A trumpet and a hipflask on Ilha de Mocambique

A three km long island off northern Mozambique 

History eats away at the coral rock from which the buildings on Ilha de Moҫambique are made. With its heady historic mix of Swahili, Arab, Portuguese, Dutch and Indian, this tiny island off the East Coast of Africa dates back to the 8^th century. For such a small island it’s wrought from an exhaustion of sultans and chiefs, explorers and shipwrecks, pirates, occupations, missionaries, slavery, colonialism and civil war. It gives the island a strange edge, a restless sleep; a darker shadow to its timeworn passages, a deeper resonance to footfall on its ancient stones. Take a hipflask! 

Mystery and history - coral rock

“Great acoustics”, said Darling as he took out his trumpet and played some mournful scales. We wondered if music would drive out the sad spirits. We were staying in an old slave house with upstairs balconies that looked down onto big interior courtyards – figure it out. Today it’s a laidback, tasteful guesthouse called Escondidinho run by a rather forlorn Frenchman. “Louder”, I said. So Darling blasted out What a Wonderful World and we drank some Laurentina Preta, a lovely dark local beer and considered man’s inhumanity to man. Then he played Hello Dolly. Ilha de Mocambique is 2000kms from Maputo, up near Tanzania and the trade winds. It’s definitely NOT your typical Seffrican prawns and beer holiday. This is Taste, Food, History and Architecture – the entire island is a UNESCO world heritage site because of its amazing coral rock buildings and building methods. 

High street in Stone Town 

And Romance too - if you in a foray to Coral Lodge across the bay. Total blissykins. Watch this space for special blog to follow. There will be billing and cooing.

We’d landed in Nampula – Welcome Mr Bridget said the sign – Mrs Darling didn’t seem to mind this, then a two-hour taxi drive past village mercados and wild inselbergs (granite outcrops) and finally across the bridge at sunset to this beautiful old happy-sad place. 

The Black Road divides Ilha de Mocambique. On the one side is the hip and happening chic little Stone Town, where the tourists stay and there are guesthouses and a main strip, all the attractions and shops. On the other side is Macuti Town, which has basically been a slave pit since forever. 

Macuti Town is a warren of a township with squalid thatched houses sunk below ground level. The people are mainly Muslim, but its pretty much Muslim Lite and there is nobility and history here, amazing mosques and ancient architecture. The canals have long run dry and people fetch water from wells and sleep five to a room. The island was a refuge for many thousands of people during the 20-year Mozambican civil war – its population reached over 16 000, and the island is only three-km long. 

Macuti Town baby 

And over the Black Road in Stone Town it’s Euro Chic, darlings! Buildings are being renovated and upgraded, schools are being fixed up and there are boutique hotels, new restaurants, galleries and venues. In the course of our week’s jolling we met Danes, Swedes, Australians, Brits, Italians, Portuguese; people who have holiday homes here or local interests. And of course within a nano-second of our arrival we met all the local hustlers and guides, middle men, street kids, curio sellers and t-shirt peddlers. A haggle and a hustle is buried deep in the DNA here. 

Nice ass!

Stone Town is fabulous in architecture and style. Think narrow corridors, thick-walled, high-ceiling houses with shuttered double-volume rooms and interior courtyards. Ceiling fans, long inside swimming pools with mirrors and tiles, Makonde sculptures, local cloth. Alcoves and rooftop gardens for hot island nights and the stars – oh those stars that steered the ancient Portuguese mariners, the map that lay within the Milky Way. 

Darker shadows, deeper edge 

We stayed at Jardim dos Aloes (garden of aloes) which is an Afro-Mediterranean guesthouse with Egyptian touches, run by charming the Italian Bruno Misti, who is married to the beautiful Judy. Bruno left fascist Italy to explore early socialist Tanzania and is an intellectual and teller of many tales.  He was the commodore of the Maputo Yacht Club during the civil war. Bruno’s spot is across the road from Ruby, which is the backpackers and totally fabulous and funky – best affordable option. 

The lavish lounge at Terraco das Quintadas 

We also stayed at the bizarre and theatrical Terraҫo das Quintadas, an old house owned by two vets who live in Maputo – and filled with furniture and objet from Goa, Bali, East Africa, China and the Orient. The house is over 400 years old and once belonged to a massive fish trading merchant. It had strange sounds and spirits, mosquitoes and some damp. But the décor is amazing and we had a massive egg-shaped bath in our room which was fun. 

Shivers inside the fort

On the soul front – we explored the town and its museums, bistros , churches, alleyways, beachfront and bars. We went to a night food market, talked to just about everyone we saw and Darling bought a little boy a soccer ball. Sweet, man. I met the mayor who shook my hand and then excused himself immediately. I met the port captain, the woman who runs the backpackers in Macuti Town and a traveller from Cape Verde. 

Highlight was our amble through the old Fortaleza which was built by the Portuguese after Vasco da Gama checked in here in 1498, in search of the sea route to India. It didn’t take long for the Portuguese to establish a port and naval base here. The island was an Arab trading post from the 8^th century. 

The window of the chapel 

And highlight of the highlight – a walk inside the tiny, brave church built on the promontory of the island in 1522, the Chapel of Nossa Senhora de Baluarte, washed endlessly by waves and the souls of the ancients. 

* With many thanks to Bruno & Judy at Jardim dos Aloes, Nelson at Coral Lodge, Antoine at Escondidinho, Antonio at Terraco das Quintadas and Natalie of Dana Tours and veryone else x