Yes, I know this is an oldie, but we have no interesting news at the moment ...

We were aiming for Vilanculo, gateway to the Bazaruto Archipelago, to do a so-called Dhow Safari through the islands. Dhows are the ancient Arabian-style sailing boats, with their characteristic triangular sails, still very much in use along the eastern coast of Africa to transport people and goods. We enquired with the biggest local operator, who said that the next Dhow Safari would only be leaving in two day's time and would take two days. This would mean another four days at Baobab Beach – an undesirable sacrifice in terms of time and cost. We were therefore very pleased when the barman at Baobab Beach informed us that there was another dhow operator who could offer flexible trips and who would be in the bar later that evening.

The sort of motorised Dhow that we were expecting

As we were setting up our roof tent under the huge tree that lent Baobab Beach its name, the operator, one Venancio, introduced himself. He could offer us a “motorised dhow” trip the next day, visiting all the islands in a dhow that had an engine too. This dhow would leave direct from Baobab Beach (the other operator was on the opposite side of Vilanculo) and we would also have the opportunity to spend some time swimming and lazing on island beaches. Since we are not strong swimmers, we enquired about safety facilities aboard and were assured that we would have 100% international safety features on-board. After some discussion between Pat and I, we decided that this sounded like the better option. We paid the 50% deposit upfront, which Venancio explained was required for him to pay for fuel and permits to the Bazaruto National Park. At that time of month, the tides were unfavourable, so we would have to leave as early as 5:30 the next morning to reach the coral reef in time to do some snorkelling.

We packed our goods into our waterproof stuff-sack and took along our ten litre container of drinking water, the minimum recommended amount for a day trip. The next morning we awoke at 5:00 am, somewhat sceptical of Venancio's arrival, remembering that we had already paid quite a considerable sum of money! By 6:00 he had not arrived, and I spent the time scouring the beach for signs of the rascal – or the dhow – having to make do instead with the sight of a spectacular sunrise over the distant island of Margaruque.

Sunrise over Margaruque

Just as I was about to accept that we had been conned, Venancio arrived and told us to follow him, somewhat restoring my faith in humanity. So the dhow wasn't leaving from Baobab Beach? No, we had to walk just down the road! There we were introduced to our skipper and we selected some suitable snorkelling gear from the perished selection available. The “dhow” we discovered was a tiny fibreglass fishing boat with a single 8 horsepower motor. What – no sail, no oars, no backup motor? We were assured that the engine was “new” and very reliable. It was a Yamaha, after all. And lifejackets? Well, we were offered two weather-beaten, but at least serviceable-looking life-vests! Flares, radio, navigation equipment were nowhere in sight! Anyway, it was too late to change now – it would mean waiting another two days – so we decided to set off regardless!

We waded out to the boat carrying our things. A woman carried a container of fuel to the boat and handed the skipper his “lunch”, which consisted of a small packet of synthetic strawberry biscuits. In contrast, we had prepared cheese rolls and some peanut butter sandwiches – our staple food thus far – the night before. As I took my seat, I caught a whiff of a most mysterious, unpleasant, rotten smell. The weather was decidedly overcast and misty. We could no longer see the distant island of Margaruque. The sea was decidedly choppy and before long I was feeling quite nauseous and Pat quite nervous. Pat commented “There's quite a swell!” and I agreed wholeheartedly. I caught another whiff of the rotten smell and felt even more nauseous. I eventually located the source: in the hole where the mast should have been was a pool of stagnant water with a number of rotten oranges and orange peels festering in it. Lordy! This was going to be some trip.

The swell got worse, and before long we had travelled far enough from the shore that it was now invisible in the mist! No sign of the islands either. Pat pulled her life-jacket tighter. We looked nervously at each other. I caught another whiff of the rotting oranges. Then the skipper suddenly decelerated and lifted the engine and the boat ground to a halt on a sandbank! He had decelerated just in time. He got out and eventually managed to push us off the sandbank. We headed off again. The skipper explained we would have to travel as fast as possible to get to the so-called “two mile reef” before the tide became unfavourable for snorkelling.

Well, about half an hour later we arrived at the reef – alive! Luckily the weather had cleared, so we could see the distant islands around us, but the tide was so high that the reef was almost completely submerged and the currents were quite strong. Nevertheless, I managed to do a good hour of snorkelling – with ever-changing views of fantastic coral formations and luminously-coloured fish. Nothing as exciting as a whale-shark or manta ray, unfortunately, but a great experience nevertheless.

Thereafter, we stopped off at Bazaruto Island for a walk up the huge dunes, where the spectacular views of the islands and multi-coloured ocean made the climb worthwhile. The skipper chatted to one of the National Park officials on the beach – but absolutely no sign of “permits” being produced or inspected!

Skipper chatting to National Parks officials on Bazaruto Island. Yes, the little boat you see there is our dhow !

We shared our lunch with the skipper, remembering that he only had synthetic strawberry creams to sustain him, and then headed back to Boabab Beach, praying that the little Yamaha engine would prove reliable. En route a massive speed boat bearing the insignia “Bazaruto Lodge” and sporting two 150 horsepower engines sped past . As we bobbed uncomfortably on it's wake in our little fibreglass fishing boat, I could imagine our friend Ilana lounging on the deck, icily gingerly sipping a complimentary bucks fizz, saying “Skat, have another oyster”, en route to her luxury island hide-away.

Ilana en route to her luxury Bazaruto Island hide-away

Once again as we stepped ashore – alive – I caught another whiff of the rotting oranges from the mast-hole. The end of another almost-perfect day in paradise ...