Off to a beach resort for a chill out day on the beach sunbathing by the Indian Ocean. Everyone geared up last night for another hot day. The train forecast is 27C and sunny. My phone told me otherwise when I checked last night.
Woken to the sound of rain.
It’s peeing it down.
It’s cold.
Dress accordingly. Fleece hoodie. Gore-tex waterproof coat. Walking boots. Thick socks. Oh yes. I know how to dress for the beach.
Others don’t. Convinced it’s going to clear and be nice.
And warm. And sunny. Shorts. Flimsy blouses. Most obtain beach towels being handed out by the train.
For the sunbathing.
By the Indian Ocean.
Keep telling them the forecast is cold and wet. No one believes me. They think I’m joking.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Someone says it’s 3hrs on the bus to the resort. It’s only 70km. How can it be 3hrs?
Ho. Ho. Ho.
When someone tells you you’re going to a beach resort by the Indian Ocean. What image does that conjure up? Think about it a while. Personally. Have images of snazzy upmarket resort along the lines of Comandatuba near Salvador, Brasil. Google it. (They thought we were hotel inspectors the last time we went – but that’s another story for another blog).
Plans for today are to find a quiet corner. Catch up on diary. Write blog. With the free Wifi access. Oh yes. Looking forward to today.
70km. Should only take an hour. It does. But. Takes nearly 2hrs for 6 buses to make the 10min crossing on the ferry.
Sorry. Did I say. Ferry??
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Floating debris more like.
One word.
Ramshackle.
So there we all are. Standing on the dirt track road that purports to be a quayside.
Oh yes. Did I mention. How flipping freezing it is? How flipping wet it is? How flipping windy it is? Unbelievably cold. Even with wearing wet weather gear.
There’ll not be much sunbathing today. At least we can enjoy the delights of a beach resort.
The “ferry” is basically a floating pontoon with engine below deck. A manhole in the deck allows the exhaust to vent. All over the passengers. If you don’t die of hypothermia. Carbon monoxide will do the trick. Pilot’s cabin in a little turret on deck. One window is. Well. Windowless. Umbrella used to protect him from the wind and rain. Did I mention the wind and rain. And cold??
“Ferry” can only take two cars parked sideways and two buses straight on at a time. We have six buses to convey.
It. Takes. Time. To load.
It. Takes. Time. To cross.
It. Takes. Time. To unload.
It. Takes. Time. To load the other side.
You know where this is going.
Nearly 2hrs later all buses have crossed. All a bit precarious. Certain amount of listing.
Now for the first leg of the Paris-Dakar Rally. Not dirt track roads to reach the 5* beach resort. Oh no. Sand tracks. Much worse. Drive in convoy in case anyone goes down. No one does.
Pull up outside a thatched shack. This’ll be the reception building. Won’t it. The beach resort will be on the beach. Won’t it.
But no. This open sided thatched shack about 20m x 20m is the resort. Actually. It’s not a resort. It’s a bar. Called “Hooker’s Bar”. Concrete floor. Plastic garden furniture. Open sides.
Oh yes. Did I mention open sides? Did I mention the cold? Did I mention the wind? Did I mention the rain?
This is it.
For the next 3hrs. They’re all sitting down shivering wrapped in whatever clothing they can muster. It’s like a Darby & Joan Club. Ask if anyone wants to play bingo. Which raises a chuckle. They’ve found a use for beach towels. Shawls.
Sod that. Not sitting in the cold for 3hrs. Borrow the bus key. Escape. Sole occupancy. Great. Peace. Quiet. And. More importantly. Warm. Catch up on diary. In the warmth. Return to the Darby & Joan Club for lunch. Huge fresh prawns. Piri-piri chicken. Chips. That’s better. There’s a few frozen souls. Two are wrapped cocoon like in fluorescent sleeping bags provided by owner.
Finally. Time to depart. Car park is a sand pit. Exit is a right hander through the gate then up to the crest of a dune.
First bus to depart bogs down in the sand. Jump out to help push again.
Along with others. No good. Well and truly bogged down. 4×4 jeep and rope required. Pulls free. Drives off again. Bogs down again. 4×4 again. Pulls free. Drives off again. Finally free. After some time. Another driver shows them how to do it. Bus full of old ladies. Driver guns it around the bend at speed. Momentum taking him out of the danger zone. Hilarious watching little old ladies bouncing up and down on the seats as he floors it over the ridges. Just after lunch.
Meanwhile. Whilst all this is happening, The German driver of the Swiss bus has got stuck. In the car park. After driving all of…….3ft. The other drivers crack up laughing at his predicament. It amuses all for some reason.. Even laughing now as I type this.
All make it to the ferry port without further incident. Rigmarole of crossing is repeated.
Driving through Maputo reminds me of Salvador in the tropics of Brasil. Squalid. Dirty. Grotty. Disgusting. Plenty of shacks lining the road. People standing around waiting for transportation. Men peeing in scrubland by the roadside.
Not exactly been the best day of the trip.
