Sick of Mozambique

Quionga - Palma is only 23 kilometres. We manage to reach Palma in a record time of 4 hours. The sand path is level with some steep climbs, but cycling is virtually impossible because of the sand. My metabolism is completely confused after the malaria. At the strangest moments I'm all of a sudden incredibly hungry, my blood sugar level goes up and down, after eating a bite of bread I'm nauseous. Quite regularly I sit gagging on my bike, I tremble and shake like a madman.
The north of Mozambique is very isolated from the rest of the country. The roads are impassable, there's no electricity or running water. Even shops don't exist in the so-called villages that exist of no more then a few mud huts. The temperature is a steady 40° C, the high atmospheric pressure makes that we evaporate more then we can drink. In the villages the women walk half nude and have painted faces. It's beautiful, but it's hard to enjoy your surroundings when you're thirsty. Our water supply of six litres is not enough, there are no rivers, pumps are broken and the local people don't to want to give us any water. They even don't want to sell it to us, even though we know and see that they must have it. We have trouble staying friendly when the same people who refuse to give us water beg for cigarettes, clothes and money. Finally, after a long time, we find a pump that still works. The whole village watches us fill our bottles.

Palma is beyond our expectations; you can buy dried fish, soap, cigarettes and manioc. And deliciously fresh buns, a heresy from the Portuguese colonial rule.
The next days are much the same: walking through sand, alternating with walking through mud or water when it rains. No camping in the wild, no guesthouses, no villages. In Quelimane we're being chased by village children which reminds us in a bad way of Ethiopia. Luckily these kids don't throw stones.

In Mocimboa da Praia there is some civilisation; we rent a banda at the ocean, eat fresh fish, sleep, wash our clothes, clean our bicycles, go to the market where no fresh vegetables are being sold.

We prepare ourselves for the next stretch, to Pemba, 350 kilometres away. We talk a lot about our journey. The last weeks, months really, have been continuously hard: bad roads, rain, malaria and now once again terrible roads, heat and the after-effects of the malaria. Also, Mozambique is not what we expected: there is nothing, no provisions, no fresh food, it's difficult to get water, cycling is very difficult, the surroundings are boring. I've lost my pleasure in cycling, and because of that Peter also. The last weeks we've done more crying then laughing; moments of happiness, trust and pleasure are scarce. I really do not want to go on this way.

The route from Mocimboa da Praia to Pemba consists of very good tar roads, terrible sand roads, almost no water, no healthy food, biting red ants, broken of gear shifter, police-control, stinging stable flies, riding through an endless green tunnel of trees with nothing special to look at, terrible heat, stress-related stomach-aches, broken bridges, strong head-winds. After 4 days we reach Pemba, mentally and physically exhausted.

In Pemba we meet Cees and Willemien Opperveld, two well-experienced travellers who are always on the lookout for authentic tribes. They travel by public transport, from south to north. Just like us they don't enjoy Mozambique very much, not a lot of culture, no provisions, nature is not special. They have the opinion that it's no point whining when you're in Africa: accept life like it is or don't come here. We have heaps of fun together.
In the meantime we've reached a major decision: we're not going to cycle further south, we're taking a plane. On the 25th of February we're flying the 2000 kilometres to Maputo, without regret. We have to get back to the fun and happiness of travelling.

In the meantime we move from a hotel room in town to Russel's Camp (http://www.pembamagic.com), south of Pemba. This is a wonderful and quiet place at the sea we're we enjoy ourselves with the many expats that frequent this place.

The flight to Maputo a few days later goes very smooth, which we can't say about the preparations. It was extremely difficult to find out how much we had to pay for our bicycles and bags, since this is quite a load (60 kilo's). The officer in charge initially refused to speak English: "When you're in my country you have to speak Portuguese." In the end we paid € 10 for the two bicycles and got the overweight luggage for free. Of course the freight-employee in Maputo tried to charge us again for the tax we already paid in Pemba. He didn't succeed. Two days later we leave Maputo, of which we haven't seen a lot because of the continuous rainfall, over a magnificent tar road, under a beautiful sun, with a tailwind. South Africa: here we come!