A fantasic disaster.

By a textbook definition, the trip to the Bazaruto Islands was a complete failure. An absolute disaster. But life doesn't really work on textbook definitions and sometimes even the biggest disasters can be the most memorable.

When we arrived at Vilunkulo, we immediately started to get hustled by tour operators (dodgy locals who speak in American accents) to go on their boat out to the tiny, almost deserted Islands just off the coast of Moz. However we were not looking for a day trip and a seafood lunch for R500, we wanted something cheaper and more adventurous.

I often say that my brother Alon's best travel stories start with; "i didn't want to pay the full price, so I....". So, we didn't want to pay the full price, so we found a group 8 other travelers who were organizing a no frills, cheaper and rumouredly illegal overnight trip to Bangwe Island, the smallest and most remote of the Islands.

It was a legendary team. The three of us, two other Cape Town boys, a Finish girl, a Catalan fellow, one Irish, one German and one Brit, plus our half dodgy/ half cool skipper, and his brother. The plan was to sail to the Island, spend the day snorkeling and fishing, camp out under the stars and drink tipo by moonlight. Then spend the following day snorkeling, playing soccer and having a good old time on our own private deserted beach island. Perfect. However sometimes man proposes and god disposes.

At 7am we were ready at the Dhow (a home made Mozambiquan wooden boat with one makeshift sail and several holes in the floor). Teeth brushed, bags packed, no breakfasts eaten. We waded the 100m to the Dhow and threw all our bags on board. The weather was perfect. Sun shining bright and hot, not a breath of wind in the sky. Team morale was at an all time high.

However, one thing about sail boats is that they don't sail so well on perfect days without wind. After 3 hours we had moved about 1km and were stuck on a sandbank that had risen during low tide. All 10 of us had to get out the boat and push as if it was a broken down car. An hour later the current was moving us backwards and we had to drop anchor and wait for some wind.

That day was pretty much spent in the boat; chatting, laughing, tell bad jokes, jumping overboard and playing in the blue sea around the boat. We even cooked up a pap and fish lunch with the fire that was lit in a sand heap on the deck of the boat. Team morale was at an all time high. It was 8.5 hours later (instead of the anticipated 1.5 hours) when we finally arrived at Bangwe Island, just in time for sunset. No sooner than we had set up camp did the heavens turn pink and dolphins started breaching from the sea 10m from the shoreline.

Soon the camp fire went up, freshly caught calamari on the fire and bottle of tipo cracked. It was a great dinner and good fun on the beach. Despite spending an entire day on a boat, things were going swell once again. That was until about 3am.

A couple of people were asleep in tents and a few sleeping under the stars around the fire. It was Matt who woke up first to see the gale force winds were howling flames onto Kizzy and she was almost on fire. At some point during the night, the weather had shifted and Hurricane Jenny was upon us. Wake up, we are now in code red. Tents blowing down the beach, poles breaking, stumbling around trying to throw rain sheets on. This was the first storm here in months and it was happening on the exact day which we were sleeping on the beaches of a tiny island. There were now 10 of us packed into 4 tents as we fell asleep again listening to the roar of wind beating at the tents.

It was only the next morning when the rain started. At 6am I heard a shouting; "Get up, we need to push the boat out and anchor in before the tide comes up".  I got back inside and tried to go back to sleep, but was woken when the rain started to pour hard. The rain sheet was not only properly and soon my bags, sleeping bag and self were soaked. However, i was surprisingly perky, so i got up to see where the rest were.

As i got out of my tent i saw that mine was one of the two tents still standing, but barely. Nugs and Jule's tent was flattened, ripped and broken. The other tent has knee deep in water. Mark was still sleeping in his dry, comfy tent :) Most others were huddled under the sail with breakfast cooking on a fire.The sight of these cold, wet travellers under a smoke filled sail with the biggest smiles on their faces, i will never forget.

When your belongings are soaked, camp is destroyed and paradise trip ruined, you have two options. You can be upset and bitter, or you can accept and laugh. We chose the latter. Jules and Nugs were snorkeling and the rest of us were chatting and laughing under the smokey sale. Team morale was at an all time high.

However with the storm clouds that were quickly approaching, we decided it was best to pack up and set sail for the mainland. Yet our luck had more surprises in store for us. Over the waves and through the swell we could see a police boat motoring towards us. On board were three police, equipt with uniforms, bad attitudes, guns and aviator sunglasses. It turns out the rumours were true and camping on the Island was in fact illegal (or without special permits, or something to that extent), and the other tour operators, had tipped off us to the cops. Now it was jail, fines and bribery time, and we were still at high seas with a storm approaching.

They agreed to meet us on the mainland, and we sailed the next hour in the storming rain towards our Mozambiquian police reception party. Yet team morale was still at an all time high, so we sang and laughed recounting night experiences, events and shinanigans that has taken place the over the past two days.

We finally got back to shore, sorted out our business with the police, avoided the new rates that our skipper was trying to charge, got showered and dry, and went out for a pizza and beer before a well earned night in real beds.

Maybe it was a good team, or maybe 10 travelers together cant not have fun, or maybe something was just in the air. But every single thing that could have gone wrong did, the trip was an absolute failure and disaster, but was probably one of the most fun, adventurous and memorable trips i've ever done. Certainly not for the faint hearted, but if we were looking for Club Med, we have gone there.

Today is our clean up, washing and chill out day. Then tomorrow we hit the grueling 90 odd km cycle to Inhassoro. Probably last post for a while, thanks to all who are reading and for all the inspiring comments and messages. If people are liking it, i will keep writing and cycling.

Cheers,
Eitan

ETA: 345 hours on a bike to Inhassoro.