Blog 34 by Mick: The Coin of Destiny

From Praia do Bilene it was a 386km blat up the tar to Tofo, a famous beach that tourists love to lounge on in southern Mozambique. We rolled into town late in the afternoon and straight into Fatima’s Backpackers where we pulled up to the bar, ordered a few beers and settled in. Tan and I had planned on camping but arriving late and tired, and finding the price difference between camping and the dorm minimal plus being assured we could have a private dorm for the 3 of us, we opted for the ease and convenience (and laziness) of the dorm.

Our vegetable lady in Tofo. Some negotiation was requited but she looked after us when she realised we were coming back every day

Some young boys who had been selling eggs, but sold out in the afternoon. “we had a good day” they said

We had little in mind for our time in Tofo. Diving for whale sharks was high on the agenda along with relaxing on the beach and… ahh… yeah… not too much else really. We had been told that their were some fantastic pizzas to be had at a place called Branko’s, which was easy to find and lived up to the reputation. The beers were reasonably priced and Mark and I ended up sitting there until closing with a kite-surfing Swede named Nikki. In fact the pizza was so good, we did the same thing the next night as well, excessive beer swilling included.

Taking the scenic route home after a grocery run. Life is tough sometimes

The dive boat, was good fun launching and coming back in through the surf. The boat was a bit sad though, the pinion on the starter motor of one motor had completely rusted away, as well as part of the pull start mechanism, so a rope had to be loaded on by hand to start the thing. Was pretty dodge

After two days of achieving little, we figured we should go for a dive. We had spoken to a bunch of dive shops and unfortunately it seemed the whale sharks were elsewhere for the time being; there hadn’t been a sighting for about 6 days. But we went anyway hoping for the best, and ended up at a spot named “Chamber of Secrets”. The diving was nice but not great, the visibility was maybe 10m and the coral and fish life pretty but not particularly spectacular. And no whale sharks sadly. But it was definitely nice to get out for a dive after so long for both of us.

Our bread lady

Mark on squid prep duty

Mmmm fresh calamari for lunch

After another day chilling with cheap gin and fresh seafood, we headed north again. Tofo is situated out on a headland and we had heard there was a ferry across the inlet to the main highway north, which would save us about 65km or so of tar to end up less than 3km away directly over the water. We rolled up to the ferry station and Tan went in with her Portuguese language skills to sort some tickets. Mark’s and my ability to talk crap were not overly useful here, in fact its not overly useful anywhere, but we are proficient none the less.

Mark and Rosie on the jetty

Tan came out having confirmed that “yes motorcycles can go on the ferry”, paid the modest fare (10MZM each, about US30c) for us and an additional 10MZM for the bikes. And with a ferry just pulling up to the dock, we were looking good to save ourselves an easy 30min of riding. We rode down the jetty to a few curious and confused looks and got to the gangplank where things started to get a little interesting.

The gangplank was narrow and seemed really only setup for people; mmmm, this didn’t look right… As the boat was unloading I asked some of the people walking up if this was the right ferry (to Maxixe) and motioned if we could take the bikes down, ahh yeah sure just ride on down seemed to be the common answer. So, with the boat empty and people starting to load, I did.

Mark on the gangplank. We pushed him up backwards from here

Down on the pontoon I got many gawks, smiles and waves. Looking at the boat, there was no loading ramp, in fact there was no real way on at all for anything to get on the boat that couldn’t be carried by hand. There was a fair amount of small cargo on the boat, and maybe the small Chinese motorcycles that are reasonably common in Mozambique could be manhandled on easily enough, but our loaded bikes looked a fair bit too big for this. Quite a fair bit.

Tan was all the way down the gangplank by the time I told her not to come down on the intercom… too late.   She rode down onto the pontoon, and confirmed with ferry workers using her Portuguese that we wouldn’t be able to get on the boat; it just was not going to happen. We managed to stop Mark before he got onto the pontoon and pushed him back up. So now it was our turn to extricate ourselves from this little mess…

Me about to ride back up the gangplank form the pontoon

There was a good 300mm high step to get back up onto the gangplank from the pontoon which was plated with aluminium, and with our tyres I was expecting plenty of wheelspin to get up. And if the bike slipped on the step and fell over at slow speed, it would be ugly and might even end up in the drink as the pontoon had no sides. So I had to make sure of it. No stuff ups.

With a boat full of onlookers, I started the bike and in the 5m or so of run up the pontoon allowed, got standing, grabbed the throttle, pumped the clutch and popped the front wheel up over the step. The first second went to plan perfectly. The next second however…. not so much. The rear wheel hit the aluminium step, slipped to the right and then gripped as I rapidly accelerated over the step and up the gangplank, all on my rear wheel. I near shat myself and rolled off the throttle just in time to save my bike careening into the gangplank’s guardrail, all to the loud cheers and screams of delight from the onlookers on the ferry. Tan, having witnessed my monumental near stuff up was spooked, so I got a chance at redemption on her bike. Having learned my lesson, with far less throttle and no clutch pump wheelie action Tan’s bike went up under perfect control.

Round two on Tans bike. You can see quite well where I grabbed the throttle, pumped the clutch and went wheel spinning up the gangplank. Was quite the moment

So we wasted a good 30 minutes at the ferry and ended up taking the long way around the inlet anyway, so it was at sunset a few hours later that we arrived at Baobab Beach Camp in Vilanculos. We got an unexpected surprise when we were met in the carpark by a familiar face. Ido, who we met first in Ai Ais in Namibia in late October and then again at Elephant Sands in Botswana in late November. heard us park the bikes and came out to say hello. We knew Ido was in northern Mozambique at the time but we thought he was still a long way north of us and had never arranged to meet up, this was just coincidence.

Our lunch stop on the way to Vilanculos. This kid was selling fresh coconut cake on the side of the road and it was damn good.

The end cap of my cheap DG exhaust came loose and needed a bit of wire to get us through to Vilanculos where I could fix it properly

Ido, Mark and I talking shit.

Who needs a GPS? Really?

Fresh catch being sorted on the beach

Straight off the boat… awesome

Ladies doing the hard yakka

Rhonda Rousey eat your heart out

Vilanculos was 3 days of chilling with gin and tonics, rum and cokes, beers and seafood on the beach. Nothing more. With that completed successfully, and only a few more days left on our visas we headed north for Malawi. Two 400km days later we were in a position to go for the border. Tan’s shoulder was getting better and with few opportunities to get off the beaten track in Mozambique to date, I was keen on exploring some dirt tracks in the north-west of the country and entering Malawi through a remote border post called Milange/Mulanje.

Calamari about as fresh as you can get it. That will do for dinner just nicely

Fresh seafood on its way to the market

Kids collecting the by-catch to sell for a pittance, or eat, or play with it, not too sure

Happy kids all through Mozambique

We got some barracuda to go with the calamari

Filleted for a small fee at the fish market

Mark and Ido and our dinner fresh from the braai. This was a good meal this one

Vilanculos. Beach and palm trees and all that shit

Dodgy repair job on my exhaust end cap with a few beers. The Mozambican beer was actually pretty good.

The 4 of us on the way out

However Tan was not so confident with her recovery and was also concerned about leaving the country on the last day of our visa and risking a USD50 per day overstay fine incase something went wrong and we were delayed. She was keen on using what looked like a major crossing at the southern tip of Malawi at Villa Nova/Marka and having some time to spare on our visas. All we had to do was roll 100km up the “M1”, how easy and boring would that be? With no compromise between the two options, we flipped a coin, a 10 Mozambican Metacais coin, to decide our fate. We joked that only the coin could determine and destiny, and Tan won. So of course I demanded we go to “best of 3”, where she won again 2 to 1. I tried my luck for “best of 5” but Tan wasn’t having it. The “M1” bore-fest to Villa Nova it was going to be.

We stopped for lunch on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and Africa being Africa, a kid hoped out of the bush to say hello. He sold us some cashews, which are everywhere in Mozambique, and we gave him some Tuna and crackers. He was friendly and smiley before he got in front of the camera!

Ahhh potholes. So many potholes.

A quick stop in town for a drink and getting mobbed

First things first though, I couldn’t get the GPS to route up the M1. What on earth is going wrong? After some detailed investigation of the map I could see that the main bridge over the Zambezi River was noted as “bikes only” and a potential alternate route noted that a bridge on that route was destroyed and there was no operating ferry. Ok, this is rapidly getting interesting…. So we asked some locals, and got the confirmation that motos could cross the Zambezi on the main bridge about 55km upstream at a town called Sena, which is where the M1 started. “No cars though”… Ok, I wonder what that means?

Mark parking up in the market before we attempt to get on the bridge

Some 45 minutes of easy gravel and lots of smiles and waves from the locals later, we spotted the bridge, and it was big. I followed the trail marked on Tracks 4 Africa to get on to the bridge and ended up on the banks of the Zambezi 15 or 20m below the bridge with no way on without a helicopter. So we turned back, met some waving locals, and got directed to a small market where we could apparently get on. A large crowd gathered as we parked and got first sight of what “motos ok, no cars though” actually meant. We would be crossing the Zambezi on the pedestrian walkway of the railway bridge, we just had the small matter of a steep ramp and some stairs to deal with.

Scoping out the couple stairs and the planks of wood

Planks on. This will be sweet as this will…

When it is just Tan and I, I always go first on the nasty obstacles to prove the route, however with Mark there it was a good opportunity to have someone else be the guinea pig for once. So after we had walked the stairs and put some loose planks up the couple stairs in what we thought was a good place, I volunteered him; “Mark you should go first”. Which he did, and managed it with the loose planks spitting out from under the bike just as he got up the stairs onto the walkway. Mine and then Tan’s bike soon followed with slightly better plank location.

Mark full of nicotine and ready to roll

Tan, as entertained by all this as the locals were

Bringing the blue beast up and getting ready to ride up the dodgy ramp

Time for Tan’s bike. We had a bit of a crowd by this point

Riding up loose planks. Always fun

Regroup on the walkway. The bikes weren’t too much narrower than the walkway itself!

We were on the walkway, we were home free! Or so we thought… about 500m later we came to a second set of stairs; a proper flight of stairs. There were a couple helpers there lifting luggage and bicycles up and down for a small fee. There were also a pair soldiers guarding the bridge. We had a quick talk with the guards and soon realised we might not be doing something legal, certainly not for foreigners. So we paid the two soldiers about 50MZM each for all 3 bikes, a bit over US50c per guard per bike. Technically I suppose you could call it a bribe, but we weren’t keen on going back, the guards were chilled and friendly and we wanted to keep it that. We then paid the helpers a small sum to help us up the flight of stairs.

Obstacle #2, a small flight of stairs…

Tan’s bike following. I had the bike in 1^st gear and was walking it up, with some help

Rear wheel spun and the bike nearly went over, but not quite

Now we were on the walkway proper, we were home free! Or so we thought… The pedestrian walkway hadn’t seen a great deal of maintenance over the years, and there were gaping holes in the concrete through to the river many many metres below that had been bridged by random bits of steel and timber of varying quality. But it was all ok. We got many strange looks and photos taken of us, and stopped for a number of photos ourselves. Of all the ways to cross the mighty Zambezi, one of Africa’s greatest rivers, this was definitely a unique way to do it.

Up on the walkway and riding over the Zambezi

Just a few holes in the walkway to contend with…

This fella thought the idea of riding some loaded up 650’s across a railway bridge over the Zambezi was pretty novel aswell!

The view from Mark’s KLR

The 3 of us having a good time

We got to the end of the bridge and were presented with a very large flight of stairs to get back down to ground level. Mark was leading so got to go first, and very nearly made a hash of it as he feathered the rear brake a whisker on the descent, momentarily locked the rear wheel, got a bit sideways, bottomed out when he hit the ground and flew off to the left bringing his bike to a dramatic stop in the sand just as he nudged the bicycle of a very polite and non-flustered Mozambican guy who was forced to dive out of the way or risk being KLR fodder. He got up smiling and remarked that Mark must be a very skillful and experienced motorcycle rider, took a few photos of us on his mobile phone and went on his merry way.

Mark getting ready to ride down. He gave the train driver a bit of a show.

And… GO!

The average African person is so much more chilled and unperturbed by this sort of stuff than what we were used to; that same situation in a western country would have lead to stern words and even blows. But here its no problem, people smile and don’t get too worked up. We see it on the road too, someone will get blatantly cut off, or completely run off the road, or whatever, and they just accommodate it and don’t react. We people from western cultures could learn a lot from the African way of acceptance and tolerance.

About to get to the bottom and get a bit out of shape

The bicycle rider who was not so concerned at all about having to dive out of the way of a crazy KLR

I followed Mark down on my blue beast and then went back for Tan’s bike; with her right shoulder still quite weak she wasn’t too keen on riding a fully loaded DR650 down a large flight of stairs, funnily enough. Now with all 3 bikes down we took a few more photos and just generally reveled in the awesome experience of riding three adv bikes across a railway bridge over the Zambezi. It was a crazy and totally unexpected mini adventure. A totally “Africa” type thing to do.

Next up for us was to simply roll down the M1 to the border…. Well it turns out the title of “M1” was more aspirational rather than actual; it was a single lane gravel road lined with very poor villages, even by Mozambican standards they were poor. We dodged cows and goats and darting pigs, and received many waves, it was obvious very few tourists get on this side of the Zambezi.

Lets take the motorway shall we?

“OMG the traffic jam on the M1 was so atrocious this afternoon!” said no-one, ever. This photo shows the type of traffic on the M1; cows, bicycles, and the odd small china bike.

Mark tearing down the M1

Arriving at the border post was a confusing affair, as from the outside the Stalin-esque concrete monstrosity looked completely dilapidated and abandoned. Which wasn’t far from the truth, it was certainly dilapidated, complete with bullet holes and significant damage from Mozambique’s years of civil war, plus it had been pilfered, with all doors and most roofing missing, but it wasn’t abandoned.

Mark and I doing some maths before changing some money. You can see the security checkpoint in the background, its those benches there. And the larger guy directly behind mark, he was customs. No idea where he came from or where he went, but he was quick and efficient

We found the border security sitting in the shade on some worn benches on the outside the building and signed in. Tan and I were then politely escorted to the immigration office by the official who had also been chilling in the shade. His office was the only one inhabited as far as we could see, and had no door and no lights, only a desk covered in forms and books and a couple old chairs and layers upon layers of mould growing up the concrete walls. We got our passports stamped and were registered in the all important hand written immigration ledger, which are ubiquitous in this part of the world. We noted that there were no people to cross the border today, however there were two the day previous, and 1 guy about 4 days ago. Villa Nova is not a busy border post by any stretch of the imagination.

The Villa Nova Border control building. During the civil war years, rebels used Malawi as a base of operation and then would attack from there, so this border was the front line technically. And it showed the signs of war. Mark snuck these photos for us

Customs was easy; the official met us outside next to the security benches, took our Carnets and Mark’s paperwork for his South African registered KLR and returned not long later with everything sorted. We don’t even know where his office was, or even if he had an office. But it was very straightforward. After some polite negotiation we changed our money with the only changer there for a very fair rate and moved on. It was so stress-free and simple; we love remote border crossings. The officials are so relaxed with little work and unfamiliar with foreigners that they are happy to see us and to have something to break up their day, it is a much calmer experience. As there are no people crossing the border, there are no fixers, no people stalking your bike and scoping your gear, no one trying to sell you things or push in front of the line. Its just so much easier, I’ll gladly ride a couple hundred kilometers extra to get that.

The Malawi side of the border was excited to see us, and we were quickly stamped in. Customs formalities soon became a problem though, as the official had never seen a Carnet de Passage before and wasn’t keen to stamp it through. We’ve had this happen many times before, however we generally just talk them through the process and up until this guy they had always been happy to oblige. This young guy was not confident however and called his boss, who said we should stay the night in the border town of Marka and he would stamp us through in the morning. We had wasted over an hour and a half on the Malawian side of the border by this point trying to sort out the importation of the bikes and the sun had since set, so we were fine with sorting it in the morning.

Kids were hanging around the bikes like moths in the headlights

We found the one and only guesthouse in the tiny village and got a room for very cheap, we extracted ourselves out of our sweaty riding gear and got directions to a pub. We were all completely shattered, and Mark and I bought a pile of beers and promised to return the empties the next day. The shop keeper handed us our change and was very confused that I was handing him back one of the beers; in the time it had taken for him to walk to the till and complete the transaction I had emptied the first bottle and was cracking the top of the second. Damn I needed that beer. Real bad.

Shattered. What a great days riding.

With no restaurants around we cooked dinner on the floor with the camp stove, drank all our beers, rested and recounted our unexpected adventure. It had been a hot day and we were exhausted. When we had flipped that ten metacais coin at lunchtime we had no idea whatsoever what we getting ourselves into, but that is riding in Africa in a nutshell. You might plan and prepare, however you never really know what will play out in the end. But one thing is for certain, the Coin of Destiny had delivered.

Blog 33 by Mick: A Braai’ers Guide to The 5 Essential Food Groups

Our plan for Praia de Bilene was to chill out with some beers and seafood, catch up on the blog and wait for our buddy Mark who had been kidnapped in Swaziland. We had planned to meet up in Maputo and ride north together into Malawi but Mark got hassled into the back of a car by some bikers and driven to Cape Town (about two thousand kilometers one way) for a week of parties and motorbikes. So we had a few days of waiting to do for him to catch up, which was fine as we had stuff to catch up on as well.

One of the many sellers on the beach

Day 1 went perfectly to plan sitting on the beach drinking a few beers tapping away on the laptop in the cool sea breeze. Day 2 was mostly ok too, starting in the same vein with some productive blog writing but finishing a fair way off the rails. When we arrived at the campground we got talking to 2 couples who lived near the Kruger NP in South Africa, and they invited us up to their holiday cabin for some prawns and a drink or two.

Chilling on the beach like a nerd

On the way into town to buy some prawns and rum, we got to meet our camp neighbours for the first time. Walking back and forth from our camp to the beach we had noticed a few bikes there but we had never been in the same place at the same time, until now. There was about 6 bikes and a 4×4, and serious collection of empties of the rum and brandy variety. We got chatting for while before walking into town for supplies, where we met a cranky old prawn seller who got quite upset when I tried to put a 1 litre bottle of water on her scales because I was convinced she and her scales were completely full of shit. When she suggested that a kilo of prawns weighs less then a kilo of water, that observation was confirmed…

Check out the spectacular moonrise over the lagoon!

With her refusing to weigh the water and with us having no other option for prawns as the sun was setting and everyone else had gone home, we haggled harder and bought ”2.5kg” of large sized prawns for about $20, which we later confirmed to be about $12 a kilo (a bit more than the price for large prawns in the Maputo Fish Market) after we got the package accurately weighed at 1.75kg, so it wasn’t so bad in the end. Tan still went back to her and gave her a piece of her mind in Portuguese though, and we bought our seafood supplies elsewhere from then on.

The ladies cooked up a storm

Even though the prawns cost a bit more than we would have liked, they still tasted great. Sarlette and Jackie expertly cooked them while Obars, Andrew and I drank a fair amount of South African Brandy and Mozambican Rum. So much so that struggling through the next day was really quite an issue, although it was worth it as Obars’ President Zuma impressions got better and better as the night wore on. “Listen, Listen!!”

Someone’s got a camera! Quick! Look serious!

Yeah, alcohol will do that to you. Obars the JZ impersonator on the left and Andrew on the right.

Tan with Sarlette and Jackie. Their end of the verandah was much more civilised.

After our recovery day, we caught up with our neighbours again who were always seated around their braai with spirits and mixers safely within arms reach. I mentioned I would be keen for a ride and they were keen for a beer, so we rode over to a bar on the other side of the lagoon through plenty of soft sand for a sundowner, about 13km one way but a good ride fun ride and made the beer worthwhile. That afternoon, and especially the evening, started a bit of a routine where we would sleep in our tent in our allotted camp site but hang around our neighbour’s braai drinking cheap Mozambican rum (about US$5 per bottle) and eating meat generously supplied in carnivorous proportions.

The bikes on the edge of the lagoon while we have a beer.

Quiet time together on the beach at sunset. Very romantic.

A 4WD came down the track onto the lagoon edge just as I was coming up, so I had to quickly pull over. Just as well, I noticed that John and his HP2 weren’t behind me anymore so turned around and went back looking…

And found this, John took an alternative route through a stream and it was deeper than he was expecting. The HP2 has a very very low air inlet, so he stopped and waited for a hand to turn his bike around rather than risk drowning his beauty. Of course, I got a photo first.

Antonie and his 1200GSA. He knew how to handle this big beast in the sand…

We spent the following afternoon driving down to the beach through the dunes in one of the guy’s Toyota before Mark finally caught up with us the that evening. Mark was instantly taken in like Tan and I were and we were showered with a mountain of meat skillfully braai’ed and all washed down with “R and Rs”, rum mixed with raspberry soda. Basically alcohol, sugar, red colouring and lots more sugar. I found myself reverting back to rum and coke as it was nowhere near as sweet, and that’s saying something.

Talking shit around the braai. Quite a lot of this happened.

The Hilux in the dunes on the way to the beach.

Tan and I in civvies and in a photo together. A pretty rare occurrence.

Me and the fellas.

More talking of shit.

Cocktails. They were drunk.

A big piece of rump nearly ready to be marinaded. Mmmm.

Braai master Leon and his creation just coming off the grill. This was some damn tasty moo cow.

Mark made it just in time for a proper “out-ride”. While Tanya stayed behind as her right shoulder was still recovering from her donkey prang and not near strong enough for a beach ride, Mark and I got up pretty early, let down our tyres and headed north on soft and sandy twin-track. About 40km later we made it to a lighthouse looking over the mouth of the Limpopo River where it empties into the Indian Ocean, a massive river which originates thousands of kilometers inland and marks the border firstly between South Africa and Botswana and then South Africa and Zimbabwe, before entering Mozambique and making its way to the ocean.

John and his HP2 on the way to the lighthouse.

Just arrived at the lighthouse where we would meet Antonie and Herman on the 1200GS’s

The view from the top. The bat guano smell to get up the tower to the top was pretty intense.

Meanwhile, Tan was in the Hilux on their way to the beach to meet us. Got two hands? That’s wasted capacity unless you’ve got two beers!

The lighthouse.

Mark and I rode with Leon and Johan on a pair of BMW HP2’s, and later Antonie and Herman caught up with us on a pair of BMW R1200GS’s after taking a less sandy route north to the river mouth. We snuck our way to the beach and stopped to regroup before starting to head south. Technically it’s illegal to ride on the beach in Mozambique and if caught by the authorities they can confiscate your bike, so we all agreed to immediately chuck a u-bomb (translation for non-Aussies: to complete a U-turn) and fang it (translation for non-Aussies: to drive a motorized vehicle swiftly) if we spotted anyone wearing anything remotely resembling a uniform.

Regroup before hitting the beach. “If you see any flashing lights, leg it!!”

I had started the day with 12psi in the front tyre and 14psi in the rear, which in the past has generally worked pretty well in soft sand. About halfway to the lighthouse I let 2psi out of the rear as it wasn’t hooking up, and now as we were about to get on the beach I let out another 2psi as it was still spinning. I wasn’t liking the Heidenau K60 Scout very much at all at this point it must be said. My MT21 front at 12psi was behaving nicely, in my opinion it’s a great do-it-all road legal knobby, but the K60 rear in the sand was highly disappointing, even for a 50/50 tyre. I was hoping that now down to 10psi it might go a bit better.

Mark and Rosie

The DR and the two HP2’s. You can see how low in the sand the K60 was digging, and this was just on the beach. We hadn’t even got to the dunes yet.

It didn’t. But it didn’t matter so much as we were having a great time screaming down the beach at 90-100kph. I took the DR up and played on the edge of some of the dunes and was weaving down the beach when I spotted a very large mound made by a surf rip. Problem was I spotted it just as I crested it at probably 90-95kph. This mound was pretty damn large, maybe 1.5m tall or maybe taller even, and the bike and I flew. Far. Very far. Because I was goofing off weaving from right to left I hit the crest of the mound at an angle so I landed all crossed up. But I managed to hang on, probably more due to the quality suspension then me, and backed off just a whisker to let my heart rate recover slightly. It was an arse puckering moment. Mark was just behind me as it all happened and by all accounts it was pretty spectacular.

The two GS’s catching up

Where we were going; South

It wasn’t long before we had finished the 20kms or so of beach riding to where we would have to make our way up over the dunes and around the lagoon back to the campground, via the pub of course. The guys wanted to get their Beemers up on top of the tallest dune so we all proceeded to have a go. The HP2’s had plenty of power to motor straight up, and even Antonie on his GS (on knobbies) got on top. Mark and I on our underpowered 650’s both fell short and bogged on our first attempts, so we went back and changed tact slightly and came at it from a slightly different angle.

Me trying to back the bike down to turn around. Mark, full of optimism, was still trying to get his piggy to the top

The KLR. Half tractor, half trench digger.

I got the DR around and was ready to head down and have another crack

Mark’s KLR was a fair bit harder to turn around from its starting position deep in a hole

Downwards we go

My second attempt ended with more trenching digging and eventual bogging, so I went back down and let out more pressure from the rear. I attacked that bloody dune every way I could imagine but just could not translate enough of the DR’s meager power reserves into traction. I let out more pressure. And more pressure. But it didn’t help, the K60 is just too hard and the tread pattern too compromised, and it just spun. I either needed more power with the limited amount of traction I had, or more traction with the limited amount of power I had. But with 43hp and no traction, it just wouldn’t go. Mark made it with a bit of pushing from the guys at the top of the dune and his relatively new T63’s supplying plenty of grip, but the K60 just couldn’t manage it. I kept letting that tyre down and down to the point where I wasn’t brave enough to let it down any more, but it just never hooked up. Frustrated, I went to the pub. A few days later when I went to inflate it, I found that I’d let it down to 5.5psi.

Me throwing the bike at another dune as a tester

Mark having another go at the big dune

Heading down the beach for another run up

Trying a highline

It was easier to just push the bike over, drag the front around and then stand it back up

Another attempt

Another failure

From there the day went essentially to script. We drank cocktails out of buckets. We went back to the camp. We sat around the braai. We were treated a variety of meaty goodies. And we drank too much. There was more and more of the same the next day. Over the previous 3 or 4 days we had been treated to lamb ribs, seasoned rump, beef sosaties (kebabs), prawns, and a variety of other bits of pieces all braai’ed to perfection. But the issue now was that our diet was consisting entirely of meat and alcohol. The train derailment which was now my intestinal tract was suffering badly. It was time to go.

Catch up on the beach

Too much chit chat and a big wave broke. Ah shit

Final attempt. Get up into 3^rd gear on the beach then turn sharply inland

Hit the high water mark and get a heap of air. Shame we didn’t get a photo.

Land it and get on the gas again.

Get on the gas hard. Screaming in 3^rd gear here, the bike is all crossed up but you gotta stay on it

There was a stretch of hard sand where the tyre would hook up and the bike would put a lot of power down. The front wheel is actually in the air here

Still hard on the gas with lots more dune to go…… The bike is in soft sand by now and the rear tyre is just spinning.

and more and more dune to go. No hope.

The fellas got up early the next day and were all packed up and gone by 8am sharp as they had claimed the night previous, their military training and discipline was obvious. We on the other hand faffed about until lunch time then hit the road north. It would take a few more days yet for our digestive systems to recover from such an intense protein diet. These guys lived by the rule that the only things worth consuming were the following 5 foods, and they were beef, lamb, pork, prawns, and spirits; usually brandy but rum was an acceptable substitute when holidaying in Mozambique. If you need a salad someone could always bbq some chicken; that is if you are that way inclined.

Mark at the pub

Being a reputable establishment there was an outdoor strippers pole. Something was wrong with the stripper though

Rum and raspberry served in a bucket. What could go wrong?

The group on the sauce

This fresh water crossing was a nice place to wash off some of that salt

Mark nearly drowned his bike and himself after going in way too fast.

Bikes heading home

The local industry, the people here make anything that might sell. These models of cars are quite good, with working doors, suspension and steering

Dirt bike made out of wire, fake leather, and the tyres and tightly wrapped black plastic bag

Deboned lamb rack. OMG this was good…

Beef kebabs…

Mark talking shit and being given a penalty shot by Leon.

Prawns…

The guys all packed up

The gang. See ya fellas! Awesome riding with you!

Blog 32 by Tan: Bet You Didn’t Know This About Rats

After being swiftly stamped out of Zimbabwe, we moved on to the Chiqualaquala side of the border in Mozambique. Despite having no other people there (only 8 people crossed there that day, including us) it took a fair while to clear as the immigration boss man had gone home for a mid afternoon chillax. In fact, ‘chillaxed’ describes the entire border post quite well, the only action going on was the 90’s era B-grade action flick playing on a laptop to a bevy of cheering border guards. While they entertained themselves we had a much delayed lunch of half stale supermarket cake and waited patiently for the immigration boss man to be roused. Eventually said boss man returned and informed us that the visas cost US$77, making it the priciest visa thus far and much more than what we were expecting. For some reason Mick had it in his head that the visa was $30 and had budgeted for this, and now we were struggling to get enough cash together. Its one significant problem of being pretty casual travellers: sometimes ‘casual’ degrades to ‘disorganised’ pretty rapidly.

But we were grateful we were easily getting the visa, as while its common to get a visa on arrival, officially you are supposed to get it beforehand. This has long been the rule but is seldom enforced… except when it is enforced in which case they have no qualms telling people at the border to get lost. Fortunately these campaigns tend to be rare and short lived.

So we were in luck… but low on cash. The one drawback about our strategy of using the remote border posts is that they are, well, remote, and there is bugger all in the way of services, like banks. We were informed the next ATM was 325km down the road in Chokwe. With the visas costing much more than we expected we were in a bit of a bind, however we were able to scrounge together enough Euros and USD. Mick sorted the visas and had a bit of an ‘oh shit, this isn’t good’ moment as a 100 Euro and a 50 USD note disappeared into a immigration official’s pocket as quick as lightning, and 15 minutes later there was no talk of change, let alone any sight of it. However, they were surprising trusting of us to set the Euro exchange rate as they had no idea what it was, and the desperately needed change duly arrived. Between us we were left with US$36 and 600 Mozambique Meticals (about US$7 worth). Not all that much to cover the cost of a place to stay, food and fuel to make it 325km to Chokwe, especially considering that last time we fueled the bikes was 300kms back in Masvingo. Thankfully they didn’t ask us to pay any road taxes or insurance otherwise we would have had to get real creative.

Our humble abode for the evening. ‘Ponto de Encontro’ means meeting point in Portuguese. It was simple, clean and had a mosquito net. What more do you need?

After maybe 2 hours clearing the border we covered about 85km of easy tar before the sun started getting low on the horizon. Despite our money predicament and the wide open spaces along the road we resisted the temptation to save cash by wild camping. We generally like to first take some time to get a feel for the place and talk to some locals before wild camping. We’d just crossed the border into a new country and had no idea of the lay of the land was so we opted for the first decent looking town with secure guesthouse.

And it had a safe place to park the bikes.

I was excited and nervous to see if I could still function in Portuguese, a language I love but seldom get to speak. It seemed that I could as I managed to find someone that would accept USD at a decent rate, provide us with a room for the night and a sizable feast of peri-peri chicken and chips without hassle. The next day we got all our money together, checking every bag and pocket we had. If we had a sofa we would have looked under the cushions. After settling the bill we had 1USD and 600MZM, about 8 bucks worth. At a pinch we had a 100 Euro note we could maybe exchange, but we knew we wouldn’t get a great rate for it, in fact it we might even struggle to find someone with that much meticals.

Buying as much fuel as we could afford. “How much can I get for 600MZM, a couple old receipts, some Dorrito crumbs, a blown fuse and a stripped 6mm bolt?”

With 625kms between fuel stops, about 150kms of gravel already done and 200kms of gravel and sand still to come, Mick worked out we should make it with the 5l reserve in my secondary tank split between the two bikes, but it would be touch and go. So to be safe, we spent our 600MZM on an additional 5L of black market fuel, which left 5l in my rear tank as reserve, and us with a single dollar and a few pesky metical coins to spare.

One of the better sections of road.

Since I acquired my shoulder injury in Namibia we made the boring decision to avoid ‘unnecessary’ off-road riding while my shoulder heals. Yet despite our plans to avoid technical riding it seems to come looking for us. This was the case that day when the tar quickly ended and was replaced with semi-constructed, dirt and sand road for nearly 200km. With cash exhausted and fuel low we resorted to riding as efficiently as possible by maintaining an even speed in 5th gear. Fine on the tar but interesting on unmaintained, sandy dirt roads with hidden obstacles. It made for a few unexpected airborne moments all in the interests of saving fuel. The track was at times eroded, sandy with a bunch of near invisible bumps that led to me getting some air as I struggled to spot them in time. Landing the overloaded flying pig of a DR in these conditions was doing my shoulder no good so I sent Mick out in front to warn me of the obstacles ahead of time. It was a tiring few hours to say the least.

As we travelled along this remote section of the country we were floored by the abject poverty in these parts. It was utterly desolate and life looked incredibly bleak for the people living in the dilapidated mud huts that lined the route. It was one of the poorest looking areas we had been to thus far on the trip. We could only hope that the highway (apparently) under construction helped to improve their lot somewhat. These guys looked beyond poor, the only commercial activity going on was the ubiquitous charcoaling.

I went on to reserve about 55kms from Chokwe and Michael did the same 30km afterwards. In the end we made it to the edge of town when my bike ran completely out of fuel. How’s that for luck… Mick’s maths was pretty spot-on. Mick emptied the fuel from the stove bottle into the tank and we rode the last 800m to the bank and then the servo. We were disappointed to see that fuel in Mozambique was expensive at about US$1.6 per litre. With the knowledge that accommodation in Mozambique is very pricey too meant we were in for an expensive few weeks.

Just before arriving in Mozambique we had been given the contact details of friends of friends, Ken and Marietjie, who are South African but have been living in Maputo for a couple of years. We gave fair warning that we might smell too bad to enter their nice house, yet they were still happy to take us in and gave us some detailed directions through busy Maputo. We were slightly anxious about riding into the capital as we had heard its traffic was nightmarish. Everyone loves to warn us how terrible the traffic is in a particular city but thankfully even fully loaded our bikes are narrow enough (the luggage is only a whisker wider than the bars) to lane split with minimal issue. While it was slightly hectic it was quite manageable even during rush hour at the end of the day.

Totally spoilt we were

Ken and Marietjie gave us a warm welcome and as they pulled up the garage roller door we were quickly able to understand why they were so open to accepting some strangers off the street at short notice… they were mad bikers themselves. We got on like a house on fire and were blown away by their hospitality. We were put up in the guest bedroom that had an air conditioner. It was incredibly exciting. And there were even towels prepared for us complete with a handmade welcome card. Seriously! How utterly spoilt have we been on this trip!

Marietjie is the most passionate pillion passenger I have ever met and I loved it. She doesn’t ride herself but takes her pillion riding seriously and was boss when it came to buying the great Triumph Tiger 800XCx that they tour on. They were a fantastic source of knowledge on the city, which benefited us to no end. After being informed that our border guys were wrong in telling us we didn’t need insurance, Marietjie drove us to an insurance office to sort it out which was quick and easy as a result.

On the way we got our first proper look at the city (ie out a window and not lane splitting) most people rather glibly described as a ‘total shithole.’ It was another perfect example of how you need to go somewhere yourself and make up your own mind. We absolutely loved Maputo. The place was positively buzzing with energy. It was a complete contrast to the gaping void of economic activity in Zimbabwe. Here in Mozambique there was commerce everywhere you looked. There were people at stoplights selling fruit, nail clippers, phone charges, car exhausts, live crabs on a string, steering wheel covers, dress shirts, shoes and hair brushes. The whole city was a thriving marketplace and while people were obviously still living below the poverty line there was trade going on and an energetic level of motivation that could be felt. The place buzzed. We liked it.

On our trips through the city the thing that stuck out the most was the shear amount of second hand clothing for sale. You couldn’t throw a rock in Maputo and not hit an item of pre-loved clothing from the Western world. The funny thing for us was seeing that huge amount of Australian brands on display as Mozambique’s second hand gear is overwhelmingly sourced from Oz. Turns out the secondhand clothing market is the mainstay of Mozambique informal economy and Maputo is used-clothing HQ. From what we observed the trade had become highly normalised and everyone from cashed up expats to regular professionals and poor slum dwellers sourced their clothes from Australia’s cast-offs. It got me curious about the secondhand clothing industry so we looked into it further. Cue internet searches…

Cheers to the throw away society – random image from the inter webs

Mountains of cast-off clothing makes its way to Africa every year. In Mozambique the used clothes are referred to as “roupa da calamidade” – clothing of calamity. In Nigeria, another hub for used clothing, they call it “kafa ulaya” – which rather amusingly means ‘the clothes of the dead whites’. Believe it or not, the global secondhand clothing industry is valued at an astounding $US4.35 billion. Most people are unaware that the used clothing they donate to charities in their own countries are seldom distributed domestically and almost never given to poor people for free. Instead they are mostly sold to wholesalers for export.

In Mozambique, a charity is not allowed to merely give the clothes away as it will damage the local textile sector…. the same textile sector which was destroyed during the prolonged civil war and there has been no real efforts to revive. At the moment the used clothing trade provides jobs and affordable high quality clothes satisfying the needs of the people, and also the needs of politicians who prefer to do very little.

Jeans seller – CNN image

I was really curious of the kind of margins seller were making when you could buy a pair of brand new looking jeans for a few dollars. I managed to find a story on the used-clothing sellers in Zimbabwe. Countries like Zim wanting to raise revenue… oh, I mean revive their textile sector, have resorted to applying taxes of 40% on secondhand clothes. Some countries have banned the trade altogether. This has led to black market smuggling of used clothing involving significant corruption. A woman might travel all the way to Mozambique from Zimbabwe to buy a 50kg bale of used clothes for about $200-250, then set about transporting them back. Along the way she will have to pay off police and mafia manning illegal entry points. Truck drivers will charge a huge amount to transport the contraband, as much as $100 for a short ride due to the risks involved and simple greed. When back home, more police will come for their pay off along with tax officials who should be applying a 40% tax but would rather settle for a nice little kickback. After they sort, clean and repair the clothes and finally get to a point to make some money off the arduous journey… she might make around $10 profit. Sometimes they do a lot better than that. Sometimes they lose it all.

That is the thing about an informal economy. It is better than subsistence but significant changes in ones existence are near impossible to realise. So although we were impressed with the vibrancy of the informal economy of Mozambique we still saw it for what is was – a step above abject poverty but a mile away from prosperity.

One of the main reasons we travelled all the way south to Maputo was that we had a date with some rats. I have been a long time fan of a fantastic NGO called APOPO who train rats to solve human problems, namely to detect landmines and tuberculosis (TB). Knowing they had a TB centre in Maputo I contacted them and asked if we could visit them like a proper rat groupie and they were happy to oblige. They also said we were welcome to visit the mine detecting rats when we went to Tanzania. I was so excited I almost couldn’t handle it.

One of the TB sniffing rats in action.

Waiting for its reward for correctly identifying a confirmed case of TB in one of the 10 samples. Unfortunately for this little guy, while he correctly identified the TB case, he didn’t wait for a click from the trainer to indicate he was correct. This rat was too confident and too keen for his treat and as soon as he identified the TB sample he ran for his reward. The HeroRATs may be easy to train but they are even easier to un-train. The clicks are import to keep the rats trained and disciplined. So this guy missed out on his prize.

So I am quite a cynical old duck these days so it is not your average charitable organisation that can impress me easily. But I gotta say organisations like APOPO are doing an amazing amount of good, not giving things away and creating dependency, just contributing to making a situation more conducive to development by removing landmines and diagnosing disease. And doing it in a most intelligent way. The rather creative and cluey founder of APOPO was a rat lover and set about researching the possibility of deploying rats for humanitarian purposes. First came the remarkably successful landmine detecting rats then the tuberculosis sniffing ones.

This little fella identified the confirmed TB case by scratching on the positive sample. Then waited for the click (the audio reinforcement) and then got his reward.

And didn’t waste a drop of it.

A little about the APOPO’s HeroRats: They are African giant pouched rats and are fantastic candidates for their work in Africa. They are indigenous and very robust critters, are surprisingly intelligent, have an appropriate temperament and a relatively long life span of about 8 to 10 years. They rival dogs for their sense of smell but well exceed them in ability to be trained. Rats are easy to transport and unlike mine sniffing dogs, they are too light to set off landmines. However the real kicker is the ease and low cost nature of training. It takes about 9 months and roughly $8000 to train a rat that may work in the field for up to 7 years.
A little about TB testing: Developing countries like Mozambique typically rely on a century old detection technique using microscopes to identify TB bacteria in a suspect’s sputum. Accuracy is a problem, and it is believed that fewer than 50% of TB cases are correctly detected in Sub-Saharan Africa. For each missed case of TB, 10 to 15 people per year may be infected by that person who then go on to infect another 10 to 15 people and so on and so forth. And that is how TB kills half a million people a year in Africa. TB is the second most deadly infections disease in the world after HIV. In 2010 the percentage of TB patients with HIV in Mozambique was 61%. This miserable statistic contributes to a greater difficulty of diagnosis for TB. This is where the rats step, or should I say scurry, in.

The evaluation sheet for one of the star performers Astrid. You’ll see there are 4 control sample positive for TB. One is a very strong concentration, the other 3 are a standard. Astrid got them all correct and rewarded for all 4. All the ticks represent suspect cases in her expert opinion. Few of the other rats had the same high sense of smell.

For anyone who had previously pegged rats as worthless vermin, prepare to have your minds blown. A single rat can evaluate more samples of suspected TB in 30 minutes than a trained lab technician can test in 4 days. And not only are they quicker, they are more accurate. In the first 16 months, Maputo’s TB sniffing rats evaluated approximately 12,500 potential TB patients. Of those, 1,700 were found positive for TB by the conventional microscopy methods. The HeroRATs detected an additional 764 patients missed by the labs, resulting in a 44% increase detection rates.

A great clip of the TB rats https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvUUadKKQ1s

Me and one of the rats – They are nocturnal so only work for a couple of hours in the morning before going back to bed. Wish I could jag a similar working arrangement.

The Maputo team

But what about modern, cutting edge detection methods, you ask? Well an automated diagnostic test called GeneXpert is seen as a real game changer in the fight against TB. However the device costs about $17,000 and between $10 and $17 per test. The rats on the other hand cost just $8000 to train and work, quite literally, for bananas. And I am guessing that the GeneXpert wiz-bang TB machine would not function in a place like Mozambique for 7 years the way a rat would. They are appropriate technology for the developing regions of the world.

But what about modern, cutting edge detection methods, you ask? Well an automated diagnostic test called GeneXpert is seen as a real game changer in the fight against TB. However the device costs about $17,000 and between $10 and $17 per test. The rats on the other hand cost just $8000 to train and work, quite literally, for bananas. And I am guessing that the GeneXpert wiz-bang TB machine would not function in a place like Mozambique for 7 years the way a rat would. They are appropriate technology for the developing regions of the world.

We were fascinated to hear of APOPOs future aspirations for the HeroRATs. At this stage the rats are a secondary detection method for TB. The rats go over samples that have already been evaluated by the lab. When multiple rats on multiple occasions detect a suspect sample cleared by the lab it is sent back for re-analysis. What APOPO is working towards is gathering enough data to statistically support the use of rats as a first line screening method. They would be used in conjunction with the more conventional and expensive methods of detection, but they would be weeding out the majority of the negative samples, reducing the time and work burden on conventional labs not to mention the costs.

The South African government has apparently expressed interest in the potential for the rats to work in prisons and mines. TB is such a huge health risk where people are working and living in close quarters, presenting perfect conditions for the rapid spread of the disease in absence of a cheap, reliable and rapid form of detection. Having worked in mining I became used to having a breath test for alcohol (a ‘breatho’) at the start of every shift. I was pretty amused by the mental image this conjured of mine workers going for their morning ‘rato’ test to make sure you weren’t under the influence of TB. TB is obviously not funny but the ideas and possibility of the humble rats is mind bending.

Group photo

One of the rats checking out my ride

Take this for example, we learnt they don’t actually know what it is that the rats are smelling when they detect the TB. Yes, they know that they are reacting to the TB bacteria as they have been trained through ‘operative conditioning’, ie reward the rats with food in the presence of a positive TB sample. But the actual chemicals they are smelling in the positive TB samples, they do not know. They suspect it must be some kind of enzyme of the TB germ that is distinctive to the rats. If they could gain an understanding of what exactly they are smelling there would be considerable scope for developing a non-invasive breath test for TB. This would be a significant improvement as current testing relies on a patient coughing up sputum, which is not always possible for children and the very sick for example. One of the trials they have going on is called CameRAT where they are investigating the potential to use rats wearing small cameras to participate in search and rescue operations in natural disaster/building collapse situations. Watch a video of an early trail here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCQRbPz3MF4

Suffice as to say, it was utterly fascinating stuff that is doing a lot of good and has huge potential to do even more. And it all came about because a creative and cluey guy in Belgium, once had a pet rat…..

You can find more info on their website www.apopo.org and you should like their excellent Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/heroRAT?fref=ts

We found this great café near the embassies that served great coffee and Portuguese desserts

After an awesome morning with the rats with headed into town to try our luck at getting a visa for Egypt, the easiest one of 3 visas that we need heading north, along with Ethiopia and Sudan. The first person we spoke to at the Egyptian embassy informed us that they only issued visas to Mozambique citizens, which is what they always say. We reasoned that there must be a way for people from other countries to get visas on the road and eventually another lady who worked at the embassy come along to help us. She took an interest in our bike trip and she went to discuss the matter with the consul. When she returned she informed us that we could come and pick up the visa the following day. She also let us know that when we picked up the visa she’d love to see our bikes and take a photo. Elsa was a huge help to us and it was lovely to meet her and we are so happy to see that she has been following us and commenting on our blog. Thanks again Elsa! And if that wasn’t an awesome day in Maputo so far, Ken and Marietjie then took us out for an extravagant seafood dinner! Maputo is famous for prawns and it didn’t disappoint.

Our Egyptian embassy guardian angel Elsa who we wouldn’t have got the visa without

With Egyptian visas in hand we felt like we were on a roll so ducked around the corner to try our luck with the notoriously difficult to secure Sudan tourist visa. We showed up and were treated like royal guests by everyone from the security guard to the embassy staff. We were served coffee while we waited and even offered fresh juice. We were informed by an assistant that the consul was currently out but that she could start the visa process in the meantime. We have heard many tales of people requiring a letter of introduction from their home embassy, hotel bookings, contact details for a person in Sudan, invitation letters and tourist reference numbers issued from Khartoum which can take weeks. We had none of those things. All we had were copies of various African visas and our carnet de passage documents demonstrating we are travelling through Africa to Europe. She said that if we just wrote our own introduction letter that would be fine.

The Sudanese consul to Mozambique who made our day and dug our bikes

It was all looking quite positive, however we simply couldn’t believe it. We didn’t get our hopes up, yet did everything she asked on the off chance that it worked out. After the weekend we returned to the Sudan embassy and were this time greeted by the Consul who apologised a number of times that he could not process our visa the other day as he was busy – like the time of some bikers bums like us was more important than his. He then gave us the visas and informed us he was keen to check out the bikes parked out front. We couldn’t believe our luck we had the visas in our hands. Then he completely bowled us over by refusing payment for the visas. They should have been $US50 each and he just gave them to us. Have you ever heard of such a thing!

Much in the same way our use of remote border posts tends to benefit us, we have learned that it can be a lot easier applying for your visas in more distant countries. People who get their Sudan visas from Nairobi and Addis Ababa report very different experiences to ours. We celebrated our amazing visa feat with a great braai Ken and Maritjie’s two Aussie friends, Kit and Tony who had also been living and working in Maputo. It was great to spend some time with some fellow Aussies and to outnumber South Africans for the first time in months.

Ken assisting Mick with the front suspension rebuild

Pulling the forks apart

Home made fork seal driver cut from a piece of PVC pipe

New fork oil on the left, old fork oil on the right

While I was stuck sorting out visas and working on an essay that was nearly due, Mick worked on a list of bike chores. Mick’s front forks slowed but didn’t stop leaking oil after Zimbabwe and it was apparent a rebuild was in order. With the help of Ken (and the fork oil and seals he got us from SA) he got the forks rebuilt nice and plush again. Also, his steering damper had been leaking slowly for some time now, so that got rebuilt also using spare o-rings he was carrying (seriously Mick carries spares for EVERYTHING). Wheel bearings and steering bearings were inspected and regreased. Chains cleaned and greased. New brake pads installed. New heavy duty front tube and tyre goo installed. We also replaced my donated mirror with a new folding one sourced from South Africa. Mick checked my valve clearances and they were perfectly in spec, not bad for a bike with 47,000km on it. He also reset the height of our headlights which are so bright they seem to freak everyone out. The lights were sitting slightly too high so Mick took out the mounts and filed the slots out some more and put it back together.

Mick taking advantage of a good work bench to rebuild my steering damper

Steering damper gizzards

I replaced our front sprockets and set about changing Mick’s front tyre. I was deep in essay procrastination mode so was insistent on changing the tyre despite my shoulder injury. This was a mistake. As my right shoulder was still very poorly I had to resort to using my left hand which I have near to no coordination in. I was just about to get the last of the tyre on to the rim when my left hand grip slipped and the tyre lever flew up and clocked me in the face just above my right eye. Any lower and I think I could have done serious damage. As it was I very nearly passed out and the room was spinning for some time. Yet even at the time I was very aware what I did was very stupid so I set about trying to hide my folly from Mick. But he noticed something was up and came to inspect. I was fighting back tears successfully until I saw the blood and became alarmed. It was awful but didn’t need stitches. I then left the bike work to work on my essay which at that point felt like the safer course of action.

Changing the worn out front sprockets

Nothing says thank you like a 10,000 calorie breakfast

On the weekend we cooked an extravagant French toast feast for brunch before Mick and Ken went to the local MX track and did some riding on Ken’s Husky. I stayed and worked on my essay due the next day (I am completing the last few units of a degree while we travel). Mick had a good time and was in awe of Ken who was absolutely hooking in and getting serious air over the jumps. He is fit and mean on a motorbike.

Mick taking Ken’s Husqvarna TE310 for a spin… taking it easy on someone elses bike…

They went riding of a track near the aluminium smelter. Some of the bikers pool money to pay a couple of local guys to maintain the track.

The track is 100% sand

Our loaded DRs often feel like lumbering fat pigs…all the more so having ridden on the Husky

We were keen to celebrate handing in my first essay of the semester so we headed for the Maputo fish market. I had heard and read mixed reviews about the fish market with some saying it is fantastic while others complained it was a tourist trap full of charlatans. For us, it was brilliant and one of the highlights of our time in Maputo.

Oyster girl

Clam ladies

Highly tempted to get crab for lunch

But the prawns are the main draw here

Check out the size of the things

On our way to fish market we got pulled over for the first time. As the officer came up to us we did our best to push the many horrible stories of corrupt Mozambican police out of our minds. Sure enough he was just a guy doing his job and when he saw our papers were in order he waved us on and actually directed us to the fish market. We’d been warned about corrupt and unscrupulous police throughout Mozambique and am happy to report that we encountered none. I am convinced that we are lucky travellers and that on the bikes we are simply not as much of a target for extortion.

A lot of fish markets you go to you can smell a mile away. This one you could barely smell even from within it. A sign of how fresh the produce was.

‘My fish for your inspection’

GET IN MY BELLY!

One of the many prawn sellers

The fish market was a lot smaller and calmer than we were expecting. There was the odd hawker out front but they seemed to clear off when we entered the market. Produce was undeniably fresh with piles of oysters, mussels, fish, prawns, lobster, calamari – you name it. We were spoilt for choice but ultimately decided on getting a kilo of calamari, a kilo of prawns and a 1.5kg crayfish. The deal is you buy the gear then go out back and get a restaurant to cook it for you.

This is the lady we bought our squid from

And here is the one we bought our prawns from.

More ocean life

More fish

Before going to the market I googled the place to get an idea of prices and was met with many stories of all the creative ways people will rip you off there; putting excess water and even stones in the bags, using dodgy scales, swapping out fresh fish for older fish once it hits the restaurant kitchen. These stories of imminent rip offs are not all that helpful and just create a level of suspicion and negativity that you can do without. When it comes down to it if you are satisfied with the produce and the price being offered; that is good. If not, bargain. Tell them it doesn’t feel like 1kg and offer a lower price or tell them to give you more. Worrying if you are paying more than you should just takes the fun out of the experience. I can no longer remember what we paid for things but it may have been about $10 per kg for large prawns, $8 per kg of squid and $17 for 1.5kg of crayfish.

The guys we got to cook up our haul

We were excited to eat this bad boy

There were no instructions necessary. They knew exactly what they were doing. All that remained was to drink beer and wait. Mick approved highly of the Mozambican beers

This guy was selling some cool stuff. There are a few hawkers about but they aren’t too insistent at all.

And it seems there is an arrangement. They can come up to people before the food arrives but the moment it is on the table they won’t approach.

The place was smaller than we expected but it was perfect. Popular with visitors and locals alike.

We found a place with friendly looking staff to cook our haul. I think we were paying about $1 per kg to clean and prepare, then to cook it was about $3-4 per kg. They clearly knew what they were doing as we almost lost our minds at the taste. Never had I had better seafood and the place had a great atmosphere and it didn’t feel like a tourist trap at all to us. We easily could have stayed there drinking beer and rubbing our distended stomachs until dinnertime came but we’d planned to cook for Ken and Marietjie to thank them for their hospitality. We bought 2kg of prawns for the road and made our way back to whip up a Thai coconut prawn curry.

Behold the crayfish!

Tasted even better than it looked.

Heaven is a crayfish

And the prawns…..

We.Ate.All.The.Things

And got some more for the road

And turned it into this

After an excellent and productive stay in Maputo it was time to leave. I think we were so reluctant to leave our new friends that we really faffed about getting going… even more than usual, I mean. We took care of some superficial little bike jobs like re-siliconing my volt meter back on to the dash, replacing a missing bolt in Mick’s exhaust end cap, plus a few others. We had such a fantastic time with Ken and Marietjie who were more fun and carefree than the average 20 year old. With any luck we’ll be able to convince them to come riding with us somewhere. We were sad to be leaving such good company and their dogs, especially my mate Frankie who would have been an awesome addition to the team. I reluctantly agreed it would be poor form to steal their dog after all they have done for us.

I fell in love with the Frank man but Mick wouldn’t let me take him even though he was obviously keen

Our awesome new biker buddies

After saying our goodbyes we set about negotiating Maputo’s traffic, filling up and getting some cash. We fell about 30kms short of our planned destination when the sun went down and opted to stay there in the town of Marcia. In the last few km before town I had some ground dwelling animal jump out on the road and explode on my left boot. I didn’t know what it was but it was sizable enough that my ankle was sore inside my SIDIs. I thought it was a hare but feathers glued to my boots with blood and guts revealed it must have been some kind of fowl. Sorry fella.

We found a hotel in town that was nice though expensive, had a feed and crashed out for the night. The next day we tried to figure out what we should do with ourselves while we waited for our KLR riding biker mate Mark to come and meet us. Someone recommended that we check out a place called Bilene which had some nice campsites and a great lagoon. We planned on a quiet and peaceful rest and recuperation at the beach…… and then we met our South African’s camp neighbours….. with their hospitality, their never ending meat supplies, their rivers of R&Rs….we didn’t stand a chance.