East African sailing trip – log 41

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September 28, 2004

kilwa masoko
kilwa masoko

We had heard that the village of Kilwa Masoko was not too far from the lodge and decided to walk to the local market. I am able to buy luscious juicy mangos, papayas, watermelon, bananas and an abundant supply of fresh vegetables.

James from the lodge has sent a guide to show us the way and he takes us into the town where Wolf is able to buy a good pair of sandals.

market square
market square

Back at the lodge after a successful shopping morning, we enjoy a refreshing cup of tea with Irvine Berserk.

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These are prehistoric fish thought to be extinct until one was caught of East London, South Africa – since then there have been numerous caught. This one is frozen and is being flown to the Smithsonian Institute.

After spending a little time on the internet uploading my newsletters, we make our way to Marta and Schalk Hanekom’s house on the hill, for a wonderful prawn-feast. Denise and Rhett have been invited to dine at the lodge. We enjoy our dinner with these new friends and we are astounded by their hospitality and kindness.

As we arrive Marta fills the bathtub with lovely clean hot water and hands us fresh towels. We soak, wash our hair and soak some more. It is the most wonderful feeling to dry ourselves and luxuriate in that tingly sensation of salt-free skin. It has been over 2 months since we have had this luxury.  What a wonderful gesture and another pearl to add to my treasure box of memories.

Heady with satisfaction yet sad to say farewell to these good folk, we are dropped off at the lodge. Our dingy is high up on the beach as the tide has receded. Wolf and I lift it and make our way to the water; it is not light and we  try not to drag it along the shelly beach. Little by little we move closer and then I wait holding it while Wolf runs up the beach to fetch the jerry-cans/plastic drums of diesel which he and Schalk had fetched in Schalk’s landrover.

With our precious cargo loaded, we make our way through the surf, managing to ride the first swell but getting dumped by the second. We are soaked. We offload them onto the dive-platform. By this time the wind has picked up and the swell is running high. Wolf carries each on to the front locker, but as he lifts one he realizes that the cap is not sealing and the diesel spills all over him. In my haste to wipe him off we are both left smelly (anyone who has ever been in there knows that nothing but another soaking bath can eradicate that smell)

Our bath and euphoria at being clean was short-lived, quickly forgotten as if it was a dream. Tired salty and smelling of diesel we finally get into our bunk – fortunately sleep comes quickly to transports us to a place where reality is smothered and everything is clean, soft and comfortable.

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