A small patch of peace

I jumped into the water and, for a moment, wished I had stayed in bed that morning. Looking down through the mask I could see a lot of dark blue water — and about three dozen hammerhead sharks. The good news, though, is the sharks turned out to be quite shy. The water was almost as clear as air, yet only the tips of the coral pinnacles emerged from the depths of a seemingly bottomless ocean. Both conspired to convert the menacing presence of the sharks into something magical.

So are most things at Ponta Mamoli. Diving is certainly a highlight. Some of the most spectacular reefs in southern Mozambique are only a few minutes away from the beach. Every morning, a handful of us boarded the small rubber dinghy and headed for the unspoilt corals. The variety of marine life and underwater landscapes is mind-boggling, yet we were the only divers admiring the show.

This was a sea of change from my diving experience in Asia, which involved large boats, traffic jams and underwater crowds — and felt just as good as driving during rush hour. Diving at Mamoli involved one persistent frustration, though. Loaded with a few kilos of metal on my back, I was unable to jump back on the rubber duck — a trick, I have concluded, that can be performed only by super humans.

For those who are not into scuba diving, snorkelling is just as spectacular. The day before frolicking with sharks, we bumped into a pod of dolphins on our way back to shore. We grabbed our snorkelling gear, and the dolphins swirled around us for ages. Four of them were locked in a bizarre dance. Taking a closer look, it became graphically obvious they were mating, undisturbed by our presence.

If watching dolphins having sex doesn’t do it for you — even though they are, apparently, the only other mammals who do it for pleasure — or you don’t like breathing through a tube, then there are more terrestrial pleasures available at Ponta Mamoli. Like watching the sunset or exploring the countryside from the back of a horse.

If all this sounds far too hectic, Ponta Mamoli is also the ideal place to fine-tune the art of doing absolutely nothing. Crowds are not part of the menu. Open for less than four years, this small patch of heaven remains a well-kept secret and its 15 thatched bungalows are rarely full.

Even when they are, it is hard to feel claustrophobic. The beach goes on forever and it would take a lot more than 30-odd people to crowd it. The chalets, nestled in the dune vegetation, are hidden from the water — and largely from each other. Only the gentle murmur of the waves and the sound of the bush can be heard. There are no obnoxious jet skis or quad bikes spoiling the tranquil setting here and the only unfriendly noise is the occasional buzzing of mosquitoes.

The resort is just 25km north of South Africa, but the Kosi Bay border post is the gateway to another world. The smooth road slicing through

the Saint Lucia wetlands stops at

the border.

On the other side, there is only sand. If you are not driving a 4×4, forget about venturing any further. Cars can be left in a secure parking on the South African side of the border, though, and someone from Ponta Mamoli will come and fetch you. Pick-up at the nearby Manguzi airfield can also be arranged. If you are brave enough to stomach the potholes on the runway, that is.

The resort combines comfort and aesthetics with simplicity and a light footprint. Managers Kevin and Bev Collins add a very personal touch to good service. Each morning, before going diving, we found a full thermos and a plate of biscuits waiting on the deck of our chalet. Sipping tea right after rolling out of bed greatly softened the blow of waking up at the crack of dawn to put on a wetsuit. So did the prospect of the hearty breakfast waiting for us after we returned. Sophisticated palates may be disappointed, though. Food is adequate, but Ponta Mamoli is not a gastronomic hot spot.

Wood is everywhere. Most of the buildings are timber structures perched on decks and connected by wooden walkways that preserve the dunes and their fragile vegetation. At night, the dim light filtering through the wicker lampshades shrouds the walk from the dining area back to bed in magic.

I spent many hours daydreaming on the lounge’s fluffy sofas, looking out to the beach. Hanging out on the pool deck, having to decide between sun and the shade of a large tree, was a similar ordeal. And as I admired the sunset from the comfort of the bar, I wished I did not have to go back home.

b>The lowdown