Ignacio kept his distance while I went to business, bargaining with the young man in charge of that family's merchandise, but as we went back and forth amicably in Portuguese, the rest of his family came out to watch. It was unnerving at first, and then fun, as their eyes scanned back and forth between us and as the two of us batted numbers back and forth. Continue reading "The Artists of Sand City"
Cruising eastward across Maputo Bay its hard to believe it's a bay at all. Once you leave the confines of the harbor and set the compass on an eastward course, the Maputo skyline falls away and the waves crest higher and higher until the tranquil ripples of the bay build into a legitimate Indian Ocean swell. Soon there's only the compass to guide you as the coastline fades into the harbor mist. But it is a bay indeed, as any ship captain can attest to, and we passed a bevy of merchant marine freighters queing up to enter the harbor and discharge their cargo. Then, ghostlike, an island rises out of the sunrise before you, and you have reached the barrier. Continue reading "The Sands of Inhaca"
I arrived at Maputo exhausted and exhilarated after my long flight, and stepped out onto the tarmac of the airport thrilled to be in Africa. Africa - the word alone is thrilling, and I knew little about what to expect save for the traveler's confidence that somehow everything would be okay.
I ate a rich meal of mixed seafood grilled with butter and retired to my hotel room to rest. Mozambique was a pleasure at first glance. Outside my tall window, an impossibly full moon rose out of the ripples of the Indian Ocean and Maputo Bay that first night and disappeared into the fronds of the palm trees, which rustled audibly in the cool winter breeze. Continue reading "Maputo by Morning"