Mozambique's beaches

 
By Anna Murphy

For years Mozambique – sandwiched between South Africa and Tanzania on the east coast of Africa – was one of those places I kept hearing about. A Johannesburg-based photographer told me he went to its islands for "the best ever beaches and seafood". A friend returned from a work trip to Maputo raving about its crumbling Art Deco beauty, its relaxed "real Africa" vibe, and that seafood again. How good could seafood be, I asked myself. There was only one way to find out.

South African wilderness lodges I decided on a three-stop visit to a country that, I was amazed to discover, 30 years ago attracted more visitors than South Africa and Zimbabwe combined. The chief reason was the Gorongosa game park, a vast area of stunning wilderness in the middle of the country. Before the ravages of the civil war in the Seventies, when much of the big game was eaten, Gorongosa was considered one of the best game parks in southern Africa. Celebrities such as Tippi Hedren, John Wayne and Buzz Aldrin visited and raved about it to the watching world.

These days you aren't likely to see celebrities, nor the large numbers of big game that you find in many of the more established parks elsewhere in southern Africa – despite the animal restocking under way (there are growing numbers of lions, hippos and elephants).

But what you will find at Explore Gorongosa, the only camp in the park itself, is an unforgettable other-worldly experience. I and two other British visitors had the entire park to ourselves. It was just us and the wilderness. Heaven.

The days were spent either driving or walking through the park, the latter activity accompanied by a man with a very large gun, as well as our chief guide and host Rob, who runs the Explore Gorongosa camp with his wife, Jos.

It was just after the rainy season and much of the park was a shimmering grassy wetland, eye-poppingly verdant and spotted with purple and white waterlilies. The wildlife was in the grip of spring fever: cormorants diving into the water, then sitting high in the trees with their wings spread out to dry; warthogs frolicking in their large, deep muddy wallows; and the male impala, their neck muscles overdeveloped from month-long competitive rutting for females.

In the evening we drove to the river and, gin and tonic in hand, watched hundreds of birds – ibis, heron, crane – commuting home against the backdrop of a blood-red sky. At night we lay in our tents – complete with a side enclosure just outside the door with earth loo and Heath-Robinson-esque shower contraption – and listened to the lions roar outside the camp. That it took me 30 minutes to pick up courage to go to the loo only added to the magic. In retrospect.

After three nights at Gorongosa I was reluctant to leave. This is not the place to be if you are interested in box-ticking the big five, but it is absolutely the place to come if you want to experience African "otherness" and just you and the bush. (Oh yes, and an unusually lovely and informed staff who tend to your every need.) But I dragged myself away because those islands – with their beaches and their seafood – were calling.

I stayed at the Azura on the island of Benguerra, 90 minutes' flight away by small plane. The tiny and stylish resort – only 15 rooms, each with their own plunge pool – lines a beautiful white-sand beach sprinkled with the palest pink and cream shells; the sea itself is of a blue to make your eyes ache.

The diving here is supposed to be some of the best in the world, but the lightweight content themselves with superlative snorkelling. I didn't even manage that, however, but had a lovely time doing absolutely nothing, with brief interludes for fantastic meals of stuffed blue crab and top-notch steak (all included in the price, along with drinks, which leads to a lot of belt-loosening on the part of most guests).

Next stop was Maputo, which I hoped would be the highlight of my trip. What I really wanted to experience was African urban life, which in many cities on that continent is just too dangerous or uncomfortable for your average European visitor. I was not disappointed. What a wonderful city.

First, there is the look of the place – street after street of faded Art Deco: granite and steel-burnished department stores and cinemas, or Miami-style pastel-coloured villas. Then there are the late 19th-century belle époque excesses, built when Lourenço Marques, as the city was then called, was the port out of which the gold of the Transvaal was shipped. Among the most excessive is the ravishing Vila Algarve, a rococo fantasy of curving terraces and balconies and stairways, topped off with urns and grotesques and maiolica-tiled tableaux, the whole place teetering on the verge of complete disintegration.

But more alluring than the architecture is the life of the city. A spring Saturday is weddings day, I discovered. I passed a church and saw the incongruous sight of countless bridesmaids in ivory satin and pageboys in cummerbunds, scrambling into the back of a pickup.

I followed the truck around the corner to the jardim dos amantes, where at least half a dozen different wedding parties were in glorious competition, both in terms of their remarkable outfits and hair creations, but also with their choirs. Each choir sang powerful African melodies at the same time, attempting to outsing and outdance their rivals, all the while smiling broadly.

I went on to the central market, another blindingly colourful affair, with every conceivable fruit and vegetable piled in intricate displays by women dressed at least as kaleidoscopically as their wares. Hair is verging on an obsession for the women here and one huge section of the market was given over to hairpieces – curly, straight, bouffant; black, red, and many other colours besides – hanging like the pelts of strange little animals.

Elsewhere were the fish stalls, glistening with the catch of the day. I watched one woman weigh out four giant crabs and tip them live and kicking into a bag being held nonchalantly by a small boy. There were fresh prawns in every size imaginable – it is the Mozambique prawn that is supposed to be the jewel in the island's seafood crown – plus tiny dried ones stacked up in ancient-looking Schweppes' tonic cans.

Across the road from the market, at Casa Elefante, I discovered where the women bought the remarkable fabrics they use as skirts and headdresses. The walls of the shop were lined with hundreds of different fabrics in all their pop-art glory – from pink bananas on a yellow ground, to gold and green and purple interlocking circles, to patterns using the face of Mandela. There were crowds of women in there all vigorously sizing up and debating their impending purchase with an eye to the Saturday night ahead.

I, too, was looking forward to the evening. I was going to visit Costa do Sol, a celebrated seafood restaurant a few miles up the coast. Driving up the coastal road I could see that the partying had already begun. There were countless impromptu stalls, some little more than a coolbox filled with beer, others featuring rackety barbecues on which chicken and prawns were being grilled. Music was blaring from parked cars and people were beginning to edge in an endearingly adolescent way towards dancing. (One exhibitionist was already strutting her stuff with great alacrity in the back of a truck.) At Costa do Sol I had a ringside seat at the bacchanalia. I also had a plate of the best prawns in my life. Aahhh. Mozambique had been everything I hoped.

GETTING THERE

Abercrombie & Kent (0845 618 2200; www.abercrombiekent.co.uk) can tailor-make trips to Mozambique. A 12-night inclusive itinerary, including Gorongosa, Azura and Maputo, costs from £6,995 per person based on two people sharing, with return economy flight on British Airways via Johannesburg, transfers and all other local flights.