|Fresh OJ and cake|
|Watching the world go by|
|Two guys who actually wanted a photo|
|Piña coladas, anyone?|
|Tuk-tuk taxi stand|
It's always fascinating to me how cities concentrate and swirl so many strong, disparate things together. Maputo became a kind of living poem after a few days, a repeating loop of images never exactly the same yet similar enough to reinforce themselves.The faint smell of sewage nearly everywhere. Sidewalks that collapse into rubble or sand every few steps. Security guards at every door--I saw one outside a liquor store, about 10 pm, asleep at his post. Men in gleaming dress shoes; shoe shine boys on every corner. Yellow-and-green tuk-tuks and full-size taxis painted to match. Ave. Lenin, Ave Karl Marx, Ave. Salvador Allende. . . every street named after a Communist. Always walking downhill to the bay and yet somehow uphill to the ocean on the other side. A walking shopping mall passing before your table. Women carrying bananas, bread, laundry, shopping bags, stools on their heads. Long batik skirts for ladies and pressed jeans for men. The perfect, just-warm-enough-to-break-a-sweat-if-you-rush air. The sun suddenly vanished by 6 pm. The "chewy" beauty of Portuguese.
|Bougainvillea adorning the street|