Mozambique: East Africa's jewel

I'm only at the airport, and things are already getting a little weird. The British gentleman in front of me is trying to buy his visa, but he has a problem. He doesn't have American notes for the $25 fee.

'I've got some euros,' he volunteers, patting his pockets.

The woman behind the counter nods.

'Twenty-five euros,' she says agreeably.

'But euros are worth more than dollars,' he protests.

Slow blink back.

'Pounds?'

She smiles: 'Twenty-five pounds.'

'But?' he says, then shrugs and throws down his cash.

A quick straw poll reveals that, even with the correct currency, a stamp to enter Mozambique can cost as much as $48 (짙24) depending on, well, probably when the boss is on his fag break. But a bit of bureaucratic skulduggery is all part of the fun of new-frontiers travel. Fifty bucks, after all, isn't much to pay if it's the price of getting somewhere before your friends, neighbours, colleagues and hairdressers.

Now that every Tom, Dick and Gary do the Maldives or Mauritius for half-term, those who like to take their Indian Ocean 'straight up' (hold the plasma TVs) must look further afield. If you can live without the glitz and the golf courses, Mozambique has 3,000km of squeaky-soft virgin beach – about 2,997km of which is footprint-free.

And 'unspoilt' is more than just an idea here; you can see the pristine-ness, on coastline fairydusted with a rainbow of seashells: hundreds and thousands of them, exquisitely shaped and in every shade from blush pinks to the inkiest indigo blues. It's an awesome sight. This must have been what the rest of the world looked like before souvenir stallholders plundered the sands to make shell necklaces for shell-suited tourists.

Mozambique's virginal state is cause for only muted celebration, however. There are no hawkers because there are no shops. There are no shops because there is no money. A civil war that raged through the 1980s denuded a destination that was once the continent's most glamorous playground. So the pure shores immortalised in song by Bob Dylan (although, apparently, he has never actually visited) became a forgotten paradise, just as mass tourism began to bite deep elsewhere.

The upside is eco. Having slept through the big-hotel-building of its neighbours, Mozambique has woken up just in time to start from scratch, to a much more ethical template – as the great, green hope for responsible tourism. The country is sprouting stylish, environmentally-savvy lodges, each one garnishing its Robinson-Crusoe beaches with designer details and sustainable ideals that appeal to eco-warrior A-listers such as Leonardo DiCaprio, as well as honeymooners in search of the ultimate hideaway.

It's also a must for the masochists among us, as transport is not a strong point in this corner of the Indian Ocean (it wouldn't be much of an 'ultimate hideaway' if it was, would it?). In fact, getting to and around Mozambique makes London's Underground feel like a limo transfer. There are no direct flights; you must travel via – and usually overnight in – either Dar es Salaam or Johannesburg; and, once in the country, there are no air services connecting the two main tourist areas: the Bazaruto islands in the south, and their northern counterparts, the Quirimbas. So, unless you're up for a second overnighter in South Africa, you have to opt for one or the other.

Happily, it's a bit like having to choose between Daniel Craig and George Clooney – you can't really go wrong. In the far north are the seductive charms of the Quirimbas archipelago: 32 breathtaking bouquets of 1,000-year-old baobab trees, and creamy sands, wrapped up with mangrove ribbons and drizzled across Perrier-clear waters busy with incredible marine life.

Then there's the added draw of the fantastical timewarp island of Ibo. Through the centuries, Chinese, Arabic, French and, most significantly, Portuguese galleons have all negotiated Ibo's protected channel to haggle over everything from silver to slaves. This trading post was so powerful in the 18th century that it was, briefly, the capital of Portuguese East Africa and Goa.

Its influence ended abruptly when independence came in 1974, though, and its Hispanic overlords were given 24 hours to leave the island. That hasty abandonment turned Ibo into an ethereal ghost town, one that might have been lifted straight from the pages of a Gabriel García Márquez novel: crumbling colonial mansions where fig branches prise the red-tiled roofs from the pastel-coloured walls, and a once-elegant square where goats and chickens squabble with kids kicking a ball made from rolled-up plastic bags. Duck into the icing-pink Customs House (now an 'open museum' you can wander through at will) and pick up a leather-bound, age-yellowed shipping ledger for a glimpse of how prosperous this place once was.

These days, there is no electricity, one bat-infested Catholic church, two cars (which managed to crash into each other last year) and three forts, including the star-shaped Sao Joao Baptista, where thousands were butchered by the Portuguese in the months preceding their expulsion. Local women still won't enter it (memory runs deep, superstition deeper) but despite such violent antecedents – and a national flag that features a machine-gun – Ibo feels incredibly safe.

The villagers may be dirt poor (most live on 50p a day) but, as everywhere in Mozambique, they smile shyly as we saunter through streets radiating faded grandeur. Nobody begs. I stayed at Ibo Island Lodge, three sensitively restored mansions close to the harbour, and was told I could leave my door and windows open when I slept. I had to, anyway; Ibo is run along commendably eco-friendly principles, so the air-con stops when the generator shuts down – from midnight until 5.30am – to conserve resources and preserve the still of the night.

As soon as the lodge's renovation began three years ago, the owners set about establishing various community projects, among them teaching English and hospitality skills to the locals. Now young men, delighted not to be eking out a living as subsistence fishermen, refer to notes made on a bit of old cereal packet to announce proudly that dinner is crab claws in garlic, followed by crab claws in curry sauce (with a side dish of raw onion to break the monotony).

Only the churlish would object, given that the limited menu results from the lodge's commitment to buy locally rather than fly in fillet steaks from South Africa. Besides, the service is charming, the setting beguiling (the roof-top restaurant is accompanied by a soundtrack of gently lapping waves), there are wind-up eco torches to see you through lights-out, and the nine rooms are comfortable dark-wood, white-walled numbers, with pirate chests that double as in-room safes. The only let-down is that, although it has two small pools, the 'beach' is a sandbank, 20 minutes away by boat.

For a sexy, tiki-hutted beach scene, the private-island resort of Quilalea, an hour's boat ride from Ibo, offers confetti'd couples (under-16s are banned for most of the year) endless photo opportunities. Quilalea is the tiniest dot in the archipelago. It takes little more than 30 minutes to stroll its coves and black-coral outcrops, but the snorkelling, a mere flipper's flick from the main beach, is astonishing. You'll see shoals of pink, turquoise and yellow fishes, and bright blue starfish. It's maximum impact for minimum effort.

In fact it was Quilalea's opening, six years ago, that first put Mozambique on the celebrity radar (past guests have included Mr DiCaprio and Prince Harry). And it's easy to see why. Its nine Kylie-cute villas are built from local rock, topped with makuti thatch, and filled with indigenous teak and mahogany furniture, masterfully carved by neighbourhood artisans. They're soft-focused and feminine, with lots of faded teal and peach fabrics, and a private deck, shaded by African star chestnut trees, where colourful bee-eater birds compete with delicate butterflies for beauty titles. It has a handful of tiny beaches but, most days, they are deserted as guests are out diving, fishing, drifting along in white-sailed dhows or kayaking through mangroves.

The other high-profile northern resort is Vamizi. It has heavyweight conservation credentials (there's a link with London Zoo), and visitors (Nelson Mandela was among the first guests, with his wife Graça Machel – who, incidentally, is the widow of former Mozambican president, Samora Machel). Its 12 villas are huge, private to the point of isolation, and simple to the point of spartan. The food is more haute-canteen than cuisine, but the diving is unarguably excellent. The Mozambicans were overdue a lucky break, and in the ocean they finally got one: the country's coastal waters somehow escaped the ravages of El Niño, which bleached vast swathes of the Great Barrier Reef, the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. Furthermore, Mozambique's sites – many still uncharted – come minus the dozen other dive boats that so often spoil the experience elsewhere.

The best underwater buzz, though, is the Bazaruto archipelago in the south, which also offers the (admittedly remote) chance to swim with one of only three remaining populations of dugongs – the strange 'sea cows' thought to have been behind a thousand medieval 'mermaid' sightings.

The most established of Bazaruto's five islands is Benguerra, home to the hot new resort, Azura. It is by far the country's most luxurious proposition, but this is assuaged by sound eco-policies. It's carbon-neutral, uses solar energy, and 40 per cent of the staff have been recruited from the island itself. Its Africa-meets-Armani decor is as sophisticated as any Maldivian six-star resort, the 14 spacious villas have indoor and outdoor bathrooms – and infinity pools set within private gardens. There's an excellent restaurant (the chef has worked at Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck), as well as a cool bar, gym and a spa that specialises in 'African' treatments (which translates as a body scrub using diamond dust, obviously).

It shares a long Nike-tick stretch of beach with nearby Benguerra Lodge, a moodily Moroccan-inspired hotel. Dhows slink by, dolphins put in regular appearances, and fishermen wend homewards, their catch strung out on poles. There were hippos on Benguerra 20 years ago.

Nile crocodiles still skulk amid the wispy reeds of the mirror-still inland lakes, and flamingoes pick their way balletically along the water's edge. And don't miss the hotly contested Sunday football match between the staff of Azura, Benguerra and Marlin Lodge (a mid-market hotel on the other side of the island). The pitch is decidedly ropey, and the players are barefoot, but villagers are out in force, the kids doing a giggling turn as cheerleaders – and the atmosphere is electric. Benguerra, it occurs to me at half-time, is the Maldives and then some.

A lunch on Pansy Island – the restaurant will come and collect you by boat – is another must, thanks to its eponymous shells, each with a perfect five-petalled flower etched into its centre by Mother Nature. Then there's Santa Carolina island. In its '60s heyday, this is where wealthy Rhodesians spent the days game-fishing and the evenings at black-tie dinners. Long deserted, a cobwebbed grand piano still presides over its hotel's dilapidated ballroom; in between the rubble, you can find old bills for magnums of champagne.

It's a harsh reminder of how fickle tourism can be. This time around though, with just a little luck, Mozambique will fare better. The scenery certainly merits it; the citizens definitely deserve it; but, so far, only a few of us foreigners know about it.

TRAVEL BRIEF

GOING INDEPENDENT

There are no direct flights to Mozambique. The best route is via South Africa: Virgin (08705 747747, www.virgin-atlantic.com) flies from Heathrow to Johannesburg from 짙720 return. From Johannesburg, LAM Mozambique Airlines (00 255 22 21 34600, www.flylam.co.za) flies to Pemba (for Quirimbas) and Pelican Air (00 27 11 973 3649, www.pelicanair.co.za) to Vilanculos (for Benguerra Island); returns from 짙300 and 짙350. BA (0844 493 0787, www.ba.com) and South African Airways (0870 747 1111, www.flysaa.com) also fly to Johannesburg.

WHERE TO STAY

In Quirimbas, the conservation-based Vamizi (www.maluane.com) is an hour's flight from Pemba; transfers cost 짙240pp return (book through the hotel). Villas cost from 짙670, all inclusive.

Quilalea (0131 476 6822, www.quilalea.com) is a 20-minute flight from Pemba; transfers from 짙70pp one way; doubles from 짙540, all inclusive (includes one transfer).

More affordable is Ibo Island Lodge (020 3355 7765, www.iboisland.com), which has 30-minute air transfers from Pemba from 짙70, one way, and doubles from 짙295, full board.

Benguerra Island is a 10-minute flight (짙75 one way) or a 30-minute boat trip (짙25 one way) from Vilanculos. The smartest address is Azura (0845 634 1460, www.azura-retreats.com); villas from 짙575, all inclusive.

Twenty minutes' stroll along the beach is Benguerra Island Lodge (00 27 11 452 0641, www.benguerra.co.za ); doubles from 짙570, all inclusive.

On the other side of the island, Marlin Lodge (0131 476 6822, www.marlinlodge.co.za) has chalets from 짙381, full board. Flight schedules require an overnight in Joburg. Stay at the Saxon (020 7235 3245, www.saxon.co.za; doubles from 짙360, B&B), or Cotswold Gardens guesthouse (00 27 11 442 7553, www.cotswoldgardens.co.za; doubles from 짙50, B&B).

GOING PACKAGED

Rainbow Tours (020 7226 1004, www.rainbowtours.co.uk) has a week at Ibo Island Lodge from 짙2,098pp, full board; Quilalea from 짙3,198pp, all inclusive; Vamizi from 짙3,469pp, all inclusive; Azura from 짙3,134pp, full board; Benguerra Lodge from 짙2,446pp, all inclusive; and Marlin Lodge from 짙2,468pp, full board. Or try Exsus (020 7292 5060, www.exsus.com).