M is for Mozambique (Maputo, Mozambique)

M is for the Mosquitos which have ravaged my skin through nets and clothes and massive quantities of DEET, and for the Malaria they carry which I hopefully won't get, but M is also for Mozambique in all its African Portugese 85% foreign aid dependent tropical glory. Like Malawi it's unbelievably beautiful and the lushness of climate makes it hard to keep track of the fact that sufficient food production is a severe struggle. Nearly the entire country is incredible coastline dotted with wooden fishing boats and I just saw a can of tuna imported from Thailand if anyone would like to explain that. I speak Spanish to people because I don't speak Portugese and not many people speak English, but I don't think they know what I'm doing and I assume they usually just think that my Portugese is appalingly horrific.

I got a lovely ride over the border from an Indian Malawian fast food magnate on his way to deliver $10,000 US in cash to an associate in Tete, the first major town in Mozambique. Riding in a clean private vehicle was amazing after several weeks of minibuses packed so tight you're lucky if your lungs can expand to capacity for normal respiration. Tete's not really anything so I went for a run out a beautiful country road, slept a little, and caught a bus to Chimoio. Mozambique has a fun system in which all long distance buses (something like a 30-seat airport shuttle usually) leave at 4 or 4:30 am - rise and shine. Chimoio is a nice little town, the first I'd seen in some time that seemed to have youth with disposable income, expats, and a big western-style grocery store which sold me yoghurt and other exciting treats. From there I took a day trip to tiny Manica on the Zimbabwean border in search of rock paintings. Not exactly a major tourist destination, I wandered for hours, eventually following some high school girls who led me down a path to a house where I was suddenly face to face with their American English teacher in the middle of absolutely nowhere Mozambique. He pointed out the general direction, the girls took me a bit further, called to a little boy in tattered clothes to take me through some corn fields, and eventually I was sitting on a stool next to a woven mat where a family of women and children were eating lunch. I was supposed to wait for someone to take me up to the rock paintings, but it started getting late and at some point I decided I'd had a damn good adventure without the rock paintings and I headed for home.

From Chimoio I went to Vilanculos which is a fishing village with a hostel that has so far, the world's best hammocks under breezy palm trees with a view of the sea. Watch out for falling coconuts. And scorpions. I got up one morning, walked barefoot to the bathroom, returned to my grass hut, and looked down as my right foot was poised over a scurrying scorpion. Close one I tell you. Diving there was awesome. I went out with a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers and saw 4 enormous sea turtles plus tons of devil rays and trumpetfish and other good things.

Further south down the coast is Tofo and I spent my whole dusty minibus ride there with two lovely old Spanish ladies from Madrid who fed me cashews and kept me entertained. Tofo is more touristy than Vilanculos, but you can supposedly see whalesharks and mantas and I was all over it. Luck of the Dara, seasicky snorkelling trip for whalesharks and no whalesharks. We saw dolphins and one dove right right under me which was very exciting, but no biggest fish in the world. Drinking took place with a significant portion of the crew for "Blood Diamond", the new gigantic budget Leonardo DiCaprio movie shooting in Maputo (I sincerely apologize for the terrifying number of references to the former "Growing Pains" guest star on this dumb blog). Diving yesterday however was exceptionally interesting. Finally here's a story I get to start by telling you first that I'm fine and not to worry. Then I get to tell you about how we had a good deep dive of about 30 meters with a manta and lionfish and an eel that almost ate my finger and an unbelievable current where you had to hold on to rocks not to fly away. Following all safety guidelines we started to come up slowly when we had 70 bar left of air which is more than enough to get through maybe 10 minutes of decompression and ascent. However, about 2 minutes into the 10, I suddenly had no air. Zip. Suck in --- nothing. We were still a good 30 feet under water and my gauge said I had plenty, pero nada. Luckily the divemaster happened to be right next to me and I got to breathe off her extra regulator and not die. My second dive was anticlimactic by comparison.

Today I came further south to Maputo which is a real city with pseudo-orderly traffic and proper shops and all sorts of western flair. Tomorrow I have to see if the US Embassy will put blank pages in my almost full passport. In a couple days Swaziland, then Cape Town, then my kindest ever father comes to take me to Botswana to be eaten by crocodiles. And that's Africa.

Miss you all. Love, me.