I have noticed a number of articles of late, on the new 4x4 frontier: Angola.
They chronicle the good, the bad and the ugly, the difficulties and triumphs of adventuring into a newly accessible destination. They record the border crossings and the custom officials, the bad roads and pot holes, the new terrain and vegetation, the new cultures and of course, the new beers...

This type of writing reminds me of my own early ventures into Mozambique, each with its own ups and downs. Some were a walk in the park, others quite painful (literally!), but all have left me with a strange longing to return from time to time.

Chapter 1:

It all started in the winter of 1993 with a phone call from a long time friend, Joe asking me if I would join him, his wife Ruth, and their friend Tom, on a trip to Zavora, some 400km north of Maputo.
Joe, an ex Rhodesian, had only ever been to Mozambique prior to war of independence and was keen to revisit and start a resort at Zavora, a little seaside paradise cut off from the rest of the world.
He eventually gave up in frustration due to never ending red tape and requests for backhanders.
We crossed the border at Lebombo.
What an eye opener for me.
Organised chaos.
Soon we were surrounded by money changers, desperate for our Rands, waiving huge wads of almost valueless Meticais. They closed the deals quickly, promising 3000:1, with warnings of us all being caught and turfed in jail.
Almost on cue, gun shots rang out some distance away, and the locals scattered.
What a scam... when I re-counted my pile of soggy, worn out banknotes I reluctantly concluded that the locals were obviously better at exchanging money than I was...

My second lesson, was the road to Maputo, or rather lack thereof.
What was left of a once tarred road was now just endless potholes, thick sand and stones, all the way to Maputo.
Skull and crossbone signs warned us of fields of landmines alongside the track.

At times we were forced to leave the relative safety of the potholes for a foray down the thick sandy detours.
There we encountered dozens of ambush sights permanently marked with burnt out vehicles. The road was littered with AK47 and 9mm casings.
Some vehicles were simply abandoned, deep in the bush, left right where they had stopped, after a vain attempt at outrun their attackers.
We even found a derailed train, the tracks blasted apart.

Closer to Maputo we past an abandoned tank, once used to protect an array of satellite dishes.
We foolishly posed next to a burnt out vehicle, forgetting that some ambush sites were sprinkled with AP (anti personel) mines.

From there we continued north on the EN1, occasionally stopping for packets of hot, freshly roasted cashew nuts.

Finding a fuel station with fuel proved pot luck and usually involved manually pumping the fuel into the vehicle.

Eventually we passed Xai Xai and Quissico and the chain of fresh lakes far below.
A small hand drawn sign directed us off the main arterial route that connects north and south, along sandy tracks through tropical forests.

Eventually the forest cleared to bright sunshine and the track changed to steep dunes, we had arrived at Zavora - a selection of abandoned holiday homes in various states of disrepair, some little more than falling bricks and plaster.

With the permission of the local headman, an old lady with one single protruding tooth, we selected a prime house overlooking the sea and with the help of a gillie, set up home.

This same house is now for hire at R2100 per day.
There were some twenty or so houses, most in a sad state, but each one clean and only requiring a sweep to clear the sand and dust.

The locals had been waiting for some twenty years for the holiday makers to return and dutifully looked after the homes for that day, preferring to stay in their own reed and coconut front huts.

Knowledge of local customs and etiquette is always important. I found this out the hard way. Early the next morning I took a long stroll up the beach, taking in the sunrise and fresh sea air.
Some 2 kilometres on, I happened upon a large net, partially covered with sand. Must have been washed up I thought.
Doing my bit for the locals I dragged my find all the way back to our house and proudly showed my friends.
It turns out the locals leave their nets on the beach overnight (who will steal them except for an over eager South African perhaps?). Much to everyone’s mirth I had to drag it all the way back to its rightful place.

At night, in the warm evening air, after a meal of prawns and 2M beers, we watched as the village women would carry burning coconut torches down to the beach to hunt crabs.

We spent our days fishing, spearfishing, eating seafood and chatting with the locals. We explored the area, watching the fishermen launch and row their little wooden boats out to sea and return with barracuda, kingfish and small rays.

Reluctantly we packed up and headed back to Maputo.
Enroute the destruction and decay of the 16 year civil war was obvious. Not a telephone line, not a village or town with reliable electricity or fuel, not a vehicle in any condition to be on the road - except of course those of visting foreigners and UN troops.

The leftover police and military vehicles lay partially stripped in the streets. Demobbed freedom fighters (Renamo) and government troops (frelimo) some still in tattered camo, eyed us suspiciously. With nearly 1 million dead, the war was still fresh in their memories. Taking photos was risky.

But life carries on, and all around us markets thronged as people tried to sell us trinkets or use the confusion to take an item or two from the vehicle.
With only one flat wheel to delay our return, we made the border cut-off time with minutes to spare.
I left covered in mozzie bites, with a bad case of conjuctivitus, and vowing never to return to this god forsaken land again.
The thing is, I had already been bitten by another bug - the Moz bug. I was to return, 6 more times over the next 10 years.

Chapter 2:
Some years later I found myself in Ponto Do Malongane on a scuba diving trip.
This trip was easy and relaxing, with the dive operator collecting our group at the Kosi border for the 20km hop to the resort. 
No potholes, no corrupt police, only thick sand and a shortage of food for a day or so.
Our first stop was at the resort restaurant for cold beers and a bite.
Every item ordered from the restaurant menu was dutifully recorded on the waiters writing pad. Eventually the waiter returned and advised us the items ordered were not in stock, could we order something else?
Again the newly selected items were recorded, only to end in the same result. 
It turned out, the truck carrying supplies for the resort hadn’t arrived yet and wouldn't for quite some time. 

Chapter 3:
My next trip north, was one of mixed fortunes.
In late 1998 a group of us headed into Marongulu, a town just a little north of Inhambane.
The convoy consisted of two Landrover TDi’s, one towing a stainless steel offroad trailer and the other a 6m duck. A Ford single cab, towing a smaller duck.
My friend Mark and I, got the short straw, and ended up passengers in the back cab of the Ford.
Two hundred metres from our Port Elizabeth departure point, we discovered that the trailer was so overladen, the mudguards were rubbing on the tyres.
With that eventually sorted and modifications complete, we set off to collect another traveller in Joburg. We stopped for a leg stretch and breather in Bloemfontein - that was when we found out that one of the boat trailer mudguards had shorn off and sliced the pontoon of the 6m duck.
While deciding on our next move, a BMW pulled into the service station. The driver, highly upset, had trashed the front of his vehicle when he hit a “shiny piece of steel” lying in the middle of the road, some ways back.
We departed rather hurriedly in case it was our “shiny piece of steel”

A few hours later we arrived in Joburg and set about reparing the sliced pontoon.
We diverted through Swaziland to avoid the congestion at the Komatipoort border, bypassed Maputo and headed directly for Inhambane.
When we arrived at our destination, an open area littered with building rubble, it turned out that our booking and deposit had been taken by a scam artist who had used pictures of the neighbouring Morungulo resort to advertise his yet to be built resort.
We transferred to Morungulo and they kindly discounted our camping costs by the value of the lost deposit!
As this was pre- the beach driving ban, we did a day trip up the beach to Pomene, a stunning cliff head protecting a vast beach and lagoon.

The remains of what must have once been a world class hotel stood in mute testimony to the waste of war. Morungulo is one of the most stunning places, outstanding camp sites and baracas, hot showers and top class diving.

Next time I vowed to organise my own trip, without having to fit in with other peoples itineraries.

Chapter 4:
My scuba-diving club visited a year later in May 1999 and this time I was in my own vehicle, a Mazda B1800.
An Isuzu Frontier 2.7 TD towed a 5.5 m duck and another Isuzu bore the supplies.
One of our group had a contact in Maputo, so we were all geared up for an early arrival and 5 star guided visit.
Well, Africa has a way of warping time and before we knew it we were late.
Red faced we tucked into the 5-star fare with haste, before abruptly fleeing to ensure we arrived in Xai Xai before dark.
Shortly after departing from Maputo we were pulled over: one of our party had failed to  display a triangle.
What should have been a minor issue soon escalated. A member of our party is arrested and locked up under pretext of drinking in public. He made the mistake of videoing the altercation about the triangle....
Well, desperate times call for desperate measures and after a serious “fine “ we were on a way again, tails between our legs.
We arrived at Xai Xai long after dark, set up camp and held counsel.
In the interests of a happy holiday, it was agreed to an open forum  “say your say” and then forget the incident and move on. 

A flat tyre 100 kilmeters short of our designated destination proved to be yet another test in fortitude.
We carefully manoeuvred the Frontier to the side of the very narrow track. Our designated mechanic set up his little bottle jack and proceeded to jack up 1.5 tons of laden vehicle.
Well, no sooner was the wheel off when the Frontier started to sway ... and the whole shebang fell, trapping John’s arm under the wheel arch.
At that point everyone galvanised into action, picking the Frontier up off Johns bruised arm.
I was still busy holding up the back, when unbeknownst to me, the Frontier was lowered in the front. I was still trying to hold it up by myself, when POP! Something seriously painful went in my back and there I was, my worst nightmare: injured in Mozambique.........
The rest of the journey to Morungulo was a sombre and painfaul affair.
I lay in the bed of my bakkie pressing my hands against the canopy roof to lessen the pain that each pothole, bump and gear change sent through my back.
Our eventual arrival at the camp was rather amusing.
As the only seasoned Moz veteran, there I was lying on my back barking orders to my troops.
One order was to find a doctor, medic or witchdoctor, in that order.
My saviour arrived in the form of a young lady who was trained in natural treatments of back injuries! What are the odds?
She accurately diagnosed my condition as a minor rupture of a disc (I confirmed this with my doctor when I returned to SA) and she gave me exercises and massages to ease the pain. Within a few hours I was up and about and after two days I was able to scuba dive with my gang.

Though not without the interim, first morning drama, of me getting the Frontier stuck on the incoming tide, while launching the duck.
There I was, stiff back, jogging up the beach to ask for a tow from a visiting Zimbabwean - who had just the previous night had to tone our over-enthusiastic party down. Without hesitation, he had fired up his Landy and was available to help.

Chapter 5:
By 2004 the Moz bug was biting again and it was time to hit the road.
I had a new wife and a Nissan 2.4 Hardbody.
I was ready to go.
We set out, the Nissan, a Ford Ranger D/C, and another Nissan carrying all the gear.

We were to meet two other parties enroute, one at Xai Xai, and one at Inhambane.
I was determined we would eat well on this trip and travelling through Swaziland proved a headache with regards to transporting our own meat.
It took a huge amount of red tape and correspondence with the government vets in SA and Swaziland to get the correct paperwork and authority to carry meat across their borders.
We split all the money for the trip between the vehicles to minimise the risk of losing our funds in event of theft, fire etc.
Our petrol stops were paid for out of each vehicle in turn.
This gave us a good idea of our comparative fuel consumption.
We had towed a duck all the way up, with the intention of keeping our diving costs down. Only problem was, once we got there the motor played up ,and despite spending a whole day trying to sort it out, all came to nought.
That put a spanner in our costing, but Jakes and Veronica who run Island Style Diving at Morungulo came to our rescue and allowed us to dive at discounted rates.

Chapter 7:
My 7th and latest trip to Moz in July 2009 was a trip down memory lane, and a chance for my family to experience a bit of this fascinating country.
I took them to Malongane
My wife Hazel, son Rowan, daughter Tanielle and her boyfriend Kahlo - all divers, were my new crew.
We got stuck once in a patch of very thick sand in the middle of Ponto De Ouro (oh the humiliation..). The right front hub failed to lock properly.
The maze of sand roads between the border, Ponto De Ouro and Malongane are like a roller coaster and we laughed and yelled at each bounce and dip.
We set up camp at Malongane and despite a rather chilly week, enjoyed our stay immensely.
A day off from diving saw us explore a little further afield on the back roads to Maputo, through the elephant reserve.
The 120kms took us all of 3hours.
We took the ferry across Maputo Bay. Had a delicious lunch in town, while watching the passing shipping. Visited the market and then started back.
We arrived back just in time for a sundowner

Mozambique and Maputo in particular, have changed so much since my first visit some 17 years ago - mostly for the better.
The poor roads have improved - at least as far as Vilankulos.
Toll roads are popping up.
Fuel, power, food and general goods are freely available.
The price of roasted cashew nuts has gone through the roof.
Moz has turned from an adventure destination into a holiday destination, at least in the south anyway.
As far as the police corruption is concerned, it's still a problem (as in SA) but every “fine” I have paid, or have seen paid, has been the result of a genuine transgression of the law. Obey the law, be polite and you should have no problem.

Oh, and my 6th trip into Moz?
In 2003 we sailed in on a cruise liner to Bazaruto on our honeymoon!

Now, Angola looks interesting and much like Moz was 20 years ago.

At the very least, at R4 per litre for petrol I can still afford to fill up the Sani when I get there.

Glenton Kendrick