Day 26.
All of us woke up tired, but we were on the road at sunrise. This tar road riding - big distances - was killing me, and today would be no different. The landscape was no relief either, as pretty much the whole of mozam had been burnt and was eagerly awaiting rain. It was also pretty damn hot inland.
We continued North to Nampula eventually, and on to Nacala and Fernao Veloso, on the eastern side of a beautiful bay. We found a stunning camp site called Bay Diving Camp and Chalets, and had a beer at sunset, looking over the bay.
Campsite at Nacala
En Route to Nacala
We decided to eat at the restaurant that night, so after setting up camp, we wandered over. Here we bumped into Kingsley Holgate and some of his mates. They were busy disassembling a dowh to send to SA. It was great, cause we sat at the same table, and chatted late into the night about routes north, and Africa in general. It was here that we learnt that the ferry to cross the border into Tanzania had sank just 2 weeks before, but Kingsley said we would be able to make a plan.
Funny enough, we also bumped into Garrick’s aunt there – again – small world! The food was really great, and that night we fell asleep to the sound of whales breaching in the bay just below us. It was a stunning place, and is definitely on the list of places to go back to. The food was superb too J.
Day 27
Our original plan was to head straight north along the coast, but Kingsley warned that the roads were flooded and pretty much non-existent, so we headed North-West on a great dirt track that wound through a never ending village,
through Minguri, Cava and Mazua, eventually coming out at Alua Town, on the main road north. Here we were back onto the tar, and headed for Pemba. It was sad to see tonnes of Chinese trucks, carting off massive trees, and one can only imagine the deforestation happening there in Northern Mozam. They were all heading south to Beira I assume, to get shipped out.
We pitched up at Pemba, and then took the road running along the northern shore there and decided to camp at Russels place, which we had heard of via many travellers.
Russels Place
At a garage in Pemba
It was a niceish campsite, but we just didn’t really feel at home there, as the vibe just felt wrong. We did however drink a fair number of lorentina pretas and chatted to some American volunteers. Otherwise though, we decided to leave early the next morning and rack up some more miles.
The showers deserved mentioning… they were bucket showers, with cold and (very) hot buckets, with a fire underneath, and a cup thing to pour the water over yourself.
Actually, it was a really great shower.
Day 28
Destination – Mocimboa da Praia
We headed back on the tar road to Sunate and then tar road all the way north.
We pulled into Mocimboa da Praia at about 16h00. It was an absolute hole of a place, but as we were out of fuel, we needed to stay – especially since the fuel station was only getting fuel the next morning.
There was a camping place/resort on the GPS, and it was nice, but very expensive. We rode around town, looking here and there, and trying to get some fuel aswell. The bush fuel was double the normal price and probably watered down with paraffin and cooking oil, so we had to stay.
Claude got talking to some chap, who was in the know, and then went off for a long while to find the administrator of the town (eventually, he found him at a soccer game). After much talking, he refered Claude to the chief of police, who decided that we could stay in the Police town hall. It had no water or toilets, but was ok for us. We set up camp on the floor after bringing our bikes through the door, and had a quick supper with rolls and tomatoes we had bought at the market, while getting eaten alive by mozzies. Then, at about 21h00, the mayor’s body guard rocked up and started saying that we needed to pay for the place, and wanted more money than it would have been to stay at the resort up the road…We were adamant that we were told we could stay for free, and he said we would sort it out the next morning. It was a bit of a noisy, fitfull night, but we got some sleep.
Day 29
We got packed up quickly, and just as we were wheeling the bikes out, the mayor/chief arrived.
Our sleeping place
Getting addresses from the Mayor (in Brown)
But we had a plan… We were all smiles, and thanked him profusely. Then, Claude and myself took a whole bunch of photo’s with the bikes and the mayor and sidekick. After that we exchanged addresses etc. All this time, Garrick and Ryan were readying the bikes. After all was done, we thanked them again, jumped on our bikes and were gone. Photo’s go a long way in Africa – everyone wants to feel important and have a photo taken. So, although it was a shit night, we at least didn’t pay for it – high fives all round.
We had to wait a good while for the fuel, so we headed to a place where we could buy a cooldrink and work on Gazza’s bike in the shade. It had been giving trouble for the last 3 days, dying and hiccupping when the rev’s hit 4500 or so. It wasn’t a major problem on the tar, but sand was an issue, and overtaking too. I had pulled it apart 2 days earlier on the side of the road and not really found much, but after tapping the fuel filter and checking battery terminals etc, the bike seemed better for a short while. It was back to its antics now though. This time, I stripped it down more, and removed the injector. There was a fair bit of dirt there, and I cleaned and blew and so on.
I checked everything else once more, gave the filter/regulator a good few belts, and assembled it all again.
Viola, no more problems for the rest of the trip. :biggrin:
Working on Gazza's bike
We then returned to the fuel station and had to wait a fair time before the fuel, which was brought in drums on the back of a truck, came. We filled everything and were off.
The long wait for the fuel
It was on the way back to the main north road that we had or only run in with the cops in Mozam. It was a 50km/h zone through a town, and I was in front. I had slowed right down (we never sped through villages) and was doing about 55km/h max. But the cop pulls me over. I think, no way I’ve been speeding, so I think he just wants to see my licence, so I hand it over. Turns out, his ancient speed gun says I was doing 100Km/h!-as were all the other vehicles that were crawling through the village – he pulled over a few while we were there. No amount of arguing or threats budged the asshole, and eventually, we had to pay the fine to get back my licence (the other option was to go 50km back to the nearest town and sort it out there). It was about R300, but I left fuming, and I hope those 2 cops die of camel gonorrhoea.
The road turned to gravel, but it was nice and wide and not very rough. We made good time to Posto Shire Town, near Palma. We had heard plenty of stories about man eating lions here…
We stopped at immigration, but after looking carefully through our passports, the chap behind the counter with no teeth declared that we clear customs at the border. What the hell he does, no one knows…
Immigration - that ISN'T immigration
There are 2 roads that head north from here, but we took the eastern one, which we heard was better. It turned out to be a pretty bad sand track, and in the heat of midday, was a battle sometimes. Gazza had a fairly big off, but no injuries, and only lost another mirror.
I was behind him, and was amazed at how he never gave up, even when it was inevitable that he would fall, he was still winding that throttle flat out, bouncing across the tracks and wheel-spinning! It was here that I realized that there was a misunderstanding in our advice to him at the beginning of the trip. We had said that when the road is bad (read sand etc) one should stand up, look far ahead and open up the throttle (meaning just keep the power on) He took it as OPEN the throttle, FLAT out. No one realised this was what he was doing until I saw him fall. When he hit sand he would open flat out, and keep it pinned there, then pick up speed at a terrible rate, then close throttle to slow down, and when the bike went out of control once more, open flat out again, so making the bike yo-yo, buck and weave. This was working ok through short sections, but try doing that for 30km of sand track! How the hell he fell so little was a miracle. It was a revelation, and the rest of the sand was much better for him.
Claude dropped his bike on a tricky sand corner – just slowly so no damage, but otherwise, all went well. We went through Quionga and hoped to stay at the Cashew Nut rest camp (indicated on the GPS) just short of the border. Unfortunately, it was non-existent, so we carried on and cleared customs etc at the small border-post just short of the Rovuma River.
There was a bit more sand, but the road from customs to the river was ok, and we did it quickly. Then, we pulled onto the bank of the massive Rovuma River, and prepared ourselves to haggle a price.
On arrival, we found that there were 2 small boats moored on the bank, just 40m upstream from where you could see the top of the old ferry sticking out of the water. We discussed a price, and after bringing down there exorbitant price, ended up paying $300 American, 1300 Meticas, and 3 L of petrol to get the bikes across. The plan was for us to go in 2’s. Claude and I would go 1st.
We manhandled the bikes onto the boat with the help of a plank, and Claude’s and mine just fitted nose to nose the length of the boat. There was no deck, just the fibreglass hull which bent on any weight, and a 15 HP motor drove us….awesome.
Then, on top of the bikes weight, about 10 people tagged along, even after we had told them to kick some people off because we were worried about sinking. It was a very long 40min to cross the river, and we saw hippo’s and crocs. One of the locals told Ryan that every week someone was taken by a croc (he was quite jolly about the fact too….)
Thats the sunken ferry in the background - sticking out the water
Off we go...
On the other side, it was the reverse process, and then we needed to get the bikes up a steep sand bank, which we did with the aid of many pushing hands.
Claude and I across, they turned around and went to fetch the other 2. When they arrived, you could hardly make them out amongst the hordes of people stacked onto the boat.
The long wait on the other side
The captain stole my helmet for the ride over...
nice
All of us across, we paid our money etc, and then had the typical African situation where the people who helped push now wanted pay as well. We refused, because we had already paid their friends, and they should get money from them. They had said nothing about needing pay to help push the bikes up the 5 m bank, and were just trying to rip us off – typical. Many of them probably got a free lift across the river too on our money. It was a pity, because it left me with a sour taste in my mouth after such an incredible experience. I hope that when they need help one day, the wheel turns.
We then rode a short distance on a gravel track to the customs and police. We were finally in Tanzania!!
We pulled in at border control, and handed over our passports and dollars for the visa’s etc. The guy behind the counter said that we should go to the police check and then return. Claude went over to the police too see what was needed. They were pretty unfriendly, and said that we basically had 2 options:
1: unpack all our stuff and cart it into their offices for ‘inspection’ – this would have taken ages, and it was roastingly hot. (They were not willing to do it outside while the panniers were still on the bikes)
2: Buy them cool drinks / give a bribe.
The question of how much a cooldrink costs was asked, and it came out to R150. We handed over the last of our Meticas which came down to about R40 which they were fairly satisfied with.
Lousy, corrupt cops – same goes about the camel gonorrhoea… Tanzania wasn’t impressing so far!
After that it was off to customs for the carnets to be filled in The 1st one took forever – the chap obviously didn’t really know what the story was, and had to read through it all thoroughly. The rest of ours went faster, but still pretty slowly. Finally, we had finished all the paperwork and could be on our way, probably 15min before dark.
We rode from the border to 10 degrees south just North of Mtwara in the dark on an absolutely terribly corrugated road, and hectic traffic in Mtwara, and were pretty buggered when we arrived. 10 Degrees South is a nice little lodge in Mikindani, with beds, mosquito nets, a courtyard for the bikes, and really good food.
It was only $20 per room (slept 2) per night, and they let us chain up the bikes in the restaurant.
We celebrated with some Killi’s and slept well
