The feet in the ocean, fresh shrimps in my plate and a cultural shock when I am arriving in this latin country where people are different from the rest of Africa. A new lovestory is starting (again) during my trip.

I am passing the border in Milanje, after having left the mountainous landscapes of Malawi, then I am going down gradually again in a wet and tropical forest. At the border, the customs officer is trying to make me pay a form that I've got to fill up in most of the customs I passed through. Welcome in Mozambique: the country of corruption! I’m leaving without paying anything and I am arriving downtown. For the first time of my trip, I manage to cheat on the money exchangers which work illegally and who are often the only possibility to change money. They are trying to get me with a formula programmed in their calculator and after 3 attempts, I understand the trick and don’t get swindled, on the contrary, I am making them so confused about the amount to change that finally, I’m making the most of it! You shouldn’t have looked for trouble my friends…

After a good plate of fried and braised chicken, I am leaving the city and suddenly I’m finding myself on a track in the forest. The first big rains are coming and I fear to get stuck if it rains too much. Fortunately during all the crossing it won’t be too serious and I am mananing to cross the 300 kilometres without too many problems (I have to say that the ground is so hard that the first rains didn’t make the road very muddy). The place is very traditional and the people are very poor there. But what is poverty when people are happy and produce all what they need. And precisely this is these poor people who offer the hospitality spontaneously to me and not for money or to get a visa for Switzerland. It didn’t happen to me since Sudan. I am sleeping under the roof of the huts where the families sleep, sometimes behind their house. I am

thightening my mosquito net (because the risk of Malaria is very high in Mozambique and especially during the rain season) and deaden me with stars like background. On the way, on 2 occasion, I’m buying a chicken (alive) to improve my meals, a chicken costs approximately 1 Euro and offers to me 2 meals, the evening and the morning. I have a little burned the first one on the fire but the second one is a true success! Throughout this road, people live their lives and there is almost nothing for the  "civilization" here. The majority of the women that I see do not carry anything to cover their chests, people work on their small plot of land around their huts, the children are half naked run away to hide when they see "the white man" arriving on this "odd" bike, the hens and goats are walking freely in the middle of the road. Everywhere I feel welcome and often I spend some time in company of the villagers. Generally, the chief of the village or another person comes to ask me where I come from, to explain their lives and the pride to be Mozanbican. What I appreciate in Mozambique is that most of people speaks Portuguese, which is not the case in the other English colonies and even in the French ones where the tribes often speak only their own dialect. Here I can communicate with almost everyone.

I am finally arriving on asphalt and the evening, I am arriving in an inn. The owner « pity » me, seeing me dirty and badly shaved, so he is spontaneoulsy giving me a discount on the room and afterwards I am getting a superb free meal! Of course it wouldn’t be in the rest of Africa that these things would happen ! In general, dirty or not, I am the white one, therefore rich... The following day, after thanking this nice lady, I am leaving to Caia, where mythical Zambezi is waiting for me. It is the 2nd longest river of Africa after the Nile. The weather is hot and very wet, to bike becomes a torture during the middle of the day. The sun burns extremely here and I have the impression to be almost hotter than in Sudan, because of the humidity. After Zambezi that I am crossing on a ferry, the road is new, finally a good road! Straight and especially very wild, no villages but only some huts and lots of baboons on more than 200 kilometres. Apparently some lions and buffaloes, but I think that it is more of the local rumours than reality. During the war, people killed the majority of the savage animals to nourrish themselves. I am arriving in Beira and the evening, while I am enjoying a incredibly refreshing beer on a open air terrace, I am meeting the captain of a Spanish fishing ship. He is offering me a job in open sea and moreover, well paid. I wanted to take the opportunity to earn some money but I will give up before getting my work permit. Corruption had the most of me and I am not ready to bribe the local civil servants who earn already much more than the average of normal people. I’m getting worked up and am yelling in the office of immigration that they are all corrupted and that Mozambique should fight to break away from all this chaos and corruption that ruins the country. Nobody dares to look at me or to say anything and I am leaving this office, thinking that I will remain a free man, which is not bad after all. My freedom, it is the most important now! So Hervé will not be a fishman for the moment. The advantage is to have stayed in Beira a couple of days and have made the most of the night life which starts late and finishes early in Mozambique. It is during these few days that I decide to go in the south until Vilanculo to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It is 500 kilometres from here but the problem is that I must use the same road to go to Zimbabwe afterwards. That must be the 38th change of road since I left, the biggest change of road was the decision to come to Africa instead of going to Asia...

When returning to the border, I am missing the right bus stop and I'm suddently in a kibouz, a community almost tptally autonomous who cultivates the ground and sells its products to buy what they can't produce. That sounds "peace and love" but in fact the camp is surrounding by wires and soldiers, a kind of surrealistic atmosphere. In the bus, I am the only civil, there are only soldiers (and again, a lot of pretty women soldiers...). I am returning with the following bus and a, stopping this time at the israelo-Jordanian border. I have to travel by taxi for the 2 last kilometers which are bringing me to the israelian border's house. Arriving at the check point, the soldiers are almost shooting me while I am trying to get off. A strange feeling to have 3 MP16 pointing on you. In the Arab countries I always met people wearing weapons but it's more the kind of people who always prefer to drink a tea rather than really using their weapons. Here I know that it's a hot and very delicate situation so for one time, I am deciding to not say any bullshit and am answering quietly to their questions without exagerating too much. The funniest thing in this situation is that they are telling me at least 3 times to "keep cool". In fact, I'm much more relax and "cool" than them... After this "emotions", I am passing the border without too many problems this time and I am back in Jordan. I don't regret at all my short visit in Israel, it was for me really interesting and I learned a lot again. Having met nice and good people, just like the other side of the wall (Syria or Lebanon) persuades me that one day, peace will be possible for them. There is still a lot of work but with the necessary perseverance and tolerance, they will get it. It's necessary for them to fight against the few extremists who live in each country and incha' allah, the next generation will live without noises of bombs or of any explosions. I will pass spend the last 3 days before arriving in Vilanculo under an infernal rain, everywhere the water holes are becoming bigger and bigger as the hours pass by, certain parts of the road are carrement innondees. I am at only 20 kilometres from my goal but I am deciding to stop and wait for the morning. I am sleeping under the roof of a small restaurant. During the night, water is flowing on me and the woman who lives and works in this room of 3 m2 is inviting me to sleep inside with her and her children. One hour later I am waking up with 2 children sleeping on me, quietly installed on my chest sleeping deeply. Vilanculo... Ah Vilanculo, I am gonna stay here 3 weeks. I will eat lots of seafood, the squids and the shrimps do not cost anything, the fish neither, I will treat myself to food. After all this time in Africa eating beans, my menu is now different every day! I will also party like never before on my trip, it was, let’s be honest, complete debauchery but it is normal it is Christmas and afterwards New Year’s Eve... Moreover it did me so much good to let myself go completely. I am meeting lots of nice people, meetings that I won’t forget. Between the lively evenings and the hard mornings there is the beach, the islands of Bazaruto too. Splendid islands, the place is a national park and it is a truth small paradise. Samy, a Mozanbican who has a beauty salon in Vilanculo, is inviting me in these islands and during 3 days I am living in a lodge great luxury... Unforgettable, I had forgetten that "luxury" still existed. Before leaving I am getting sick. That posptones my departure. I’m also waiting for my passport because I had to renew my visa. That will take 2 weeks to get it back... But finally, I am managing to rip myself away this paradise and I am taking the road again on the way back which I know already. It rained more than one week in some places but on the 600 next kilometres I will make it between the drops each time. I am stopping to greet the people I met when I came there almost 1 month ago. But the road is a bit annoying. The forest is splendid but over time, it is tiring to be surrounded by trees and not to be able to see at more than 10-15 meters further. I am finding a new activity : races with the African bikers. Above all, a small practical explanation: An African when he gets passed by by another biker who is, on top of that, white, can’t let the story end there. He has to pass by the biker not matter what... So each time I pass by them, they pass by me but often after some kilometres and in general after a hundred meters, I pass by them again, they are exhausted and sweating big drops. So to keep me busy, I’m deciding to challenge the other bikers and race 5 bikers over 20 kilometers. When I’m arriving in Chimoi, I am crossing the last biker I exhausted and he is looking at me and asking : where is your engine? Chimoio is in the mountains. How nice is it to be in the mountains with a fresher air and especially less wet. After a small day to rest in my last large mozanbiquaine city, I am leaving under a blazing sun (the weather is less hot, it is not wet anymore but the sun burns still as much), I am arriving in Manica. Manica is the hearth of one of the most famous beers of Mozambique so at noon, I’m offering myself a last good meal with a beer, which I dilute with lemonade (yes, just one beer...). After some kilometres, I am arriving, singing, at the border. Mozambique, I am leaving and my heart is sad to leave you! Mozambique lived 20 years of war which finished in the Eighties. At the beginning they fought against Portuguese who colonized them, afterwards they fought between rival frations which wanted the power. The country was entirely mined but lots of efforts have been made (thanks to South Africa) and the country is more or less clean. In politics, there is only one party. A single party is not really democratic but people are satisfied because, as several people said, as long as there is peace, they don’t care about politics, they do not want war anymore. Yes, the government is corrupted but there is peace, therefore that’s ok for them. Here I am in Africa, the continent of fatalism. Dictatorship, yes, but peace is there. Altough the corruption, sometime oppressive, I loved this country. The mozanbican culture, influenced by the Portuguese and Bresilian cultures, people are educated and much more polite than anywhere else on my road, the lively music, delicious food, the endless parties... 1800 kilometres but I have the feeling to have let myself biking rather than to have hurt myself. Yes, I am sad to leave but I will not forget you my dear Mozambique...

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