Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving. - Terry Pratchett

7 July 2019, Lândana to Massabi, 53.77km
Hospedaria J&P 5,000Kz (R223)

We bought and consumed with pleasure, but also a little trepidation, a shocking pink ice lolly from a man on a bicycle, tooting a trumpet hooter with a rubber bulb to advertise his wares. We had been spending the last of our small notes and coins on soft drinks today, knowing we would be crossing the border tomorrow and would be unable to exchange these. We offered the icecream salesman a 2000 kwanza note, for which he did not have sufficient change. We thought then that we might have to forego our treat, but I found a 50 kwanza coin, and Charl began a search through his handlebar bag for errant coins. I showed the man my coin, indicating that we were looking for more, but he smiled and opened his coolbox, trying to explain that my coin was sufficient for one lolly. Inside the box were unwrapped lollies, on sticks, in pink and green. He selected a pink lolly for me without consultation, and we parted on excellent terms. The trepidation was wondering, as we sucked at cold sweetness, whether untreated river water formed the lolly base…
Our last day in Angola was an excellent one. We dropped down a steep hill from our Lândana hospedaria, past a sizeable church whose steeple had collapsed ripping away one wall, into the old town, buildings either in urgent need of some TLC (tender loving care), or derelict. Lândana was once an attractive town, and still has some charm as it is located below low hills on a nice cove.
We stopped at a small local eatery to enquire about breakfast and were offered “peixe caldo” (fish broth). The owner took me to her tiny kitchen to show me what the broth looked like, and was disproportionately pleased when I said it looked delicious and that we would indeed have a bowl. And delicious it was.
Then past the fish market on the beach, and past herons in a mangrove swamp, and past people bringing in dugout wooden canoes across a body of still water, and over a series of hills on a coolish overcast day, though humid. Not far outside Lândana, we crossed a river. To the east of the current bridge is a collapsed bridge, something we have seen and photographed regularly during our sojourn in Angola. I stopped to take a photo, unaware of the military man guarding the far end of the bridge. He immediately said something to Charl ahead of me, then began to walk toward me, saying “No photo”. He was polite and unaggressive, but determined I should delete the photo, checking carefully that I had done so.
Between Lândana and Massabi on the border, lie numerous small villages, some no more than a scatterling of modest homes in wood or mud brick; some big enough to warrant a school or church or bar or shop. The turnoff toward the Congo border was unmarked at a village called Bitchequette. We were on the lookout for a turn and confirmed with people selling fish on the verge, and with Google Maps, that this was indeed the road we wanted. The bush is increasingly tropical. Large stands of bamboo so tall it leans into the road providing deep shade; and creepers growing into and up and over everything. The roads we travelled today were narrow, bush growing right to their edges.
At an official police checkpoint, we were asked for our passports, but again, the police were friendly and efficient. We did, however, once in Massabi, encounter a more disturbing bureaucratic oddity. Blanca, who crossed into Congo a couple of days ago, had WhatsApped us to let us know she had not been allowed to spend the night in Massabi, but had been forced to cross the border when she arrived in town from Lândana, and had to cycle on to Pointe Noire, making for a very long day. When we arrived at the J&P (we had been assured by our Lândana host there was a hospedaria in Massabi, and were on the lookout for it), there was no-one here. After an hour or so, a man called Frank arrived. He did not seem to have any authority here, but when I showed him one of the rooms was unlocked and ready for guests, he agreed we could occupy it and took our money. Soon thereafter the owner arrived and was not happy. We cannot speak either Portuguese or French, so understanding what his concerns were was almost impossible, but he talked of the border and not being allowed to sleep in Massabi and needing to cross the border to sleep in Congo. We tried to explain that our visas are only valid from tomorrow, and effectively said we weren’t really willing to leave, but it was only when we said we would not leave the premises again today, that our host and Frank relaxed. So… still no clarity on what the problem is, but here we are…

Punctures 7
Bribes paid 0 (zero requested)
Cycle tourers met 2
Total kms 1,908.7 

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…

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