25 Apr Mozambique: the village on the banks of the Limpopo River

After everything I'm seeing in Spain, I've decided that when this house arrest is over, I'm going to escape to the castle of no return and I'll never be seen again.

In the meantime, I try to pass the days seeking refuge between past and pending adventures, and this time I have been reminded of another unpublished trip I made with my daughters in southern Africa.

I wanted them to do as I did and discover Africa by foot, so I planned a simple route through South Africa and Mozambique, with the aim of reaching the beaches of Bazaruto, a paradise of hours off to rest from the long journey.

Along the way we would stop in remote villages, go on safaris in the Kruger or sail alongside whales on the beaches of Xai Xai.

So much for the plans, as Alberto Moravia said: planning in Africa is nothing more than fantasising. Because there are days when it is very clear that the stars of the Universe decide to align and agree to complicate some of our plans.

And that summer in Mozambique, the stars aligned and "the perfect storm" was unleashed.

On the last day in South Africa, taking advantage of the fact that we had plenty of time, I decided to go on one last safari in the Kruger. There, we saw a lion dispatching a rhino, yes we saw it, yes, and a pack of hyenas around it waiting for their share of the spoils. The day couldn't have started any better (although the rhino didn't think so).

It was on entering Mozambique. I don't know if it was the fault of that track that looked much better on the map or maybe it was that hotel that I booked through Booking and that when I arrived was neither open nor expected... Or a bit of everything, the fact is that that planned adventure ended for us in the blackness of the night with two flat tyres on a muddy road that crossed a village that seemed to be inhabited only by spectres. And that night, on the banks of the Limpopo River, in a lonely village trapped in the middle of an untamed jungle, another adventure began for us, very different, but just as good.

Because luck protects the bold, we had the good fortune to puncture the second tyre in front of the final destination of those spectres of the road: the only bar on the whole track. Faced with this clear divine sign, we decided to enter. And as difficult as it may seem, there, enveloped by thunderous music, surrounded by a few over-indulged patrons and savouring a warm beer, we found the help, peace and quiet we needed, especially because Armando appeared (I actually dragged him out of bed), disguised as a guardian angel to offer us shelter, refuge and friendship.

Rudyard Kipling described the great Limpopo River as "grey, greasy, all surrounded by fever trees, where the two-coloured rock python dwells" but we, hand in hand with Armando, discovered the perfect place to stay. And in the primary school of that village, amidst laughter and singing, and under the watchful eyes of hundreds of eyes as black as the darkest night, my daughters received an unforgettable lesson.

We went on incredible safaris, we sailed with whales, we bathed in paradisiacal beaches, we wandered through local markets, we ate everything, we laughed, we fought, in short, we lived the adventure... but Carlota and Jimena only remember the mess that their father got them into and that lost village on the banks of the Limpopo...