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BLUE skies, calm and endless beaches, beautiful men falling at our feet, a tropical paradise... This is what we envisioned for our trip to Mozambique.

My friend and I had been planning this trip since late last year ? well, perhaps "planning" is not the right word; more like booking tickets and daydreaming about what adventures we would have across the border.

So when I woke up at 04:00 three Sundays ago, I was as excited as a child before Christmas. The two of us flew off into the sunrise and headed for Johannesburg.

It was just then that we received a frantic voicemail from a friend. "There's a cyclone! Come Back! Don't go! You're going to die!"

Turn back? Hell no! We were going to have this adventure, cyclone or no cyclone.

And besides, if there were a cyclone, surely our travel agent would have let us know. "By the way, did you leave contact details for the travel agent or our lodge with your family?" I asked my friend. "No, did you?" Oops. We agreed it wasn't really necessary.

Still very excited, a bus took us to our plane ? if one could call the little craft that resembled a crop duster on the outside and a minibus taxi on the inside, an aeroplane. The flight was pleasant, until the pilot announced we were about to land.

"What do you mean land? WHERE?" I thought. There were plenty of palm trees, watery ground, and a very rough-looking piece of tar. Needless to say we survived the landing. But the international airport did look suspiciously like Wynberg Home Affairs. We were picked up by a friendly character and after 20 minutes on a very long road ? half of it was tarred, although there was more patched bits than smooth surface ? we arrived at our hut.

Well, we seemed to have electricity, a shower and two double beds with mosquito nets. Lovely.

But where was the television? Or the radio? Or any sign of technology, for that matter? Never mind. We ate prawns the size of crayfish and were fast asleep by 19:00. The following morning we enquired about car hire. We were laughed at.

We soon figured out we had chosen probably one of the most remote parts of the country, and civilisation was at least 700 km away. The village itself was peaceful, simple and the prawns fantastic. There were no deadlines, no ringing phones, no computers, no worries ? and certainly no power failures. This was rural Africa and we were roughing it.

The locals were great, especially when we got ourselves lost and stranded in town just before nightfall ? still, with no contact numbers, but that?s another story. But then we realised there are no libraries, no post offices, not even a newspaper! Contact to the outside world was limited. Perhaps this is why their education department could include the subject "morality" in the curriculum ? because it actually stands a chance. The break was great, but when it was time to come home, the charm of rustic living had long worn off.

I'm just really glad to be back home... bright lights, ringing phones, deadlines, police sirens and all.

In fact, our friends ? who had been planning our memorial service after not hearing from us for more than a week ? were quite shocked to learn that we had survived a cyclone.

We both decided to make a checklist for our next trip:

? Find out the exact location you're going to. Only knowing the country's name is not good enough.

? Leave contact numbers and an itinerary with family and friends at home.

? Check the weather report and which natural disasters the place is prone to.

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