Another Day In Paradise

And that is where the Phil Collins references stop. Because despite the prolific ability of the former Genesis drummer (as a recording artist - definitely not as a live performer), he could not even begin to do justice to my experiences of yesterday. In fact the only song that even comes close to the same level of beauty as the Ilha de Mocambique is this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRsnMGA5H1k&feature=related

It is not the easiest journey to Mozambique Island - seven and a half hours to cover 180km is never fun, especially in a chapa (small local 16 seater minibus with 30 people in) when the heat never falls below 25 degrees. But it was worth it. 

The island is the oldest town in Mozambique, the former Portugese capital and filled with grandiose colonial architecture which is now, of course, all falling down. And to be honest, when I was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of town next to a pile of rubbish by a dilapidated 'hospital' I was hardly too enamoured by the place. But the good old Lonely Planet did its job and directed me to arguably the nicest guesthouse I have ever been to.

You walk in the front door, through the kitchen outside, where the dining/living area is an open courtyard in the shade of palm trees, entirely insulated from the outside world - a kind of vortex of tranquility in an otherwise bustling settlement. It is presided over by an Afro-Portugese 'Mama' whose home cooking is arguably/definitely better than my own (certainly uses more local produce, anyway - her tomatoes come from her family's land, whereas the ones I use come from Turkey). And the landlord (don't know the Portugese word), Luis is a chain smoking fat man with a massive moustache who was kind enough to take us out on his boat yesterday morning.

Now I have been sailing a few times in my life. I'd almost go as far to say that I have probably been over a thousand times. Perhaps two thousand. And I have done so in some pretty cool places - but this was better than all of them.

The dhow was slightly worrying me at first, having a definite constant leak and the mast being made of three different pieces of wood lashed together with what looked like old pieces of washing line. But the old girl took to water like...well...a fish to water. Except it actually stayed on the surface, and must have been pushing five knots at points.

Anyway we sailed to paradise. I am so sure that we did a Pirates of the Caribbean-esq transfer into a different world because I have never seen anything quite like this.

A peninsula with the lush green of mangroves on one side, where tiny fish swim through the channels, crabs scurry along the sand and monkeys swing from the trees. Coconuts, cashews and bananas are literally about to fall from the tree they are so ripe for the picking. The sun is roasting but the cool sea breeze means it is never too hot, as you amble through this place where the small footprints of small children collecting local shellfish are the only reminder of any human presence.

It is at this point that I realise I'm not that far from home, after all. Because as we go to find the way into the oldest church (and probably oldest building) in Mozambique, the guardian appears. What are you expecting, a monk in brown robes? Or a nun at least? Afraid not. This bloke actually seems to have got lost on his way to St James's Park - why else would he be wearing a Newcastle shirt with 9 Shearer on the back? Didn't spoil the atmospshere though - it was still pretty special. I did slip in a cheeky 'Obrigado, Alan,' when we left though. He didn't understand.

Ten minutes more walking and we reach the other side of the peninsula - the beach. So how clear is the water in your local authority swimming pool? Not as clear as this, I'll bet. It wasn't even blue - it was transparent. And I thought the sand was limestone dust, it was so white. And then to be met on the beach by a waiter giving us complimentary drinks, because Luis's brother in law owns the five star resort which the beach is part of, was not bad either.

I could have stayed days at this place, but we had to get back before dark. Only trouble was, we got waylaid on the way back by the need to drink some coconut milk and eat some fresh pineapple, so the sun was fast setting by the time we got back to the boat.

Which made it even more special. African sunset #45 was the best. Better even than that Northern Lights like haze over the Etosha Pan in Namibia, prettier even than on a river cruise down the Chobe in Botswana whilst half cut. Because this sunset was on the water, sailing along with no noise but the crunch of waves on the bow, the sun setting on one side whilst the full moon rose on the other. Two reflections over the water, me in between. I had a cheeky moment then - one of my life reflection times, after which I glanced left, at the setting sun, and then right, at the shining moon, and then said aloud, 'could be worse.'

In fact, I don't think it could have been better. Despite being turbo expensive, Mozambique is everything it promised. Definitely glad I didn't fly straight to Jo'burg now.