I am in Blantyre staying with Rob the VSO who left after six months and is now working as a PE teacher at St Andrews International School. The day before I am due to head south VSO rings me and says advice is not to go to Mozambique as some trouble in the north with a man being shot dead in Pemba and eighty four people have suffocated in a jail in Montepeuz. ‘OK’ I say and I’m off. I get a bus towards the border and stop off for a few days on Mount Mulanje. I need a guide to officially show me the way. We buy a few things and I stay the night at the foot of the mountain in a cool lodge. Early the next day we walk up. The scenery and views are lovely. There is a lot of water up here and many fast flowing streams heading down. Above the tree line it gets marshy. We sleep in a big old style wood building with a veranda. Lots of tea and extra blankets are needed tonight. I leave the beauty of Mulanje and by 4 pm I am settling into my room at the 1980’s Russian inspired and probably built Pension Esplanda in Milange.

I’m a Meticais millionaire having changed up some dollars with a dodgy man with a briefcase. He does manage to con me out of a small amount and when I thought back about it and what he had done I was quite impressed. ‘Manica’ beer is great and I get stuck in with a few new friends. I’m heading for Mocuba 220 kilometres and seven hours away. Half way the minibus breaks down and we get our remaining fare back and wait for a vehicle. It eventually comes and we get to Mocuba late in the day. I take a walk and watch some football. The sports facilities here put Malawi to shame. Mocuba is pretty war damaged and potholed. Alto Molocue is 200 kilometres away and I have a hassle free trip there. I’m travelling by ‘chapa’ or very overladen and dangerous lorry full of pineapples and people. I find an old style pension and relax with a Manica. This place seemed to have avoided a lot of the civil war. Angoche is twelve hours away on the Indian Ocean. I arrive just as the rains come. Within one hour the streets are flooded and I’m up to my thighs in water. The Pension Parapat is well run down but has some charm which is good as it is the only place in town. It is a place full of old faded Portuguese colonial buildings that have seen better days. An officious man takes me to immigration and I have to answer a lot of questions. The next night I’m in Mozambique Island. There are stunning views in all directions. Colourful old mosques line the white sandy beaches. The sea is clear blue and the fishing nets and boats are out of the sea to dry and get repaired. It may be one of the most atmospheric places I have ever been. I explore old forts, castles, mosques, graveyards, fishing villages, markets, buildings and bars. The beer is great and the company good. There seem to be very few people actually living on the island. The sky is a deep blue and the sea crystal clear. The sandy beaches are fine but most are also the public toilet. I stay in a kind of ‘homestay’ with a nice family. The owner wakes me very late as two people have just arrived and I am in the only double room. I am moved in with another bloke who snores.

Pemba seems like a good spot for Christmas. I find a kind of ‘backpacker’ lodge, something I haven’t seen much of in my two years. I explore the old town, sit and drink beer most of the day. The company at the lodge is not great so I have an early night. There is an island called Ibo off the coast from Quissanga. It takes me five hours in a leaky ‘chapa’ with goats pissing dripping on us through the canvas roof. We had fun when we realised you could divert the piss onto someone else’s head by using your finger. The truck also left the road on several occasions and we had to push it back on. A dhow boat is waiting for us. It took seven hours in that fateful dhow to get to the island. The water is about a metre deep as we get stuck on a reef and have to get out and push. The actual distance was only about two kilometres but the tides were strong. It is dark and I’m totally disorientated as we land. I find a room and sleep it off. It is a strange place for sure as I explore the island. The old buildings and people are in total disrepair. It was like being in some kind of time warp where time had decided to stand still. It was a fascinating place all the same.

It takes me one hour down-wind to get back to the mainland. I take an old train from Nampula to Cuamba through lovely scenery. The train stops frequently and vendors are all over us. Cuamba is a quiet town and I find a great place to eat. The next morning it is a six hour bump in a lorry to Mandimba along a rutted road and to the border. I need to go to Lichinga and have to spend the night there on the Manica. Hungover I sober up on the back of a pickup in the wind down to the lakeshore and the port of Metangula. I have heard that there is a ferry up the lake to Likoma. There is no ferry but a sail boat has just left yesterday. I pay the local priest $100 to take me in his motorboat to Likoma Island. We pass the dhow just sitting in no wind and take a few passengers with us. If I had taken that boat it would have been a long few days but I was lucky and it took six hours. In Cobue I get my passport stamped as I leave Mozambique. I am soon in Likoma and looking back on an amazing month and thought of all the different forms of transport I had used on this trip. It was a brilliant way to end my time in Malawi and Southern Africa. I would be back one day for sure. I spent New Year on Likoma and even found Miki Sakamota for a beer. The Ilala ferry gets me back to Nkhata Bay and I am soon back in Mzuzu.