Dolphins and diving
The minibus taxi turns off just before Ponta Do Ouro, at the little market, but we carry on over the hill into town with a blazing sunset in the rear-view mirror. 
Ponta Do Ouro was mostly abandoned during Mozambique’s civil war and there are still a lot of deserted buildings that bear hollow witness to that era, but an equal number are now being renovated. There are new buildings too, and plenty of signboards advertising South African-funded housing developments. 
A red-and-white cellphone tower stands proudly in the centre of town: a steeple of the church of upward mobility in a country that is developing fast. Ponta, as most holidaymakers call it, is on a roll.
Mercifully, we’re here out of season (it gets hectic in the school holidays) and the town looks deserted, except for a group of boys kicking a soccer ball near the bottle store. 
For old time’s sake, I suggest we check in at Motel Do Mar on the beachfront. Apart from a fresh coat of paint, the motel, a Ponta landmark, hasn’t changed much: the double-story cabanas still look like they’ve been lifted from the set of Tropical Heat, but inside they are clean, comfortable and only metres from the beach.
And what a beach it is! Protected from the brunt of the Indian Ocean by a sickle-shaped headland, the bay glitters like rippling tin foil in the evening light. We walk down to the shore, where small waves wash onto the sand. The water is as warm as blood.
Later, after a plate of prawns (not really a bargain at R100) washed down by a couple of 2Ms at Restaurante Fishmonga, I lie in bed and listen to the sea crashing outside. Cyclone Jokwe is causing havoc up north, but down here it’s as balmy as can be. A warm breeze tickles my toes and I am asleep within seconds.

Most visitors come to do one of two things: fish or scuba dive. There are a number of shallow reefs close to shore that are perfect for diving, and further out, where the ocean floor drops off steeply, game fish lurk in the depths. 
Dawie and I book a dive with Simply Scuba. (It’s a coin-flip decision: there are lots of operators in town but it’s too hot to read the fine print.) Our tattooed dive master, Karl, works in Ponta because he doesn’t want to be found. 
“I hate Facebook,” he says. “Random people from your past just popping up like that. Lucky our internet connection here is practically non-existent.”
The only other divers on the boat are a couple from Polokwane, Marita and Etienne Dorfling, who are back here on honeymoon after they met on a dive trip last year. “I helped her when she dropped her weight belt,” Etienne says, grinning.
We dive at a reef called Steps, and Karl points out colourful creatures like a rare frogfish and a tiny paperfish. Marita and Etienne swim close together, holding hands. 
Back on the boat, Karl spots a huge whale shark just behind the breakers. We hastily slap on masks and snorkels and pile into the water as the charcoal monster cruises past, its mouth the size of a VW Beetle.
“I never get tired of swimming with whale sharks,” Karl says. “Even if I see seven in one day.”
Karl obviously gets along better with fish than people...

The next morning, we meet Roxy Macdonald from Dolphin Encountours at their headquarters next to the beach. Theirs is a non-profit organisation that has researched Ponta’s local pod of dolphins for 12 years.
Behind her is a chart of dorsal fins identifying many of the individuals that make up the 300-strong pod, whose home radius extends about 40 km along the coast.
“We have an excellent success rate when we take visitors out, and quite often the dolphins are as keen to interact as we are,” Roxy explains. “I once swam with a group for almost an hour.”
Yesterday was postcard perfect, but cyclone Jokwe’s tentacles are extending further south and today is blustery and grey. If I were a dolphin I would be hiding somewhere underwater, not doing somersaults on the surface for tourists.
But Roxy has a full boat – Dawie, myself and a group of excited German backpackers. We crash out through the surf and plough our way up the coast. After a stomach-churning half hour or so, one of the German girls shrieks with delight as a squadron of grey fins breaks the surface near the boat. Garrick, the skipper, idles closer to them and Roxy quickly slides over the side to identify the group.
“It’s Gilly and her baby, Gulliver,” she says breathlessly, after hauling herself back on board. Mongoose, another researcher, takes notes on a clipboard. “Bow and Tie are with them too, and little Kiwi. But they’re on the move; it’s definitely not playtime.”
The Germans chatter like birds in an aviary as Garrick manoeuvres the boat back into the dolphins’ path. At Roxy’s signal we all splash ungracefully into the sea (drenching Mongoose’s clipboard) and peer into the grey-blue murk.
It’s a disorientating experience at first, but suddenly, out of nowhere, two dolphins zoom into view, a big one and a little one. They pass by centimetres from my mask and disappear again. Wow! Where did they go?
My heart beats in my snorkel.
I dive down deeper to escape the choppy surface conditions, and am surrounded by a galaxy of dolphin clicks and squeaks. And then I see them again, Gilly shielding her baby, both of them swimming slowly, inquisitively. They pause briefly below me, suspended in a blue void. Then, with a flick of their tails, they vanish again like ghosts. Come back!
My lungs strain but I don’t really feel like going back up. Oh, what I’d give for a set of gills…

Play it again, Sam!
The 7 km section of road to Ponta Malongane is worse than the one from the border to Ponta do Ouro, with deep, sandy stretches and a few steep inclines. There are no Hi-Aces trawling this route.
About halfway to Malongane, to the left of the road, is a big exposed dune scoured with tyre tracks.
This is the Sand Pit, where quad bikers and 4x4 nuts do damage to themselves and the environment in season (apparently the hospital at Manguzi, back in South Africa, sees a dramatic spike in collarbone fractures during December). Unless you’re a fan of carnage, the Sand Pit is a place to avoid.
Ponta Malongane isn’t really a town. It’s just one resort – Parque de Malongane – that has chalets, rondavels, a large, shady campsite and a well-equipped dive centre. It feels like a mini Sodwana.
Thankfully, quad bikes are banned within the boundaries of the resort and have to be parked
at the gate.
We’re booked into a neat, airy chalet that wouldn’t be out of place in a South African national
park. Our neighbours on one side are a ski-boat fishing club from Gauteng. There isn’t a woman in
sight and it looks as if the men are on a strict diet of skottel fry-ups and Captain Morgan. Their boats, huge and gleaming, are parked in the shade after this morning’s trip out to sea.
On the other side is a group of friends, bankers and accountants, also from Gauteng, who
are lamenting the soggy state of cyclone Jokwe over a couple of beers on the stoep.
Although it’s not as protected as the one at Ponta do Ouro, the beach here is less crowded. The
coastline curls north to Ponta Mamoli; I’d imagine a long stroll in that direction would unravel even
the most complicated thoughts.
But if that sounds like too much hard work, the best view can be found at the Nascer do Sol Bar
(meaning “sunrise bar”), above the dive centre. Unsurprisingly, it’s the most popular place in the resort and the most popular man, by proxy, is the barman, Sam José.
“Hi guys! What can I get you?” Sam asks with the most genuine smile I’ve seen in years.
“Dois 2Ms, obrigado,” Dawie says, practising what is likely to become the only complete sentence
he knows in Portuguese.
Sam is the first person we’ve met who can tell us about the Santa Maria Peninsula, where
we’re heading. “The roads are bad. Eish! But it’s beautiful – not like this. This is beautiful, but you
know what I mean? It’s the same as South Africa here; up there it’s different.”
Sam is originally from Maputo and has travelled around most of southern Mozambique. He loves his job but admits it sometimes gets hectic: “New Year! Ha! It’s crazy. This bar will be finished, nothing left. All the Captain Morgan gone! Then I’m barman, bouncer, friend, cleaner, everything! I don’t sleep.”
Soon the delicious smell of a nearby braai makes thoughts of dinner impossible to ignore. We
walk back along the beach to the restaurant for peri-peri chicken and chips. The sun is long gone,
but every now and then some stars splash out from behind the clouds and shine for all they’re worth.

In the morning we do one dive at a reef called Anchor and another at Drop Zone, where a big
loggerhead turtle joins our group for a few minutes, until it tires of our clumsy bubbles and glides off
into the blue.
Above our heads Jokwe simmers, but it doesn’t matter what the weather is doing above the
surface; underwater it’s always wet. 
After our dives we pack up and head for Ponta Mamoli, another 4 km further up the coast.
From Mamoli’s reception area it’s immediately apparent that this resort is pitched at a different kind of visitor. Instead of shirtless fishermen standing around the bar, a couple in Puma tracksuits lounge on the soft couches reading Dan Brown novels.
Quad bikes aren’t welcome at this resort either, but you can go on a horse ride, a scuba-dive or a
turtle-spotting trip in season. You might be lucky enough to see a female leatherback laying her eggs under the cover of darkness.
The two-person timber chalets have en-suite bathrooms and soft beds with billowing mosquito nets. If you’ve had enough of camping, Mamoli is the perfect place to spoil yourself for a night or two.
The morning’s dives are starting to take their toll and that bed looks way too tempting. I lie down
for a 10-minute snooze, only to wake up two hours later, just in time for a 2M sundowner and
grilled calamari in lemon butter sauce for dinner.
This is the life!

So far and no further
After a serious Mozambican break­fast (basically the same as a serious South African break­fast),
we point the car into the unk­nown. Few people venture beyond Ponta Mamoli and it’s soon clear why. The road is awful.
We drive an 11 k­m section of donga-riddled tar between Mamoli and the little settlement of Zitundu
before turning right onto a rutted sand track­. This track­ eventually leads to Catembe, across the bay
from Maputo, but it’s lik­e an ironing board compared with what’s coming…
After 30 k­m, one slow truck­ and a policeman hiding in the bushes, we arrive at the gate of the Reserva Especial de Maputo, or Maputo Elephant Reserve. To get to the Santa Maria Peninsula and Ponta Torres, 68 k­m away, we need to drive through the reserve.
During the 1970s, a lot of game was relocated here from the Umfolozi Game Reserve in South
Africa, but Mozambique’s ensuing civil war obliterated everything except a very small population of
elephants.
According to a notice posted at the reserve reception, a 2006 aerial survey counted 330  elephants, but that still doesn’t mean they are easy to spot: They’re justifiably sk­ittish and, unlik­e their cousins in the Kruger National Park­, they view humans as the enemy. As evidence, the same notice highlights two instances in 2007 when elephants caused substantial damage to vehicles within the reserve.
After paying a R70 entrance fee each and R70 for the vehicle, we follow the one and only road
through the reserve, next to a chain of pylons that eventually supply Inhaca Island with electricity. The
wheel ruts are so deep that I can tak­e my hands off the wheel and leave the steering to autopilot.
Then we crest a small hill, and I spot something: Right there, a dark splodge the size of a R5 coin in the middle of an emerald floodplain, an elephant mak­es its stately way through the reeds.
To see this survivor of a brutal war is profoundly moving. For a while we watch the elephant as he
mak­es for the thick­ bush on the far side of the plain. And then, just lik­e that, he is swallowed up by the landscape as if he was never there.

Ponta torres is the end of the road. You can’t stumble upon it accidentally; you have to really
want to go there. 
And why would you want to endure endless, bone-jarring k­ilometres of unimaginably horrible roads for the privilege? For the fishing, of course. The kingfish here are rumoured to be some of
the liveliest in Mozambique.
Namibian Jack­ Lamprecht is hook­ed. “I love the 4x4 element,” he says. “It k­eeps this place remote.”
Jack­ is our neighbour in the Ponta Torres Camp, a surprisingly comfortable assortment of selfcatering, air-conditioned chalets and en-suite safari tents. It’s only a five-minute walk from the
infamous Hell’s Gate – the narrow, angry stretch of water between Inhaca Island and the mainland.
On one side is the deceptively placid Bay of Maputo and on the other the roaring Indian Ocean.
We’re on Jack­’s little boat, in the middle of Hell’s Gate, as he trawls for kingfish while his helper, Mbeki, aims the dinghy into the tide. Small, vicious waves wash over the sides and the dark water beneath us is the colour of danger. I’m beginning to wonder if accepting Jack’s offer of a lift to Inhaca was a good idea.
“They bite like mad in the Gate!” Jack shouts above the wind, ash flying from the cigarette in his mouth. “You’ll see – we’ll eat like kings tonight! Or eat kings, whatever.”
Suddenly his rod bends double and the line zings under the boat then back out to sea again. He reels the fish in steadily, slowly, but at the last minute the rod snaps back and the line goes slack. Lost it.
“Hey, that’s fishing,” Jack says with a knowing shrug. “Sneaky bastards, those kingfish.”
He drops us on the southern tip of Inhaca Island then putters back into Hell’s Gate to try again. We flop down on the sand to watch. Jokwe’s mucky weather is retreating and the sun has finally
broken through the clouds. 
That’s it. There’s nowhere else to go now except back the way we came.“We should have brought a 2M,” Dawie says as we watch Jack and Mbeki trawling up and down the channel. “It looks like this
might take a while.”
“That’s hardly a problem,” I say as I lie back on the soft sand and close my eyes, the warm sun like an embrace. “Hardly a problem at all.”

There’s great diving to be had in southern Mozambique, no matter what your experience level. This is what a boatload of divers at Parque de Malongane had to say:

Calvin Letcher (500+ dives):
“The reefs are in good condition, compared with Sodwana and Aliwal Shoal. I’m also a fan of the rum cocktails in the bar upstairs!”

Peter Davies (7 dives):
“I love that Malongane is a little off the beaten track – it’s not as commercial as some other diving destinations.”

Lyn Cooke (350 dives):
“The anenome fish are my favourite. You won’t find Nemo but you’ll find his whole extended family!”

Pieter Lucas (1 dive):
“That was my first ever dive! Everything was fantastic. When are we going again?”

Timothy Van Den Berg (120 dives):
“I like that the reefs are relatively shallow, giving you longer dive times, and that the boat rides are short.”

Leanne Greeff (18 dives):
“The sea life here is wonderful. We visited for the first time last December and that’s why we’re back.”

Ponta do Ouro
Motel do Mar: Between R495 for a four-sleeper cabana (low season, non-beachfront) and R1185 (peak season, beachfront) per night. 012 348 2690; www.ponta.co.za
Dive: R230 (with Simply Scuba), plus a one-off R20 marine tax fee. Full gear hire costs R160 per day. Simply Scuba 011 678 0972; www.simplyscuba.co.za
Dolphins: R250 per person 011 462 8103; www.dolphinencountours.co.za

Ponta Malongane
Parque de Malongane: R65 (low season) and R100 (peak season) per person per night to camp; and between R620 (low season) and R760 (peak season) per night for a four-sleeper chalet. 013 741 1975; www.malongane.co.za

Ponta Mamoli
Ponta Mamoli Resort: From R700 (low season) to R900 (peak season) per person for a chalet;
dinner and breakfast included. 011 444 3260; www.pontamamoli.com

Santa Maria Peninsula
Ponta Torres Camp: R600 per safari tent per night. Chalets cost R375 per person per night in low
season; in peak season an eightsleeper chalet costs R2000 and a four-sleeper chalet R1200 per
night. 084 555 0822; info@africaafrica.co.za

Ponta do Ouro’s restaurants are the life and soul of the town, so leave the two-minute noodles at home.

Bar Babalaza
Where? In the main square in town
What? Pregos, seafood, chicken
Cost? R25–R70
Go! says: This locally run spot offers the best value in town. If you’re feeling brave, try the crab curry, but give the breakfast a miss…
 

Café del Mar
Where? Behind the main square, up the steep flight of orange steps
What? Sweet and savoury French crêpes
Cost? R20–R60
Go! says: The bacon and avo combo is a winner, but if you let your eyes grow too big for your stomach you’ll soon be broke.

Florestinha do Indico
Where? Opposite the entrance to Motel do Mar
What? Seafood and peri-peri chicken
Cost? R25–R65
Go! says: Good ambience and tasty, affordable food. Go for the half chicken and chips – it beats Nando’s any day.

Beach Bar
Where? On the beach, next to the municipal campsite
What? Light meals
Cost? R35–R65
Go! says: A good lunch spot. Grab a chicken prego and a 2M and watch the kite surfers carve across the bay.

Scandals
Where? Next to the entrance to the municipal campsite
What? Pastries, breakfasts and sandwiches
Cost? R20–R40
Go! says: Ponta’s answer to the coffee shop; listen to the townsfolk gossip in Portuguese on the shady balcony.

Restaurante Fishmonga
Where? Upstairs, above the main square
What? Seafood mostly
Cost? R70–R150
Go! says: This place is a crib of the South African Fishmonger chain. The food is hearty but overpriced. You can have the same experience in Bellville or Benoni.

(Note: Prices accurate in July 2008)