The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
“Look down! Look down!” The guide is shouting. We slid off the pontoon into open ocean with mask and snorkel on, and looking down there it is, directly below us. A Whale Shark. We are in the water with the largest fish in the sea. He is handsome; dark charcoal grey with dignified white spots and a big, big smile on his enormous face. Yes, I am anthropomorphizing here, but really, his mouth forms a smile. 
Like a pitbull dog smiles. It is just as charming. His spots are unique to him and are used for identification. His tail gracefully propels him through the green water; cleaning 
remora fish cling to him. He is magnificent.
Young male Whale Sharks inhabit this “whale shark alley” off the coast of Tofu Beach when plankton is rich. That such an stupendous creature lives off microscopic plankton is a wonder. Isn’t Earth just overflowing with such wonders? We don’t know the half of the ocean – how could humans possibly screw up such a huge and complicated
eco-system? Little by little, is the answer to that. But here in the water with Mr. Handsome, pacing him as he slowly glides along, humans are gone and the ocean is safe. I never dreamed I would see such a sight as that creature. I am the very last person to climb out of the water. It is another place I didn’t want to leave. 
Mozambique has the most coastline of any African country except Somalia – put that in your hookah, why don’t you. The snorkeling is superb in the Bazaruto Archipelago. The tour guides don’t tell us that to reach the main reef we must crash through a big wave break – and 
the seas were already high. It was worth being a bit scared. In the Bazaruto channels are giant Manta Rays, endangered Dugongs, 
endless schools of every kind of fish, towering sand dunes and one day, we even spotted tiny Seahorses in the great estuary of Tofo.
Today we are camped above Paindane Beach looking at the reef we snorkeled at 7am this morning. Lighthouse Reef sparkles with coral gardens reminiscent of succulents in full bloom at the Huntington Botanical Garden. The dunes above the beach here are fully lined with campsites and lodges, 
all of which are empty now. This is the off-season
. For as far as we can see down the long beach, we are the only tourists. Michael and Joseph, cleaning fresh-caught lobster for us after they shucked 50 oysters (yes, we ate all of this and more), tell us the beach is packed at the holidays. Mozambique is open for business, from Gorongosa to Pemba to the sinfully beautiful Bazaruto Archipelago. If you come to Paindane (and you should!) be sure to ask for Michael and Joseph, they will treat you to the freshest seafood you’ll ever eat.
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the 
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk t
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
Who is Monte? Where is his favorite place? Why’s it so special? To find 
out, at 6am we took off on our third guided game drive in the unique Gorongosa National Park. After stalling around Zimbabwe (yes, stalling around. . . hiking, birding, relaxing) it was time to give Gorongosa another shot. We hope for dry roads, maybe some good game sightings, some birds. . .
Gorongosa is different. You’ve probably read that animals were decimated by the long civil war, that restoration efforts are on-going and that fighting flares up 
from time to time, creating a tense atmosphere and yes, these things are true. What is not touted loudly enough is
how exceptionally beautiful the park is; how the flora is pristine, the trees huge and the bottom land is untouched by farms or cattle ranches. This is a park suspended in time. We’ve seen nothing like this anywhere.
With nearly a clean slate, a couple of decades of research, and lots and lots of money, 
Gorongosa has begun the return to its prime. Many people are involved. Mozambican graduate students are here, doing surveys and learning from the cream of the crop of professors and teachers leading the education platform. Rangers and guides are training here. There is a state-of-the-art biological laboratory and plant library plus
a molecular laboratory. The park is conducting anthropological digs; with its location at the lower end of the Great Rift, there are likely hominid fossil remains waiting to be discovered by some hardworking (lucky) person. Locally, the park spent 10 years determining the best way to involve the villagers and another 10 years implementing a coffee growing/tree planting scheme for them. It is paying off for everyone. 
That said, the average tourist is most welcome. Self-driving is not allowed but seeing this park 
with a trained guide is the way to go and drives are very affordable. Test and Tongo escorted us the first morning and in a few hours taught us so much about the trees and plants I thought my head would explode. That’s not even counting the fascinating animal facts and game sightings including an oribi antelope and a mating pair of porcupine (yes, we all know the joke). On the evening drive, beneath the stunning sunset
, a hippo gave new meaning to the saying “throwing his weight around” as he challenged us for our spot on the riverbank. Then in the morning Monte took over guiding. And he really iced the cake.
After weaving through the sun forest and stopping for several excellent sightings, we drove up to the edge of the floodplain and were rendered speechless. In front of us is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Monte smiles shyly. “This is my favorite place” he says. It is mine too. Endless plains of grass, flowers, water – all of it teeming with birds. Birds, birds and more birds. There are flocks of egrets, ducks, geese, 
heron, storks of every kind, stilts, pelicans, ibis, songbirds, lapwings, raptors, darters . . . everywhere you look, in the 
sky or on the ground, there are birds. Waterbuck and cape buffalo graze in the distance. Mount Gorongosa is a hazy grey landmark rising over the plain. I never want to leave. Monte tells me that I’d hate it in the rainy season. Maybe. Meanwhile we are enjoying it now, thanks to the monumental effort to restore and preserve Gorongosa.
Did you know that, contrary to what you’ll read on the web, you cannot extend a 30-visa in Mozambique? Not at an immigration office, not at a border, not at all. Unlike every other African country we have visited, Moz immigration requires that a tourist leave the country then return and purchase a new visa. And not just leave for an afternoon, either. Two days at least. This is a stunning revelation. Go to Zimbabwe, they told us, it is only an hours drive to the border. As it was still fairly early in the day, to the Forbes/Manica border we went, only to be told the same thing. We would have to leave Moz. Now.
So why not just strike out for Vilankulos and the coast, you ask, spend a few days at the beach first? Yes, well, on another planet that might work. But even with over a week left on our current visa, there is nowhere in this mangled country we can drive to and still get back to the Forbes border within nine days. The roads, and I’m being kind, are barely paved. The potholes have potholes. Smaller holes they fill with sedans. Just getting back to Gorongosa National Park, where rain has effectively closed the game drives, is at least a two day drive, with no guarantee that we’d even see that park. We pull back to the last Mozambique campground before the Forbes border and take a breath – time to ready 
ourselves for Zimbabwe.
Casa Msika camp is so welcoming and friendly we stay for two days – lucky for us we have the time. Christopher, a young and dedicated Zimbabwean man, is the game warden of the small reserve and he leads us on a trek to find the resident giraffes, one of whom is about to give birth. She is very calm as we watch her but she isn’t about to birth her calf in front of us! There are zebra and wildebeest out and about; the reserve is hoping to boost their game animal numbers, perhaps even provide creatures to help replenish Gorongosa’s herds. Back at camp, a family from Zimbabwe arrive on their way home from the 
coast and we dine with them. Their enthusiasm is infectious, they love Zim’s Eastern Highlands and Vumba mountains. Off we go the next morning, to the bird-watching paradise and cloud forests of eastern Zimbabwe. We will be back to Moz soon enough. Gorongosa Park will be dry. The beaches will still be beautiful. It’s just a matter of time.
This cover photo is the Post Office on Ilha De Mozambique. Now how do I know that? you ask; there are no signs nor logos. There is however a slotted red box on the street in front of the building that says “Correios” – mail. Once I step inside, the clerk immediately pulls out a packet of postcards of the island – yes, just what I’ve been looking for. With his two or three words of English and some sign languag
e I gather that the Big Man will have to return before I can even see any stamps (“stamp” is easy to pantomime, by the way). The next day the Big Man is still not available and I’m forced to leave the cards with the clerk after paying for the postage – he assured me that he would post them. Yet what I really wanted was to see the stamps – are they beautiful birds? Flowers? Shells? Guess that will have to wait until 
the next PO assuming I can find one.
Ilha (pronounced E-la) is a sun-bleached town of crumbling architecture reminiscent of Zanzibar. The 15th through 19th century Portuguese stronghold, the buildings were constructed using stone shipped all the way from Europe as well as local land coral. Hard to imagine why European stone was needed but much of what the 
early colonizers did stretches the imagination. The ramparts of the old fort are lined with cannons. Many, many cannons, some date stamped with 1539 on them. There is a Jardim de Memória (memorial garden) at the slave trading warehouse which does little to explain those horrors, real and unfathomable. The garden is more a tribute to the conglomeration of peoples that slavery created on Ilha and in Moz, a by-product of centuries of evil.
The enormous Governors Palace is well-preserved and sparkling clean, the many wood-planked floors shine without a speck of dust. In fact the entire island is remarkably tidy. The streets are neatly laid with pavers and are swept every morning. The people are polite if somewhat solemn; the island vibe is minimal here. Of course there are hustlers, their efforts easy to dispel although it 
would be nice to help each and every young man trying to make a living selling shell necklaces. There are just way too many young men, and even more small children. Good luck to them, they will need it.
Hydroplaning along the road in a vicious downpour, we travel south to Quelimani, past the endless parade of people who are 
walking, riding bikes, and piled on motorcycles. Mozambique is not giving up her real self easily. The language barrier is part of it and the north is not really on the tourist route unless you fly into Pemba to dive. We’ve been told that the biggest natural gas deposit in the world has been discovered near here and a ruby mine has opened, inspiring a “ruby rush” in the interior. But local life on the road is as slow-paced as it is everywhere we’ve been. We’ll keep going and see some more of it. We like what we’ve experienced so far.
…I’d like to spend some time in Mozambique, the sunny sky is aqua blue. . . Bob Dylan sang those words in 1976 and I am sure I’m not the only person who was romanced by the lyrics. From that time long ago in Jackson Hole Wyoming, I’ve not forgotten the song and here we are 42 years (!) later about to leave Malawi and cross into Moz. First, though, we must share our email with the many Malawian army guys who want to become friends – or better still, immigrate to the US. Good luck, we tell them, really meaning it too.
Just three kilometers through a no-mans land between borders, Mandimba Border Post displays the same interior decorator skills as other sleepy African border posts. Faded yellowed fabric of some sort is nailed over unscreened windows, fans move the torpid air around, and worn counters with stacks and stacks of journal books fill the small space. A shaded porch contains broken plastic chairs; a chunk of wood serves as a table where the security guards are engaged in a rapid game of bao. They motion for us to sit while we wait for the Big Man to return from wherever he is – he must unlock the door to the processing room so that the immigration officer can issue our visas. We wait, just like everyone else.
Once the Big Man arrives the process is swift; photos, fingerprints and then a neat official stamp sealed onto our passports. Our carnet is carefully filled out by the customs officer who obviously has seen a carnet before so we don’t have to walk him through it. Welcome to Mozambique.
Down the road the potholes take their toll. The back camper tie-downs snap off and the camper makes a frightening bang at every hole. The front tie-downs hold, thankfully, but we must find a welder asap. Slowly we make our way to our first stop, arriving 
at the only hotel in Cuamba town right at dark. Why aren’t we camping, you ask? Well, there is very little camping here in the Moz interior. We’ve routed ourselves through two towns where there is reasonable lodging as we push to the coast. In the second town is an impressive Toyota dealer who arranges for his man to do the welding while we walk around and find a coffee – and he doesn’t charge us. Africa is like that.
Portuguese is the language here and while to me most of it is jibber-jabber, we have been practicing the basics on our drive and can at least say good morning and such; Google Translate is quite handy right now. Welding finished (and very well-done) we move on. The coast is calling in all its tropical glory. The heat is intense, the air is thick and the water is Van Gogh-green with turquoise and violet streaks of the deeper water. It’s very nice to stay a week or two… Dylan said. A month or two will be more like it.
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