They were gathered in large numbers. They stank. Their pincers were (mostly) outstretched. Menacing. And our seven-year old daughter had them organised with military precision. It was quite some operation. Though I would have been more anxious had the crabs actually been alive.

This was on our verandah table, and we were auditing the day’s catch. It’s amazing what several hours’ foraging at the seaside can produce. Admittedly, this was no ordinary seaside. It was Indigo Bay on Bazaruto, an island in the Mozambique Channel, and a more beautiful place
I cannot imagine.

Approaching from the air, we had gazed upon a palette of luxuriant liquid blues overlaying sweeping sandbanks laid down with the gentlest of touches. It is a timeless mural Mother Nature continues to craft.

Later, paddling in the waves, I stood in shallows and was able to see sand dancing around my feet to the lullaby of the tides, tiny shell fragments drifting to and fro. Beaches arched around the bay, their white tentacles teasing my gaze to a point I could not see but yearned to reach.

Filtering stories for our magazines, I have read so many overused superlatives I’ve grown to dislike them as mostly lazy demonstrations of an inadequate vocabulary. So it is with some humility that now I find myself battling for suitable words. But it was in Mozambique that I realised the true meaning of two of my least favourite adjectives.

So I use them wisely herein.

Extraordinary, Bazaruto really is. Over the years I have seen countless photographs of idyllic beach scenes, but it was the images of Mozambique that I’d been drawn to. I was determined to visit and expectations were high. This was, after all, the proverbial holiday of a lifetime. And there I found myself, one of only four people on a crisp, white beach that stretched many miles into the distance, laughing out loud in disbelief. We were actually here, and it was so perfect that it seemed unreal. No camera settings or filters could hope to enhance it. There were no rows of hotels or condos just out of frame. No Photoshop tricks at home would be necessary. It was real, and it was too far removed from the grip of the western world to have compromised its integrity.

Unsurprisingly, our two daughters were far less whimsical about this ‘big picture’ ideal. Everywhere they looked, there was something to cheer. Starting with the crabs.

My wife, Sherry, and I had a very grown-up plan to de-stress by surrendering to a sun-lounger for four days – like that bronzed German couple we saw lying by the pool every day – while our seven- and twelve-year-old daughters amused themselves on the beach. Yeah, right.

In our short visit we didn’t so much as test a lounger. We spent a morning digging cars in the sand near Dolphin Bay, a vast beach that reached into the sea in a finger-like spit. We also explored Paradise Island, with its shiny-white beaches and ruins of a once-popular hotel resort. However, the island trip will be forever remembered for delivering the sought-after dolphins our eldest daughter, Kirsten, had so longed to see.

Sherry and I treated ourselves to a spa treatment. I did a scuba dive. We snorkeled at several incredible reefs, but most memorable were our goggled seashell picking explorations in the shallows off the beach with our youngest, Ashleigh. We went horse-riding (several times), paddle-boating and dune-boarding (how children are fearless!). And we drifted at sea with humpback whales (a total of 14 in one morning) swimming under the boat and surfacing just metres away; without question one of the most awe-inspiring wildlife encounters I’ve ever experienced.

And even when we were back at the resort, the children had plenty to occupy themselves. They delighted in riding in golf carts and played bao. They drank Shirley Temples and revelled in beach barbeques and numerous visits to the breakfast buffet. The pool had five terraces and a grotto. And, of course, where adults see a picturesque beach, children see the world’s biggest sandpit…

On our second evening, after the children had collapsed into bed, we sat on the deck and gazed in silence at the moonlit ocean rhythmically lapping at the shore like a heartbeat. It was truly a privilege to be there. (That’s my second word, in case you thought I’d forgotten.)

Without question, the children’s enthusiasm was infectious, drawing us into our new environment and opening our eyes to the details and opportunities that combined to create this extraordinary experience. We learnt that if you want to go to the beach simply to relax and read a book, you won’t be doing Mozambique justice. It deserves your attention. I wondered if that German couple on their poolside loungers really appreciated how fortunate they were to be there.
Perhaps if we all acted like children we’d have a richer experience in life?

At the same time, I wondered if our girls realised quite how privileged they had been to visit such an extraordinary place, and what impact the holiday would have on their lives. How much would they remember?

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At Indigo Bay, Ashleigh had lined up her crabs and told me intricate stories of family ties and survival. Indeed, she was so besotted with them she hauled them back home to the UK, where they are now brought out to impress unsuspecting houseguests. We make our apologies, but secretly we’re proud because with every unveiling we know our children are reliving their time at Bazaruto. It’s proof that Mozambique captured their imagination.