If you’ve ever traveled through Mozambique you will know exactly what I feel.
Miles of white beaches unroll like a giant carpet ahead of our bus as we travel north through the tropical Inhambane province across the most beautiful part of the world.
I have made the trip to Vilanculos on many of our African Wild Adventures and it never fails to paralyze my senses with its overpowering beauty. 700 kms north of Maputo the landscape whips by and I try to imagine myself in a more stunning part of the globe and I can’t. I am so engrossed with the beauty that surrounds me my digital Nikon is lying dormant on the seat next to me. Anyone who’s been here will confirm that to capture an award winning picture in Mozambique, all you have to do is point a camera and fire.

The mood in the bus is one of excited exhaustion as our adventurers’ chill out in the air conditioned bubble sheltered from the unforgiving tropical humidity. I have been on many romantic adventures along the coast, but for some strange reason every trip feels like my first. Whenever I visit, my love affair with Mozambique starts all over again. My lovely Lady is lounging two rows ahead of me, her safari hat and Oakley shades covering her face, she is dozing, her head resting against the window.

It is fascinating how you observe someone that you’ve known and loved for a long time and suddenly on this remote beach road in the middle of paradise you are suddenly thrown into an erotic fantasy – maybe it’s a man thing, the thought of stopping the bus and making love to her was very appealing to me, but not possible, although I’m sure our fellow adventurers would either be appalled or fascinated by the whacky sight. I had to change the images that were flashing through my brain because I was beginning to sweat and had a tingling sensation running through my veins aided by the constant vibration of the bus. I looked at my lady and wondered if the same vibration was affecting her at all…

My fantasy was interrupted abruptly as we navigated a bend in the road stopping at Vilanculos Village. Just 30 kilometers across the Mozambique Channel, lying lazily in the African sun are the four Islands of the Bazaruto Archipelago, almost directly opposite the village where we stopped to freshen up. The wild adventure we planned was to scuba dive early the next morning, so at the lodge we booked into our bungalows and gathered on the beach later for a casual but exotic dinner. After a Mozambican king prawn feast around a beach fire and a great bottle of Meerlust Rubicon, the adventurers retired to their respective bungalows. There was a spectacular full moon hovering above the beach as my lady and I changed into our bathing trunks, grabbed towels and headed around a bend on the beach to a sheltered cove.

Seconds later we dropped out of our swim gear and dived naked into the warm Indian Ocean. The salty taste of her breasts under the moonlight was incredibly erotic for both of us and we were both extremely aroused. I was lying naked on top of her and we were about make love when I started to feel millions of tiny pin pricks over my naked back. She was beyond caring as she tried to get me inside her but the stinging became worse – something was biting me and it was becoming more intense and painful. I felt like the American fleet at Pearl Harbour.

Wave after wave of tiny Japanese bombers were pounding my back, my legs, my ass and then finally the back of my testicles. Mozambican Mosquitoes are not in any tourist brochure but come with the package for any adventurer who is crazy enough to get naked and make love on the beach. I rolled off my lady, much to her disdain and ran down into the sea with the Japanese Navy in hot pursuit. I heard Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto warning his troops ‘Be velly careful he has new G5 canon between leg’. I was tossed my towel by my lady, who at this stage was in hysterics at the sight of my erection in the Mozambique Channel. ‘It must be submaline – haa so’ echoed the Admiral.

You have to understand that the Japanese Navy is not easy to lose even when you climb into your bungalow bed. Mosquito nets can be a nightmare if you’ve never navigated one before. It was now about 1.30am and we had a very early call but we were still incredibly excited, so we figured it was time to get back to our unfinished business. We were naked again. The big problem with passionate love making under a net is, once you are beyond the point of no return, both of you usually have you’re your legs in very strange positions no matter what Karma Sutra position you have chosen. In the throes of erotic passion when you’re groaning and yodeling like the Von Trapp family you can be guaranteed that not all of your body is protected by the net and is vulnerable to an attack.

I am a big guy (I’m not referring to the G5) and my lady and I have wonderful sex whenever we can, but we are both convinced that the Mosquito net was invented by some Dane and his frigid wife living in Alaska, who’ve never got laid in their entire lives. I can see Swen Dortmast a Swedish engineer: ‘Dis mosquito net invention vill definitely going to katch on ya – look de polar bears are staying avey’.

Damn – the minute your leg or any other part of your anatomy protrudes from under the net, the Mozambican air force (trained by the Japanese) attack. After trying for what seemed hours to reach an orgasm the entire net collapsed on top of us and we eventually decided to give up and spray our bodies with Mosquito repellent – defeated by a minuscule insect, we decided to try again another day.