The Wild Coast - Hluleka Nature Reserve

We descended from the town of Hogsback perched in the mountains above the Eastern Cape and headed north into the old heart of Xhosa territory, spending a very hot day in the truck rolling through soft green hills dotted with pockets of rondovels painted in every imaginable shade of green, red, pink or orange. We left the main highway at Mthatha for the coast. Mthatha was a reminder we are still in rural Africa: a smokey traffic-choked mess strewn with windblown garbage stuffed with people spilling randomly off the sidewalk and zigzagging between the overheating cars.
For the next two hours, in the late afternoon heat, we were punished by some of the crappiest road we have driven in Africa. But WOW was it ever worth it! We rattled and squeaked over the hills into Hluleka Nature Reserve and the most beautiful beach we have seen yet. Overlooking the beach is a small group of attractive, modern chalets that sit unobtrusively in their environment. We shook the dust off our clothes and walked through our chalet with our mouths hanging open in awe of the chrome fixtures, stainless steal appliances and ivory white soaker tubs. In a region where most people still walk to get water this designer refuge seems over the top.

As everyone settled into the opulence of our designer abode I followed the road further along to find a stone house hidden in the trees. Hluleka used to be a privately owned farm and this once magnificent house was its jewel. It was built of cut sandstone blocks, the low sloping metal roof covering deep porches to protect it's occupants from the sun. It was carefully situated on a narrow ridge to maximize perspectives of the sunrise over the small bay or the sunset over the green hills behind. Now the chalets share this ridge. I wonder who lived here? I wonder why they left?

The next day, exhausted from our push to get here, we spent the entire morning on the beach - actually, it was OUR beach. We didn't see another soul, it was ours entirely. Hluleka is perfect and we left too soon.

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Hanging Out in Hogsback

We have been slowly working our way eastward, from The Cape winding our way through the Klein Karoo, dropping down from the Outeniqua Mountains to Storm River's Mouth. It's there that we camped on the edge of ocean, nothing but a few meters of rough shore separating us from waves that have rolled from the antarctic to explode into spray on the rocks surrounding us.
We also took the time to go to an elephant santuary that temporarily houses "trouble" animals. The kids were awestruck walking up to these gentle creatures and getting to feed and touch them. I ended up with a handful of elephant snot. Yum!

Our strategy of avoiding major highways (major highways start with 'N' here) is paying off and have passed through some beautiful country. We took two days to drive through Baviaanskloof (valley of the baboons) a remote valley in the Karoo that is serviced by a road built by some masochistic englishman. One moment we were bobbing along the countryside with the kids singing in the backseat, the next moment I was in low gear gingerly negotiating washed out roads and river crossings (kids still singing).

We spent a few days in a thatched cottage in Hogsback, a small mountain town full of artists and coffee shops, set amongst massive yellowwood and pine trees. It snows here 11 months of the year - and they had a 50cm drop on them last winter (in July) and there were plenty of snapped trees to prove it; so the climate is rather temperate and we felt quite at home. The area is characterized by it's environment which is full of mountain vistas, cascading waterfalls and deep gorges choked with ancient yellowwood forests. JRR Tolken used to visit this town whilst in SA and the residents like to bragg that it was this striking scenery that inspired the shaping of 'Middle Earth' in his trilogy.
We needed a break from tent life and this was the perfect place to get organized, hang laundry in the sun, and rest. The scenery was having its affect on the kids too: they have convinced themselves (using their own stories) that a battle between delicate fairies and red-eyed wild pigs raged in the forest surrounding our cottage. They have spent hours exploring the thicket and I have armed them with carved wooden assegais (Xhosa spears) for protection. They move through the bush easily, walking almost upright in the underbrush. I look less battle-ready on my hands and knees spitting webs out of my mouth.

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Christmas in Cape Town

We couldn't stay away. The lure of friends and familiar places was too much. We undertook a massive trek from Marloth in the lowveld, through the rolling hills surrounding Barberton and Ermelo and the breathtaking koppies south of Volksrust, across the rugged beauty of the the Great Karoo, and through a crack in the Swartberg mountains to the rocky enclave of Scarborough on the Cape Peninsula. 1025 kilometers in one day.

We've rented a house in Scarborough near our friends and are enjoying time on the rocky coastline, hopping over boulders between tide pools, searching for bizarre lifeforms. But Christmas without snow is a little disorienting and it doesn't 'feel' like the season.

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Mozambique Part 1 - Never Cross The Line

It's been a while since our last entry - but they haven't invented the Internet in Mozambique yet (most places don't even get consistent electricity).

Before we left for the border on November 2 an old resident of Marloth and friend of Nicola's grandparents said to us directly 'drive carefully, always obey the speed limit and NEVER cross anything that looks like a solid white line...'. We had a vague idea that the police in Mozambique were to be avoided but we were pulled over three times within an hour while trying to push through the choked, filthy streets skirting the capital, Maputo. The routine is the same: 'let me see your papers', 'where are your going?' 'what is this (odd) drivers license?' 'do you have a cool-drink for me?' Being asked for a soda is blatant but cute ( and of course we had no cool drinks). We had almost made it through the city, but as we I tried to slip past one taxi another would abruptly pull out and I swerved to avoid it. Maybe I crossed the line, maybe not. I can't remember which happened first, seeing the policeman in the road or dodging the taxi, but he locked on to us and watched us approach before pulling us over. He was older, wearing nicer sunglasses than the locals, had on a pressed uniform and was very practiced at the art of bribery. He could tell within less than a minute the we were not very aware of how things worked around there so he made the options direct and obvious: you can pay a fine at the police station (a stupid amount of money) or just pay him (a lesser but still ridiculous amount of money) and he even provided the options in both currencies, Meticais or Rands! What a pro! I was so mad at this point I would have run him over, but you can't win this game. Machine guns don't have to be pointed to make a statement. We fumbled around the cab and hummed and hawed and we produced 50 Rand (he asked for 400). He laughed at it (taking it anyway) as we gave an aw- shucks look. I haven't crossed a white line since and we learned quickly that these road lines are strategically placed at entrances and exits to the towns were the police set up their checkpoints. The kids had many questions, never having seen a policeman bullying for a can of Coke.

After this encounter we fared far better and noticed that it's not just SA vehicles they pull over - locals taxis and trucks were not immune and I often would allow a taxi to pass, to be pulled over at the next check point. The police would be busy inspecting their papers and only look up (regretfully) as we 'casually' drove past pretending not to notice them, like the big fish that got away.

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Mozambique Part 2 - Pria do Tofo

The police checkpoints and Maputo traffic set us way behind so we had to push from Marracuene to Inhambane and Tofo in a single 12 hour push. The main highway EN1 exceeded my expectations - it was as good as any road in South Africa, complete with shoulders, paint and signage. Just one problem: it passes through every one-pony town along the way (because the national highway is the ONLY highway and paved road in the country) so you have to slow down to 60km/h at every town and the police are waiting at each one. So despite the 'highway' speed limit of 100km/h, our actual average speed was 50km/h. It takes a long time to get anywhere here.

We finally made it to the Indian Ocean. The clean beaches stretch for kilometers and are nearly deserted. We spent hours walking along the beach into town stopping to pick shells as we went or dive into the ocean to cool off. Tofo, and the adjacent beach in Tofinho, is a popular tourist and diving spot so there are plenty of bars and hostels and kids selling necklaces on the beach. Some of the children are smaller than James, haggling for any sale or trade directly with our impressed kids.

You can buy veggies and coconuts and bread in the market at mzungu or tourist prices. We settled in a campsite down the beach and away from the action. We spent 4 nights here, meeting all kinds of interesting people. The kids attached themselves to an energetic New Zealand obstetrician and his wife, who couldn't help but 'talk shop' with Nicola when he learned she was a nurse. The weather was glorious and we would be awake by 5am (everybody else is) and spend whole mornings making sandcastles completely alone on the beach. We learned quickly to get out of the sun by 11am - it would burn the skin off your shoulders, no exceptions. 

On one of these mornings I awoke early and looked across the tent to Nicola, already sitting up. She gestured to something, so slowly I fumbled around for my glasses and when my eyes focused, there perched on top of Elizabeth's slightly bent knee was the biggest scorpion I have even seen; Elizabeth was still asleep. I dashed out of the tent in my underwear, waved politely at the confused Kiwi woman standing with a coffee in her hand, grabbed any container I could find and dashed back to scoop up the bug just as Elizabeth opened her eyes. Good morning little one!

Mozambique Part 3 - Morrungulo

We probably spent too long at Tofo - enticed by the lure of an even quieter beach, without the bracelet sellers, we made a small hop north to Morrungulo. The 7 Km red dirt road from the highway down to the coast meandered through the palm trees, the ditches were deeply eroded and hinted that with a few days of rain, this route could be an impassable, muddy mess.  Morrungulo beach does not disappoint - we were the only people on it at times, and through the palms shading the campsite we could see the waves crashing on the beach. The campsite is a little pocket of South Africanisms: large thatched barracas to cook under, SA power plugs for your cooler, braai pits, hot showers (and Nicola's dream, a maid for hire at the campground) all payable in Rands. And pay we did, it was expensive - R350/night.
The campground was large, but nearly empty - and we spent whole days by ourselves. We did manage to buy a fish, named Mr. Ugly, off one of the locals (300 mts or R100) after some stern bargaining. We were left scratching our heads, staring at a 4kg Rock Cod wondering what to do with it. Luckily, our time dining with the Kiwi doctor proved useful - he had given us a demonstration (using medical terminology) on how to fillet a fish (it was a little weird but enormously fun). Nicola and I traded off 'procedures' and when we were done, we had several acceptable filets and a fish skeleton that looked like it had gone through a boat prop. Add butter, garlic and lemon, cook on the fire, and voila - delicious fish.

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Mozambique Part 4 - Vilankulos

Always read the signs going into a town!
We've been doing this trip with the mostly accurate Lonely Planet guide. So when we arrived in Vilankulos (as with most places we went) we had a vague idea of where we might stay. But when we finally made to this spot it didn't take long for Nicola and I to look at each other and say 'we can't stay here tonight'. A typhoon ripped this town apart in 2007 and no one seems to have had the resources or will to re-build. It looked as though the typhoon happened last month. The local boys were drinking in the campground bar at 1pm in the afternoon, the beach was crowded with hawkers, and after the solitude of Morrungulo it was too much; we turned around and drove out of town.

But we had to sleep somewhere that night, so after deciphering the hand painted signs at the edge of town we steered the truck onto a gravel road looking for a safe place. The road became a track; the track became a path; the path turned to sand; eventually I was shifting into 4x4 low ratio. Just when we thought that we were completly lost, we rolled into an oasis of green grass, shady trees and a massive crystal-clear swimming pool! More importantly, it gets the clean bathroom "thumbs up" from the kids, traumatized by some of the pee stops recently. No one spoke until we had plunged in that wonderful pool.

We've decided that we're sort of done with the beach thing and will rest here a few days, getting some supplies and optimistically.... meat.... for a major 500 km push northward and inland to the Gorongosa Game Park.

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Mozambique Part 5 - Gorongosa National Park

We got on the road as early as we could, packing camp in the stifling heat and turning northward on the EN1 towards Gorongosa, 500 kms to the north. We knew it would be a long day and were a little perturbed when the highway quickly deteriorated into a potholed, patchwork mess. It was another twelve hours of driving before making it to Chitenga, the park's only restcamp.

The park was a busy place: The camp restaurant was buzzing with well-dressed people in pressed linen shirts with expensive laptops under their arms: National Geographic was there filming a documentary on the park: Africa's Lost Eden.
We were all exhausted by the driving and pothole-dodging the day before so we decided to let someone else do the driving and took a guided a game drive into the park that evening. The vegetation and geography is much different than Kruger: and soon you find yourself on the edge of a massive open plain, with small herds of waterbuck and impala dotting the landscape, while the hazy silhouette of the Chimanimani Mountains rises in the west. It was fantastic to rest and let the air pass over you in the open truck. This park was once counted as one of the best in the world - hosting the world's rich and famous in the 1950's and 60's, and also Grumps and Rademeyer in a Morris Minor. The drawn-out civil war (which took place on this ground) decimated the animal populations. But what we witnessed was amazing.

We took our truck into the park the next day, following the rough track that meanders through the park (no gentrified gravel roads here!) and bobbed along the edge of the open plain while herds of buck galloped beside the truck (insert National Geo theme-song here). Amazing moments like that never last long. We found some shade to park under and watched, totally alone and in complete silence, as a herd of elephants emerged from the forest to drink before retreating from the sun. They didn't make a sound except for the splashing of water. Generations of this elephant population have been hunted by poachers - they have learned to be silent. This fact became clear a few hours later: as we tried to find our way back to the rest camp, drowsy from the incredible heat, three elephants burst across the road in front of the truck, disappearing into the trees. I stopped, waiting a short time to give them a chance to move deeper into the bush. I should have waited longer: as I drove past cautiously while Nicola sat behind me with camera at the ready the female trumpeted her objection and came crashing the through the trees. I put my foot down and we lurched ahead leaving the angry mother behind. Was it a mock charge? Maybe, but I would have had no idea what to tell the insurance company if it wasn't.

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Mozambique Part 6 - Paradise Island

We had to retrace our steps from Gorongosa southward back along the only national highway (it's boring in either direction) but to shorten the trip by 50 kms we stopped in Inhassoro. We've learned to read the signs on the edge of town and had amazing luck (again) by stumbling upon another wonderful campsite out of town - occupied by only us and the resident chickens (I don't think they're for eating - too bad, getting low on protein). We camped on a protected bluff overlooking the Indian Ocean. We sipped our coffee under the barracka as fishermen rowed their handmade boats out to sea.

We hired the owners motorboat and skipper to take us to one of the Islands in the Bazaruto Archipelago: Paradise Island. We coasted into a quiet little bay, a crescent of white sand beach and crystal clear water. We explored an abandoned hotel at the other end of the island - very spooky. The other purpose of the excursion was snorkeling in the reef. Our first attempt with kids was short: it's a big step from swimming pool to wild reef. But eventually they relaxed and we spent almost an hour exploring the world beneath us as schools of fish moved around us.

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Mozambique Part 7 - The Long Road Home

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We are exhausted - maybe it's the anemia caused by the malaria pills, compounded by the lack of protein. Maybe it's the heat. But we decided that venturing into Zimbabwe would be pushing things. This means having to retrace our route southward (there is only one highway, right?). Well almost: there were other routes west into the northern reaches of South Africa and thus into Kruger National Park. Unfortunately, some of those routes end with a river-crossing of the Limpopo River. Many a truck (finer than ours) has been eaten by the Limpopo. But there was one route that, although longer, passed through Mozambique's recently created Limpopo National Park and it allowed us to avoid the chaos of Maputo.

We started our inland push before sunrise, packing our tent in the morning mist at Zavora (campground was a run-down dump) and driving south through Xai-Xai to Macia before winding our way into the interior of the country. It was hours of tedious driving with nothing but bush lining the road. But one should never whine - because the the road between Macarretane and Massingir ( the park entrance) was so bad that the detours around the rough patches slowly slogged through the very bush we were tired of staring at!

Limpopo is a very new park - the buildings were brand new and beautifully designed and they haven't sorted some of the details out, like what to do with the pastoral cattle herding villages within the boundaries. There are no animals to speak off (we didn't see any) but followed the meandering road through small villages and delicate kraals made of thorny acacia branches stacked vertically.

We spent one night in the park - treating ourselves to a tent chalet. We followed a road that at times resembled a creekbed, jerking noisily out of the bush as branches snapped on our roof rack. Things are so quiet here that the Park Ranger in charge of the chalets actually looked surprised when we arrived! We had a simple diner that evening overlooking the massive and completely calm Massingir reservoir. Mozambique is real Africa: real rough, real surprising, and real beautiful.