Cycling Northbound: Over Hills and Back to the Beach
05/08/2011
Back on the bike! There are times when traveling by bicycle I can't get the "this is ridiculous!" out of my head. Of course it happens to all travelers regardless of means of displacement, but on a bicycle the lows can seem much more exaggerated. There are good days, then a morning comes when you are gun-ho to cover major miles but upon taking off you realize you are facing the seemingly endless uphills of KwaZulu Natal or Swaziland, not to mention the clouds overhead and cold wind blowing completely in the wrong direction. You see comfortable SUVs going by and remember that you could be traveling faster (and cheaper!) by hitchhiking. Then while heading up the steepest hill, your cheap bulky Chinese-made bicycle, with each tyre rim weighing more than the entire bike of a "proper" cyclist, cracks another gear (I'm down to 4 out of 7) and the chain jams so that you have to hurry to unclip your shoes from the pedals before yet again slowly toppling over like a hog-tied giraffe - to the amusement of the ever-present villagers. After hours and hours of pushing yourself onwards you see a kilometer sign in the distance and think you will finally get a much-needed moral boost upon seeing how far you've covered - but alas, it was only a quarter of what it felt like. Night is falling so you stop at a village and ask permission to camp - luckily you can count on a warm African welcome. By 7:30 an exhausted body has you fast asleep.
Silke in xai-xai
Of course, if cycling was like this every day I probably would have thrown my bike back down one of those Swazi hills and returned to the thumbing life, but naturally the good days are good enough to balance the scale. I recently listened to a TED talk that mentioned the difference between the happiness of youth - many short lived "transcendent" moments of exhilarating contentment, but with the overall "curve of average happiness" brought down by lows that sink towards depression, and that of mature adulthood - a higher average because of more stable emotion but lacking many of the instances of intense other-worldly bliss. Personally, I see those intense moments as an essential part of life, and have no problem spending days and days trudging up hills on a broken down bicycle just for that moment of accomplishment: reaching the top of the last mountain, with the road onwards winding down towards the coconut-palm laden lushness of southern Mozambique and the brilliant blues of the Indian Ocean sparkling on the horizon. You can't help throwing a hand in the air in triumph and showing off a lingering ear-to-ear smile. No matter how high the highs or how low the lows, we must remember that life goes on; and we must accept the latter to be treated to the former.
Starting off this "chapter" of traveling meant saying goodbye to my Kings friends in Pietermaritzburg, and after a week's delay - due to a chance encounter with a family of German-South African farmers who kindly took me in as one of their own, showed me the lands, and helped with a few much needed bicycle repairs, all the while providing a new angle from which to glimpse the complications of South African politics - I was at the Swaziland border, recharged and ready to take on the road northwards.
Starting off this "chapter" of traveling meant saying goodbye to my Kings friends in Pietermaritzburg, and after a week's delay - due to a chance encounter with a family of German-South African farmers who kindly took me in as one of their own, showed me the lands, and helped with a few much needed bicycle repairs, all the while providing a new angle from which to glimpse the complications of South African politics - I was at the Swaziland border, recharged and ready to take on the road northwards.
Abandoned Xai-Xai hotel
Since then I have spent most of my time on the road. The days are long and go with the sun: up by 6, peddling by 7, and few breaks until the sun begins to set again and my subconscious warns me to find a safe place to pass the night. Mostly those nights are camping in villages: chief's compound, church, school, police station. It doesn't matter who you ask - a big crowd will always form and someone will guide you to a safe spot. In the little village of Siphofaneni, Swaziland it was the pastor of a small church; a few nights later asking at a library got me a camping spot at a preppy country club; first night in Mozambique the police at a truck weigh bridge were very welcoming; caught in a storm 30km from Xai-Xai I stopped for shelter and ended up with a night of beers and good talk with a Mozambiquan named Carlos, who asked his uncle, a traditional healer, for a space on their living room floor. I felt like an honored guest - they even brought their fine china out for morning tea.
Once in awhile luck deals an even better hand and somewhere comes up worth spending a few days. In Mbabane, the Swazi capital, I couchsurfed with Annabel in her cozy rock pad built into the side of a mountain - one of the walls of her bedroom is a giant boulder. She showed me the artistic side of Swaziland - art gallery, live music, dance, meditation, and of course her job as a professional clown with Clowns Without Borders, an NGO that demonstrates just how important a smile can be. (website)
After Annabel and another week of cycling, I had the fortune to meet another artistic soul on the deserted beach at Xia-Xia. Silke is a German artist involved in a variety of projects, all wonderfully abstract and connected to the community and social issues. A quick hello on the beach turned into tea, dinner and a night with the family she was visiting, plus a thought-provoking exploration of the abandoned Xia-Xia Hotel. It was built in colonial times in the "international style" - Silke explained how the abstract shapes play off each other - and left abandoned since independence and Mozambique's 15 year civil war. As we trod around the greasy floors admiring the decorative walls, we found ourselves imagining what it would have been like, 50 years ago, to sit at the bar with a dirty martini and a view of the ocean waves through the huge bay windows. Despite rumors of rehabilitation plans, the only overnight guests today are the street kids who have taken up residence in a few of the third floor suits. Maybe it is only bureaucracy that stands in the way of such a symbolic building becoming a useful public space - an art gallery, studio, war memorial, or educational centre for street kids? Feeling ambitious, anyone?
Once in awhile luck deals an even better hand and somewhere comes up worth spending a few days. In Mbabane, the Swazi capital, I couchsurfed with Annabel in her cozy rock pad built into the side of a mountain - one of the walls of her bedroom is a giant boulder. She showed me the artistic side of Swaziland - art gallery, live music, dance, meditation, and of course her job as a professional clown with Clowns Without Borders, an NGO that demonstrates just how important a smile can be. (website)
After Annabel and another week of cycling, I had the fortune to meet another artistic soul on the deserted beach at Xia-Xia. Silke is a German artist involved in a variety of projects, all wonderfully abstract and connected to the community and social issues. A quick hello on the beach turned into tea, dinner and a night with the family she was visiting, plus a thought-provoking exploration of the abandoned Xia-Xia Hotel. It was built in colonial times in the "international style" - Silke explained how the abstract shapes play off each other - and left abandoned since independence and Mozambique's 15 year civil war. As we trod around the greasy floors admiring the decorative walls, we found ourselves imagining what it would have been like, 50 years ago, to sit at the bar with a dirty martini and a view of the ocean waves through the huge bay windows. Despite rumors of rehabilitation plans, the only overnight guests today are the street kids who have taken up residence in a few of the third floor suits. Maybe it is only bureaucracy that stands in the way of such a symbolic building becoming a useful public space - an art gallery, studio, war memorial, or educational centre for street kids? Feeling ambitious, anyone?
Swazi hills
From Xia-Xia it was northbound to Praia de Tofo, where my mom and I had spent a few memorable nights. This time round the experience was just a little different, with more late nights and recovery mornings lying on the beach. Leaving that addictive "beach-boy" town was difficult, but the evening I cycled away I was warmly welcomed back into life on the road - sharing a makeshift campsite next to a telephone reception tower with some of the antenna repair men - they had small tents and a tiny kitchen out constructed out of a cardboard box, but damn that was some good chicken stew and shima. The next morning was the start of the two day, 250km ride to another beach destination on the Mozambique circuit - Vilanculos. The first day I finished under schedule with only 100km covered, but thanks to a hearty dinner invite from Batista and Emilio, a pair I met at a village gas station, the next day I was fit enough to make it the rest of the way back to the beach, in time to get a view of the turquoise waters before the sun disappeared completely.
As I write this I am sitting in the Vilanculos backyard of my friend Jacques' simple beachside bungalow, watching as the receding tide slowly syphons away layers of water to bring forth a dancing rainbow of blues. It is as if a curtain is being pulled back revealing a master painter at work splashing colour on a masterpiece. Tiny figures walk far out onto the distant sandbars searching for fish marooned by the tide. The water is dotted by colorful sailing dhows that glide alongside dolphins and exotic fish on their way to play in the coral surrounding the white sandy Bazaruto islands. The brilliant blue water seems to blend into the brilliant blue sky on the horizon. A cool wind and the shade of palm trees makes this the perfect place to breeze away days of reflection.
I have been here a week, meeting the never-ending caravan of travelers that make their way through Jacques' welcoming open door. The passer-throughs are constantly sharing ideas, comparing notes and passing on skills and knowledge, whether it be playing the guitar, ideas on hippy traveling and how to make a living while doing it, gourmet cuisine, or learning languages. My bike has had a decent tune up, so it should be back on the road within a day or two - only 1300km to my next destination, Nampula, from where I'll be able to detour to both magical Malawi and historical Ilha de Mozambique. More good times ahead!
As I write this I am sitting in the Vilanculos backyard of my friend Jacques' simple beachside bungalow, watching as the receding tide slowly syphons away layers of water to bring forth a dancing rainbow of blues. It is as if a curtain is being pulled back revealing a master painter at work splashing colour on a masterpiece. Tiny figures walk far out onto the distant sandbars searching for fish marooned by the tide. The water is dotted by colorful sailing dhows that glide alongside dolphins and exotic fish on their way to play in the coral surrounding the white sandy Bazaruto islands. The brilliant blue water seems to blend into the brilliant blue sky on the horizon. A cool wind and the shade of palm trees makes this the perfect place to breeze away days of reflection.
I have been here a week, meeting the never-ending caravan of travelers that make their way through Jacques' welcoming open door. The passer-throughs are constantly sharing ideas, comparing notes and passing on skills and knowledge, whether it be playing the guitar, ideas on hippy traveling and how to make a living while doing it, gourmet cuisine, or learning languages. My bike has had a decent tune up, so it should be back on the road within a day or two - only 1300km to my next destination, Nampula, from where I'll be able to detour to both magical Malawi and historical Ilha de Mozambique. More good times ahead!
