Leaving Mozambique

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So, leaving Mozambique…

Leaving the "Beek", I've remembered a few things I've forgotten to share. When S. and I went to Inhaca last week, I had gotten a letter in my room advising me to secure all valuables on my bed. I couldn't figure out what valuables as I had everything with me - phone, laptop, wallet, etc. Anyway, since the letter was signed by three people, and heavily underlined, I figured I'd better comply. So I promptly locked my passport, etc. in the safe in my room, even though I felt like that made me more of a target. But whatever, so when Spencer and I get to the airport last weekend for our flight, he pulls out his passport. I'm like, aaagh… I locked it in the safe. But we decide to wing it and see how far we can get. I pull out a fat wad of "hungies" (self determined nickname for the Meticais, since everything was just about 100 MT), we pay the domestic flight tax, go through security, board the plane, no problem. Even though I had a bookbag and S. was using a plastic grocery bag. No ID needed.

So once in Inhaca, we take a flatbed truck outfitted with plank seats to the hotel, which is actually a lode. It was pouring rain, so we trudged around in the damp, our lungs burning from the judicious use of DEET in each cabin. That night at dinner in the lodge, it was so inedible. I can't even describe it, lots of seafood drowning in mayo. But it was okay because we had eaten a late lunch at the only restaurant in the village. But the kicker was the Louis Armstrong wannabe who played synthesized keyboard, sang, and… played the horn.

As it was still raining, S. and I watched the Moz National Channel at the bar. It was Saturday night variety show. I'd like to report the universal theme in art of man with hound dog is alive and well in the Beek.

The next day it was still raining and S. and I are playing pingpong at the lodge when other tourists tell us that we can take a boat over to this other island. So we do that and it was terrific. Saved the weekend. I swam in the Indian Ocean.

We arrived back at the swank hotel in Maputo in a 1970s Diesel Mercedes. I practically fall out of the car because the step is somehow elevated. My hair is everywhere, my clothes crunchy from the saltwater… Spencer has on his bathing suit, t-shirt, and flip flops. Let me tell you, I don't think the front desk clerks appreciated our presence in the midst of the big World Bank meetings that were going on…

They got us back by rousting the both of us at 9.30pm and telling us we each had to come pay our bills because we were over $2,000. I told them to shove it. Just kidding, but it turned into a big to do and I told them that they were discriminating clientele based on age and I wasn't really going to have any of it… So then I left the hotel for Malawi…

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