I survived.
If I had to sum up my adventure in less than three words, it would be this. But perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm and punctuation: I SURVIVED!!!!
Okay so backing up a bit. I requested two weeks off—my first break this year since starting work at the beginning of January—to trek up to visit one of my closest friends, Michelle, up near Ilha de Mozambique in Nampula. Which is, as we would say in Mozambique, “lá.” (Which is Portuguese for F*@#!ng far away). But I figured it would make for quite the adventure, in addition to getting to take a break and see some more of the country. I had no idea what I was getting into!
I left on a brisk Saturday morning armed with only my daypack and purse. (At first I was going to brag that I succeeded in packing for a fifteen-day trip in a daypack, but then I realized that is much less a testament to my packing abilities as it is to my acceptance of being dirty and ugly. And the thing was packed to the gills with useful things such as my huge GRE test prep book—you know the sort—which I spent about 15 minutes with over the course of the trip. Thought that counts, right…)
My first stop was Chimoio, in Manica province not far from the mountain range bridging Mozambique and Zimbabwe. It is technically Mozambique’s fifth-largest city, but you wouldn’t know it—feels like a small town and very safe. And there´s a shoprite that had chocolate milk and cake, so I was happy. I had planned to leave early Monday morning to head north, but it turned out that a bunch of other volunteers who I don’t get to see very often were headed into town the next day and since I was already here, might as well stay and hang out! Only problem was that I had already bought my bus ticket for the next day at the exorbitant price of about… $18. Ouch. I went with a couple friends to get the money back so I could change my ticket for the next day, and the request was of course greeted with a noncommittal shrug and that unfortunately for us, the dude with the money had left. My friend tried in earnest to convince the man of the gravity of my situation. He thought we were lying. So the story turned into that my friend hadn’t washed the veggies well before dinner and now I had horrible diarrhea and was unable to travel. (False. But clever.) This is all in front of a large audience of Mozambicans, probably many of who were traveling on the bus the next morning. Having failed at our mission, I had two choices: wake up at 3:45am to go beg for my money back, probably not succeed, and then have to ride on a ten-hour bus with a bunch of people who think I’m suffering from the runs, OR, sleep in, lose the money and pretend it never happened. I’m on vacation. I chose the latter. Totally worth it.
I did end up heading north at 4:30am on Tuesday, with no drama to speak of. The highlight of this leg of the journey, for not only me but also for every single Mozambican I was traveling with, was getting to cross the bridge over the Rio Zambeze that marks the border between Sofala and Zambezia provinces. The river is far from formidable, but until just now, the only means of crossing were on a couple of ferries that took ages and were overpriced (and this is on the national highway mind you). Not only did people have to wait for occasionally hours to load their cars on the ferries, but to add insult to injury, while they waited they got to stare at the perfectly completed bridge which sat there unused for months until the president could like, break a bottle of tipo tinto over it or some other unnecessary beauraucratic publicity stunt. But I digress. It is open now, which was greeted by hoots and hollers (and a bunch of camera phones) by my fellow passangeiros.
THE BRIDGE.
Upon finally arriving in Quelimane, I quite literally jumped out of the bus and ran across the paragem to attempt to catch the last bus to Mocuba, where I could meet my friend Gabe, versus getting stranded for the evening in Queli. Luck was on my side at the moment and I jumped on the last bus, as it was just about to leave. Only problem was that there were too many people on the bus. But seeing as another one wouldn’t be leaving til the morning, I was not even considering relinquishing my position. Some kindly mozambicans helped me squeeze my body and all my belongings into like, the well where the door opens where I sat, my face right in some guys crotch (great) for the 2 or 3-hour ride. Whatever. I wasn’t complaining. I just wanted to get there. Which I eventually did. I had a great time with Gabe in Mocuba for a day and a half, getting to see his town, eat some of the best chamussas ever and most importantly watch nearly all of LOST season 5. It is always great to take a hit with a fellow addict. Anyway. My next bus, to Nampula city, was comparably painless and I only ended up with one number in my phone saved as “Crpy dude frm bus.” Successos.
Mocuba!
Upon arriving at the paragem in Nampula, the first bus to Ilha (my final stop!!) had no one on it and was starting to get nervous that I would be stuck there, but then we got moved into a smaller chapa, which loaded relatively rapidly (aka I was sitting there with my knees in my chest and sweating for only about an hour and a half before the chapa left). One of my favorite things/biggest weaknesses is the assortment of fried goodies being sold at the paragens to feed and energize weary travelers. I blame my weight gain on change of available food and a less active lifestyle, but apparently my inability to say no to cake or fried balls of dough being sold to me through the windows of moving vehicles could have something to do with it. Anyway, the cuisine is a bit different in the north and there is something called an apa which is basically a fluffier, fried tortilla with an egg and ketchup and mayo or something of the sort folded inside. A recipe for a heart attack. I wanted to buy one but couldn’t find any moedas (coins) and the unthinkable happened—the Mozambican man sitting next to me reached over and bought one for me! As a gesture of kindness for the foreigner. I was floored, and we became friends over the journey and I repaid him in kind by buying him a toy for his daughter once I finally found my money. This warm fuzzy moment cancelled out how affronted I felt when another teenage boy asked me to give him all of my money, and when I said no he opened the window and yelled “F*CK YOU!!!” in my face. How sweet.
Three hours later, I ARRIVED! Yes, I have just now arrived at the part where I actually got to Ilha. So great to see Michelle and finally not be traveling. But then fate intervened… about three whole minutes after arriving I started feeling horrible. And then spent the rest of the evening throwing up, and the next several days extremely sick and miserable. Murphy´s Law, right?
Beautiful beach, and our boat driver with an octopus. Lunch??
not a bad place to spend the day.
Ilha from the water
Sickness and bad luck aside I had a wonderful time up in Ilha. The North is very different, much more of a Muslim and also a European influence on the culture. Ilha de Moçambique was just beautiful. It felt like walking through a 15th century ghost town… and it kind of is. We went to a beautiful, isolated beach, ate yummy food, and I learned how to cook lula (squid). It was also just a great time catching up with a great friend and enjoying the mental break of my day-to-day back in Vilanculos.
Squid soup! Yes, this was dinner. Don´t worry, we cooked it...
Two days before I have to leave and head back, things start getting interesting again. I finally didn´t feel sick and miserable, and then I get a call that night from my dad saying that Fraud Protection keeps calling about my debit card. Warning sign much? After a conference call with Wells Fargo, I find out that someone has made a functioning copy of my card and has tried to use it several times, and thus there is a block on my card. Only problem was that I needed to use this card to book a hotel night or two to get home safely. The man assured me that I could call right before I needed to use the card and they would lift the block and thus permit me to book a hotel/take out money/qualquer coisa, and then would close the account and send a new card immediately to my address in Moz. When I expressed concern over the cost of calling the States from Moz, he assured me that he was taking notes on all of this so whoever I called would know exactly what was going on. Sweet! No big deal.
However, the next day I went to take out money from the bank with my PC debit card and got rejected. Three times. Okay, now this is a problem. I had three full days of travel ahead of me and only 200 mets (8 bucks) on me, and 2 debit cards that were not functioning. Concerned? Slightly. But it will be okay! It always is. Never mind that all three hotels in Nampula are already full, we have nowhere to stay and I have no money. It´s chill.
Michelle and I head out to Nampula city at 4am and sat down for a nice coffee (real coffee!! so exciting). Then the excitement starts. I try my PC card again… at 3 ATMs. All reject me. Okay. Call Wells Fargo. I am at the ATM ready to take out enough money to get home. Slight problem is that this lady today, has no idea what I am talking about and… wait… “oops, that account has been closed.” No, it hasn´t, you said you had a block on it and I would call when I needed it lifted. “Um, no, I am sorry, that account is closed and there´s nothing we can do.” Hey, bitch, I am stranded thousands of kilometers from home and I have four dollars on me. “Wow, that´s really rough. I´m sorry. Nothing I can do.” This escalates to a literal screaming match (I made quite the scene, which was embarassing but also kinda fun because I am NOT a person who gets angry. And boy was I angry.) Then I get my parents in on the action, and I am holding back tears trying to figure out how the hell I am actually going to get home, or maybe I am gonna be sleeping on a bench in Nampula city for a few days. About an hour later we realize that my parents can wire money to Michelle and I can take it out of her account and get home to Vil where I can figure out my PC card and get to my credit card. Phew. Talk about your close calls. (Tangent: how is this for insult to injury? When I got home and went to the bank to get a new card for my PC account, I figured I should try it at the ATM first… and it worked. Figures.)
With my huge wad of cash and slightly extended nerves, we explored Nampula´s attractions (aka, I went to another Shoprite), and ordered chicken burgers (after about fifteen crystal-clear explanations that apparently just did NOT translate) from a stand in the middle of the road, and we drank boxed wine from cups pilfered from the pensão while we waited. I love those moments. Our pensão had hot running water (luxurious), so the last evening in the North was a success!
The next day I head to the airport for my first in-country flight. Talk about your culture shock. No one looked at my passport or any other form of ID, nor did the metal detector work, nor were my bags scanned or x-rayed or even opened (Security: “What is in here?” Me: “clothes.” Them: “Okay.”) I stared out the window watching bags get loaded–I had to check my backpack, of course–waiting in fear for mine to get lost (this has happened before and I will never check a bag again… except today when they forced me). I do not take my eyes off the baggage dudes, and I don´t see my bag make it onto the plane. Thought one: “OMG.” Thought two: “Figures. Of course.” Thought three: “People are gonna feel pretty bad for me when I write about this on my blog. That might be the only positive to come of this.” Being fatalistic, I spend the flight trying to remember everything I had stuffed into my bag so that I could fight for every penny once I got back, only to have my backpack arrive in more or less one piece in Beira. A little present from above. Thanks.
My last night is spent in Beira, and alone. Beira is a pretty horrible city in my opinion, only redeemed by two things–shoprite and the chinese restaurant. Determined to make the most of my last evening and the fact that I was flying solo, I end up in one of the nicest rooms at the pensão (AC! Hot running water!!) and take myself out to dinner at the Chinese restaurant, where I enjoyed a cold beer, some of the best hot and sour soup I have had in like, a year (ha, ha) and the amazing Sweet and Sour pork (in a shade of pink so bright it would make even Barbie cry, and enough calories to make ME cry, but totally worth it). Last night: sucess.
Got back to Vilanculos the next day, sweaty and worn out but extremely happy to be home in one piece and with most of my personal belongings and my dignity. I feel like I aged a bit in the process, but had an amazing time. Hope these stories amused someone out there. Até a próxima…
I made it to Ilha! I think this was the one day I was not sick and/or panicking.
Goodbye Ilha. See you next time.
Twitter
LinkedIn
Flickr
Facebook
Recent Comments