Travel in Mozambique (part 2 - Vilanculos)

My next stop was Vilanculos, further north in Mozambique, but still in the country’s southern provinces. It is famous for its great and beautiful beach. Great people, wonderful weather (if you can stand the clammy humidity), sunshine and clear water all year round! By this time, my birding-enthusiast colleague had abandoned me to go conduct a birding tour through South Africa (when I said enthusiast, you thought I was exaggerating, didn’t you? Well, turns out he’s a real pro, so there!).

Now, Vilanculos, despite being the equivalent of a bustling metropolis if compared to Chirindzeni, has loads to do before it can impress a big city girl like me. I’ve been there plenty of times before on family h-days, but being there on work made it different. Now I needed i-net and photocopying facilities, for example, and turns out that they charge an arm, a leg and a kidney if you want to photocopy a double-sided sheet of paper. But, my attention (and worry) was directed to my accommodation. See, while the area has the most magnificent lodges, these cost the going rate of 20 pints of fresh human blood in the black market per night (had to be more expensive than a copy). Well, as it turned out, I was booked into a tiny lil place (dingy might be the word I’m looking for). The good news is it had en-suite bathroom. The bad news is (or are, coz I have a list):
 The toilet leaked when flushed (which means all that was being flushed away, leaked a little on its way out… Eew!)
 The toilet did not like to flush (which means that a bucket of water stood next to it at all times. It stripped me of all dignity having to ask someone for water whenever I dared to pee.)
 There was no hot water (unless warmed at request, which meant that extra 45 mins had to be budgeted for bath time).
 There was no water whatsoever from 8h00 onwards (a secret no one let me in on, so found out the hard way. How does one describe the dry silence that follows the opening of a tap, when one is standing with toothbrush in hand? Needless to say, a bath from bucket was in order… charming!)
 The place is infested with mosquitoes, true to the area. In all fairness, they do have mozzie nets, but these were really dusty, and I couldn’t breathe under one, much less sleep.
Alright, to be fair, maybe I am exaggerating a lil, after all I am a true city girl, through and through, and anything beneath 2 stars is beneath me (camping excluded). That being said, it wasn’t half bad, if we exclude the crappy toilet (pun intended), the lack of hot and all water and the dusty nets. To their credit, they improvised to something resembling room service, which was greatly appreciated by me (even if they checked on me every 10 mins to know if they could have they could have their plate back, lest I run with it and sell it in the black market. On second thought, the mismatched cutlery might fetch a high price, so I can see why they worried).

Well, during my stay there, I was lucky enough to be afforded the experience of falling ill in the area. Came down with bitter case of tonsillitis, and was seized by a chilling fever, complete with all aches and pains complimentary to any bed-ridding illness. The people were great and extra attentive, got me medicine and occasionally threw a sympathy look in my direction (don’t you just hate those?) But, it is important to note, and I should have mentioned this earlier, they were all way older that I am, emotionally and/or physically. The youngest of the group was 21 years old, but is married and has a child and single-handedly manages her household for her husband. I felt small; after all, I can’t even manage the pot plants my sister left in my house (by the way, Nan, two died, and I’m holding my breath with the last one). Anyway, if you know me, you know that I’m as petite as they come, and have the face and body of a mid-teenager (16-18yrs). Showing I couldn’t handle a throbbing headache, fading eyesight and freezing chill on a sunny 27oC afternoon was a grave sign of weakness. I wanted their respect, not their sympathy.

However, my fading strength was put to the test when I finally got to the hotel and ordered my meal to be brought to my room (I could do that on account of their perception that I was well connected. Also, there were few other tenants, so it didn’t make major difference.). Well, it was about 15h45 when I was finally released from my group of enumerators and dropped at the hotel. Bearing in mind that I hadn’t had any proper food since the previous night (3 tennis biscuits in the morning and 5 during the day hardly count as proper food), I was starving, and the pills I’d popped to numb the pain were beginning to eat at the walls of my stomach. So I figure, I’ll order something simple and quick to make - grilled chicken. Now, in Moz chicken is a staple diet, we can make it anywhere at anytime, and we’re not half bad at it. Sadly, my assumption was wrong. At about 16h45, I mustered the strength to drag myself to the kitchen to know where my food was. At this point, my body has begun digesting itself and I am wondering what could be taking so long in negotiating a chicken to wilfully jump into the fire for my sake. See, the way I see it, plenty of time had passed, and the chicken should have given in by now. After all, I only required a quarter of its limbs, and there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be willing to donate that for a good cause.

Well, what d’you know, turns out there was a bit of a glitch with the damn bird. After strong negotiations, and finally agreeing to contribute to the cause wholeheartedly, the chicken got stressed at the sight of the butcher’s knife, thus resulting in the stiffness of its muscles, and making it difficult to prepare (i.e. they ran out and got one but it was still frozen). The cook kindly asked me to wait why he lulled it to a relaxed state, but that would mean another 45 minutes excluding cooking time (no microwave there). I would be dead with my stomach firmly stuck to my back by then. Then I got desperate. I asked the receptionist/ bar lady/ concierge/ waitress to give me anything. Anything would do, as long as I could digest it without convulsions of disgust, but please, could she give some food by 45 minutes ago. To which she said, sure, lemme see what I can do. Sure and Suzan, I got me a plate of prawns delivered to my room in 30 minutes. I kicked myself for not having begged in an undignified manner before, and devoured the little things with the decorum of (and I hate to admit it,) an ill-mannered cave-child. If you know me, you know I love prawns, but what the heck, I didn’t taste these, I didn’t even enjoy them. I just threw them in to fill the void. And that they did, so I finally took all my drugs, with the peace that should I feel nauseous (and I had the whole day), at least now I had something to contribute.