We do not have a vast distance to travel today, so
Mark and I have time for a swim before we leave. I take my snorkel but leave
the camera, which is shame because the snorkeling off the shore is actually
better than it was yesterday from the boat. Oh well!
We pack up the Disco, and eventually manage to get breakfast at the Nautilus - we had planned to be off by 7:30 but by the time the Nautilus guys have got their act together it's nearly 8.
Retracing our previous route we cross the Lurio river, which divides the Cabo Delgado district from the Nampula district. As always at any river in Africa the usual crowd of villagers are busy doing their laundry.
We stop at a village for a leg stretch and elevenses and a wonderful old man tries to sell us a huge roll of tobacco. Whether it is to chew or to smoke is not quite clear. We all dig out our cameras and soon have the usual crowd of local children clamouring to have their photos taken.
It is very noticeable in Mozambique that the generally spoken language is Portuguese - Malawi and the other African countries that I have visited (Zambia, Tanzania, Botswana) were all English colonies (Tanzania was originally German, but placed under English mandate, after WW1 and subsequently under UN mandate) and have English as their official language. However, although many people speak English, certainly in the cities, the language heard mostly on the streets is the local language - Chichewa or Chisena (Malawi), Swahili (Tanzania), Setswana (Botswana) etc. However, although Mozambique has its own local tribal languages (43 of them in fact) the only language we hear is Portuguese.
We arrive at the causeway across to the Ilha de Mozambique about 2. The tourist office at the Nautilus has recommended the Hotel Escondidnho, which is just as well, as the pension that Ken had planned to stay at has apparently gone broke. The Ilha is a remarkable place - all narrow streets between ancient crumbling colonial buildings many dating back 600 years. It is hard to work out which buildings are actually occupied and which are deserted. The island is 2.5Km long, lies 3Km off the mainland and was the first place that the Portuguese colonised when Vasco Da Gama arrived in 1498. In 1991 it was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, and is now more or less a living museum.
We pack up the Disco, and eventually manage to get breakfast at the Nautilus - we had planned to be off by 7:30 but by the time the Nautilus guys have got their act together it's nearly 8.
Retracing our previous route we cross the Lurio river, which divides the Cabo Delgado district from the Nampula district. As always at any river in Africa the usual crowd of villagers are busy doing their laundry.
We stop at a village for a leg stretch and elevenses and a wonderful old man tries to sell us a huge roll of tobacco. Whether it is to chew or to smoke is not quite clear. We all dig out our cameras and soon have the usual crowd of local children clamouring to have their photos taken.
It is very noticeable in Mozambique that the generally spoken language is Portuguese - Malawi and the other African countries that I have visited (Zambia, Tanzania, Botswana) were all English colonies (Tanzania was originally German, but placed under English mandate, after WW1 and subsequently under UN mandate) and have English as their official language. However, although many people speak English, certainly in the cities, the language heard mostly on the streets is the local language - Chichewa or Chisena (Malawi), Swahili (Tanzania), Setswana (Botswana) etc. However, although Mozambique has its own local tribal languages (43 of them in fact) the only language we hear is Portuguese.
We arrive at the causeway across to the Ilha de Mozambique about 2. The tourist office at the Nautilus has recommended the Hotel Escondidnho, which is just as well, as the pension that Ken had planned to stay at has apparently gone broke. The Ilha is a remarkable place - all narrow streets between ancient crumbling colonial buildings many dating back 600 years. It is hard to work out which buildings are actually occupied and which are deserted. The island is 2.5Km long, lies 3Km off the mainland and was the first place that the Portuguese colonised when Vasco Da Gama arrived in 1498. In 1991 it was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, and is now more or less a living museum.
Despite a hand-drawn map courtesy of the Nautilus we
are unable to find the hotel, so we hail a local lad on a bicycle and, with the
aid of Mark's broken Portuguese, persuade him to act as guide for a handful of
change. (The currency in Mozambique is the Metical (plural Meticais, which
rhymes with petty cash, and there are around 35,000 to the pound.)
The hotel is basic but clean and actually had a pool. It is run by a French couple and has only recently opened and is obviously the best place on the island.
We have a spot of lunch, and then go for a wander round the island.
We somehow pick up a young lad who gives his name as "Metaxa Number 2" and follows us around all afternoon despite our protestations. (I ask him where Metaxa Number 1 is, but he is not amused)
We have a look at the Fort of São Sebastião . . .
... have a coke on the beach . . .
... and then wander back to the hotel for a supper of crab and lulas. Metaxa Number 2 tries to get a guide fee out of us, but as we have studiously ignored him all day we hardly feel this is warranted, so we studiously ignore his request. Luckily the staff prevent him from actually following us into the hotel.
After supper Chris, Mark and I set off to suss out the local night life. We find a tiny bar with about 3 people in it and have a quiet beer, but it's obviously not going to be a night on the tiles. The town is even more spooky at night.
The hotel is basic but clean and actually had a pool. It is run by a French couple and has only recently opened and is obviously the best place on the island.
We have a spot of lunch, and then go for a wander round the island.
We somehow pick up a young lad who gives his name as "Metaxa Number 2" and follows us around all afternoon despite our protestations. (I ask him where Metaxa Number 1 is, but he is not amused)
We have a look at the Fort of São Sebastião . . .
... have a coke on the beach . . .
... and then wander back to the hotel for a supper of crab and lulas. Metaxa Number 2 tries to get a guide fee out of us, but as we have studiously ignored him all day we hardly feel this is warranted, so we studiously ignore his request. Luckily the staff prevent him from actually following us into the hotel.
After supper Chris, Mark and I set off to suss out the local night life. We find a tiny bar with about 3 people in it and have a quiet beer, but it's obviously not going to be a night on the tiles. The town is even more spooky at night.