We arrived at the busy Komatipoort border crossing late in the evening, but luckily we already had our visas so it didn’t take too long to fumble our way through the befuddling bureaucracy that is Komatipoort before we were on our way to Maputo.

Even though the section of road from Komatipoort to Maputo has recently been upgraded, we only arrived after dark and it took us some time to find our way through the labyrinth of communist-era street names before we reached Fatima’s hostel. The heat that sits over Maputo at the end of December is unbearable and by five the next morning, drenched in sweat and exhausted from fighting off what must be a mutant strain of the mosquito species, we set off for Tofo beach.

On our way out of the city we had our first of many encounters with Mozambique’s overzealous traffic department. Luckily, this time we were saved by a local who questioned the officials about our apparent violation and we were allowed to drive away with our licences still in hand.

Driving in Mozambique is an experience in itself. Not only are the roads so pot-holed that you are forced to drive where ever the road is least damaged (meaning that you have to swerve continually to avoid unexpected oncoming traffic), you also have to contend with buses — complete with goats strapped to the roof — which fly down the roads at breakneck speeds.

And then there’s the issue of petrol. At one point during our trip the country ran out of unleaded petrol. I know South Africa doesn’t have a great track record on this either, but how does an entire country run out of petrol!

Slow road through Moz

Although the distance from Maputo to Tofo can’t be more than about 300km, it took us at least six hours to get there. We were supposed to stay in Inhambane, but having checked out the accommodation and the rather drab looking town, we decided to move on to Tofo in the hopes that we would find the tropical paradise we'd hoped for.

We did. Bamboozi is a palm-fringed paradise (especially when you are suffering from a mild form of heat-induced delirium). It has the swaying trees, the long stretch of beach, the warm sea water and a tropical-looking restaurant that serves cold beers, thin-based pizzas and an assortment of seafood dishes.

No room at the inn

Just one problem. It was full.

It’s a popular destination over the New Year’s Eve period, so if you're planning to go, book in advance. We arrived at lunchtime, which meant that we had to wait a while before we could chat to anyone about accommodation. While we were waiting, we checked out the other accommodation options in the area, which were also full, were offered a place to stay in a local’s hut and got stuck in the sand, accidentally bursting a water pipe in our attempts to get out. Which didn’t bode well for our chances of finding a place to stay.

In the end we persuaded the owner of Bamboozi to let us sleep in the dive-hut. The cool sea breeze that blew into the hut at night compensated for the concrete floor, the sand that covered everything and the fact that we had to be out of there by six each morning.

Meeting the locals

Bamboozi was a series of long lazy days of chilling in the pool when the beach became too hot, eating oversized mangoes and socialising in the bar at night. Oh, and shopping.

While we were lying on the beach one day, one of the local kids sidled up to us on the beach, hoping to sell my sister and I a beach mat or two. We got talking and he told us about how making and selling mats was his family’s source of income.

Despite being so large we struggled to get squeeze them into the 4x4, we bought five of them. The word must have spread like wildfire after that, because soon every kid in the area was trying to sell us hats, shells, jewellery... you name it. It took us a while to figure out the whole haggling thing and even when we did, we felt too guilty and usually ended up paying the asking price anyway.

We were at Bamboozi over New Year’s Eve, which meant that while we missed out on diving with manta rays, we did get to experience New Year’s Bamboozi style.

For New Year’s the bar at Bamboozi hosted an 80s party. They auctioned off authentic (and suitably hideous) 80s clothing the night before, the wearing of which was a prerequisite for entry into the party. When the party at Bamboozi started dying down, we headed off for nearby Dino’s Bar, where we counted in the new year with every other South African in Tofo.

Mozambicans celebrate the new year on New Years Day, so while we were all recovering from hangovers, locals from all over Tofo convened on Tofo beach for a party. Only one of our number were resilient enough to join the party and discover the popular drink of palm wine and milk.

So, all in all, was I upset that my holiday didn’t go exactly according to plan? Not really. I was forced out of my comfort zone and Mozambique became one exciting adventure after another. Oh, and I did get to use that extensive first aid kit after all…