Tofo Beach, Inhambane

On Monday we woke with the early birds (everything is early here, for
some reason, they've got the wrong time zone for the longitude) and
headed for the Junta. It wasn't a military coup, but just as chaotic
- a roundabout surrounded by chappas and minibuses. Before we were
out of our cab our bags had been stowed aboard the minibus for
Inhambane and Tofo Praia. As we waited for the bus to fill with
passengers we were given an object lesson in capitalism as all manner
of product was traded through the windows. We bought some clothes
pegs, but saw blocks of ice, rice, digital watches, cleaning products,
eggs and pretty much anything you could imagine sold.

The ride was a laugh, apart from the ubiquitous toddler, variously
lolling on, sitting on or drooling on Lucy's lap. It took all day but
the reward is a great swathe of beach next to the warm Indian Ocean.

We've pitched our tent inside a hut (taking it very slowly on the
camping front!), which costs about 6quid a day and we're cooking most
of our own food, with varying degrees of success. A little black
piggy does a circuit of the campsite every lunchtime, oinking and
rooting, and there are monstrous bats who operate just outside our
tent of an evening.

Up on the dunes is a bar where we habitually take our beer (Laurentina
for Lucy, Manica for me) and tomorrow we're going snorkelling with
(apparently) the whale sharks. We've met some interesting people
passing through since we've been here, including a French guy who
we're hoping to scrounge a lift off for the next leg of our trip up
the coast.

The internet connection is miserable here, so no prospect of showing
you any pictures just now. We're off to buy some fresh bread, not
that stale shite they try to palm off on tourists - Lucy won't have
that - and then a bit of a read on the beach before Friday's seafood
buffet and some beers. This really is the life!