It was within the twenty-four hours before departure time that we even began considering the idea of renting a car and driving our whole weekend trip rather than risking the inconsistency and uncertainty of public transportation. Somehow we were able to find a sketchy company with an unmarked car rental office that had a seven-seater, automatic Toyota Noah available for the very next day. Thanks to my British passport and thus my assumed "experience" driving on the left-hand side of the road, the car rental dealers designated me the official driver. Various potential problems included but were not limited to massive and unexpected potholes, animal (cows, goats, chickens, MONKEYS) crossings, the tinted windows that were impossible to see out of at night, the deadlines to cross borders before they closed in the evenings, the chaos and expense of crossing the borders themselves, the frequency of carjackings in South Africa, and the ridiculousness of the google map directions for our first destination, Swaziland ("Turn left onto unknown road...", "Turn right..."). Oh, and the suspiciously squeaky brakes.
Believe it or not, the eight or so hour drive across South Africa was almost completely uneventful. It was only just before the Swazi border, already at nighttime, when I pulled out of a petrol (gas) station without my headlights on for a few seconds before realizing and quickly switching them on. Not fast enough for the cop who must have been waiting to pounce. I can now say that my first time ever being pulled over by the police occured in South Africa. Typical. The policewoman was pretty nice though, and when I apologized for the mistake she let us go on. Once in Swazi's capital, Mbabane, we had to drive around all manners of hilly, bendy, badly marked, unpaved roads before a policeman was able to give us helpful directions to Julie's house. Julie went to Harvard's GSE and now works for the American embassy in Swaziland; she very kindly offered us her dining room floor to crash on for two nights, which just made for a hilariously fun slumber party situation for the six of us.
Our purpose for being in Mbabane was to give an American college information session at UWC Waterford, a top high school in southern Africa. The school was perched on a beautiful hill with awesome views, and it was cool to tour it to get a sense of how it was similar to and different from MaP. Unfortuantely, some of or time in Mbabane was spent getting a new tire after a flat and trying to figure out what was wrong with our brakes, as the car had begun shaking when we used the brakes on hills.
Crossing into Mozambique was immensely confusing. The second we parked at the border, a few English-speaking men rushed up to us with offers to help us cross. They seemed to have the full approval of the officials behind the counters and yet there was something just totally sketchy about them. One particularly pushy man said he wouldn't tell his "chief" that we had cameras and, before we knew what that even meant, he had run off to grab an official-looking guard to check the trunk of the car. Once the guard left, the man "helping" us began demanding money, saying that I had made a deal with him and that he had helped us to avoid custom fees on the cameras. There was no evidence that we would have had to pay fees anyway and I certainly hadn't made a deal, so we literally shut the car doors in his face to get away. Despite not really believing him, I think we all breathed a huge sigh of relief when we got out of the border crossing without encountering the so-called chief!
Maputo definitely has a vibrant life to it that both Mbabane and Gaborone lack, but it is unfortunately also the most trash-covered city I've ever seen. Sidewalks in the city, roadsides in the town, and even the water-edge - all infested with litter and didrt. The city is dirty in the sense of corruption too, as we discovered on our way out when another policewoman tried to get us to pay her 1,000 metacais in order to avoid a ticket. When we refused to pay the amount, she dropped her asking price all the way down to a drink! Then she said, "Anything! Just give me something!"
In sharp contrast, the island of Inhaca ("In-yaca") is stunningly beautiful. With a population of 6,000, a tiny main village, and practically deserted beaches, it exudes a feeling of tranquility. We spent just under four hours strolling around, playing in the Indian Ocean, admiring starfish and crabs on the beach, and eating tasty seafood in the village. Our travel there was not so tranquil, however. We took the local government boat rather than the more expensive tourist ferry for the three-hour journey from Maputo and got to clamber off onto a small motoroboat for the last stretch of shallow water before the beach. Even the motorboats didn't go right up to the shore, so we, along with a lot of locals, pulled off our shoes, hoisted up our pants, and hopped out itno knee-deep water to wade the remaining 30 or 40 meters to the shore. Unconventional, but great fun! Once on the island we unfortunately wasted quite a bit of time arguing with some officials who insisted we pay an island entry tax; it was a frustrating experience because none of the locals had to pay so we were unsure of how legitimate the officials were and, moreover, because it was an entirely unexpected cost.
I would say this trip was quite significantly more stressful than the last, particularly with regards to the car. For me, however, the car rides - with our hilarious games and interesting hypothetical discussions in addition to all the ridiculous road obstacles - were actually what made the journey so memorable. I know the six of us were all sad to end the trip knowing that it was our last time traveling all together.
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