Mueda from 11/08/2009 to Quissanga (second and final part)
And so at last we arrived at the junction from where the dirt road that will lead us to Quissanga! And Quissanga boats from Ibo, Quirimbas archipelago the main island, which is our coveted goal: sea, white sand, panciolle. But how would Freak Antoni between saying and doing there in the middle "and" too much and still divide us from Ibo and not only in terms of time and space.
The first difficulty is there is now clearly not just get off the bus. But where were we? Yes, because there was no sign of this intersection on the map of Mozambique at their disposal (and say that I was so proud of my paper 1:1.900.000 scale that deployed with the theatricality of a novice Livingstone whenever my ego needed to be vain impress local illiterate ...) and there were even signs that we were the rescue. Actually, there was a cartel but was about to some sort of agricultural school but certainly was not there, since there were only a few huts around the intersection beaten. But we do not lose heart and ask information about. So we know that the place where we are called Adepepe (or something) and you actually pass the bus from there to local Quissanga. To substantiate the latter information is the fact that we are not the only ones waiting, all around the sides of roads, dozens of people are camping. But as often happens on this trip, we are the only white people. Obviously the tourists who come to the Quirimbas flying other routes, or those using the most convenient means of transportation. However, our bus would pass soon after and waited.
advantage of a break to buy something to eat and drink. I'm not happy with the cookies: despite the wafers are not past due, at least from what state the date printed behind, are at the limit dell'immangiabile. But hunger is hunger ... I hope to make my drinks. And 'since we arrived I noticed that here in Mozambique sell drinks Fanta in Europe do not exist: one is fanta pineapple in a can of bright yellow, the other is in a grape fanta in a purple can now be defined by B Day No opt for the latter. Now not that I expected, who knows, it is true that it was written "grapes" on the can and I certainly do not expect to contain the juice of grapes of Montepulciano grapes but the taste of big bubble concentrated extract was beyond the worst expectations. It would have been a long time before I tasted the pineapple yellow variant because the list of colors on the package (dyes from the sinister acronyms never read before in European products) does not bode well.
However, more than an hour had passed since we were asked once again confirmed that it would have been a means Quissanga and three since we had arrived at that blessed junction: long enough to make the most impatient seraphic of Tibetan monks. We were once again stuck in the middle of nowhere and the idea of \u200b\u200bspending the night in the open in an abandoned hut and a few pulciosa to Adepepe not we please all. The Africans that they should like us to reach for their part Quissanga waited impassively as only they can do (to the face of Tibetan monks) in the belief that sooner or later something would happen. And something would happen because we, as good Europeans eager and determined, we worked to get out of quell'impasse.
in fact wander around the vicinity of the junction we see over a curve, which hid from view, a pick-up stopped at the roadside. We approach the hope of finding a ride. But the pick-up is still in need of repair but because what appears to be the leader of the workers who are busy around the middle, however, proves to be available to give us a hand. Tells us that is waiting for a bike that will lead him to take a spare part needed to repair the car and from there, no one knows where, in a telephone call does not quite know who to let us be picked up by another pick up. The plan is flawed but it is the only half an hour possibile.Sorprendentemente See you later get a bike that riallontana after loading the foreman on which we placed all our hopes remaining to leave the bloody crossroads. Spend more than an hour without any means is passed through the road, we decide to return the workers to get reassurance. But the pickup was gone. Obvious they had repaired and were broken down, but did not have to wait for the spare part? Boh! At this point we lose all hope and now when we are assessing which of the huts are abandoned and dilapidated house is the best place to spend the night, a white pick-up and even almost new, looming. We're saved!
We put d’accordo sulla cifra che ci viene estorta per portarci fino a Quissanga e ci accomodiamo sul cassone scoperto posteriore che intanto si è riempito all’inverosimile di tutti quei disperati che come noi aspettavano di essere trasportati a Quissanga ma che si erano guardati bene dal muovere un solo dito perché questo accadesse.
Non sto qui a descrivervi lo strazio di quei duecento chilometri con le gambe anchilosate costrette in una postura innaturale, tra il culone di una vecchia sovrappeso e uno scatolone riempito di non so quale materiale indeformabile. A mano a mano che i chilometri venivano divorati ad una velocità folle, considerando il carico e il fondo stradale accidentato, l’aria the sea was beginning to be felt more and more and with it our happiness. At some point in the journey I saw a dark shape fly out of the chest. "Fuck my backpack!" I thought my bag was in fact black. But then, looking closer, I realized it was only a black man dressed all in black, to be flown to yet another jolt. None of our fellow travelers seemed to be worried more than I did, the fate of the unfortunate former passenger and only Greta, sensitive as ever, began to yell at the driver to stop. Fortunately for him, the unfortunate passenger had fallen into a sandy stretch of road so that if it was quarried with only a few bruises on his face. Without anyone to help him come down, unable to move because, as we were jammed against each other, our unfortunate fellow traveler has come to travel the hundred yards that separated him from the pick-up and has taken place, as if nothing had happened and no one looks after him, in that mass of bodies.
Without further misadventures so finally we come to Quissanga where we stayed at the bad I thought, "Japan." Ve do not recommend except that it is the only opportunity to stay with that of Quissanga. Before dinner we have just enough time to drink a warm beer and take a stroll on the beach white mangrove also be that we find the latrine in the village. The human feces of various shapes and texture a bit scattered 'everywhere that stand on the white sandy surface, leave no doubt about the beach accessory. Then consumed a frugal supper unexpectedly good but I just collapsed into bed exhausted.
Tomorrow is another day and we'll see.
0 comments:
Post a Comment