February 7. To Beira.

The chapa (minibus) to Beira leaves at 4 in the morning, and arrives at around 2pm. The road is long and good, but the seats where we have to try to sit on, provisionally installed in the aile of the jampacked vehicle to transport even more passengers, are not comfortable. Yeon’s back hurts and I try to massage her en route, something that is not easy to to. The ride takes its toll and we are very tired when we make it to our couchsurfing hosts, a very friendly French couple with two young girls. We have a traditional Mocambiquean dinner of rice with a coconut-vegetable sauce, preceded by a walk on the beach on the right side of the sewage canal.

February 7. To Beira.

The chapa (minibus) to Beira leaves at 4 in the morning, and arrives at around 2pm. The road is long and good, but the seats where we have to try to sit on, provisionally installed in the aile of the jampacked vehicle to transport even more passengers, are not comfortable. Yeon’s back hurts and I try to massage her en route, something that is not easy to to. The ride takes its toll and we are very tired when we make it to our couchsurfing hosts, a very friendly French couple with two young girls. We have a traditional Mocambiquean dinner of rice with a coconut-vegetable sauce, preceded by a walk on the beach on the right side of the sewage canal.

February 1. Rolling on to Maputo.

We take a comfortable bus to Maputo. The roads on the South African side are what you would expect in the European Union and as the road cuts through the large cultivated fields we realize that South Africa is a rich country with a poverty problem – not a poor country with a rich upperclass problem like so many in Africa.

The border imposes no burden on the traveler’s mind, it is rather easy to purchase our visas for Mocambique, and we continue with a smile having left yet another minor incertainty behind us. The bus drops us somewhere in the center and we walk a few blocks to get a grip of this new city. We try several atm’s and public phones to no avail. When we finally get hold of a working phone (the owner is a Danish ngo worker working on “concepts” who could not have shown less interest in Charity Travel), it is too late to ask our host to stay with her, so we leave things to luck which of course works out just fine. Some Spanish and German girls, working here as volunteers, know the location of the city’s sole backpackers dorm (Fatima’s backpackers) and we are safe for the night. The place looks like a typical South American hostel with playfully painted walls and curved furniture. The dormitory itself is merely functional, like some of the staff – we use this place only for sleeping.