a little queasy on account of the gigantic waves. Although I didn't throw up (even when a German guy puked right in front of me), I was straddling the border for a good hour. So I didn't make it into the diving cage and now you know why I don't have any shark pictures (but Lesley does! to be posted soon!).

Hmm, I've been here for over a week, what else can I tell you? Today I went to the District 6 Museum. District 6 was an area of Cape Town that in decades past was a model of ethnic cooperation and harmony that the South African government should have learned something from. Instead they demolished the entire area in the early '80s, displacing 60,000 people, to remodel it as a 'white only' community. Despite the Lonely Planet travel guide's positive review, I got virtually nothing out of the museum itself, which is a disorganized collection of kitsch in my opinion. However, the trip was far from being a waste. I'll discuss that in my next post.

Later in the day I stumbled across the 'Company's Gardens' founded by the Dutch East India Company centuries ago. What a beautiful spot. I also wandered across some beautiful buildings set against the backdrop of my favourite Table Mountain.

For those of you that noticed my 'we' switched to 'I' halfway through this post, well spotted. It's true, Lesley's vacation has run out and she flew back to Canada on Sunday. Without getting too emotional, I will say that I miss her like crazy already. Although it was totally unexpected for me, I fell completely in love with her and wish she was still here. The next 4 months will not be the same without her. Lesley, I will be counting the days... Thank you for making the last 3 weeks the best of my life.

And now, time to shift gears with a different kind of post.

one week to go

The flight is booked for January 9th! The plan has drastically changed!

I realized a few weeks ago it wasn't realistic to do the entire continent in 6 months so I've scaled plans back to just the Southern part of Africa. In a crushing twist of fate, Lesley will not be able to come with me for an extended period of time... But she does have 3 weeks vacation so hopefully she can join me in Spain and Morocco.

The working plan is:
1) Fly into Madrid, Spain, bus it to Alicante to meet up with Jake
2) He and I cross the channel into Morocco and spend a couple weeks there.
3) I fly from Casablanca to Johannesburg
4) Spend the next 6 months in South Africa, Lesotho, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Mozambique and Swaziland, hopefully with a 2 month period of volunteering.

who knows if this plan will stick. fun times...