Maputo
I loved Maputo. It was, as Ben, a guy I knew from Mchinji who I bumped into on the street, said, "a proper city." I couldn't agree more.
I wasn't until there that I realized how lacking Malawi was with culture. There wasn't anything distinct about any of the places I saw, and certainly not of the cities. Granted, my experience there is somewhat limited, but the feeling that Malawi's cities weren't anything to write home about was pretty universal from what I heard from other people.
I think a couple of things really made a difference:
1. Maputo felt very European, with sidewalk cafes, tons of small shops and groceries, and lots of European-style food.
The Portuguese influence is still really strong in Mozambique. By extension, Portugal is a bit bolder and livelier than the UK.
1a. There was also character from its colonial past, mostly in the form of old buildings that are now run-down and uninhabited. But the character and architecture of the buildings, as well as the sense of prior glory days, just gave the feeling that there was a really interesting history to the city.
2. It was walkable. It was a great feeling to be able to leave the place where I was staying and just walk to explore the city. There was no such thing in Lilongwe--a vehicle was essential anywhere beyond Old Town.
3. It was noticeably wealthier than Lilongwe. There was a shopping center, and some really ritzy parts of the city.
4. It was on the water, which can never hurt adding natural beauty to a city.
I spent the first and last days just exploring; the last was with Simon who came in from Malawi to do some work and move his way up the coast. I found this French-Mozambique cultural center, which was from where I made the earlier post, and went to a dance concert one night. Simon and I went to the saturday crafts market, then to the museum of the revolution (dated, and only in portuguese, but still kind of interesting), and finally to this weird area that was part amusement park and part collection of bars and restaurants.
The second day I was there, I went out to Inhaca, an island about 40kms off the coast. There's a ferry there and back everyday, which leaves with the tide (read=early). The guidebook had some warning about this, but only general guidance. I got down there about 30 minutes prior and the boat had just started to move away. The guys at the end of the dock asked if I was going to Inhaca, I said yes, they said, "run!" I literally had to leap onto the boat, and was definitely glad to have made it.
The ride out was a little rough, so I and a number of others got sick along the way. At one point, I'm not sure if I was actually sick or just nauseous from the smell of a government ferry bathroom and the smells that go along with a boat full of people being sick over the same moving toilet. It wasn't a very pleasant ride, that's for sure.
We finally get there, which basically means anchoring a bit off shore and taking these small motorboat taxis up to the pier. Like most everything else in terms of transportation, it was completely packed, looking like a clip on the tv news of refugees in a boat. We got up to the bridge/dock thing, I got off and started wandering around. Someone directed me toward town, and I just started walking some more. I hadn't really made distinct plans of what to do while there, so I was pretty content just to hang out and sit by the beach all day. That is, until this 16 year old kid offered to be a guide. I really didn't want to pay anyone to lead me around or get scammed, but it ended up being totally worth it. He claimed that this lighthouse was only an hour and a half away, so we walked there. Or, in that direction. Through swampy areas, and little areas where there were all these hermit crabs. It was a beautiful walk. We didn't quite make it there, and I was worried about missing the ferry back, so I wanted to get back in good time. He knew someone who had a bike nearby where we were that I could rent for $10. (I loved it--if you have money and need to get something done, it'll happen somehow or another). He directed me back toward town, which was mostly, "follow the other bike tracks and always go to the right." i made it back there no problem, got a quick lunch and was back on the ferry to sleep the whole way back to Maputo. We arrived just in time for the sunset, which was amazing over the harbor. I'll post some pictures soon.
I also spent one day at the inn where I was staying just working on my trip report. There was a great view from the dining table, which conveniently was the only outlet in the place, so I just plugged in and worked from early morning until 8. I was glad to have taken the time to get a good draft done then and be able to breathe a bit now that I'm back.
All in all, it was an excellent trip and idea to wrap up my time in Africa. A good change from Malawi, one I didn't know I needed until I was finally elsewhere. And in retrospect, it was actually a good transition back to life here.
I loved Maputo. It was, as Ben, a guy I knew from Mchinji who I bumped into on the street, said, "a proper city." I couldn't agree more.
I wasn't until there that I realized how lacking Malawi was with culture. There wasn't anything distinct about any of the places I saw, and certainly not of the cities. Granted, my experience there is somewhat limited, but the feeling that Malawi's cities weren't anything to write home about was pretty universal from what I heard from other people.
I think a couple of things really made a difference:
1. Maputo felt very European, with sidewalk cafes, tons of small shops and groceries, and lots of European-style food.
The Portuguese influence is still really strong in Mozambique. By extension, Portugal is a bit bolder and livelier than the UK.
1a. There was also character from its colonial past, mostly in the form of old buildings that are now run-down and uninhabited. But the character and architecture of the buildings, as well as the sense of prior glory days, just gave the feeling that there was a really interesting history to the city.
2. It was walkable. It was a great feeling to be able to leave the place where I was staying and just walk to explore the city. There was no such thing in Lilongwe--a vehicle was essential anywhere beyond Old Town.
3. It was noticeably wealthier than Lilongwe. There was a shopping center, and some really ritzy parts of the city.
4. It was on the water, which can never hurt adding natural beauty to a city.
I spent the first and last days just exploring; the last was with Simon who came in from Malawi to do some work and move his way up the coast. I found this French-Mozambique cultural center, which was from where I made the earlier post, and went to a dance concert one night. Simon and I went to the saturday crafts market, then to the museum of the revolution (dated, and only in portuguese, but still kind of interesting), and finally to this weird area that was part amusement park and part collection of bars and restaurants.
The second day I was there, I went out to Inhaca, an island about 40kms off the coast. There's a ferry there and back everyday, which leaves with the tide (read=early). The guidebook had some warning about this, but only general guidance. I got down there about 30 minutes prior and the boat had just started to move away. The guys at the end of the dock asked if I was going to Inhaca, I said yes, they said, "run!" I literally had to leap onto the boat, and was definitely glad to have made it.
The ride out was a little rough, so I and a number of others got sick along the way. At one point, I'm not sure if I was actually sick or just nauseous from the smell of a government ferry bathroom and the smells that go along with a boat full of people being sick over the same moving toilet. It wasn't a very pleasant ride, that's for sure.
We finally get there, which basically means anchoring a bit off shore and taking these small motorboat taxis up to the pier. Like most everything else in terms of transportation, it was completely packed, looking like a clip on the tv news of refugees in a boat. We got up to the bridge/dock thing, I got off and started wandering around. Someone directed me toward town, and I just started walking some more. I hadn't really made distinct plans of what to do while there, so I was pretty content just to hang out and sit by the beach all day. That is, until this 16 year old kid offered to be a guide. I really didn't want to pay anyone to lead me around or get scammed, but it ended up being totally worth it. He claimed that this lighthouse was only an hour and a half away, so we walked there. Or, in that direction. Through swampy areas, and little areas where there were all these hermit crabs. It was a beautiful walk. We didn't quite make it there, and I was worried about missing the ferry back, so I wanted to get back in good time. He knew someone who had a bike nearby where we were that I could rent for $10. (I loved it--if you have money and need to get something done, it'll happen somehow or another). He directed me back toward town, which was mostly, "follow the other bike tracks and always go to the right." i made it back there no problem, got a quick lunch and was back on the ferry to sleep the whole way back to Maputo. We arrived just in time for the sunset, which was amazing over the harbor. I'll post some pictures soon.
I also spent one day at the inn where I was staying just working on my trip report. There was a great view from the dining table, which conveniently was the only outlet in the place, so I just plugged in and worked from early morning until 8. I was glad to have taken the time to get a good draft done then and be able to breathe a bit now that I'm back.
All in all, it was an excellent trip and idea to wrap up my time in Africa. A good change from Malawi, one I didn't know I needed until I was finally elsewhere. And in retrospect, it was actually a good transition back to life here.
Labels: maputo, mozambique, travel
I flew out of Lilongwe on a Tuesday. Like the flight in, the plane was about 3/4ths Americans, which was a little odd. In fact, someone I knew was on the plane The azungu magnet is really strong, no doubt.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
Labels: malawi, maputo, south africa, transitions, transportation, travel
