Togo Part I: To Go or not Togo, that is the question

24 Saturday Feb 2018

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City square in Lome

We got lucky again with our cab drive to the Togolese border with Benin. The driver was willing to negotiate a very reasonable rate for us to continue driving on to Lomé. We had opted not to visit Togoville after getting a warning from some of the truck members who’d visited previously – plus it was easily one of the hottest, most humid days we’d experienced on the southern coast of West Africa – probably 38 degrees centigrade.

We got through the border without any degree of difficulty except for our clothes being soaked through and clinging to us as we sweated profusely. Arriving in Lomé, we did our typical last-minute search for a reasonable hotel and opted for a cheap option after we had been living it up in Benin. Our cab dropped us off and we entered the rather ran down facility only to discover that the rooms did not have functioning showers. Luckily, the manager was kind enough to point out that there was another hotel, Le Galion, that was walking distance away that might offer a slight upgrade in terms of standards.

She was certainly correct – Le Galion was exactly what we were looking for and had a rather English looking pub/bar attached to it with a number of “randoms” sitting and drinking beer – it had a nice welcoming ambiance. Plus, it was only a few blocks away from the ocean-facing main road and city beach that stretches along the length of the city.

Main road through Lome

After getting organized and taking a much needed cold shower, we walked to the beach to take in the sights and sounds of Togo’s capital. The first thing we noticed was that unlike Accra or Freetown, there was less garbage strewn on this city beach, however, there was one element of garbage that we hadn’t observed anywhere else on West Africa’s coastline – dead puffer fish. I know, bizarre, right? There were probably over a hundred dead puffer fish that I counted on our hour-long stroll that afternoon and more than a few remnants of what was clearly human excrement (we had heard that many Lomé residents, unfortunately, use the beach as a toilet first thing in the morning)

On the plus side, there was a lot of activity – from crowds of young men playing soccer, to beach front bars and cafes with tables and chairs spilling out and filled with folks enjoying their Thursday afternoon sunset.

Despite the fact that we would only be in Togo for two days – we opted to purchase sim cards and some credit because it was so cheap – and since we didn’t know how fast or reliable our internet would be back at the hotel. It was at one of these mobile phone kiosks that we noticed that we had walked almost far enough west that we were staring at the actual border crossing into Ghana. People were buying things along the street in CFA and Cedis alike. We realized that when it came time to cross the border the day after next – we could opt to do it on foot which would be a novel way to experience a land border.

We ate dinner at our hotel and the food was exceptionally good! I had a Nicoise salad which I regretted because Mike got a fish Brochette that was absolutely delicious – a fish called Lotte, I believe. He got it served with Creamed Spinach, which he generously shared with me.

After dinner, we watched “Ex Machina” in our room and fell asleep half way through. The heat was so exhausting and draining.

Cocktails at February 2nd Hotel

On our full day in Lomé, I’m sorry to report that we spent the vast majority of the early part of the day making arrangements for Ethiopia. We booked flights to Addis from Accra using Mike’s airmiles (which he so generously gave to me as well!) I found super cheap one-way tickets from Addis to London, so I could visit family and have a slower re-introduction to the West (much like I did two years ago when returning from Kilimanjaro) and then, even more surprisingly, a one-way direct ticket for only $300 on Norwegian Airlines from London to Seattle! In all, it only cost about $130 more to buy new tickets that allowed me to go to the UK first, compared to what it was going to cost to re-book my United flight back to the US straight from Addis. So that made much more sense to me.

I also received a lovely letter from a former boss of mine that morning who’d been reading this blog – and he had a wonderful idea that could well result in a wonderful employment opportunity upon my return to the States. I cried with joy and felt so grateful that I told Mike we would have to celebrate later that evening.

Lome Beach

After agreeing on a rough itinerary in Ethiopia – Mike set out to spend what was left of the daylight hours checking out the Fetish market and downtown. We hopped on Mototaxis that took the beach road to the market. On arriving, we realized that it was a tiny affair that was way too expensive to go inside. We weren’t going to pay 3000 CFA each just to see a few horsetails and feathers for sale. We had out moto drivers take us to the center of the city from where we could walk past the majority of the city monuments and then proceed back to Le Galion on foot.

There really wasn’t too much that was impressive about the city of Lomé. However, Mike pointed out a beautiful new hotel across the main city plaza that was named “The Second of February”. I looked, and remarked, “Wait. Isn’t today the 2^nd of February?!”

As it turned out, the road we were walking along was also called the 2^nd of February and I began stopping random Lomé citizens and enquiring, in my best French, what the significance of this date might be to have a hotel and a street named after it? Not surprising, nobody knew the answer, so I dragged Mike over to the new hotel, believing that surely someone who worked there would know the answer, and weren’t going to say it was named after the street it was built on.

As it turned out, a security guard told us that February 2^nd was a day that the Togo President returned to power after getting involved in an accident during some civil conflict that had occurred a few decades back. I haven’t as yet verified this information with a thorough internet search since internet in Africa doesn’t afford one the kind of speed to spend time searching for this kind of Wikipedia information. But since we found ourselves at sunset in the lobby of this nice hotel – I suggested that we go to the rooftop bar for cocktails to celebrate my good news from the morning – on my tab. We did, thankful that our nasty flip flop and t-shirt attire didn’t bar our entry from the fancy establishment where we gleefully ordered mojitos, pina coladas and…wait for it…actual fresh sushi!!!

It was so good and well worth the cost.

We walked back to Le Galion, determined to both get the same fish dish as Mike had enjoyed the prior evening. As an added bonus, the hotel was showcasing live music that evening that we thoroughly enjoyed with our delicious meal.

The next day we had a lazy morning and got to the border around 1pm – timed for the purpose of our flight’s time leaving Addis on that Monday – since Mike’s transit visa would only be valid for a maximum of 48 hours. Since we walked, we were drenched with sweat when we arrived at immigration, and because we had been hassled non-stop to get a cab to the border by at least twenty drivers – we were each in foul moods and snapping at the other. Ahhh…the joys of traveling with a friend, 24/7.

The lighthouse in Jamestown, Accra

The border and negotiating Mike’s transit visa was a total nightmare. They moved at a glacially slow pace, which is the opposite to the ambient air temperature we had to sit/stand in while we waited. They demanded a printed copy of our flight reservation to Addis – of course we had been unable to find someone to print this information, especially since we had mobiles that allowed for online boarding passes. Eventually, I was able to get an officer to let me email him our flight information and get him to print it himself. This took time and determination. By the time we were stamped and allowed on our way, we were too irritated to stop and eat before heading to Accra.

Getting in a four person-cab, we did get out at a gas station and buy 2 “yogurt-with-wheat in a bottle” to tie us over before getting to the city. The journey wasn’t that long or uncomfortable, bar the grotesque body odor that emanated from the disgusting man on my right side in the back of the car. Each time he lifted him arm I thought I would pass out. It was so bad, I almost told him to keep his arm firmly pressed to his side, choosing instead to bury my face in my hair bandana each time he shifted in his seat.

Our last big night in Accra with the truck folks turned out to be quite epic, and well worth our return to Ghana. It was actually the first time Mike and I had partied on a Saturday night since we started this West African adventure. We began with amazing burgers/cocktails at Burger and Relish and followed it with large and rather high-alcohol content beers in the reception area of Niagara Hotel. Mike, the Dragoman driver, was in rare form and making us laugh hysterically. The alcohol continued to flow and we ended up going dancing at the Shisha bar next door, where I continued drinking and found myself quite drunk by 1 in the morning. I danced with a group of locals until around 2 – when I got invited to go to the beach with them the next day at Krokrobite and enjoy all-I-could-eat lobster and fish that they’d ordered. Since a number of us were up for going – I gladly accepted the offer, excited to hang out with some locals on my last day in Ghana.

That night was a bit rough and I spent much of it puking and trying to re-hydrate. The following morning was a bad hangover, but I managed to get enough coffee and pastry into my face to dampen the headache and nausea enough that I was ready for my pick-up to Krokrobite. Mike and the others were too hungover to join me, so I said my goodbyes to Sinead and Mike and headed out. Hanging out at the beach with some cool Ghanaians was about all I had energy for during the day, and it was a lovely and relaxing time.

Beach in Jamestown

On the way back to the city, my friend Chris was kind enough to drop me off in Jamestown where I’d be meeting back up with Mike and taking a walking tour with our “Fixer” Isaac. It was really cool to finally see this historic part of Accra and we walked during the sunset amongst the fishing village down by the water and then later up in the actual neighborhoods that were literally bursting with life, music so loud it would damage your hearing within a few hours, and people everywhere – socializing, watching soccer crowded around shared TV’s, talking and drinking in the street. The only thing that was missing from Jamestown, especially if you were a resident, would be peace or privacy.

Isaac also took us to the famous Black Star Square and past Kwame Nkrumah’s mausoleum before finishing off our night at a bar perched precipitously on a cliff overlooking the beach and the old slave fort known as Osu. The location was truly magnificent, the only reason we were in a hurry to leave was, again, the music being played was at such a volume as to make it not only impossible to have a normal conversation without screaming, it really hurt your eardrums.

Heading back to our accommodation, Isaac invited us to his place for a final smoke goodbye and we couldn’t refuse – especially given the fact that this was to be our last night in West Africa.

In the morning, we got up and did a final pack of our bags before heading to the airport in an Uber. I was proud of the fact that I finally did some souvenir shopping – buying a skirt on the way back from picking up coffee in under five minutes flat.

I had very mixed feelings about leaving Ghana and flying to Ethiopia. As is so often the case, I longed for a few more days to enjoy Accra a little more. To get a deeper sense of what it might be like to live here – because of all the places we had visited in West Africa – this would be by and far the easiest place for a westerner to move to. I didn’t want to go. Not just yet.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that I boarded our Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Addis, connecting to Gonder the next morning.

Benin Part III – Time Out in Ouidah and Chillin’ in Grand Popo

22 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by Anita in Africa, Benin

≈ 1 Comment

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Beaches, History, Museums

The Door of No Return monument on the beach in Ouidah

Ouidah is a significant town on the beautiful Benin coastline because of its historically significant slave trade sites. Among these is a famous “Tree of Forgetting” that captured slaves would walk around in circles – men nine times and women seven times, in an attempt to forget and leave behind their memories of their West African lives before being forced into slavery. The tree marks the spot from which there was a well-used path of no return to a strip of beach where ships would forcibly remove chained men and women from their African Homeland. This path is called the “Route des Esclaves” and is now scattered with monuments, museums, and voodoo fetishes (statues) to commemorate this walk that would have been trodden by thousands of men and women during the 300+ year slave trade.

Mike and I set out to visit these sites, but started at the supposedly famous “Python Temple” which turned out to not be a temple at all – you basically walked into a reddish room that looked like it might be the entryway – and it turned out to be the actual temple, with a handful of pythons laying around looking trapped and without much room to be…snakes. It was the biggest waste of 3,000 CFA each that we had spent. Cursing ourselves for not having gone inside one at a time (to exit and advise the other not to bother) – we made our way to the tree of forgetting, hoping it might also do the trick for us and the Python Temple.

This is how I felt about the Python Temple

From there, it was about an hour’s walk back to the beach along the “Route Des Esclaves” passing the various monuments and commemorative plaques about slavery along the way. Luckily, since we had napped, we had skipped the hottest part of the day and were making this longer walk as the sunset approached.

About two-thirds of the way, we came across yet another voodoo ceremony being enjoyed by a rather large crowd of locals, all clapping and dancing to the music being played by men while a group of women danced and “performed” their ceremony to the onlookers. I loved the fact that a good number of these women were elderly, and it didn’t inhibit them one bit in owning their movement to the music.

One of the fetishes along the “Route des Esclaves”

At one point, one of the oldest ladies feigned (whether “real” or not is ultimately in the eye of the beholder) possession and ran out into the crowd to grab someone, and the whole audience shrieked and took off in the opposite direction. It appeared to be lighthearted, but again, it was a little difficult to tell.

Again, we were the only white people present and we got a mixed reception, some folks smiling and inviting us to take photos, while others appeared to be deeply suspicious and instructing us to put our cameras away. It was a real shame that the folks from the truck, staying at a different hotel on the other side of the “Door of No Return” monument on the beach hadn’t known about this voodoo ceremony. Mike and I were grateful to have yet again stumbled across one that tourists have to typically pre-arrange and then doubt its authenticity.

Monument to Benin Independence

It was almost dark when we got back to the beach, and we decided it might be nice to visit the truck’s hotel for a beer or two. As it turned out, the hotel served pizza which was too good of an idea for us to pass. We got to our hotel finally much later than planned, but bellies full of cheesy goodness.

The following day we took advantage of our nice digs for a relaxing morning by the pool. Since leaving Accra, we had been going at quite a pace, and I for one was desperate for a few days to slow down. Since it had been closed the day before, we headed back out along the beach that afternoon to visit the “Museum of Return” which honored the heritage of those who had been forcibly removed from Africa who were now being given an open invitation to return.

Ironically, the museum’s “Door of Return” remained locked and unattended even after we had waited and taken beers on the beach until the signposted re-opening hour. Like sarcasm, I think irony is also lost on West Africans – as I received zero reaction from our hotel receptionist when I related this funny story to her. Then again, it might have been my French.

Trying to get in through the Door of Return

Sigh.

Of note that afternoon was the fact that a local Benin man bought us a round of beers when we sat down at the beach bar waiting for the museum to re-open. That was a first, and it was a most welcome sign of hospitality.

Being too lazy at this juncture to take public transport, we arranged a pretty decent cab fare to be driven the hour or so to our next point of interest – Grand Popo – a lovely beachside hotel called Auberge de Grand Popo, that would also house Dragoman for the next two nights. Not only did Mike and I crave some more respite from our formerly chaotic pace of travel, but we also had a lot to discuss/arrange in regards to whether we were ending the trip in Lome/Accra – or whether we would continue traveling and visit Ethiopia together.

Our lovely room at the Auberge de Grand Popo

It was Jan 30^th and we’d been traveling together for two weeks. Originally, I was supposed to fly home on the 5^th of February, so a decision had to be made soon and I was hoping for fast internet in order to accomplish all the research I would need to do.

The Auberge was gorgeous, historic, and beautifully kept with a location that I would gladly fly to just for a week’s vacation – if I lived in Europe. The highlight was the restaurant, and though the food was a little expensive compared to what we had grown used to spending – it was still very affordable by western standards and boasted utterly delicious food. On the first night, we ordered a shrimp cocktail followed by grilled prawns with rice and vegetables, topping it off with a raspberry sorbet for dessert. It was phenomenal and paired with a couple of cocktails, I felt like I was home again.

Me, Mike and Liz enjoying our lovely meal in Grand Popo

We hung out that night deep in conversation with Liz and Sinead from the truck and it was really nice to be social with our friends again. The whole next day I edited photos, wrote my blog, researched Ethiopia/flights, and took breaks to swim in the pool and walk along the beach. I was feeling much restored especially with the lovely surroundings, good company, and delicious food. I didn’t even want to leave the next day – but we needed to make our way to Togo and then on to Accra, having decided that we would fly to Addis Ababa from Accra and join the truck for their final goodbye party on a Saturday night in the Ghanaian capital. Since we had missed so many of Accra’s main attractions during our first stay – it only made sense to go back – even if we had to finagle and pay for a transit visa for Mike – who opted to get a single entry visa for Ghana when first making his travel plans.

On the first of February, we left Grand Popo in a cab headed for the Togolese border.

Sierra Leone Part II – Peninsula Beaches

08 Monday Jan 2018

Posted by Anita in Africa, Sierra Leone

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Beaches, Camping

River No. 2 Beach, Freetown Peninsula

On the morning of the 20th we left for the 90 minute drive to the stunning beach at River No. 2, stopping en-route in one of the most frenetic markets I’ve ever experienced in Africa in a town called Waterloo. In spaces where people are so closely packed that you have to squeeze your physical way through…mini vans arrive blasting their horns causing the already tightly packed crowds to jam ever more tightly together in the space created only on each side of the vehicle. It was madness and I quickly made my way back to the truck after my only needed purchase of toothpaste.

Outdoor showers and bungalows on the beach

Stunning landscape and mountains jutting from the sea in Sierra Leone

The beach at River No. 2 was absolutely stunning. It was clean and mostly trash-free with a string of bungalows lining the length of the beach where several of us also chose to pitch tents. The next 3 days was spent in a blissful non-routine of sleeping in, having a very leisurely omelet breakfast (the leisure brought on by the length of time it takes to make food as much as our own sense of relaxation) swimming in the turquoise warm waters, chatting with new friends over beers, and dinners of grilled shrimp. It was rather magical and a great way to begin a 48 day overland truck voyage.

Even Charlie joined us for some fun in the sun and rather reluctantly allowed the four of us ladies to convince him to actually go into the ocean. Like many Africans, Charlie didn’t know how to swim and had spent most of his adult life living within a few minutes’ drive of this gorgeous beach without so much as setting a toe in it. I was so proud of him (and us!!) for getting him to enjoy the water so much after much encouragement, that within a few hours he was jumping and body surfing the waves like a pro.

Charlie gets in the ocean with the ladies: Roni, Jack, and Kelly

First he was afraid, now he was jumping in the waves!

The Christmas holiday in Sierra Leone brings with it a party season and every Thursday-Saturday night, giant beach based parties are planned with loud music, dancing and partying.

On our second night on the tranquil beach, we were caught off guard seeing vans and people arriving to assemble a giant stage with even bigger speakers literally within a few feet of our accommodations. In earnest requests with the manager, all 22 of us had the laborious task of moving to the south end of the beach so that we wouldn’t have to face brain-blasting music until 4am for the subsequent two nights. We all wondered: why on earth wouldn’t management have simply informed us of the planned party when we checked in the day before? As with many things in this part of the world – it appears that such matters do not occur to staff in the service industry because the tasks of the current day are all that consume their thoughts.

Stray dogs on the beach

In any case, I was sad when it was time to leave River No. 2 and head to the wildlife hotspot on Tiwai Island – a mere 10 hours’ drive away.

Rwanda – A Beautiful Country, Not a Genocide

16 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by Anita in Rwanda

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Beaches, Cities, Culture, Museums

At the Genocide Memorial

Our tour only included two and a half days in Rwanda, but it was enough time to convince me that it is my favorite country that I’ve visited in this continent. Rwanda was surprising and refreshing in many different ways. From how it’s people have miraculously healed from the horrific genocide they experienced in 1994 to become the happiest and friendliest of people I’d encountered on the trip, to the stunning mountainous scenery, to the biodiversity, to the top-notch, impressive infrastructure that the government has substantially invested in – all this created my impression of Rwanda as the jewel of Africa.

Of course, most tourists’ impressions of the country when they arrive are the same as mine were. I feared what had happened here only 21 short years ago. I had seen “Hotel Rwanda” and remembered hearing about the atrocities committed here on the news when I was 18 years old living in England. That type of ethnic hatred couldn’t possibly have been removed from the national psyche to any measurable extent in such a short period of time? Surely there would still be palpable tension between people? Surely people wouldn’t be that friendly?

Well, the people I met were incredibly genuine, kind, smiling and caring. I felt nothing but love, hospitality and a warm welcome.

The capital, Kigali

On arrival at the border, I will never forget seeing signs offering $5,000,000 for information that would lead to the capture and arrest of certain Rwandan citizens who are being sought for inciting the genocide and who have since fled the country and are believed to be residing in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Our first stop on our entering the capital, Kigali, was the Genocide Memorial Museum. It was a sobering three hour visit – but I have to say that overall, it is one of the best museums I have ever visited. The displays were vivid, clear, and easy to follow. The most impressive detail, however, was the second floor of the memorial where they had dedicated “rooms” to each of the mass genocides of human history – and compared each to what happened in Rwanda. I found this to be one of the more fascinating and educational components to the museum.

Partial list of those laid to rest here in the mass graves

I won’t go into the entire history of the genocide, nor will I recite too much of what I learned. I will, however, tell you that I discovered I was sorely misinformed prior to my visit, and I had a lot of false assumptions about why the genocide happened in the first place.

What I didn’t realize, for example, was that the ethnic and physical distinctions between the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa people of Rwanda were largely created and propagandized by the Belgian Colonial powers. They introduced an ID card in 1933 that differentiated people based on these “classifications” but in reality, a Tutsi simply meant a person who herded cattle, and a Hutu was a farmer. These groups lived in harmony for hundreds of years before the Europeans arrived.

This quote is from Wikipedia and you can read more here:

“Belgian social scientists declared that the Tutsis, who wielded political control in Rwanda, must be descendants of the Hamites, who shared a purported closer blood line to Europeans. The Belgians concluded that the Tutsis and Hutus composed two fundamentally different ethno-racial groups. Thus, the Belgians viewed the Tutsis as more civilized, superior, but most importantly, more European than the Hutus. This perspective justified placing societal control in the hands of the Tutsis at the expense of the Hutus. Moreover, this Belgian affirmation of the Hamitic theory provided a conceptual foundation for Tutsis and Hutus to start identifying themselves as different ethnic groups. The Belgians established a comprehensive race theory that was to dictate Rwandan society until independence: Tutsi racial superiority and Hutu oppression. The institutionalization of Tutsi and Hutu ethnic divergence was accomplished through administrative, political economic, and educational means.”

Skulls

Many years later, after colonial powers had left, a Hutu majority took control of the government in the country. This division that was created by the Belgians became a systematic belief system that was propagandized through radio and print – all Hutu people were systematically encouraged to oust, bully, ignore, not employ and generally terrorize Tutsi citizens until they felt compelled to leave the country.

Of course, this culminated in an all-out mass genocide of Tutsis and moderate Hutus on April 6 of 1994. An estimated 2 million Rwandans were slaughtered.

Incidentally, I remember walking through the museum and kept wondering why 1994 seemed so significant to me. And then it hit me. I had just spent a month in South Africa and I realized that Nelson Mandela became the first freely elected president of South Africa on the 27th of April that same year. It was difficult for me to wrap my head around something so positive occurring simultaneously as something so heinous on the same continent.

The reality of what happened here was extremely disturbing. I have included a few photos here of some of the more alarming facts I read that truly put the international community to shame for standing by and doing nothing when they had had adequate warning this was going to happen. A few things that stand out to me:

Most killings were vicious and carried out by machetes. People were forced to rape and kill their own family members and neighbors.
The number of troops that were sent to Rwanda to remove foreign nationals to safety would have been adequate to prevent the genocide – had they been allowed to stay.
There was simply not enough capacity in the justice system for every crime committed to be prosecuted by a court system in the years following the genocide. So, a community based “Truth and reconciliation” program was created that allowed neighbors, friends, strangers to face a local sentence if they were honest enough to admit to having killed someone. Often that sentence was simply labor that would be offered to the offended party, such as a wife who’s husband was murdered by her neighbor. The neighbor, upon admitting guilt, would be “sentenced” to help support the woman and her children for a number of years in order to be “forgiven”.

Two cyclists “hitching” a ride as we drive out of Kigali into the mountains

The number of dead is purely an estimate as no accurate record of who died in the years following the genocide nor how many died in refugee camps of bordering countries has been kept
There are startling similarities between the ethnic cleansing propaganda used by Hitler and those used by the Hutu army.

After a very sobering visit, it was refreshing to leave Kigali and head up into the hills towards a mountainous region of the country close to the border with the DRC. We stayed at Fatima guest house in Ruhengeri, a small town near Lake Kivu. The following day I joined two of the other passengers on what turned out to be a delightful and quite personal tour of Lake Kivu and the town of Gisenyi.

Me and our delightful guide, Didier

Our guide’s name was Didier and he was incredibly personable, funny, and professional. His English was also outstanding and his enthusiasm for his country and all the region had to offer was infectious. We headed out of Ruhengeri early in the morning and drove to Gisenyi where our first stop was a lookout over the city that sits on the shores of Lake Kivu. We also visited the local and international border crossings with the DRC and got to observe the crazy foot traffic of local artisans trading everything from cabbages to dresses with their less-governed neighbor.

I was reminded of Lake Como in northern Italy – this place was stunning. The beach on the lake was fringed with beautiful palm-like trees, the water was clean and turquoise and there was lots of infrastructure to suggest this was the premier vacation destination for wealthy Africans. I could easily have stayed for several weeks.

Another shot of Lake Kivu

We visited “Honeymoon Island” which is self-explanatory and very romantic, a gushing hot spring where a group of village children descended upon Didier who obliged them all (and us!) with chunks of natural sugar cane to suck on. We had a delicious lunch and a locally brewed Rwandan beer and it was all so lovely that when Didier decided to tell us his experience of living through the genocide – we were all taken quite aback at his authenticity and apparent ease at relating such graphic details.

Didier told us that his father, a Tutsi, was murdered, his mother, a Hutu, and sister fled (and he presumed killed) He said his life had been very much in extreme danger because he represented one of the most hated groups of persons during the genocide – a child of a mixed marriage. Somehow, against the odds, at the age of seven, Didier lived a life on the street, scrounging for what food he could find and sleeping wherever he felt safe…for years. Eventually, a kind family took him in and he went to school and ate one meal of beans once per day for many years. He says that it was often really hard for him to concentrate on his studies because he was so hungry, but that he was determined to get a good job one day.

Eating Sugar cane

Ten years after the genocide, when he was 17, the UN performed a census of the refugee camps in the Congo and he found out that his mother and sister were alive! They had an emotional reunion in Kigali and now see each other regularly. There was not a dry eye at the table as he recited this happy conclusion to his story.

Didier assured us that the national identity, of being Rwandan, was very real now and that he was happy. He loved his work in tourism, he was close with his mom and sister, but he also asked, with a great beaming smile, how he could possibly not be happy when he knew each morning now that “I will eat breakfast, lunch, AND dinner???!!!”

On the beach of Lake Kivu

There are no words for how it felt to be in the presence of someone telling you such a vivid and personal story. This was no longer an exhibit at the museum. This was a small child, who survived against the odds through unimaginable horrors.

After lunch, we decided to visit one of the nice hotels on the lake and go for a swim. It was so beautiful and relaxing in the water, and after we all treated ourselves to a nice cocktail and shared more stories.

Man off to sell cabbages loaded onto his bike on the DRC border

Later that evening, Didier was kind enough to invite us out to hear some live local music. None of my group wanted to go, but I was game – so I hopped onto a boda boda (motorcycle transport) and met up with him to grab some beers. We had a memorable evening sharing more stories, and then ended up at a karaoke club where I ran into an American from Seattle! Small world, eh? Apparently the karaoke is what Didier had meant by “local music” – and despite having only half a voice because of my horrible cough – I roused the crowd by belting out some Bonnie Tyler and Beyonce. It was a very fun evening and put the perfect happy ending onto my memorable few days here in Rwanda.

From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

07 Sunday Jun 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, South Africa

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Beaches, Culture, Hikes, Trekking, Villages

The Wild Coast

It took most of the next day to get to my destination of Bulungula on the Wild Coast. Happily I wasn’t alone either – Jake was planning on spending a few night’s at the same community-ran, 100% solar powered traditional hostel as well.

Our Baz Bus driver that day proved to be an absolutel legend. As we entered the province of the “Transkei” (a formerly independent part of South Africa that white people mostly fled after apartheid ended, populated predominantly by the Xhosa people, and birthplace of Nelson Mandela), he gave us lots of historical background and information on the region. He said that here we would see the real South Africa. A land mainly untouched by commercial development, it’s community based farmland with people living under a tribal system. For instance, village elders make the community decisions for the (hopefully) benefit of all. People live in traditional round-houses, many with equipped with a government subsidized solar panels for power. The land is very green and there are beautiful rolling green hills that give way to a very rugged and stunning coastline.

Nelson Mandela’s home where he lived his final years

On our long drive through the Transkei, Johnny, our driver, created a lovely social atmosphere and insisted that we stop at a local market and get some alcohol to have a little party as we drove. As I got out of the truck, I immediately noticed the absence of any other white face and felt like I was back in the ‘Africa’ that had preceded this country on my trip.

Feeling very merry, we happily took snaps when we arrived at Nelson Mandela’s birthplace and also the compound where he passed away – interestingly, it is an exact replica of the house he lived in after being released from Robben Island when he was imprisoned solely on house arrest.

Arriving at the Baz Bus stop of Mthata, my driver from Bulungula guest lodge was there ready to take Jake and I down the very bumpy, unpaved road for the two hours it would take to our destination. On arrival, I was glad I had Jake with me as the lodge was pretty empty save a lovely family from Finland who we dined with – having an incredible local Xhosa dish of minced beef with maize and vegetables. We were the only two in our dorm which consisted of a traditional rondela and basic furnishings. Though started by a Mizungu from Germany, this lodge has over the years been passed over to the local community to run for profit, and provides jobs to over 26 locals.

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

The location was pretty stunning and I told the staff of my plan to walk, by myself to Wild Lubanzi, and then on to Coffee Bay. Despite their protestations that it was “too far” or “very difficult” and “maybe you should take a guide” …I decided that it would be an adventure and I was up for it.
How hard could it be to hike up and down along a coastline till you found the next town?
Well, as it turned out…it was VERY hard! The path ended up not being very clearly marked and I kept having to guess whether I should walk along the beach or rocks (not also really knowing about tides) or whether I needed to go up and walk along the top of the hills before descending to the next valley. Overall, the trial and error approach took a lot of time and was utterly exhausting – even though I was carrying a very pared down version of my luggage (the hostel was kindly transporting the rest of my bags to Coffee Bay to meet me there in 2 days).

Setting off from Bulungula

I was coming to the end of the first day’s trail and the map indicated that Wild Lubanzi, my hostel, should be easily approached via the west side of a lake and easily up on a hill directly in front of it. This turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had anticipated as there was no clear path after the lake. There were some sand dunes that I attempted to climb in 3 separate locations, each time coming to the edge of a forest that was so thick as to be impenetrable via walking.
Growing frustrated and very tired/hungry – I tried to go around the lake to see if there might be any sign of a trail behind it. There was a vague looking one which I started then to climb. I heard the sound of wood being chopped and I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing another human being who might be able to direct me. Sure enough, the man smiled and gesticulated that I keep going up and up and then turn right when I hit the road.

Wild Lubanzi Hostel – so glad to finally arrive

It was a right at the road, but then also a left, another hill, and then another right. When I finally arrived at the hostel, I didn’t even have the strength to go in the front entrance and made my way in through the kitchen and made my presence known. The staff were welcoming in a way, though they immediately launched into a diatribe about how impossible it is to get lost, and how on earth I could have had difficulty navigating my way from the lake. This really pissed me off, but once I’d had a “rocket shower” (shower powered with liquid paraffin) and had a large beer in my hand, I was much happier.
Even better, I was reunited with Ashley who had driven up from Coffee Bay for the night and she was joined by a nice young Dutch guy who’d hiked in from Coffee Bay that morning. His tales of how arduous the trail was did not exacty fill me with positive feelings for my next day’s sojourn, but I was adamant to give it a go.

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Unfortunately, my cough had also worsened and I was hacking like a smoking witch. In the morning, I even considered ditching my plan and driving to Coffee Bay, or even heading up to my next destination in the Drakensburg a day early and take some time to recover. But not being one to give up – ever – I decided to push on.

Inquiring about the trail itself, I was warned that low tide wasn’t until 4pm and that it would make the river virtually impassable earlier in the day. I would be forced to walk a ways up river till I find a place shallow enough to cross, and that could add another few miles to my journey that day.

Gulp.

As it turned out – I had quite a funny time crossing that damn river. I got to the water’s edge right by the famous “hole in the wall” rock formation that was really stunning to view. The waves were rolling in and it looked very deep indeed. However, there were some locals working on the beach on the other side of the river crossing who waved to me and pointed at a spot that seemed to indicate was the best place for me to try and cross.

Already tired and really not wanting to add more mileage to my day, I decided that I’d give it a go anyways…it couldn’t hurt getting a little wet, right?

Well. I got a lot wet. As I approached the middle of the 50 meter or so wide river…waves starting hiting me almost at neck level and I felt with dismay, my backpack getting heavier as it took on water together with its contents! My boots strung around my neck were also victim to the deep sea water that at some points lifted me entirely off my feet forcing me to swim. After what seemed like an eternity, I could feel the sand get closer to my feet and I struggled out of the river on the other side. The men were all laughing at me as I sat on the rocks and assessed the damage to my bag’s contents.
Luckily, the camera was fine as I’d stashed it in a plastic ziploc (thank god, I’d already destroyed one camera on this trip with water damage) and about one t-shirt was still slightly dry…everything else had to be wrung out and my boots simply squelched with salt water for the rest of the 16km hike.
I was, however, very fortunate with the weather and the shining sun helped to keep me warm despite my sopping clothes and bag. TWELVE times I counted having to ascend 4-800 vertical feet to navigate around a headland where the beach/coastline was impassable. Each hill I came to, I thought, Coffee Bay has GOT to be around the next corner…and each time my heart sunk.

Coffee Bay

When I finally arrived, hacking away, I was truly bedraggled and exhausted – but elated. I felt such a sense of accomplishment, especially since all the black people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and all the white people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and by myself. “You really should be careful, you know?” – they would say…and I would think “well, short of deciding NOT to hike this trail alone – how else do you expect me to be careful?”
I really hadn’t felt in the least bit threatened by any of the locals I came across – most of them smiled and waved or looked at me, aghast at my crazy decision to walk so far, alone. The greatest danger I found myself in was most definitely in the form of the six or so dogs that decided I was an intruder on their owner’s land and proceeded to run after me gnarling fiercely to the point where my heart almost stopped. None of them bit, thank god, and I made it to Coffee Bay in one piece…mostly.

I immediately enquired as to whether I might be able to procure a massage for my aching body – and was told to go ask after Carl at the other backpackers in town – Bomvu. I walked across the road to Bomvu and what I found in no way resembled a hostel. It was more like a movie set of the next slasher movie “Hostel Part 3 – South African Bloodbath”. Half of the place had clearly been in a fire, the place was deserted and there was no sign of Carl or a massage therapy office (which I’d been told was separate to the hostel) It had major creepy factor. I felt sorry for any hapless tourist who’d been allowed to make a reservation here and turned up to this. Giving up, I came back to Coffee Shack for dinner and ran into Carl who was dining there. Happy to give me a massage at 10am the next day, I was thrilled until he told me I should meet him at Bomvu.

Yeah. Like hell I would!!

No, thanks. I’d like to live to see another day.

Chilling in Kande – Southern Lake Malawi

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by Anita in Africa, Malawi

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Tags

Beaches, Diving

View from my room on Lake Malawi in Kande

We have spent the last 3 nights in a resort campground called Kande, and I decided to treat myself by upgrading to a room. I chose a non-ensuite room that was directly on the beach, with a balcony overlooking the azure water and just steps from the long white sandy beach. At $29 it was a steal of a price for beachfront accommodation.

Lake Malawi is the most bio diverse lakes in the world and contain hundreds of species of cyclid fish. At 28 degrees year round, it also makes for very pleasant swimming and diving conditions, no need for a wetsuit.

On our first evening in the camp, after we’d settled into our accommodation we enjoyed a meal of bangers and mash and someone suggested a dancing game involving a giant square divided into smaller squares that one had to dance in, not allowing your feet to step outside your respective box. Somehow, and inexplicably, this game kickstarted one of the best nights of drink fuelled fun our group has had yet. Within a short amount of time, we were blaring music from the truck, lip syncing songs from the truck’s “stage”, pole dancing on one of the campground support structures, and dancing/laughing all together.

It was a revelation.

My own balcony on the beach

Unfortunately, another truck of Germans clearly did not appreciate our effusive joy at this social breakthrough that we were having. Some difficult exchanges occurred when several drunker members of our group decided that they should invite that group over to join us, much to their amazement and incredulity. Once things had started to die down, I did approach them again and offered my sincere apologies for the noise and offering the explanation that this was honestly, the first time our group had connected this way, which they seemed to only half-believe.

I went diving for the first time in freshwater the next day and rather strangely, in the afternoon, after hearing that for the lake, the visibility tended to improve later in the day. The rest of the group decided to attend the killing of a pig that we were going to roast for our costume party themed hog roast that evening. I couldn’t understand why people would want to go watch a pig being slaughtered, but then again, I have to ask myself why then I eat meat if I’m so uncomfortable with the killing of an animal.

Diving in the freshwater was certainly a different experience and the buoyancy was rather different, weights not even being required. Unfortunately, the visibility on this particular day was very weak, only about 5 meters total. The murkiness of the water did add a certain enjoyable dimension to the dive, a certain eeriness, but of course, I would take crystal clear water over that any day of the week. Certainly the fish population was rather unique and plentiful and there were some interesting rock formations that we could dive through, under and around that made for an interesting dive time.

The cabins at Kande Resort

We swam over to the rocky atoll after our dive and climbed up to a rock about 7 meters above the water and took a jump into the water below. It certainly was one of the higher jumps I’ve taken in my life, enough of a drop to really feel the free fall in your gut. Good fun.

We enjoyed an incredible meal of the fresh pork together with potato salad and coleslaw. It was rather delicious, and after dinner we presented the costume that we had purchased to our secret member of the group (we bought costumes for each other in a secret santa style.) It was hilarious and of course, most of the guys received a woman’s outfit of skimpy mini skirt and revealing tops. Unfortunately, most of the women had guys buying their outfit for them and most of us received frumpy, sack-like creations which were totally unflattering. Mine didn’t even have buttons on the front blouse section, so I decided to rock my red bra in an attempt to make the outfit work.

Fancy Dress Hog Roast Party

Overall, the night was a lot of fun, and we danced until about 1am. A few of the younger members of our group hooked up with members of the Aussie truck and hopefully, no new people were created that night. Not that we’d ever find out – nothing more than first names having been exchanged in addition to bodily fluids.

Today being our last day here in Kande, I took the day to catch up on writing the blog thankfully borrowing a Surface from Benoit (it has been excellent, and makes me want to buy one when I get back to the States), swimming in the lake, reading and taking a very long nap. It has been lovely and re-humanizing.

Tomorrow we drive to Lilongwe.

The Choco: A remote and stunning undeveloped paradise

19 Sunday Oct 2014

Posted by Anita in Colombia

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Animals, Beaches

The Humpback Turtle Hostel

When I first met Kwame in San Gil, he stood out as the only black man for miles around, and everywhere we went, people stared (though they could have just as easily been noticing his height as well.) When it became clear that I wished to extend my stay and spend more time together, I came up with the idea of going to the Choco, the west coast of Colombia and the heart of it’s Afro-Colombian culture. After all, wouldn’t it be fun to have the tables turned and for Kwame to blend in and for me to feel like the tourist?

The streets of El Valle

There are no roads connecting The North Choco to the rest of Colombia near Bahia Solano. The only option was for us to fly in via a charter flight. We had heard of one hostel that operated in this part of the country – The Humpback Turtle, and its owner, Tyler, was kind enough to help us with our travel arrangements.

Upon leaving Sogamoso, we took a 3 and a half hour bus to Bogota and then a cab to the airport to fly to Medellin. Our charter flight from Medellin would take us to Bahia Solano the next day, and from then, it was an hour’s taxi ride to El Valle. On the bus ride to Bogota, however, I started feeling very ill and developed a fever which progressed as the day drew on. By the time we got to the airport, I was weak, nauseous, feverish and achy. This was my 3rd “episode” of fever in as many weeks, and by this point, we were both wondering if perhaps I had Dengue Fever. Kwame tried to comfort me by suggesting that if it were full blown Dengue, I wouldn’t be able to leave the bed.

Well, in the morning, the alarm sounded at 6am for us to pack and head to the small local airport to catch our charter flight. This is when I realized that I couldn’t leave the bed. Sheer mental will and determination resulted in my being able to put on clothes and head downstairs to our taxi.

A rash appeared a day or so later, and then we were sure. I was physically completely miserable.

Our tiny little aircraft leaving Medellin

Additional stress manifested in our not having been able to withdraw sufficient cash for our 7 day/6night stay at The Humpback Turtle. We had both tried numerous ATM’s at the international airport the previous evening upon arrival, to no avail. Without enough cash, we were screwed as there were no working ATM’s where we were going, and even the flights had to be paid for in cash. It was pretty stressful, feeling like death getting to the airport only to discover that neither of our cards were procuring any cash, again, and we were faced with a serious dilemma. At one point, Kwame left me to check in while he ran to the bus terminal to try the machines there. I was informed that I was in the wrong building for the charter flight we were taking, and promptly burst into tears and crumpled to the floor. The woman whom I’d asked, took pity and made a call for someone to come and escort me to the right location because I was so weak. Kwame returned without cash and we were in a quandary. Somehow, in a miraculous turn, there was free strong wifi (!!!) available at the airport (this is extremely rare), and we were both able to call our banks who had mistakenly placed blocks on our cards because of the numerous attempts we’d both made to get cash out!

View from our Rickshaw cab…driving along the beach

We literally managed to procure cash in the nick of time and get to our gate. By this point, I was suffering intensely and just dreamed about the chance to be able to lie back down again once we’d reached our destination. I promptly passed out on our little 12-seater jet.

Roads in the Choco are not paved. Small Afro-Colombian communities exist amongst the thick jungle vegetation that fringes the black, wide sandy beaches. The dimensions of the tide here are incredible – about a kilometer of variation between low and high tide. The temperature of the water is surprisingly warm, I’d say it’s warmer than the Caribbean, which is what attracts the whales who come to breed here. Electricity is not reliable and wi-fi is practically non-existent. This was by far one of the most remote and basic destinations I’ve ever visited – and that made it completely fascinating, especially together with Kwame (and while suffering from a tropical disease!)

Our Room

The community room

Taxis are little 3 wheel rickshaws similar to the ones in India. Our taxi to our hostel took about 45 minutes and was extremely bumpy. But the real surprise came when the last ten minutes of our journey was literally on the beach, which is used, for all intents and purposes as if it were a highway.

Our hostel appeared like the Swiss Family Robinson Tree-house, nestled deep into the vegetation directly on the beach. It was primarily made from wood with bamboo-like stilts, lots of separate little cabins and sandy walkways that connected the main community house with the rooms and outdoor shack ‘showers’. Lots of hammocks everywhere, meals served in the main community room and a deck with a view of the sometimes breaching humpback whales as they made their migration south.

View as we landed

The beach

Despite feeling very ill, I was so happy to be there. This was a place where even I, with my type-A always rushing personality, could completely deflate, breathe deep and find an entirely new slow, mellow, and tranquil pace. It was a place with a different frame of mind. A different concept of time. Choco time. It was very nearly perfect.

Our room was completely “open” to the outside, with a balcony overlooking the ocean that didn’t have a barrier so we would sit on the edge and dangle our legs over while catching the sunset.

Mangroves at Parque Utria

Beach at Parque Utria

It is a testimony to the place and the company I had that I am able to declare that my week in the Choco was the highlight of my 3 month voyage to South America. Kwame took very good care of me when I was ill, bringing me food and water when I was too weak to move, procuring some lovely weed which we smoked with carefree abandon most days (for medicinal purposes of course) and making sure I got lots of massages for my aching joints and muscles. We spent our days napping, taking long walks along the beach, frolicking in the waves, reading in hammocks, having drawn-out lingering conversations, and enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. In the evening, we dined on a single portion of grilled fish, rice, and plantains (I had no appetite at all) while watching the lightning dance in the night sky and the rain pound our little shack. We got cozy and watched movies like “Jaws” , “Cry Freedom” and “Avatar” on Kwames’ laptop, eating munchies while high.

The little critters who were living in our roof

We were puzzled during our stay by what looked like a pile of rodent droppings in the corner of our room each morning which I would diligently sweep outside. Our answer to what could be making this mess came one night when we heard a rustle, switched on a light and saw a family of mongoose-like looking creatures staring down at us from their “nest” in the ceiling of our hut. Turns out that our little guests were Shrew Opossums and when we told our Kentucky-native host, Tyler, his response was to smile and shrug.

Beach walks at sunset

Little kids in town

Sometimes we’d walk the 20 minutes or so into town and find a “restaurant” which was typically a few tables at the home of a lovely woman who would bring out whatever her husband had freshly caught that day, grilled and served with rice and plantains. We’d wander the sandy streets and watch the kids play, the people walking to church and unfortunately, listen to the blaring accordion music that was pumped out of giant speakers on storefronts as early as 7am. We’d been hoping for a different style of music from this culture, but in this regards, The Choco was like most places in Colombia.

Whale Watching

Visiting waterfalls

We took two day trips out on little speed boats to go whale watching and to visit several fresh waterfalls. The humpback whales were magnificent but rather difficult to capture with a camera. I managed to get one decent video which I’ve included here for you.

I wish we had gotten the chance to see one completely breach out of the water (which I did, but unfortunately it was from quite a distance) up close and personal, but the experience was incredible nonetheless. We even made a special trip out to the Parque National Utria where sometimes mothers come to give birth and play with their baby calves, but alas, there were no whales there that day. The park itself was beautiful and had a lovely walk among the mangroves which we enjoyed despite being forced to sit through a rather lengthy introduction to the flora and fauna of Colombia by one of the park rangers.

Typical meal

El Valle Beach

I highly recommend this destination to anyone looking for an unspoilt, unique beach destination. And at around $40 a night for our private room, it doesn’t get much better.

Just be ready to unwind. To not wear a watch. To shower outside. To be bathed in the daily humidity. And to embrace candles and fire-cooked food when the power goes out.

You won’t regret it.

Lost City and Paradise Found In Tayrona – Part II

12 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by Anita in Colombia, South America

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Beaches, Hikes

Hiking in to Tayrona

I last left you jumping off the bus on my return journey to Santa Marta after completing the Lost City jungle trek. I was tired, sweaty, hot, and without adequate cash or ID to get into Tayrona National Park. I was winging it, big time.

Fortunately, I at least had my PADI Open Water ID card on me. I have no idea why. I managed to bs my way through the identification checkpoint with the police and the park entrance security and secured my seat on a small minivan that would take folks to the trail head for the hour or so walk I had into the park to the first camping area, Arrecifes.

The beach at Arrecifes

I was feeling elated at my decision to add this adventure to my Lost City trek. I told myself that it would just be a little more effort before I could be showered and resting in a nice hammock on the beach. Everyone had said that the hike itself was completely flat, so how hard could it be?

I soon adopted a new little group of travelers: a Belgian, a Turk, and a Croat (I actually don’t remember their names…this happens a lot when you’re traveling. Sometimes, you can meet a person and talk with them for days before asking their name) who I convinced to take the shuttle with me to the trailhead. It was already the magic hour and I pointed out that if they walked, they wouldn’t make it to Arrecifes by nightfall.

Sunset

The hike itself ended up being a little more challenging than I had expected. The views made up for it though. The beaches, with the sky turning golden at dusk, fringed with palms and rocks out to sea – was breathtaking. We found a lump of ice, discarded on the trail, strangely, and got some fun pics wiping ourselves down with it. We were also lucky enough to spot a Capybara running across the trail, it was just too quick to catch a photo of it.

On arrival at Arrecifes, we were relieved to find a “backpacker” type campsite next to the rather fancy site that was charging 400,000 pesos for cabins. We secured 4 hammocks for 13,000 each (about 7 bucks) grabbed some cold beers and headed to Arrecifes beach to catch the sunset.

Hammocks!

It was spectacular and I was giddy with delight at being there.

After a cold shower and a delicious meal of garlic prawns and coconut rice, I was so ready for sleep and excited/nervous about my very first entire night’s sleep in a hammock.

It was surprisingly comfortable, and I was soon fast asleep.

The following day I awoke early and eager to press on for another hour’s walk to Cabo San Juan – the quintessential “paradise photo” tropical beach. So, as my friends were just stirring from their sleep, I’d already dressed and breakfasted and promised to meet up with them once they got there.

Beach at Cabo San Juan

Off I set down the beach enjoying the wonderful breeze and eager to get in the ocean (the beach at Arrecifes was too dangerous for swimming) When I arrived, I was quite impressed with the beauty. The sand was white, the surf a sapphire blue, and everywhere you looked, gringoes were frying themselves in the sun with something fruity to drink in their hands.

I laid out for hours, alternating reading my book with taking swims in the ocean. My friends’ never showed (?!!) so I made some new ones under the cabana while ordering some lunch. Thankfully, a couple of guys acquiesced to my paying for their meal on my credit card, allowing me to get some needed cash for my bus ride home.

Cabo San Juan

Around 3pm, I decided it was time to hike out. Not ever being one for the easy option, I elected to hike up and over the mountain ridge to an alternate “entrance” on the main highway, instead of simply following my route in to the park.

Asking several personnel about how far this hike was, I quickly rejected all answers as they bordered upon the absurd therefore rendering them pointless to consideration. One man at the “Information” counter stated that it was at least 4 and a 1/2 hours to the other entrance, but when I enquired as to how many kilometres it was, he stated “around 30”.

Yeah, he was smart.

So, off I set with a vague hope that the guy had vastly overestimated the time, or else I’d be hiking out of the jungle alone in the dark. I second-guessed my decision a couple of times, and then followed the signs to Pueblito.

Pueblito was like a mini-Lost City. Some ancient ruins of the Tayrona people. The trail getting here is at least sign-posted and was quite hairy, involving lots of scrambling over massive boulders. I was absolutely and completely drenched with my own foul sweat. I was disgusting. And it was so hot.

But I was loving it, and there was no-one on the trail with me.

A short way into the hike I spotted a poison-dart frog. It was exciting because I’ve only ever seen these super brightly colored amphibians at the aquarium before.

A little later on my heart stopped and came up into my throat as I heard blood curdling animal screaming….what could only be two large mammals attacking one another.

And they were close – whatever it was, was within 50 feet of where I was standing.

What the hell was it? My pulse quickened as I grabbed at a long branch thinking it might offer some protection should this vicious animal choose to turn its anger upon me, while simultaneously cursing myself for choosing to embark upon this solitary traipse through the Colombian jungle at near nightfall.

Pueblito

Just then, a capuchin monkey appeared overhead. This one was tiny but it did let out a little cry which leads me to conclude that the raucous I was hearing was indeed monkeys. I pressed on, quickly.

The hike just kept going and going and the hour was getting later and later. I have to say, I was feeling a little nervous and foolish. What if I twisted my ankle? I’d have to spend the night alone here in the jungle. I treaded carefully, passing several indigenous villages before, at long last, I heard traffic coming from the main highway.

I was safe.

Almost immediately upon emerging, I flagged down a bus heading to Santa Marta. Initially relieved by the freezing air conditioning, I soon realized that I was going to catch my death if I didn’t change my shirt immediately as I was soaked to the skin. Luckily I had my long sleeve night shirt to hand and I strategically switched and tried in vain to curl up in my ice cold seat.

I thought my adventure was over, but alas, it had only just begun. This bus was actually bound for Baranquilla and dropped me off at some non-descript location with an equally non-descript shouted instruction to get on another bus with the Colombian classic “Por A Ca!”

I got on this bus and asked if it went to the centre of town which was responded to with the typical mumble and head shake and subsequent general ignoring. I was not recognizing anything that we were passing,

Capuchin Monkey

I decided to get out and try my luck with just grabbing a cab.

It took nearly ten cab drivers to find one that knew where the “Drop Bear Hostel” was located. I was so relieved and exhausted upon arrival that I didn’t even eat dinner.

It had been a great day.

Galapagos Part II – Highlights from the Land

21 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by Anita in South America, The Galapagos

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Animals, Beaches, Sailing, Tours

Sea Lions frolicking on a beach

My favorite experience was watching the mating dance of the Albatrosses on Espanola island. It was hysterical watching their clumsy walk, lateral head bob following by the clacking of their beaks together – their version of French kissing. It felt somewhat awkward being present to witness the birds’ at their version of foreplay, but that was one of the wonderfully unique things about the islands. A lack of natural predators has resulted in the animals developing no sense of fear of humans – they made no effort to move away if we photographed them from just a few feet away.

On North Seymour island, we watched the courtship ritual of the Frigate bird, the male of the species’ neck inflates into a basketball sized red balloon to attract the females who then decide based upon the balloons size, color and shape, together with the potential nesting site chosen by the male, whether or not to mate with said male. If only courtship in humans was this simple.

Male Frigate bird trying to attract a mate

On the same island, we saw a few mother Frigate birds feeding their chicks. On one occasion, we watched as the mother regurgitated a whole sardine into it’s chick’s mouth, only to have the fish swiped by an audacious passing male! I’ve included the video footage of this for your viewing pleasure.

Watching Sea lion pups playing in large groups on the beaches. This didn’t ever get old. The sea lions are so cute and quite vocal, the younger ones reproduce what can only be described as the sound one makes when puking to cry out to their mother’s their need for breast milk. Not as entertaining, was watching the pups when the adult females “rejected” a pup because it wasn’t their own offspring. On South Plaza, which I nicknamed “Death Island” because we came across 8 dead bodies of various creatures, we watched a painfully thin and clearly starving pup get rejected by an adult female, who even bit the poor hungry screaming animal. It was very difficult to watch as you could see it being very weak. It appears with Sea Lions at least, that if something happens to the mother sea lion, the pup’s fate is grisly and sealed.

One could get very close to the Sea Lions

We got to observe giant tortoises in their natural “pen” as park officials struggle to help re-populate the islands with these creatures whose numbers have dwindled. Watching them move with quite unexpected speed was fascinating.

Giant Tortoise on Floreana Island

Hanging out on the beautiful white sandy beaches on Floreana island (though I often laid out and read instead of taking the walking tour)

Beautiful beaches

Climbing to the viewpoint on Bartholomew island (which I did twice because it was the first cardio I’d gotten in a week) and watching the sun setting on the surrounding islands.

Our group on Bartholomew island

Mating dance of the Blue Footed Boobies. The males show off their feet to the female and practice “skypointing” which involves them elongating their necks as they stretch upward to the sky, spreading their wings out fully to show themselves off.

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Anita Go Travel

~ Life as a passport, one stamp at a time.

Tag Archives: Beaches

Togo Part I: To Go or not Togo, that is the question

Benin Part III – Time Out in Ouidah and Chillin’ in Grand Popo

Sierra Leone Part II – Peninsula Beaches

Rwanda – A Beautiful Country, Not a Genocide

From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

Chilling in Kande – Southern Lake Malawi

The Choco: A remote and stunning undeveloped paradise

Lost City and Paradise Found In Tayrona – Part II

Galapagos Part II – Highlights from the Land