A cidade

A wonderful start to the day chatting with the lady at the guesthouse reception whose name is Kissange. This is apparently a musical instrument in Angola, which is a beautiful reference. She's representative of the Maputo melting pot with Mozambican, Indian (Goan) and Swiss heritage within the last couple of generations.

My enthusiasm was aided by the delicious continental breakfast and tasty coffee grown in neighbouring Malawi. I hadn't appreciated Malawi's coffee-producing renown, but that's another country I've only travelled to with a merry band of volunteers undertaking conservation projects and expeditions. Dealing with caterpillar allergic reactions and group politics leaves little time for studying a country's agricultural sector.

I checked out an apartment on the 23rd floor of a block, so I can report back on what budgets cover. This view of the leafier wealthier end of Maputo could be a clincher for someone, and it certainly holds much appeal. To the left of the photo the bay meets the Indian Ocean and across are wilderness areas that are possible to reach by driving the long way around, before various rivers converge into this large bay. A bridge to the right of the picture is under construction and will cut journey times, but will likely also bring additional threats to wild animals and places unless the traffic is managed well.

I met up with Alexis, a British friend of our programme who has lived in Mozambique for a decade. He was very generous with his time and advice about living and working in Maputo. Life here is hugely appealing for many reasons, and not too many drawbacks that I've yet heard about. We drank beer and ate calamari at a waterfront restaurant on Praça Roberto Mugabe (as most main thoroughfares are named after communist leaders or disgraced dictators and tyrants). Alexis then drove me around town giving a reorientation to the city, from downtown to the neat embassy area, and along the coastal route where there is a lot of recent strip development replacing what a few years ago would have been nothing but farmers' fields and fishers' shacks.

It's now past 2am and there's a horrendously loud nightclub almost under my window. Sleep is impossible, especially because the occasional excellent track is played, which lessens the mounting frustration. Perhaps Maputo goes wild at weekends. I'll gauge it by the hour at which the music is switched off.