Hitchin' a ride
Jon and I sat alone in the campground at 4am waiting for our taxi.
"Russell called one for us last night, didn't he?" I asked Jon.
"There was taxi driver at the bar, he sorted it out with him". Great i thought, of course a driver at the bar wouldn't be here at 4am to pick us up. We started walking.
The bus left the station in Pemba 5 kms away. We walked with our bags hoping to find a taxi. Jon drove me crazy, stopping at every hotel we passed and asking them if they could call us a taxi. In Mozambique, there is no taxi company to call, only indivduals with cars. If you know one, you can call them, but nobody wants to wake up there friends at 4am. Eventally the casino had their own taxi driver on site, and took us to a bus top on the outskirts of town. We missed our bus, but apparently there would be more later on.
Hours later, after walking into the main bus station, we were still yet to find anything. Everyone told us there was no hope for today, a bus would leave Pemba tommorow at 5am. We sat in a cafe trying to figure out our options.
Both of us wanted out of Pemba. After the trouble at the campsite, the cops and the South Africans who would soon know we dobbed them in, i was keen to leave. We could stay in town tonight instead of the campsite, and be on the bus tommorow.
It was a really hot day, we had been up for hours and were struggling with our bags. We couldn't find the hotel the guidebook recommended. We walked past the airline office, and agreed we were so desperate we would ask. They told us no flights left today, but further down the road a tourist office told us otherwise. In Africa, its best to check it out for yourself, and headed out to the airport.
We waited on the steps of the airport. The few poeple around told us there was a flight today at 2pm, we could buy tickets when the terminal opened at 12, about 2 hours away.
As we waited on the steps at the airport, a tiny figure was running up the long driveway frantically waving. The kid was maybe ten, and had an obvious disability, he didn't speak any langangue, but he had an enormous smile, and nodded furiously and continually.
We couldn't deduce his name, but the kid hung out with us for the next two hours, dancing around, pointing and nodding at nothing, and drawing pictures with all the pens and paper we could find in our bags for him to play with. He was wearing a small childs shirt, which covered his sholders, but none of this chest or stomach and was tied up with string. Jon gave him one of his t-shirts from his bag, it hung down to his knees, past his shorts, but the kid was delighted, and kept sticking hs chest out and marching around proudly in his new get-up.
When the terminal finally opened, Jon went inside to sort out tickets while i waited with our bags. He was gone a long time, so I stuck my head in to see what the problem was.
"No flights" he said "But were devising a little plan."
He emmerged a little later with a hand written note in Portugues for the guy at the frount desk.
It read (approixmatley):
"Good Morning. Can we please ask you a favour. We want to go to Nampula, and we are hoping to find a lift there, or to a town along the way. We speak no Portugues. Thank you very much."
We were to take this note to a traffic cop station about a kilometre down the road.
Jon and i laughed at the crazy plan as we strolled down the highway, it was alreay around 1 pm. Not many travellers go through Northern Mozambique and we had often discussed whether despite this being our first backpacking experience if we could consider ourselves hardcore. "If we make it to Nampula tonight Courtney, i think we pass" declared Jon.
We reached the traffic cop station and presented our note wearing our biggest and friendliest smiles. They laughed, passed it around, and lead us around the back. Someone got two chairs and set them up for us to wait in the shade. Traffic cops in Mozambique are stationed on highways. They pull over vehicles, ask the driver a few questions, prod whatever luggage the car is carrying and then wave the driver on. These guys were happy to do our hitching for us!!
Eventually they convinced a bus to take us to the turnoff to Nampula, about 50 kms down the road. It was abut 2pm when we arrived.
“Wave down every car” warned the driver. “Its late”.
I looked around the junction and envisaged the night here. There were no hotels, but there was a local village and it would be easy to find a patch of ground in a hut to lay our sleeping bags for a few dollars. There were a few other waiting for lifts at the same place. I found a kid to buy some bread from and made a sandwich.
A ute turned up in about an hour, with a few people and some equipment in the back. They squished our bags between a spare engine and some women, got us to sit on the back and hold on to an unattached ladder. I closed my eyes and freaked out as we swerved all over the pothole covered road. The truck stopped about 100 kms further down the road.
We couldn’t believe how well we were doing so late in the day. After our total misery at our lack of options at breakfast and we were now on the way to Nampula. But at the bus stop out of town a large number of people were waiting for a ride. But Jon and I were confident, sticking or thumb out enthusiastically at every ride, ignoring the temptation to curl up under a tree after every rejection.
Eventually a couple of guys stopped. They were going to Nampula, but you could tell they didn’t want to take us much. The two of them drove a four seater ute, but the cab was full of shellfish which they didn’t want to move around. The back tray was full of coal.
“No problem” we told them “We’ll sit on coal! Were really keen to get to Nampula!!”
The ride was awesome. Wind in our hair, looking back at the mountains, forests and rivers of Mozambique dancing past us. We pulled into Nampula after dark, freezing, our clothes and skin blackened from the coal. Sitting at the window of our hotel, eating baked bean sandwiches, Jon and I had to laugh, and think that we might, in fact, almost be hardcore.
"Russell called one for us last night, didn't he?" I asked Jon.
"There was taxi driver at the bar, he sorted it out with him". Great i thought, of course a driver at the bar wouldn't be here at 4am to pick us up. We started walking.
The bus left the station in Pemba 5 kms away. We walked with our bags hoping to find a taxi. Jon drove me crazy, stopping at every hotel we passed and asking them if they could call us a taxi. In Mozambique, there is no taxi company to call, only indivduals with cars. If you know one, you can call them, but nobody wants to wake up there friends at 4am. Eventally the casino had their own taxi driver on site, and took us to a bus top on the outskirts of town. We missed our bus, but apparently there would be more later on.
Hours later, after walking into the main bus station, we were still yet to find anything. Everyone told us there was no hope for today, a bus would leave Pemba tommorow at 5am. We sat in a cafe trying to figure out our options.
Both of us wanted out of Pemba. After the trouble at the campsite, the cops and the South Africans who would soon know we dobbed them in, i was keen to leave. We could stay in town tonight instead of the campsite, and be on the bus tommorow.
It was a really hot day, we had been up for hours and were struggling with our bags. We couldn't find the hotel the guidebook recommended. We walked past the airline office, and agreed we were so desperate we would ask. They told us no flights left today, but further down the road a tourist office told us otherwise. In Africa, its best to check it out for yourself, and headed out to the airport.
We waited on the steps of the airport. The few poeple around told us there was a flight today at 2pm, we could buy tickets when the terminal opened at 12, about 2 hours away.
As we waited on the steps at the airport, a tiny figure was running up the long driveway frantically waving. The kid was maybe ten, and had an obvious disability, he didn't speak any langangue, but he had an enormous smile, and nodded furiously and continually.
We couldn't deduce his name, but the kid hung out with us for the next two hours, dancing around, pointing and nodding at nothing, and drawing pictures with all the pens and paper we could find in our bags for him to play with. He was wearing a small childs shirt, which covered his sholders, but none of this chest or stomach and was tied up with string. Jon gave him one of his t-shirts from his bag, it hung down to his knees, past his shorts, but the kid was delighted, and kept sticking hs chest out and marching around proudly in his new get-up.
When the terminal finally opened, Jon went inside to sort out tickets while i waited with our bags. He was gone a long time, so I stuck my head in to see what the problem was.
"No flights" he said "But were devising a little plan."
He emmerged a little later with a hand written note in Portugues for the guy at the frount desk.
It read (approixmatley):
"Good Morning. Can we please ask you a favour. We want to go to Nampula, and we are hoping to find a lift there, or to a town along the way. We speak no Portugues. Thank you very much."
We were to take this note to a traffic cop station about a kilometre down the road.
Jon and i laughed at the crazy plan as we strolled down the highway, it was alreay around 1 pm. Not many travellers go through Northern Mozambique and we had often discussed whether despite this being our first backpacking experience if we could consider ourselves hardcore. "If we make it to Nampula tonight Courtney, i think we pass" declared Jon.
We reached the traffic cop station and presented our note wearing our biggest and friendliest smiles. They laughed, passed it around, and lead us around the back. Someone got two chairs and set them up for us to wait in the shade. Traffic cops in Mozambique are stationed on highways. They pull over vehicles, ask the driver a few questions, prod whatever luggage the car is carrying and then wave the driver on. These guys were happy to do our hitching for us!!
Eventually they convinced a bus to take us to the turnoff to Nampula, about 50 kms down the road. It was abut 2pm when we arrived.
“Wave down every car” warned the driver. “Its late”.
I looked around the junction and envisaged the night here. There were no hotels, but there was a local village and it would be easy to find a patch of ground in a hut to lay our sleeping bags for a few dollars. There were a few other waiting for lifts at the same place. I found a kid to buy some bread from and made a sandwich.
A ute turned up in about an hour, with a few people and some equipment in the back. They squished our bags between a spare engine and some women, got us to sit on the back and hold on to an unattached ladder. I closed my eyes and freaked out as we swerved all over the pothole covered road. The truck stopped about 100 kms further down the road.
We couldn’t believe how well we were doing so late in the day. After our total misery at our lack of options at breakfast and we were now on the way to Nampula. But at the bus stop out of town a large number of people were waiting for a ride. But Jon and I were confident, sticking or thumb out enthusiastically at every ride, ignoring the temptation to curl up under a tree after every rejection.
Eventually a couple of guys stopped. They were going to Nampula, but you could tell they didn’t want to take us much. The two of them drove a four seater ute, but the cab was full of shellfish which they didn’t want to move around. The back tray was full of coal.
“No problem” we told them “We’ll sit on coal! Were really keen to get to Nampula!!”
The ride was awesome. Wind in our hair, looking back at the mountains, forests and rivers of Mozambique dancing past us. We pulled into Nampula after dark, freezing, our clothes and skin blackened from the coal. Sitting at the window of our hotel, eating baked bean sandwiches, Jon and I had to laugh, and think that we might, in fact, almost be hardcore.
posted by Courtney | 4:05 AM
2 Comments:
I think that you definately have the right to call yourselves hardcore. Sitting on coal for a couple of hours should count for something.
Come on Luc, to stressed to eat? You know thats not like me. I can find food under all circumstances!
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