Under the bottom of the ocean, ridicule

The archipelago on the very north of Mozambique spread out before it was picturesque that it was too for thinking as if he was designed by a certain inventory architect. Along the coast up to the border with Tanzania a long dotted chain stretched 32 island. One of them – Kirimba (Quirimba) and gave the name of the whole archipelago. But how to get to him? After all, not even every resident of Mozambique heard about these islands. I moved the map and began to estimate the route.

Kirimba Island "True" To the port city of Pemba, the capital of Cabo Delgadad. In the Portuguese Pemba was called Port Amelia – in honor of the last Queen of the Metropolis. So there will probably tell the way. As they say, tongue to Kiev will bring. I hope that Karimba too.

In Pembeta, I’ll buy a conversation with the hotel manager. He advises to visit the port and there to find out about the islands. Thank you, already hooked. Indeed, you can hire a boat, and hours after six – with passing wind – you will go ashore Karimba. But renting the most modest ship will cost such a penny that the sky will seem with sheepskin. It is not for a simple Russian, but, as they wrote before, for "Zaokan Tolstosums" or for "New Russians". However, the archparag was unlikely to be lost in southern Africa enters the sphere of their life interests.

Assessing the situation, the manager stood up with guests and offered me another option, much more economical. In the morning, walking 4 kilometers through the whole pembol to the Embondeiro Baikar, on the road from the city. If you are lucky, then there you can sit on the Capa (open pickup), going to Kissanga (Quissanga), which is 120 kilometers north of pecs. And look there "Dau" (Sailing Field), Going to the Archipelago. So gets to Kirimba local people. And I always try to follow his example in my wanders.

. In the morning there was a rare shower in the winter season. And it should be noted that July in the southern hemisphere – the midst of winter. However, when the bazaarca came up with chap passengers, someone in the heavenly office, fortunately, screwed the crane. And here we are walking along the huge bay of pexes, in which all trade vehicles of the world can fit according to the statements of local residents. Maybe they exaggerate, but the scale is impressive. Asphalt is replaced by dusty primer; potholes are all deeper and we gradually become participants "Camel Trofi". True, no chance for a prize.

To chapa dinner, all in reddish dust, slows at the only hotel in Kissang. The owner of the arrival house is glad to a guest – what nor do it, and earnings. But the guest on his trouble rushes into the archipelago and in a hurry to the cove, where fishing chaands are dormant in the sand. I pretend to the eye: the wind is counter, "Great water" No, it means that you have to wait by the sea (ocean) weather. Shipowners confirm: Ashper! Wait! Advised to return to the hotel; In the case of which – send me one of the local shhinks, which are spinning immediately under the legs.

At the hotel, more like a stable courtyard, meet me as a native. The hostess pours tea. To the table is sitting local "activist", English-speaking in English. Vasco is the son of his era, and she was a stormy in Mozambique – the national liberation war, smoothly flowed into civil. In the 70s, Vasco served in the Army Fremo, smoking the opposition from Bush – "Renamo gangs". Cuban instructors were taught by the military case – in the execution order "International Dolgol". After the end of the civil war, Renamists were amnesty; Now this party is represented in the authorities. Now Vasco – Peaceful Field Worker. True, these fields are filled: they evaporate the seaside salt.

During the conversation, it flies unnoticed, but it had to round it urgently. The barefoot messenger came running with the news: the water arrived, the wind is passing, you can boot! Hurryly say goodbye to Vasco, with the owner "Pensao" (guesthouse, hotel). On the shore are preparing for boarding passengers. In the travelers I got a family -tre man, carrying bags with maniola to Kirimba.

To the island our gate with oblique sail runs fun. Chelny rolls on one board, then on another. As a counterweight, sandbags are used: they are transferred from place to place. If the ballast is missing, passengers are going to move. Feeding, and something with respect addresses me: "Cartridge, cut! Cartridge, move right!" I conscientiously perform his instructions, realizing that I was set in the center of our plaques. Contemplating wondrous sunset, I begin to think about the night: there is a hotel at all on this island? Feathers murms something vague: "Si, allema!"

Jump with Dow and the belt in the water wander to the shore. Local boys take to bring the traveler to Pensao, counting on remuneration – several hundred meticals. But they are still small; in their understanding "Pensao" – This is a brick house, that is, what is excellent of straw huts. And when we come to the local shop, they consider their task performed. The owner of the shop is also better and explains to my conductors where it is necessary to go on. Word sounds again "Almera". I wonder where the Germans here? Nitly African "Ivan Susanina" I put me further deep into the island, and by the way, twilight has already thicken. In the southern edges of the Mist, it comes instantly. When our Vataga finally turns out the next stone structure, it turns out that this is a private house.

So far, I explain with the owner, juvenile guides dissolve in the dark. And the homeowner shows on a barely distinguished path, which you need to go a kilometer three to "Almera". No choice, I continue my way in the darkness, one, without a language, through thickets, on the island, lost in the Indian Ocean.

After 20 minutes I hear behind the stroke of the engine cracking – the motorcyclist catches me. As it turned out in the future, managing the estate. Having delivered an unscheduled tourist to the manor, he gives the client from hands to the hands of an elderly hostess-German. As silent, but attentive witnesses of this procedure are four harsh wolfhounds. Courtesy rendered to me not by chance. "Without us, they would tear you in the dark", – Explains the estate manager, showing on four-legged guards. With late fear I think that I could easily rear with a motorcyclist.

Siglond – so calling the owner of the estate – invites me to the house. On it a T-shirt; For some reason, for some reason, the back of large letters is derived: "Frelim". In the corner of the living room TV. On the screen, through the communication satellite, German program. Ziglilde unhealthy (age!), and it is a few: overnight – 20 dollars, Fryuntushuk – 5. I ask: pay dollars or Mozambique meticals, at the rate? "I’m interested only dollars", – I hear in the answer.

Outside the window Slipped dog Lai and noise of motor. At the jeep hit the owner: he spent the whole day on the plantation. See you. Joachim Gessner turned out to be more talkative than the spouse. He "From the 30th year", Born in Breslau (now Wroclaw, Poland). The end of World War II found Joachim in the Czech Republic. So I want to ask: "Volkssturm? Hitlergent?" But I do not decide: why pour salt on wounds?

In 1946, Ioachim left Eastern Europe: the iron curtain was just beginning to descend over her, and he managed to slip. Airplane flew to Amsterdam, from there to Madrid, then in Lisbon. In the capital of the metropolis he was not long; From there on a steamer went to Mozambique, where his father had palm plantation on the island of Kirimba. Some fled through Portugal "Smoked" German families. In Mozambique, Ioachim met Ziglonda, and they spent the best years of life on the Kirimba archipelago: a hundred years for two.

The main source of gessner revenues – palm trees at 700 hectares of land inherited by the owner of the father. Hotel at several guests is so, for the work. She heads his wife to be in case. As they loved to speak in the Third Reich: "Labor makes free!" From coconuts on the plantation, a copra is posted – now it is purchased by the state in Mozambique. For exports, Ioachim does not work, now there are no conditions in the country. I ask: the authorities are not taken away, as it happens in the neighboring Zimbabwe? "No", – Replies Joachim. And gloomy adds: "Bye". I begin to understand that the Sieglond does not accidentally wear a T-shirt with the name of the ruling revolutionary party. This is a demonstration of loyalty.

In 1977, when Soviet-Mozambic relations were intense, Chet Gessner visited the Soviet Union: 5 days in Moscow, as much in the city on the Neva. It is now to Mozambique you need to get with two transplants, through three countries. Then from Maputo was a direct flight Aeroflot. In the mid-1990s they visited in Germany, but they did not dare to call Poland, so Breslau (Wroclaw) for Joachim remained in foggy adolescence.

It’s time to sleep, and the hostess leads me to the next house. On the go explains: it is impossible to wear light anywhere and go to the head of the ocean – the dogs will ruin! In the morning you can, they do not touch whites. From black racist, customized wolfes recognize only two people from servants. The rest of the blacks are tattered, and sometimes fourth (by the way, as a story wrote a story about such a representative "White dog" Beautiful French writer Roman Gary). But there are no constipation in the rooms now, everything is protected by wolfhounds. The knock of the engine will soon pokes, the light goes out, and I fall asleep under the noise of the ocean surf.

In the morning – a dense breakfast (fruintuk), after which we go to plantation. Joachim, who took on the functions of the guide, explains: from nuts growing on the palm trees, get a copp. The tree begins to be fron down six to eight years, but truly blooms at 40 years of age. Annual harvest with one palm – approximately fifty nuts. We go to the construction that resembles a greenhouse. Here on the tractor with a trailer are sowned nuts, folded on the plantation with pyramids for a hundred pieces. Sharp knife – Katan – a worker plows up a green shell and removes a brown hairy kernel. It is destroyed in half and laid on the metal frame of the drying unit.

Hangeful, white poker kernel – copra – darkens, allocates oily couples and hardens. Coconut oil is pressed from the copra with subsequent processing, and durable fiber goes to the manufacture of ropes, mats, brushes.

Lecture, listened to me, so detailed, which in principle can be considered: I have an additional profession in my hands. So, about the reserve, just in case.

From the plantation, we go to the coastal village. The first Europeans who set forth on the coast of Kirimba were Portuguese missionaries who arrived here in the second half of the XVI century. Two dilapidated churches have been preserved from that era on the island. One temple without roof. Inside the tombstones are preserved with hardly distinguishable inscriptions in Portuguese. Where we have on the ruins of the ruined churches, it is necessary to grow to the shrub, cactus cactuses were hijacked here. On columns – stone carving. Next to the temple – huts, boats. Fish on bamboo flooring. At the foot of Baobab fisherman, Chinit Gayolu – a basket of bamboo, which local residents catch fish in shallow water.

In another temple, the roof is half preserved and, about a miracle: Tile is not touched. Moreover, no one "Opened" Wooden window frames. Objectives and beams of overlaps. But they could be requisitioned, in the revolutionary 70s. I know on domestic experience.

Joachim is interested in my plans. I have extremely simple: you need to move to the next island for. And I hear from a solid planter seemingly non-serious, if not the jester phrase: "Walk here for an hour and a half". That is, like this: on foot to the island in the ocean? And so. Based on the tide, and until next "Great water" You can go to for for the bottom of the ocean. Here only 6-7 kilometers. Moreover, Joachim, the courtesy itself, will give me a guy of his assistant – a worker with a plantation. One can easily get lost in mangroves, and the next tide will not deselect.

In the campaign we spend an hour when water goes. Not that I am damaging, but it was nice to find that we are not alone: ​​on the naked bottom stretch the islanders. They are also affairs for. Dark-skinned guide highlighted by Joachim for accompanying, takes part of my boosted: After all, we will have to go through manang barefoot. A flock of local scooles. On their faces a thick layer of white paint; It is prepared from juice all the same palm trees. Amadi, so the name of the spent, explains that it is a nutritional mixture. She protects the skin from the sun, and at night a cosmetic mask wash off. Everything is like white fashionista, only exactly the opposite.

Up to the sandy bottom, they reached quickly, but it is the easiest part of the way. Mangars begin, the paths are running out in different directions, and without anywhere here really disappear. I look in the side of the ocean – how there is a tide? You have to go knee-deep in black fat, cross the streams, and everything is under the scorching sun. Finally, Amadi goes to the coast of island river, and we flew on her sandy bottom. And so – the desired land trail leading to the town.

It so happened that we were the first to come out of mangrove thickets. It turns out that the rest of the people disciplined for us – it is impossible to overtake each other on a narrow path, and it is not necessary: ​​all go with the cargo. From the side it looks rather unusual: white ahead "Robinzon" with black "Friday", And behind them a whole caravan – a chain of women with a swing on the heads and white "Maski death" on faces. And we march, by the way, past the old Portuguese cemetery.

Today Sunday, and the town seems to be extinct. On the doors of the local branch of Frelimo big barn castle. The House of the Revolutionary Committee is decorated with the Mozambique coat of arms with the Russian automatic machine Kalashnikov – this is truly a certificate of world recognition! Shop also on the castle. Noted: if the city appears in the city, then the products immediately disappear. And no longer the market, but remains "Supply of everyday goods". We passed it and taught others.

Under the bottom of the ocean, ridicule

Amadi leads me to the hotel, preserved on the island from "old regime". At entering B "Casa Pensao Janine" I am dying by name. Wrap: Yes, this is Pierre from France! Two years ago, we met him on a steamer, walking from the Tanzanian Island Pembi to Zanzibar. And now they met near Mozambik pecs. It turns out that he never left Southeast Africa: Walked around Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique, Malawi. Pierre – Professional Divengu Instructor. Setting up in the back at the next coastal hotel, he teaches rich guests with scuba diving. So the ocean feeds. Sooner or later, its passport is filled with visas from crust to peel. And then he goes to the French embassy, ​​and he is discharged. Such a citizen of the world. Properient underwater.

Pierre well mastered Portuguese, and now he agrees with the hostess of the hotel about "Dinner with candlelight" (with electricity on the island of interruptions). Morning catch brought local octopus fishermen; In the evening, he will be a nail of the program. Caught octopus immediately on the shore blank stick. By tradition, it is due to 40 strikes. Every 10 blows it rinses it in water, why soap foam. Noticed that such an execution makes the marine monster "relax", And then you can no longer fear that in the boiler in cooking his body will acquire the properties of rubber. Having dried in the sun and giving an eightpal one to breathe slightly, he was drunk and put on the grille of the brass and then generously watered with a mixture of olive oil and lemon juice. The first does not give him to burn, and the second – tightens the skin, keeping the iso.

We go to the ancient Portuguese fortress San Joao Batsta (St. John the Baptist). The first Portuguese fortification was arranged here around 1609, after which it became the second to be the meaning of the reference point after the island of Mozambique, which is 300 kilometers south of pecs (from this island subsequently called the name and the whole country). And the current fortress of San Joao dates back to the end of the XVIII century.

Portuguese Made to the transshipment point of the slave trade. Great demand for slaves was among the French – owners of sugar cane plantations on. Mauritius. However, in 1891, Porto Amelia (current Pemba) replaced because as a shopping center, and only Fort San Joao Batishta continued to function with full load: where slaves were once languished before shipment, the Portuguese was kept in the stone incidents of political opponents of the regime. Now the fort is abandoned, there is no money for restoration, and only the resourceful islander is trying to get MZDU at random tourists for entrance to the fortress. Yes, in several cameras, silver masts are working.

The cathedral after the departure of the Portuguese was also closed. Along the main street there are empty dilapidated mansions, with eye sockets and shrinking doors. After leaving the white owners, no one occupies them, and the wind walks inside. Locals are hiring in bamboo huts on the outskirts. There is the only mosque on the island. This is the memory of the centuries during which the local population was influenced by Islam from the Arab Seasal, merchants, missionaries.

As if extinct town, I am going to the old Portuguese cemetery. It is fenced with a stone wall; This is a piece "Used Portugal". Cemetery church on the castle, but the crypts are open. I look into one of them. Once he belonged to a rich family of Pereira. Two floors along the walls are the coffins. From one of them, where Franciska Pereira was stubbered, the lid was torn. Bones interspersed with construction garbage, skull is scolded in a sad smile. Poor Franciska – African Jorik!

Impressions from for more than enough, it is necessary to return to the big land. After all, besides for and Kirimba, other islands of the archipelago are very difficult to access, yes there are no sources of fresh water. At the portuguese, palm plantations were instituted on Matemo and Quisiva. There are residents there, but hardly they are ready to take tourists. Rolas Island (Ilha Das Rolas) near Mateo is uninhabited; There you can meet only seasonal fishermen. There were rumors that some enterprising enthusiasts began to build cottages for tourists on Quilaluia Island, south of Kirimba, as well as on Quipaco, – halfway between Pepper and Kissanga. It was assumed that there "Westerners" will be indulge "Bardvotching" – Watching birds. But when Frelimo, these projects were "Zhuravlem in the sky".

How to get from for to the mainland? On the archipelago as they say, "entrance – ruble, and output – two". After a long time, it was possible to find a place where the chelny can take on board passengers. When asked when I hear in response: "A La Manya" (in the morning) and "TARDE" (afternoon). "Schedule" tied at the tide time. I decide to leave for at dawn. Passengers already hardened on the shore. Will go one of the chanda on the mainland or not, no one knows. This can only be guessing, watching the speaker’s behavior, slowly hoarse on board. One of "Interpreters" Joyful says: "Will go!"

Run in Pensao for things. Time in the edge. The belongings are assembled in advance, and now I already say goodbye to for, following "On Ryshi" Along the stone promenade, preserved from Portuguese times. Towards going all the same "interpreter". He waves his hand, they can be slowed down: "Will not go! The wind replaced. TARDE!"

. To the o’clock of the day, the populists reached out to the slanders. New customers added. Immediately industries local "Sadko". He offers "real" Pearls and products from "present" Silver. But for some reason are not an aborigine, but a lonely white wanderer. However, I politely reject all offers. Another half an hour and feeding invites passengers to Barca. We were lucky: it’s not a belt to land in water, but only knee. Our ship "mixed type": Fraussazhires. At the owner, I will have my own interests: he is transporting on the mainland of the local goats: they will go for a big price. Grabbing the next goat behind my feet, he throws her on his shoulders and march to the Shalanda. The goat yells a bad voice, but not twitching: with the ocean jokes are bad.

On board a complete set: "Mixed into a bunch of goats, people". And you can put a sail. But the feeding medal: he deples the water by the chute, and the sixth sense tells him that it is necessary to wait a little. And for sure: already in the way, we are several times with overclocking the bottom of the sand about the sand, but by inertia, rolling, safely accelerate the jar. And if they came out earlier, then they would sit on the melels.

Come to the shore, but I do not recognize the bay. This is a surprise: It turns out that I will go to Tedenhangwe (Tandanhangue) – villages located in six kilometers from Kissang. Shalanda enters the creek and firmly comes stranded: the sump began. Passengers pass K "Water procedures": on the belt in the water, with junk on the head, slowly woven to the shore, trying not to smooth down the steps about the sharp roots. Local good: everyone here has a relatives and a shelter in a straw hut. And the nearest hotel is all in the same Kissang, and there Chapa will only tomorrow. But for the experienced islanders, after throwing on mangrove thickets, it is a children’s fun. What is worth fucked by an hour and a half at the rolled primer, along the bay fields with salt plantations! The sun sits down, and we come to the competition: Did I find the desired hotel wondering?

The owner of Pensao meets the guest enthusiastically. The circle closed. "I knew that you would again have anywhere to go anywhere. You are here the first tourist from Russia". I do not mind. Indeed, where I will deny? After all, Chapa will go to Pembu only in the morning. The hostess ignites the kerosene lamp, the local engine is broken now. With the flickering light of the flame language, I bring my own "Installation data" In the registration book. The owner is encouraged: a new engine will be delivered soon.

So if you are in Kissang travel to Kirimba, – directly in this guesthouse. Say that from me.

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