SEX ON THE BEACH

On the dunes at Bazaruto Island, with Benguerra Island across the water

IN REHANA'S WORDS

Friday, 17 May 2013

Why are tropical islands so sexy? It could be because they’re packaged that way by the travel industry. In the same the way diamonds are sold as an essential ingredient for an engagement, a tropical island honeymoon offers the promise of the cherry on top of a successful wedding.

Perhaps we find them sexy because film directors use tropical beaches as a metaphor. Can’t find good-looking actors who can pull off a sex scene with conviction? Focus instead on the soft waves lapping on the sand.

There are a few resorts on the Bazaruto Archipelago in Mozambique, a cluster of six tropical islands on a shallow shelf between Mozambique and Madagascar. All of them offer honeymoon packages with the rates for the suites, chalets and rooms quoted in US dollars. Their location practically guarantees a surge in libido.

The seduction begins with the vista. My vocabulary is not large enough to capture the variations of the colour blue in the warm water that beaches on the six islands. There are stripes of turquoise, aquamarine, azure, lapis and indigo in the water, varying according to the depth of the shelf and the strength of sun above and blending into each other.

The sky adds another spectrum of blue hues to the landscape. It’s often draped with bunches of tropical clouds that turn pink at sunset and dawn and promise relief from the unrelenting sun.

No amount of sea and sky gazing can break the spell that the waves of colour stitch onto your retinas with your first dumbfounded stare. The enchantment will only be broken after your last, lingering look at the blue sea and skyscape when you leave the archipelago.

On Margaruque Island looking across the Indian Ocean towards Madagascar

Step onto any beach on the six islands and the love affair begins. The toffee-coloured sand seeps warmly between your toes, and gives each one a loving suck as you withdraw a foot to take a step. You’re immediately forced to slow your pace; hot fudge can’t be devoured in a rush.

Look down and admire the whorls in the sand left by the waves sucked back by the receding tide. Sink down into the channels of water trapped in the whorls and receive a warm embrace that’s hard to break.

Eventually the sun’s kiss becomes a blast and you’re forced to move into the hypnotising sea. Sink into the water’s caress, turn and float lazily on your back. Or take a boat to one of the reefs, soaking in the fresh breath of the Indian Ocean.
Don snorkels and a mask and have your eyes popping on stalks at the profusion of coral that’s neon green, red, brown, black and every other colour in the rainbow. The fish that swim and nibble delicately on the coral match its spectrum of colours.

Our reef for the day. Ours alone! The men on the boat are grilling fish for lunch

Another day, another island, another lunch on the beach

Off season the archipelago offers a solitude not easily found. It is possible to be dropped off on a beach, or an island, and only encounter a handful of other people. At low tide sandbanks grow into miniature islands and its' possible to walk out to them and pretend that it’s yours alone – but watch out for the returning tide or a local fisherman will charge a premium for a rescue.

We sat on an island beach that had tables with white cloths, shaded by white umbrellas, each one with a waiter in a white suit. There were only the six waiters, a couple at one of the tables, two speedboat skippers and us on a beach that stretched as far as the eye could see.
I turned my back on the five-star beach bar and pretended it wasn't there. I was jealous, didn’t want to share my love affair with anyone else.

Pretending the others don't exist - this is all ours for the day

Tropical islands are sexy, I realised, because they force you to succumb to their stunning beauty. You submit to it and are quickly tempted to remain in its warm embrace forever.
Problem for honeymooners though, is that after spending a day on the islands, you sink in to a deep lethargy. The islands stir up your libido but demand that you give all your juice to them.

Giving my juice to Bazaruto

The town of Vilank/culo/s, on the other hand, has little interest in maintaining relationships with tourists.
We camped at Baobab Beach, which has chalets, backpackers’ dormitories and a campsite dominated a huge baobab tree. The young people from all over the world who were travelling across Africa using public transport were sweet-faced, committed fellow lovers of the soil and good company. There was a pool table and competitive players, we were kept busy at night.

There’s mostly low-end accommodation in the town, very little for the mid-range traveller who can’t quite afford a honeymoon suite on one of the islands, yet doesn’t want to spend too much time with noisy 19-year-olds at a backpackers establishment.
An art-deco hotel near the harbour is being renovated and will hopefully add a bit more pizzazz.

The beach at Vilankulos, our campsite's through the white pillared gate

The Baobab tree at Baobab Beach campsite. 

The beach at Vilankulos belongs to the locals. They smash their beer bottles with abandon on the toffee-coloured rocks and sand, turning an impossibly beautiful place into a sinister minefield. A group of sweet young men at our campsite were mugged and one was stabbed on their last night in the scruffy town.

On our last night music blaring from a local establishment had me tossing and turning until I decided that, because I didn't have an axe to smash the speakers, I might as well greet the dawn.
I've never seen the sun rising from the ocean. But there was a thick bank of clouds on the horizon and another cloud of mosquitos around my head, adding to my aggravation. 

At dawn the fishermen set off in their ramshackle dhows and return at sunset. Crowds of women gather on the beach with plastic tubs to buy the catch of the day, mainly small silver fish that later turn up dried, salted and reeking at the municipal market.
We spotted a few of the spectacular reef fish on sale on the streets of the town. The discards of the fishermen’s catches are left strewn on the beach for everyone to step gingerly around until the tide sweeps it away.

The deck at Baobab Beach

The best place at Vilankulos is on the wooden deck at Baobab Beach, overlooking the beach from a safe distance and watching the dhows return. Their sails are mostly combinations of white, green and black canvas or plastic – colours found in the flags of Arab republics – yet another reminder of their influence on the Indian Ocean coastline.

And finally, I ate loads of peri peri prawns. When I told the staff at Baobab Beach Camp to hold the chips and only bring the per-peri prawns they gave me a big heap. I ordered the same meal night after night, building piles of pink shells in the corner of my platters.