When you look at a map of Mozambique, and who hasn’t, you realise that it is a very large country but has only one road connecting its capital Maputo in the far south with the entire northern region.  That road, as we had come to love it, was the National Road 1, or N1.  We had enjoyed our time in southern Mozambique with its national parks, beaches and good roads but now it was time to head north to Malawi and the only way to do that was on the N1.

We left the seaside town of Maxixe and followed the N1 inland, through countless lively villages, loving the colourful scene of the locals opening their stalls for the day, walking to work, carrying water or firewood, or clothes to the river for washing or whatever else is required.  We zigged back to the coast and stopped at the seaside town of Vilanculos, immediately getting a good vibe for the place. 

Vilanculos had a very lively town centre with a bopping market and a couple of useful supermarkets plus long sandy beaches, the requisite swaying coconut palm trees and relaxed lifestyle.  In our short stay there we met numerous South Africans – usually because they wanted to talk about Tramp – who had relocated to Vilanculos and were loving it.  We could see why, good weather, cheap and peaceful, very friendly locals.  With the offshore islands offering additional relaxation options this place gets a big thumbs up.

With serious regret we headed further north but our friend the N1, Mozambique’s north to south national highway, gave out on us.  Serious pot holes and road damage began to appear, then long sections that were impassable with the only option to drive on the dirt shoulders, then more sections where even that was difficult.  We’re talking potholes more suitable for coffins, serious axle breakers, and the huge trucks that plied the road – we were one of only a few privately owned cars – had to inch along the ruined road.  As the national transport spine of the country the N1 only works in the south.

We also faced many police checks, usually marked by their orange cones in the middle of the road, but on most occasions they would respectfully wave Tramp through.  When we came to the huge bridge crossing the Save River and stopped to pay our modest toll the military tried to touch us up for food and drinks and asked for our passports as part of their intimidation technique.  After being disappointed and finally letting us go we crossed the bridge only to be stopped again and go through the exact same routine again, sadly for them to the same effect.  Just a bit of low level crass harassment of tourists, they didn’t know we’ve already been through Central America!

After more shocking road, and feeling sorry for Tramp’s overworked suspension, we finally pulled into a place called Buffalo Camp for the night.  It was a pleasant end to a long and eventful day, celebrated around a fire in the soft red sand with the Southern Cross shining overhead.  It almost felt like Australia…except it was Mozambique.

The next morning Tramp refused to start, almost in protest over having to go back out on those atrocious roads.  Inexplicably his battery was dead but roared to life with a jump start from the manager’s car.  Then it was back on road, such as it was, as we headed further north. 

Three days earlier we had seen signs for Inchope, over 700 kilometres away, and we wondered what wonders such a remote outpost in the middle of the African jungle might have.  Disappointingly we discovered the town was no more than a large, dusty and chaotic truck stop at an unmarked intersection so we fuelled up and headed further north into the unknown.

As we left Inchope, the last bit of civilisation for quite a distance, the road deteriorated to the point of being almost unrecognisable as a road.  Long articulated trucks would trundle up and down the potholes at their own pace, their drivers resigned to a life on these roads.  For us it was a constant struggle to slowly weave our way around deep potholes or just give up and crawl through the least deep ones. 

Some holes could be up to 50-60 cm (2 feet) deep with steep walls, other times dirt tracks would have been carved parallel to the old paved sections but they also contained holes of dark abyss.  How this is travelled in the wet season when its muddy and these holes are all filled with water is beyond us.  And how this road can be the only north-south artery of this huge country is part wonder and part disgrace.  And we were also hindered by the tray between our camper and truck which we were holding together with a ratchet strap, courtesy of Sani Pass in South Africa.

With the road delaying our progress, light fading and nerves completely shot we came upon a small village which had a little clearing around its old school.  We stopped, started talking to the locals, eventually spoke to the two school teachers who appeared to have the final say and they agreed we could park next to their school and camp the night.  It was a fabulous outcome to a day of hard yakka.  These people have so little and were happy to have us join them while asking for nothing in return.  We were overwhelmed with gratitude and relief.

We said our goodbyes to the two young school teachers as the kids started arriving at 7am for another day of learning.  But again Tramp refused to start but we were cleverly able to jump start the truck battery off the house battery. Tramp’s battery has decided to fail us in such a remote location where there is absolutely no assistance available.  This problem weighed heavily on us and prompted one of our favourite sayings, ‘it’s always something’.

Sadly, overnight the roads had not improved and we crawled our way slowly up Mozambique’s National Highway 1, carefully negotiating up, down and around every pothole, washout and muddy spot.  The villages thinned out, the jungle got thicker and closer, the roads just kept getting worse.  On more times than I could count I would have to stop and survey the road – which combination of holes, cracks and deep unmeasurable mud would I like to take Tramp through?  And all of this with a ratchet strap tightly wound around the two layers of our tray to hold it all together. 

After the longest five and a half hours of my driving life we covered 150 kilometres (95 miles) and pulled into the riverside town of Caia.  We refuelled but again Tramp’s battery was dead so we got a jump start, then headed into town and found a guy in a little shop who could replace it.  Ninety minutes later and many thousands of Mozambique Meticals lighter we pulled out with a new battery and a great relief.  Another problem solved.

At the only bridge within cooee we crossed the mighty Zambesi River, perhaps the best river name of all time and a landmark for all things Africa, a wide muddy artery of this part of the continent, still high and swollen from the recent rainy season.  We decided to call stumps early and camp at the nearby Cuacua Lodge, a brilliant decision as we swam in their pool and our camp overlooked the Zambesi.  We enjoyed the late afternoon in the shade while listening to the kids splashing about and having fun in the water below us.  Mozambique has had challenges, that’s for sure, but it also has had huge rewards.

The next day we headed towards the Malawi border, following our two GPS directions, all good.  But then Karen, the much loved voice of our GPS, headed us off onto a narrow sandy track, overgrown by local grasses, weaving between impoverished homes, we thought better of it and turned around.  Next track was slightly better, or maybe not, but a local guy wearing a USAID shirt said the road to the border was closed, presumably still too wet and muddy. So we turned around again, back to the hard-to-leave N1, which by this stage had improved nicely and was a relatively smooth ride. 

We finally found the third track towards a different border, followed its narrow sandy path through more remote villages, ever hopeful we would make it through.  The looks on some of these poor villagers’ faces, living in the most basic and humble conditions imaginable, was as if they had just seen aliens pass by.  Not aliens, just Julie and Bill and Tramp slightly lost in the jungles of central Mozambique.

By the time we found the paved road to the border it was too late to make the distance before the border closed so we found a church on the side of the road, asked the older people of the village if we could camp there the night, and with their permission set up camp.  As entertainment and a spectacle to these villagers our presence couldn’t have been any better and we had a large audience of children watching us closely until dark.  And so our last day in Mozambique was not our last day and we spent an unusual night in a village’s church grounds the centre of everyone’s attention. As you do.

The next morning we awoke to a flat tire caused by a slow leak overnight.  With our favourite saying ‘It’s always something!’ top of mind I hooked up one of our least used bits of kit on Tramp – an air compressor that was installed under the bonnet and connects to the truck’s battery.  I was able to reinflate our flat tire while Julie was giving English lessons to the local kids and then we enjoyed the beautiful early morning drive to the Mozambique-Malawi border.

We had heard mixed reports about travelling in Mozambique but we absolutely loved it – beautiful places, wonderful people, totally safe the whole time, just great.  Hopefully they’ll fix the roads before we come back!