Thursday, August 21, 2008
Chokas
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
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