Meanwhile, on the coast of Africa...

If you can imagine your life as scenes of a movie, then Mozambique is the "meanwhile" scene. The main plot of the tale is set somewhere else, but then it cuts to a "Meanwhile, somewhere on the coast of Africa, Courtney enjoys a cold beer under a coconut tree". Life goes on here, time passes, but the story is elsewhere.

I'd been straining my bladder for the last few hours on the bus, after i visted the worst toilet of my whole entire life earlier that morning as we passed through Xai Xai. It was flooded, it didn't have a light, which meant it was almost pitch black, no basin and no flush. I hovered over the toilet bowel, holding my trousers off the wet ground, the door closed, and my breath. From the smell, I was glad i couldn't see anything.

Despite my full bladder, and bumpy road, i could still appresciate the amazing scenes out my window as we drove into Tofo, a small surf town famous among backpackers. Palm trees are planted on the sidewalks of some cities to make them look like paradise; St Kilda, the Gold Coast, Miami. We looked out over entire fields of palm trees. I figured this must be where paradise comes from.

Our hostel was beautiful, our dorm room was simply a gazebo with a reed curtain behind each bed. I woke the first night to a stong wind rushing over my body, and i thought i must have fallen asleep outside. "Mozquitos" was my first though. Every backpacker i had met who had caught malaria, caught it here. Someone walked past the reed curtain with a torch and the strips of light filtered through and lit up my moziqito net like a spiderweb. I relaxed, but it still took me a few minutes to remember where i was.

The next morning Joel made Jon and myself pancakes with spiced caramalised pineapple and custard for breakfast.

I had planned to take some more surf lessons, but the surf instructor had been in bed sick for days. I wasn't too disappointed, the fantastic beach i had seen yesterday evening beckoned. The Indian Ocean is warm, like nothing i had ever swum in. The ferocious waves left behind exhilarating sea foam which tingled on your skin. A few years back i went swimming with my grandfather in the ocean in Tasmania. He hadn't been in the sea in years and yelped and jumped around excited and refreshed by the waves and the salt. The water felt so light and warm, and so different, yet the waves so powerful, i was doing the same.

The next day myself, Jon and Amy, an American from our hostel, set off to explore Maxixne, a nearby town. From Immabane, you had to catch a ferry across the channel, or as we had hoped to do, find a local to take us across in a traditional dohw boat, a small boat powered by a large triangle sail.

"Ah hello people, are you going to Maxine?" greeted a young man leaping down the road towards us. "My name is Captain Bob, I am master of the Dohw, and i will take you across the water." At first Bob wanted 300 to take us across the water, but we had been told not to pay more than 20 each. We talked him down to 100, one way, for all three of us, which appeared to slice it really fine for Bob.

The dhow was beautiful and relaxed, it felt like the boat simply drifted slowly acrossd the water with the current, the wind doing nothing for the big sail. Other boats drifting by were so elegant, we all had our cameras out, and in overdrive.

The night before had been a big one, and after a few hours at the markets, we headed back to the wharf. Bob was waiting for us on the shore, but we had decided to take the ferry back as it was cheaper. There was no negotiation necessary. "No, 20, 20, 20" said Bob, without hesitation as we explained.
"Your a comedian aren't you Bob?" said Jon frustrated at how readily Bob would admit his inflated price on the way over.
"Yes, yes, yes" said Bob. "20, 20, 20."

We trugged back to the bus station at Immabane, and a chappa (minbus) was about to leave any minute, but was extremly full. Between Immabane and Tofo there is barely any traffic (except of course for small children crossing the road), and the drivers take the windy turns as if they were on a rally track. I didn't fancy standing up for that, but it was quite possible that this was the last bus for the afternoon, and i really fancied getting home and lying down.

There were 33 passangers on our bus (a normal sized van), and later on when we hit some bumps and heavy turns, two chickens made an appearance on the shelf next to my head. I was petrified that would get out of the shoe box they were enclosed in, but in a high speed minibus with 33 people Jon was already laughing and wishing for the senario that was playing out in his head.

All three of us were packed tightly against a the slidding door of the van. Jon and i were suspended, out bodies to tall to stand up right, across the bus, holding on to the other side. Underneath us, three children, one sucking a very large breast, and there mother. Amy was on one foot, her balance dependant on her bum resting against the door. Of course every time there was a potential stop, the driver would swing it open early in anticipation, and we risked losing the girl out the door of a moving bus.

Eventually the bus cleared, Amy sat in the front, and a passengers gave up there seat for Jon and I as he saw we had stood up the whole time. Genuine Mozambican manners..

We took our seat at the back of the bus. A few drops of water dripped on to our knees from above. I moved over and a long run of it splattered over Jon's trousers. "What is this!" yelled Jon at the bus conductor.
"Ah ..... water" he said thinking of the English term.
"No - oh!" agrued Jon, choking on the smell. The African women near us moved away and looked at him with distaste.
"Yes ... um ... chicken water " said the guy smiling and pointing at the shelf above our head. Jon was furious, but in an instant enormous laugh escaped him, despite his attempt to stifle it. Looking out to the sun sprinkled palm trees and grass huts, Jon shook his head "I cant believe i just got peed on by a chicken."

After a few days we reluctantly tore ourseleves away from Tofo. The other backpackers we had met there were such fun, a really good crew. The place was beautiful. We could have stayed for weeks if we weren't so intregued by the northern areas of the country. Our next stop was Vilankolous, famous for the snokelling, fishing and nearby Bazaruto Archipelago.

There we meet two American girls who were interested in doing a trip out to one of the islands, and they were happy to investigate the companies for us and use our numbers as barganing power. Later that night when we caught up with them they had sorted out a trip complete with lunch and snorkelling.

When we meet at the dohw the next morning the guy running the trip asked us not to mention the price we paid to the other group joining us. My first though was that it could as easily be the case that we had been given the imflated deal, but when the other group walked it, you could tell by the look of them that wasn't what happened.

Straight out of the nescafe ads, this Canadian family was the happiness and sweetest bunch out. With the goofy father, the romantic mother who kept holding her two twenty year old daughters hands, and even the eldest's boyfriend along for the ride, they were really something cringe worthy. But i didn't let them make me too sick, it seemed as if they had proberbly covered most of the cost of our trip!

The dhow across to the islands had the added luxury of crystal clear waters and hot sun. The island itself was amazing. Something straight off a postcard, which seemed quite usual for Mozambique so far. We got to the Island and headed off to snorkel, while the crew prepared our lunch on the braai they had built into the little sail ship.

I was really taken aback by how much i enjoyed the snorkeling. When i first put my head under the water, i immediately spotted a fish and panicked. Im not sure what i had expected, Vilankoulous being a world class diving spot and all, but i was really only thinking some nice coral and some seaweed. I calmed down, fish are my friends, and unlikely given there size to eat me, and got right into it.

The masses and variety of fish was amazing. Like swimming through a giant version of the fish tanks in pet shops. Those bright yellow and black stripped fish, the size of your hand (i cant get technical with names). Some of the prettiest fish were made up of electric blues, violent purple and highlight yellow. Huge fish. Big grey ones floated at the bottom of the water. Schools of inquisitive fish swam past, staring you in the eyes, and then tickling you as they slide past your body.

The current and flippers made the swim so relaxing and easy, it just felt like you could float along and enjoy the show. The soundtrack was a little "Monsters from the deep" but if you panicked it only got worse, your breathing though the snorkel your only sound.

Lunch was served, yet another of to many fanastic seafood meals so far, we pigged out so much we all fell asleep in the sand.

Joel hadn't come to the island with us, but had good news when we got back. He had been given a job as a bartender at our hostel, and would be staying for a few months. Jon and i were distraught to lose our wonderful chef, and our calming voice when African transport had been to rough for our explosive personalities to bear, but we said our goodbyes and packed for our long journey north.