We made our way back down to the ferry on the same road we had travelled the afternoon before and arrived minutes before we were loaded onto the barge. Strangely, only one of us was allowed in the car and the other 3 of us had to walk onboard, separated with the rest of the foot passengers from the vehicles by an imaginary line that was strictly policed. The Zambezi seemed quite high to us (though we had never seen it before), and there was considerable flow as we chugged our way perhaps a few hundred metres towards the other side. Small reed islands floated by as the muddy waters got increasingly stronger and although the barge was aiming some distance upstream it was gradually dragged downstream aswell. Obviously nervous about being on the water, the second the barge docked at the other side it initiated a mad rush of people pushing and pulling and jumping for dry land. We had finally made it to the "North Side" and minutes later we were back on the road again on the long drive North. We had been in Mozambique for 2.5weeks and it was now we had time to reflect on our preconceptions of the country and its people. We had initially been a little hesitant about our time in Mozambique, we had heard ill reports about safety and the people, and listened to worrying anecdotes of corrupt officials. It was however becoming increasingly obvious to us that our presumptions had been wrong.The last couple of weeks and especially the last few days had shone a positive light on the people of Mozambique. Wherever we went people had been friendly, hospitable and willing to help whenever we needed. In both Vilankulos and Caia, people had genuinely offered their services when in a western society most people would have turned a blind eye.It was also becoming increasingly obvious that Mozambicans were friendly people, whilst collectively proud of their fight against colonialism. Their national anthem is centred around this fight and speaks of "toppling colonialism", "gun in hand" and "struggling against imperialism" and in addition their flag is the only one I can recall that has a machine gun on it. Once a fighting nation, the country remains scarred from years of civil war, but things are definitely on the improve, roads, infrastructure and clearing of land mines. There is no doubt that the people have endured a lot, but they seemed to be taking positives from the past and looking forward to the future. There are few signs of previous hostilities amongst the people, and socially we could've be unaware the country was ever gripped by civil war, but for the hangover of an occasional two handed outward palm greeting that previously showed they had no weapons.We continued north and ventured off course to the coastal city of Quelimane to restock with fuel and cash. The fuel run was successful but the ATM's were all down and so we began climbing into the hills en route to the elevated town of Mocuba.We had read that crossing the Zambezi was in some ways like travelling to a different country and that everything would deteriorate - the variety of food decreased, the roads get worse, and the buildings seem in a greater state of disrepair, but for now the north bank countryside seemed similar to that of the south, with alternating crops, plantations and forest, roads sporadically lined with grass hut villages and people wandering aimlessly in the middle of nowhere. In fact the main thing of note along the way was that the frequent roadside stalls that had continually yielded piles of succulent mangoes and roasted cashews throughout the south gradually gave way to mountains of pineapples that were particulary sweet and juicy.Arriving at Mocuba we became a little lost as we drove around the rutted dirt streets looking for the town centre. Presumably concerned by having seen us several times a friendly Mozambican with excellent English intercepted us on his flashy purple motorbike and offered to direct us where we were headed. He showed us to a nice hotel, and briefly chatted to us before riding off in a trail of dust.Mocuba was a nice town, with big wide streets and a clean feel about it. It was also set at altitude, and the slightly cooler climate was a pleasant relief from the hot and muggy atmosphere of the lowlands. The Hotel Sao Cristobal was a welcome change aswell, and although unmistakeably African (ie. in need of a little TLC) it was centered around a large open air courtyard that had a typically Spanish feel about it.We were running low on cash, and so ventured to the ATM.The first of which would not accept our card(for those coming to Africa stick with Visa not Maestro) and the latter like in Quelimane, was still out of order. After the fuel issue of the day before this was a problem we did not need, so we returned to the hotel and hoped the ATM would be working the following day so we could pay for our room.We dined in the courtyard before retiring to our lovely air-conditioned room, a luxury we had not encountered for months.We woke early as the sun beat down on our stuffy room. The air-con had stopped working and so too had the hot water (another rarely afforded luxury). After I dragged the maintenance man to the fuse box, we eventually confirmed that a fuse had been tripped but by now we were awake on the move so it didn't really matter to us anyway.Kaz and I headed to the ATM and despite the bad start to the morning, the day immediately got better when we were finally able to withdraw cash and get back on the road.