109. When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

Monday, our second in Maputo and one of the most productive days we have had in the city yet. As per usual, the morning was a slow one – we leisurely woke up, taking time enjoying our breakfast and lounging on the sofa. When we were ready, and not a second before, it was time to head to the tailors, where Louise was finally going to get all her virtual Pinterest dreams made into reality. But we were received by a locked up container where the recommended tailor usually is seated. So an eager businessman jumped to the task with his proficient English, luring us over to his table. Ignorant to this man’s abilities, we decided to give him a test run first, giving him only two items to produce. With his phone number in our pocket and a deposit paid, we walked away, confident in his abilities only to find out that the number he had given us didn’t exist… Hmm, assuming that this was just the fault of our phones we decided to wait for my dad to get home. But no, the number didn’t exist. Nonetheless, we are still hopeful that we will get a skirt and a pair of shorts by the end of the week.


Later that day, we headed to the Swedish school where I used to work, for a quick hello to all the little cuties. After a few hugs and chats we moved on to a cafe for cake and coffee – because thats what you do in Maputo, right?

Today we had to get up at 4:30am to catch a bus to Inhambane (north of Maputo). But before that we had arranged to spend the evening watching an Irish movie with some friends – so what should have been an early night flew by with dry Irish humour and chips. At 4:37 we managed to groggily drag ourselves out of the apartment and towards the bus… Which, although it leaves from the hostel at 5am, stays in Maputo until way after 7. This early morning of course meant that my pea-sized bladder was on the verge of exploding two hours into our journey. Yes, this meant stopping a bus full of people so that I could relieve myself in a ditch – there was no ditch, there was only my skirt as protection against the peeping eyes (dressing like a hippie has its pros). I felt like one of the guys.

After a 9 hour journey and only one pit-stop along the way, we are tired. My butt was numb by lunchtime and my head hurt from the rhythmic music blaring over the speakers – but we didn’t break down, we didn’t crash, and we arrived somewhat in one piece.

Inhambane is is stunning – picture sea-side African town with a Mediterranean feel. Portuguese architecture still fills the town with colourful buildings and peeling paint. We wandered around and enjoyed the setting sun, before heading to the market to buy some food. On the way we were lucky enough to pass by a bakery – the smell of warm bread wafting through the streets made it impossible to resist. The bread was straight out of the oven, crispy and light. All you could ever dream of!

Our evening is spent at the fancy hotel in hope of finding some internet – a hope that was met to some degree, but not enough to allow you all the joy of visual stimulation. So you will have to wait for those accompanying photos (or most of them), and I can tell you, some of them are worth the wait!