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Ethiopia Part VII: Bahir Dar – The Ethiopian Riviera

13 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ethiopia

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Hiking the Blue Nile Falls in Bahir Dar

After the cold, high altitude hills of Lalibela, I was glad to find myself in the palm-fringed tourist destination of Bahir Dar, beautifully located alongside the shores of Lake Tana, the largest lake in Ethiopia.

As I mentioned in my prior post, Mike and I had considered beginning our Northern circuit in this city, but we opted to fly to Gonder instead because of the long distance we would have had to cover by road between the two places.  As it turned out, going to Bahir Dar as our last stop before Addis turned it into a truly pleasant last stop on the clockwise circuit we had covered.

Our flight was only 35 minutes long and very convenient, especially considering it cost less than road transport would have.  We hopped into a van offering free rides to the Palm Palace Hotel – since the “free” van to the hotel we had chosen on the plane had already left by the time we’d gotten our bags, and somehow paying for a cab to a destination that offers free transport just didn’t make sense.

We were bombarded, as usual, with a small crowd of screaming dudes who all claimed to represent the best hotels Bahir Dar had to offer and it was an all too familiar sales pitch that immediately irked me.  One particularly aggressive guy who would not leave us alone kept yelling and yelling that we should go with him, and only shut up when I point blank cursed him out to his face.  He cursed back at me and gave me the middle finger as we drove away in his competitors’ vehicle.  It somehow gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

I know, I was getting to the end of my psychological rope in Ethiopia and I was starting to feel ready to leave.

Palm Fringed streets of Bahir Dar

The Palm Palace seemed nice enough of a hotel, and I immediately tried to take a nap as I had been unable to sleep the night before.  I was growing increasingly frustrated as well, waiting on a text message that just wouldn’t come that would inform me whether or not a friend of mine in Accra was going to be available to see me – so I could spend my last few days in Africa somewhere that I really enjoyed instead of here.

Mike and I headed out that afternoon to explore and found a rather pretty walking path which lead around the southern edge of the lake.  We ended up grabbing an early dinner at a place called Desset – which had really attractive lakeside seating on benches overlooking the water.  In need of some comfort food – I ordered Spaghetti Bolognese which I scoffed with cold beer.  Mike was not feeling too well and that combined with my admitted grumpiness resulted in us having another sibling tiff such as we’d had in Lalibela.  I absolutely adore Mike and I think he is a fantastic person and amazing traveling companion – these things inevitably happen sometimes when you’ve been traveling with the same individual for six straight weeks – especially in a country where I was literally dependent on Mike to go anywhere because of how much hassle I would get if I went anywhere alone as a female (a state I didn’t, unfortunately, have much control over).

Wanting to be alone, I took my leave and headed back to the hotel on foot.  I told myself that since it wasn’t quite dusk yet, that I should be fine taking the same pathway along the water as we had taken to dinner.  About 20 minutes into my walk, I got grabbed by the arm and waist by a random man who opened with some version of “Hey baby…where you heading so fast?  Slow down and talk to me.”  I tried to wriggle free as a slew of verbal profanity came out of my mouth.  He resisted and then said “Come on baby.  I just want to bite your ass.”

Somehow, even amidst the fear and desperation to get out of his grasp, I remember thinking how absurd his suggestion was, and how much he must have been convinced that it would serve to seduce rather than repulse me.  He couldn’t have been more wrong and eventually he let go as I spun around and kicked him in the shin and screamed at the top of my lungs.

This was in daylight with about 30 or so people walking along or milling in the park.  Nobody flinched or moved to help or intervene.  My pulse was racing and I moved away, not looking back at a faster pace than before, cursing my stupidity at leaving Mike and walking alone.

Our lovely, if noisy and mosquito infested room at the Palm Palace Hotel

I got back to my hotel physically unscathed but had a really good cry to let it all out.  Unable to go anywhere else and not really feeling like it anyway – I ended up watching a movie on Mike’s laptop and drinking whisky that I’d bought in Lalibela.  Since it was a Friday night (Feb 23) – the sounds from various clubs in the streets below our room made it very hard to sleep.  Without a fan, we had left the windows open only to have to close them as we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.  At around 2am, I went downstairs and got a standing fan which helped a little.

In addition, we were awoken at 0500 to what sounded like the call to prayer, but after it hadn’t let up for over an hour – we realized it was an Orthodox church ceremony which are often broadcast from speakers set up all around the church.  In this case, it was coming from St George’s church which was literally a block away from our hotel.  The ceremony was a cacophony of wailing and singing, much the same in style as what we’d endured in Lalibela.  It went on for three hours and both Mike and I resolved that this was going to be our only night at this property.

St. George’s Church in Bahir Dar – with masses loudly broadcast to one and all unfortunate enough to be sleeping nearby

We wandered off in the opposite direction around the lake to check out a few other hotels that were on the eastern part of town.  None of them were too appealing but we did manage to locate and negotiate a decent rate for a private van to take us to visit the Blue Nile Falls which were about an hour’s drive south out of the city.  We decided to put all of our luggage into the van so that we could be dropped off at a new hotel on the way back.  Alternatively, there was a small chance my friend in Accra was going to get confirmation of his return to Ghana, in which case, I would head straight to the airport on an Air miles ticket and get out of Ethiopia.

The whole trip to the Blue Nile I was on pins and needles, trying to tell myself that no matter what transpired, it was all going to work out for the best.  Not having any 3G and being entirely reliant on totally unreliable Wifi was also taking a toll.  Not being able to make arrangements for any type of travel and having communication with anyone not physically with you be logistically challenging is a frustration I will not soon forget.  We take instant, fast, internet service for granted.  You don’t realize the extent to which it permeates every aspect of our daily lives until you find yourself in Ethiopia without it.

Crossing a bridge on the loop hike to the Blue Nile Falls

We elected to be dropped off on the trail towards Portuguese Bridge and then ended up walking the entire circular circuit which drops you back at the river where you can take a boat across the water.  Luckily we had taken our driver’s phone number and so could call him to arrange our pick up.  Getting out in nature and getting a nice workout on this trail was exactly what I needed.  After dealing with hundreds of requests to “show us the way” we steadfastly made our way along the trail entirely guided by the app maps.me (which is a revelatory help, incidentally, for any traveler who is offline and needs GPS) and managed to self-navigate for the entire trail.

We managed to get quite close to the falls themselves that we’d been told would be a mere sprinkle in comparison to its full rainy season glory.  For me, they weren’t disappointing in the least and we happily navigated the muddy ground to stand in the invigorating spray that formed a beautiful rainbow where the sun hit.

Getting up close and personal with the Blue Nile Falls

The only disappointing aspect of the hike was that little kids were trying to sell us wooden flutes along the way, and one particular girl decided to hit me with hers when I kindly declined purchasing one from her.  That had never happened to me before and I was quite shocked.

Overall, the falls didn’t disappoint and we arrived back to the van muddy, sweaty but smiling.  Driving back I couldn’t help feeling the stress of the minutes ticking by and considering whether or not I would make the last flight to Addis this evening if a text arrived indicating that my friend in Accra was available for a visit.  As it turned out, that text didn’t arrive and so Mike and I decided to check into the Jacoranda hotel and I immediately ordered a double gin and tonic.  This was the last chance I had to fly out and for the trip to be worth the four-hour flight since I would be returning to fly to London on March 1st.  We elected to eat dinner at our hotel, which we were delighted with – it had a lovely fire pit out front and was really modern and excellent value for money.

It helped restore my disappointed spirits.

The food was also great – I ordered a delicious chicken in mushroom sauce with mashed potatoes and spinach.  I felt re-energized, and after a shower, Mike and I headed out to the Checheho Cultural restaurant which was absolutely wonderful and featured a large and rather crowded audience drinking beers and watching/participating in a traditional dance performance.  This was still the strangely intriguing but somewhat perplexing “shoulder” dancing that we had seen in other parts of Northern Ethiopia, but since there were at least some women on stage, it was somewhat less weird.  Here is a link to some video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1xBbg_vNRI The crowd really got into it and it was a very pleasant way to spend the evening.

The following day we decided to rent a boat across the lake to visit some of the monasteries and churches that were considered the main tourist attractions of Bahir Dar.  We elected to take the “medium speed” boat which still afforded a nice 90-minute lake journey in the blazing sun.  We were told that the boat trip would cost us 1500 Birr (about $50) and would include visits to Azwa Maryam, Ura Kidane, Kibran, and the Blue Nile Outlet.  The first two monasteries were interesting and unique in that their design was circular – something we’d not come across in religious architecture here thus far.  Inside each building were hundreds of paintings of religious and biblical scenes which included the famous depiction of the torture of St. George.

Our boat on Lake Tana

The setting of these churches, close to the beaches of the pretty peninsula also added to their appeal, which was slightly marred by the row upon row of trinket-selling stalls which lined the paths from the boat dock to the churches.

On our way back from Ura Kidane, Mike and I opted to take a coffee before pressing on with our afternoon’s itinerary.  Upon getting our coffee, our boat captain indicated that it was perhaps time to “get back”?  We were confused as we believed the tour to be only half way done and asked him why we weren’t going to Kibran or the Blue Nile?  His face got sullen and he started saying how much farther that was to drive his boat, that it was late, etc. etc. to which we responded – yeah, ok, but we are not paying you the 1500 Birr we promised you for only ½ the tour.

The outside of Ura Kidane

Ura Kidane

This made our tour guide mad and he immediately contacted the agent we had used to arrange the trip.  He put the agent on the phone and the agent explained in broken English how “everything was fine now” because he had “talked with the boat owner and told him he MUST take us to Kibran and then to Blue Nile Outlet…and that there was no problem.”  We tried, several times, to explain that yes, there was a problem in that our driver shouldn’t need “convincing” to give us the services that we had already negotiated and that we were fine with going back now since he obviously didn’t want to elongate his afternoon and was in a foul mood.  The agent and our boat driver immediately started cursing one another and began a screaming match – all while we tried to sip our coffee in this idyllic lakeside forest-fringed location.  The tranquility was gone, and our fun quotient along with it.  The cell phone was thrust into our faces several more times which was making us ever more exasperated.  In the end, we insisted on being taken straight back to town, and we paid 1200 Birr on arrival and walked away, shaking our heads.

The artwork inside the monasteries…I was convinced this depicts a man pooping…but couldn’t get a confirmation either way!

In need of a cold Habesha, we checked out the floating barge “bar” at Mango Park and became instant celebrities to the locals hanging out on this hot Sunday afternoon.  Families were out and some folks were swimming in the lake.  It was a pleasant place to recover from our tourism-by-yelling experience of the afternoon.

We took a long stroll back to the Jacaranda Hotel and opted to order dinner in again since we’d had such a wonderful meal the night before.  Cue my hilarious Chicken Leg story that I wrote about in my first Ethiopian Blog post here.  After a few beers, I opted for an early night of writing and reading.

Sipping beer on the jetty

Mango park with the bar “jetty” in the distance

On our last morning in Bahir Dar – we decided to rent bicycles and head out to the famous viewpoint next to the Palace of Emperor Haile Selassie.  We had booked a shuttle to the airport for 2pm, our flight being at 4pm.  I would be spending 2 nights and 3 days in Addis before boarding my Ethiopian Airlines flight to London.  It was hard to believe that my time in Africa was coming to an end…though I wasn’t that disappointed to be leaving Ethiopia, I must admit.

We had only ridden bikes one other time on this trip and that was in Burkina Fasso during our visit to the Royal Court of Tiabele.  I do wish bikes were more readily available to tourists to rent – they offer such a unique way to see a city and get around – with a far superior vantage point than a bus or a car.

Island on Lake Tana

Initially we headed out on bikes that had been arranged for us by the same agent we’d used to arrange the boat.  However, it became obvious pretty quickly that these bikes would need to be traded in – Mike’s brakes barely worked and my bike frame was made for someone over 6 ft tall.  So, we found our way to the rental store and tried out other bikes.  I managed to give myself a frightful injury akin to a guy getting slammed in the nuts when I tried out a bike whose gears jammed and had me falling with my full body weight onto the “male framed” central bike spoke right between my legs.  Despite my pain and hurt pride, we found two more suitable bikes and headed off out of town on our mini adventure.

Luckily, the rest of the morning went smoothly except for some nasty school boys who decided it would be fun to try and hit me as I rode past them.  Never have I met a country of more violent children before!  Having survived this onslaught – we weren’t disappointed after our efforts to climb several steep hills gave us the reward of a sweeping view over the city and Lake Tana.  As an added bonus, there was a wedding party getting official photos there – so it was fun to witness that.

Mike, at the viewpoint over the city

After a sweaty ride back, I was happy I’d packed a change of clothes and that the hotel was kind enough to let me shower before we headed to the airport.  Despite it being largely unplanned, I had enjoyed our time in Bahir Dar – mostly!

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Burkina Fasso Part II: Royalty and what you do-do in Ouagadougou

10 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Burkina Fasso

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Riding a bicycle around Tiabele

Sleeping out on the roof was quite the experience and the stars were absolutely brilliant and shone magically, aided by the lack of streetlights. It will be something I will always remember, especially listening to the village noises in the night. We had heard drumming at around 1 in the morning (apparently there had been a funeral) and a rather upset donkey who brayed at regular intervals through the night, matched only in force by several roosters who I’d gladly see shot. Upon rising to take breakfast and returning – we even found little goats prancing around our mattress, having jumped onto the roof in curiosity.

Our bed for the night was a mattress on the roof of the traditional style home. In the morning, goats were frolicking about.

Arnaud’s cousin, Herman, would take us on the tour that day since he did speak some (broken) English, and with my broken French – we made a passable attempt at understanding one another. The royal court housed approximately 300 people and was marked at its entrance by a seating area surrounding an altar-like building and a mound behind that, rather disturbingly, we were informed contained the buried placentas of all the descendants of the King of Tiabele.

Ok, then.

And so began the running theme of the day: what men can do and what women can/can’t do in this tribe. To start, this seating area was reserved only for men – it was forbidden for women to sit here. Then we were shown the various structures for dwelling – the rectangular houses for grandparents and the children/unmarried women – the round houses for single men over the age of sixteen (who get to live alone while women have to do as grandma says till she finds a man) and the hexagonal units for couples.

The homes in the Royal Court

Built out of clay, these homes all have very low door entrances, presumably to keep the interiors cool. Once inside the initial room, they can extend another two to three rooms further back, with each room requiring a dexterous crawl to enter. Though super impressive in terms of the organization and how there was a place for every conceivably needed tool, I started getting super claustrophobic at the thought of needing to crawl 3 times before getting to daylight again.

Each March, after the harvest, the women of the village use local plants/reeds to make inks that they use to paint the homes with symbols like turtles, trees, birds and all kinds of patterns. Just the women. (Me, rolling my eyes.)

After the royal court, we got on scooters and had Herman and his cousin Charles take us to another village where we had a woman show us how she made pottery, and another village called Tangassouko. For me, the most memorable time during this very hot afternoon, was stopping in the shade at this brightly green painted bar in the middle of nowhere for cold beer and donuts. Somehow, Africans always forget to include plans for refreshment and peeing in their trips.

They’d get more tips if they did.

Could this dude, in Tiabele, be any cooler if he tried?? Check out those shades!!

After a much needed nap, we then rented bicycles and after a slight delay getting new SIM cards cut to nano size, and a foray to the market in search of paw paw, and an improvised way to eat it, we set off on the very dusty road out of town in search of the nearby lake.

This was my first time on a bike in West Africa and incredibly, this rickety old cruiser fit me perfectly. We were quite a sight to the locals and quickly stirred up lots of kissy noises (sound Africans make to get someone’s attention) waves, and invitations to come over to where they were socializing.

Woman making pottery

We stuck to our bikes as the sun was already starting to set and we didn’t want to have to return in pitch darkness.   As it turned out, we did, because we decided to make one more stop for a drink at a roadside café that was playing too good of a reggae beat to pass up.

We used our iPhones as bike lights for the return to our Auberge and dinner.

Arnaud was a musician and he had planned a musical performance and dance for a group of Belgians that had arrived that day, and us, that evening at the Auberge. It was actually rather good, it felt genuine and was especially entertaining when about 20 children poured into the courtyard and took turns showing us their mad skills at the traditional form of Tiabele dance, which involved a lot of stamping and rhythmic arm movements. We westerners often got pulled into the circle, but alas, our skills were quite lacking.

Mike was very thankful when the festivities ended around 10 o’clock and like the true grandma and grandpa that we had become, we exhaustedly hobbled up the steps to our rooftop mattress for the night.

Arnaud and his band entertain us with song and dance

We had learned that there was a minibus going directly from Tiabele to Ouagadougou that Tuesday morning at 7am, and that would save us from needing to rent the car for another day. Since the bus was leaving from the center of town, a dusty ½ mile away, Arnaud had offered to pick us up on his moto (or at least our luggage) at 6:30 to drop us there.

Unfortunately, he didn’t show up and we started walking ourselves in the dawn light, armed with packed coffee for the minibus. Herman walked up and said goodbye and that Arnaud was still asleep. That riled me up and I called him. He lied and said that he was working with the Belgians. He didn’t know that Herman had just told me he was still sleeping, and moreso, that the Belgians were staying at the same Auberge as us and we had seen a handful of them up brushing their teeth or sleeping – so it was a rather obvious lie.

When I pointed out that he’d offered us a lift to the bus the day before, he paused, remembered, and said he was “coming”.

About 100 meters from the bus, he pulled up on his motorbike and started telling me how my French is bad and that I had misunderstood him yesterday. I thought: Is it really necessary to drive all this way just to insult your paying guests who are about to leave? Even IF I had misunderstood his offer to give us a ride to the bus, was it necessary to come over just to tell us that? And not, instead, just apologize for the confusion and wish us a good onward journey? Thank us for visiting?

Burkina might be suffering from a lack of tourists, but Arnaud was not helping himself out in any way by treating the rare guests he did get badly.

Luckily, we made the Tro Tro and got the front seats again. The tro tro left five minutes early and we were on the way to Paga. The coffee I had mixed with milk from yesterday and I think it had gone a little bad because I had explosive diarrhea on arrival in Ouaga and fortunately found a bathroom in a hotel in the nick of time while a taxi waited for us.

The journey had taken five hours in total from Tiabele and there hadn’t been much to see other than a group of elephants that were on the side of the highway just north of Paga! The driver seemed very happy about that. Our seats were relatively comfortable except for the fact that the gear shift was literally against my left leg and the driver had to touch and move my leg away every time he wanted to shift.

Entering Ouagadougou

Burkina and all the northern latitude locales in West Africa are so full of dust, red dirt and pollution this time of year that my cough was back in full force, and Mike’s throat would swell up each night and he was suffering with nose bleeds. This has made traveling here that much more arduous and I haven’t really felt well since we left Amedzofe. I am almost recovered now, writing this from the beach in Benin.

Taking the oldest and most unreliable vehicle you’ve ever seen – we made our way through the capital to our reserved hotel for the night – Hotel de la Liberte. Mike has converted me to Maps.me – and it is super fun to be able to direct a taxi driver how/where to get somewhere, offline, in his city – better than he knows it himself. This cab was so old there was a thick film of dust all across the dash, the roof was sagging, and the windows were permanently rolled down.

Our hotel could not have been more of a welcome oasis. Quiet, clean, simple, with a lovely back courtyard bar/restaurant and just enough creature comforts in our second floor room to offer us some needed rest after our journey.

We later ventured out on foot, with caution, to Kwame Nkrumah street. We had decided to get coffee and cake at Cappuccino, figuring that with the armed guards and body scanner at its entrance, this was probably the safest place for us to hang out, despite its awful history. We ordered cappuccinos, a strawberry cream cake and a chocolate mousse cake.

Divine.

Coffee and cakes at Cappuccino!

Walking back through the city, we debated whether to get a cab as the light was fading, and decided together that we both felt quite safe and this was a chance to get some exercise and take in the city’s vibe.

There are a lot of motorbikes in Ouaga…far more than in other cities. People often carry a scar on their cheek, which is intentionally cut into the face of babies to signify their tribe. The practice is very common in Benin too. Streets were wide and buildings spread out and designed in such a way that Ouaga reminded me very much of Harare. It was, of course, dirty and littered trash was visible everywhere alongside the roads. We passed businesses of a large variety and tried to avoid the darkest of streets. On arrival at our hotel, we found there was a power outage, so we waited for the lights to come back on before ordering a simple dinner.

We were, as yet, undecided as to whether we would stay another day in the city or not – and fell asleep committed to making plans in the morning.

As it turned out, our goal was to meet back up with the truck in Ganvie on the 28th of January. If we still wanted to see Pendjari National Park in northern Benin, we would have to leave the next day and get as close to the border as we could.

So we opted to get a taxi to take us to a number of the more tourist “sites” in the city for some photo opportunities, and then to take us to the Autogare for the bus that headed east to Fada N’Gourma at either 12 or 2pm– information obtained with great effort in over an hour of conversation and calls with the front desk lady at our hotel.

Ouaga Sculpture

God how we take getting information as simple as bus departure times via the internet at home for granted!!!!

Our taxi driver, being a little overzealous in his estimation of speed, got us to the station after the 12pm bus had already left. Luckily, there was a waiting area with a TV playing the move Alien: Resurrection, in French to keep us entertained.

The signs said the next bus to Fada was at 1500. The guy who sold me tickets confirmed that there was a bus at 1400. Then another guy asked to check my tickets and told me I had tickets for the 0600 bus and that I should go back to the window. More questions, and the ticket guy just crossed the 0600 time out in colored marker and wrote 1400 in, which seemed to appease the other guy.

Seriously, NOTHING is simple here. Fucking NOTHING.

In need of a beer, Mike agreed to let me walk down the dusty main street in search of one for him and I. I finally came across a street side bar that was full of men, four across sitting at the bar directly opposite me, staring in disbelief. One asked “who are you? Who do you think you are, as a woman buying beer in the middle of the day?’ – or, at least, something to this effect. I replied “Une femme qui a soif “ or a woman who is thirsty. All four of them raised their glass to me at that, and it was quite a funny moment.

After our beer, we boarded our old, falling apart, large, but comfortable bus that was heading to Fada. We got a row of seats each and despite it being very hot and dusty – it was actually a rather comfortable journey of five hours.

Me getting dust off our nasty mattress

Our crack den for the night in Fada

We arrived in Fada just after 7 and I immediately thought I’d landed in post-war zone Iraq. At least what I imagined that would look like. It was desolate, dark and covered in red dirt streets. We walked to a hotel that we’d found in the Bradt guide and found an abandoned building.

Not a good sign.

Taking two motorbikes across the river to a second guesthouse – we found what appeared to be the same thing (we later found out that the lights were just turned off and that we could have stayed there…I guess if we’d yelled loud enough?) and then found a guesthouse that was open, but no one had stayed there in over a year – or so it seemed by the layer of dust on the crappy mattress and the cobwebs in the ceiling.

Mike told me to take a breath and deal – it was, after all only $10 for the night.

Strangely enough, we managed to have one of our best meals of the trip that night which came to $4 including a beer each.

Tomorrow, we’d be heading to the Benin border!

The Garden Route Part I: Wine and Ostrich Country

31 Sunday May 2015

Posted by in Africa, South Africa

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Heading out on our bike tour of Stellenbosch

Heading out on our bike tour of Stellenbosch

My lovely tent mate, Maud, and I headed out from Cape Town and met up in Stellenbosch for some girl time with wine. I had purchased a Baz Bus ticket that allowed me 14 days of unlimited hop on and off transport between Cape Town and Johannesburg. I had a rough itinerary already planned out ( I know, you’re shocked by that!) but was open and willing to make changes along the way should the mood strike or I received a significant personal recommendation.

I knew I wanted to have at least one day in Stellenbosch as a good starting point for my embarking on independent travel. And I was thrilled that Maud was up to meet me there, and go on a biking wine tour.

We were super lucky in that we were the only two people booked on the tour and it was a beautiful sunny day. We met with our guide and started the tour with a cycle around the main town of Stellenbosch and campus of the large university the town is also famous for. The town is framed by the most stunning countryside and mountains and I was thoroughly enjoying being out of the big city, breathing in the fresh air, and enjoying the exercise.

We visited two wineries, both of which were in stunning settings. The first had such an incredible backdrop of lake and mountains that the photos we shot during our tasting looked artificially superimposed. See for yourself!

Lake and mountain view at the vineyard

Lake and mountain view at the vineyard

Right?

Feeling quite tipsy and thoroughly happy after our ride, Maud and I enjoyed a lovely coffee and Belgian waffle on a trendy café-lined street before both going to get haircuts. Unfortunately, my hairdresser decided to cut an extra inch off the right side of my head vs. the left side, and I only noticed upon our return to our hostel…which ended up being an adventure in and of it!

Thoroughly looking forward to a home-made tuna salad, we asked around as to where we might find a cab to drive us to our hostel. No-one seemed to know where we might be able to locate one and we started to grow slightly nervous. We walked to several in-city hostels and we were told that cabs stopped operating at 5pm! What?!!

Don't I look super-imposed onto a green screen in this picture??!

Don’t I look super-imposed onto a green screen in this picture??!

Eventually, a kind hotel shuttle driver offered to drop us off, and we were saved from our complacent “I’m used to being in Cape Town” attitudes.

We enjoyed a lovely evening’s company with our dorm mates who were Peace Corps volunteers from the States working in Zambia. They told us some fascinating stories about the challenging projects they’d been occupied with in the rural center of that country. One of the more memorable, was the locals’ preference for “dry sex”. What on earth is “dry sex”, I hear you ask.

Maud and I chatting with the Peace Corps Volunteers

Maud and I chatting with the Peace Corps Volunteers

Well, I was fascinated to learn as well. Dry sex is sex where there is no internal lubrication in the woman. In fact, along with ensuring (of course) that the woman is not aroused before intercourse, young women in some Zambian villages are literally taught how to dry out their vaginas using certain leaves/herbs in order to please their husbands – who’s preference is for the sex to be nice and rough…ergo “Dry”. The reason the volunteers even got involved in this discussion is because in their health care education efforts, it is important for locals not to engage in this practice as the resulting abrasions vastly increase the chances of spreading the HIV virus which is rampant in Zambia.

Asking them how their efforts at condom education fared – their response was equally disheartening. They told us that locals would say “Well, when I bake a nice juicy chicken, I don’t put it in a plastic bag before I enjoy eating it…!”

Yeah…it’s like that.

From Stellenbosch I said my farewell to Maud and boarded my Baz Bus to my first stop on the famed Garden Route – Outsdhoorn – world capital of the ostrich!

Ostriches in the Ostrich capital of the world

Ostriches in the Ostrich capital of the world

I stayed at Backpacker’s Paradise and it really was one of the nicest hostels I’ve ever stayed at. And it was a paradise for me when I found out on arrival that one of the manager’s was also a masseuse and was willing to give me a massage that evening. It was not only the best massage I’ve had on this trip so far, it was the best massage of my life!

Dinner that night was ostrich meat, roast potatoes and salad.   I ate with a highly immature group of five English girls who giggled hysterically in between their ceaseless chatter about boys they’d hooked up with at last year’s Glastonbury festival. Ahhhh….hostels! Yet again, I discover that I’ve been traveling and staying in hostels since I was 17 alongside the other 18-25 year olds. The only problem is – I’m now 39, but the other backpackers have stayed the same age! What is nice, however, is that with age comes the ability to fend off peer pressure and truly do what one feels is in one’s best interest. For me, it was having my dinner and heading straight to sleep.

Outsdhoorn proved to offer quite an adventurous, strenuous day trip which consisted of being driven to the top of Swartberg Pass (1568 M) and then dropped off with a mountain bike for a 56km (about half downhill) adventure. The weather at the top of the pass was drastically different due to the elevation, and I was glad that I had brought lots of warm layers and my wooly hat! The ride literally started off in the clouds, but it wasn’t too long before I descended below the cloud line and found myself whizzing past green pastures full of ostriches, and rolling hills. It was just lovely.

 

Biking down from Swartberg Pass

Biking down from Swartberg Pass

 

The other main attraction in the area is the Cango Caves. Having visited lots of caves during my trip in South America last summer, I wasn’t too enthused about going – but I decided to at least go check out the visitor center and decide if I wanted to do the full tour or not.

The pictures at the ticket booth were pretty impressive so I signed up for the 90 minutes “adventure” tour – touted as being as close to splunking minus equipment that a person can get.

The cave tour actually far surpassed my expectations – the main caverns were enormous and were beautifully lit to highlight the wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations. As the guided group continued deeper into the cave, the passages got narrower and trickier to get through. Our guide, Theo (a Xhosa) was hilarious telling us stories of fat tourists who’d gotten themselves stuck in some of the passageways and had to get extricated using copious amounts of grease lubricant. Some of the passageways were rather panic-inducing, but I was proud of myself for getting through it.   Unlike many cave systems I’ve been in, this one has no oxygen supply save for the initial opening, so you could really feel the air getting thinner the further you progressed into the cave.

The wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations

The wonderful stalagmite and stalactite formations

At the turnaround point, there was a section that you had to slide down, head first on your tummy in order to squeeze your way through. A few of the larger men in the group had to turn around and come back a different way. It was challenging, but I managed to squeeze through feeling like I was re-enacting my entry to this world through the birth canal. We were all reminded of this when someone commented that the tunnel “opening” looked like a woman giving birth, and as the last tourist slid on out, Theo announced “And it’s a boy!” – and we all had a good laugh.

The rest of the ride back to town was actually quite arduous and I was glad for all the water I’d brought. I was eager to get to the farmhouse that had been recommended to us as having wonderful cakes and tea as I was getting hungry – only to discover that they were closed! The last six kilometers back to the hostel were the longest I’d ever ridden and I walked back into the lobby absolutely famished.

I ordered a piece of carrot cake and a coffee and sat relishing both as I rested my weary muscles.

My "French" evening in Outsdhoorn

My “French” evening in Outsdhoorn

That evening turned out to be rather “French”. I had met a French-Canadian on the bus named Lea (who I continually re-met at various stops along the Baz Bus route as the trip continued) and an American named Jake who was rather fluent in French having just lived in La Reunion these past six months.   Then, two guys from Lyon showed up complete in their V-neck sweaters and matching scarves – and we all went out for a meal which turned out to be dominated with French conversation. Despite struggling a little to keep up and understand – I was decidedly happier with the conversation.

 

Time for Adventure – Baños Part I

01 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by in Ecuador, South America

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Beautiful Baños

Beautiful Baños

I last left you a bit depressed for me because I hadn’t had much luck connecting with other travelers until I met 3 lovely young Americans in Casa Hood Restaurant in the adrenaline capital of Ecuador, Baños. Lucky for me, the 3 Americans were planning to do the same thing as I the following day and so we formed a happy team ready to take on the famous Baños to Puyo “Waterfall Route” on bicycles. I even added a solo traveling Kiwi guy called Nick the next morning because he wanted to tag along. They also had the clever idea to make a stop in the morning at the famed “Tree House” that has a swing that lets you jetty out over the edge of the cloud forest, and when photographed correctly, creates the illusion of thousands of feet of potential freefall beneath you.

The Tree House Swing

The Tree House Swing

The swing was quite fun, but it didn’t even compare with the wonderful downhill mountain bike ride we had for over an hour before re-joining the main road that connects to the waterfall route. It was sheer steep downhill the whole way, and even in the rain, the wafts of tropical warm air made it completely pleasurable.

Waterfall Route

Waterfall Route

The bike ride was fantastic and also a great workout. You can tell that Baños is the gateway to the Amazon “Oriente” region of the country. The dry sierra has turned into a lush green canopy of trees and rushing water. The road was sometimes tricky to navigate with all the traffic driving so close and fast beside you, but luckily, every time there was a tunnel bored through the mountain rock, there was a nice and safe “bike route” that ran alongside the mountain to the right of the main road. Often, the track would be rained down upon by cascading little waterfalls and we gleefully ran our bikes under the cascading water.

Group shot at Paillon Del Diablo

Group shot at Paillon Del Diablo

The highlight of the day, by far, was the Paillon Del Diablo Waterfall. No special mention of these falls is made in my guidebook, other than it’s a 45 minutes walk through the jungle to the falls themselves, with an additional $1.50 charge to get up close and personal.

Pailllon Del Diablo

Pailllon Del Diablo

When we arrived at the falls, my jaw dropped. This was a magical setting, worthy of a movie location for some fantastical tropical world. The waterfall itself cascaded with tremendous power down a rather narrow canyon, but what made the view so interesting was that they had built these undulating cobbled platforms that allowed you to view the waterfalls from several vantage points as well as a tunnel about 3 feet in height that you could crawl through to get to a viewing platform behind the falls themselves.

Crawling up to behind the falls

Crawling up to behind the falls

I was blown away. And rather wet, but happy to have “discovered” this magnificent place.

We all left with giant grins on our faces and biked as far as our legs could stand before we crossed the main road and flagged down a bus heading back to Baños.

To complete our day, we visited the thermal baths that evening. They are what give this volcanic town it’s name. The baths were packed with people and contained 3 pools of varying temperatures from “ooooh this is like a nice bath” to “I’ll have to enter toe first this is so scalding hot”. The key to the “salud” aspect of the baths, was to cool off in the “cold” pool every 10 minutes or so. It was hard to get up the nerve to dunk, but it did feel good after if one braved it.

Simon's face, behind the falls

Simon’s face, behind the falls

All in all, a fantastic day was had by all. The following day, I took the morning to hang out at the hostel and then forced myself to get in a work out (for the sake of my upcoming climb of Cotopaxi)by climbing up to the “Mirador” in town.

At the Cross or Mirador in Baños

At the Cross or Mirador in Baños

Unfortunately, despite this town being in the shadow of the mighty Volcan Tungurahua, you almost never get the chance to see him, since he seems to live semi-permanently in a veil of cloud.

La Isla Bonita: Cycling in Ambergris Caye

05 Tuesday Apr 2011

Posted by in Belize

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Susi and I heading out on our rental bikes

When Madonna sang “Last night, I dreamt of San Pedro” in the late eighties, she was referring to the town of San Pedro on the island of Ambergris Caye off the coast of Northern Belize. After having enjoyed two incredible days of diving on Caye Caulker, I decided to head over to San Pedro, rent a bike, and see just how Bonita La Isla was.

I went with my new British Pal Susie who has a very strong head on her shoulders, a wicked sense of humor and an equally vibrant sense of fun. We hit it off immediately when we met in Flores at the Los Amigos Hostel. Susi had just taken a fall outside on the street and was icing her leg as I came in looking like I’d had the blood purposely drained from my body after my bus ride from Rio Dulce. Perhaps it was the shared sense of suffering. In any case, Susie’s Spanish was limited and she needed help re-booking a bus ticket to Belize City. I offered to make a call for her using my iPhone and Skype (which is a Godsend when you’re traveling I have to say for cheap calls on the go wherever there’s wifi!). The kinship was then solidified over a Chocolate Banana Smoothie.

So Susi and I headed off on the water taxi to San Pedro, a jiffy 30 minutes ride. On arrival, we talked with the most amazingly helpful hotelier who told us where to eat, rent bikes, and catch the boat home. She also suggested that we cycle all the way out to Captain Morgan’s Resort and rest up there while taking a dip in their pool.

Sounded like a stellar suggestion to us!

Riding along the beach

We feasted on Shrimp tacos and Banana Pancakes (sounds like an odd combination but it was the perfect marriage of yummy let me tell you) at Estel’s By the Sea, fuelling up for our mini-adventure.

After generously giving Susi the pink ladies’ bike and saying a little prayer for my girly bits, I mounted my oversized man’s bike and headed north. Susi cried out something about never having driven on the right hand side. I giggled to myself: it wasn’t like we were navigating four lanes of traffic.

Having said that, Ambergris Caye is by far noisier, and busier than Caye Caulker, and there are several vehicles other than golf carts on the streets. There is also a lot more construction going on, with one ugly condo complex after another going up for North Americans wanting to buy a slice of paradise.

The perfect hammock

After ten minutes or so, and cleverly out-peddling the sneaky bridge toll for bicycles (how ridiculous is that? To charge to ride a bike on a bridge??), we veered right to the beach path which was nothing more than hardened sand.

Or at least, mostly hardened sand.

At the Swim-Up Bar, Captain Morgan's Resort

These were not state-of-the-art mountain bikes and at times the sand got rather deep and I would hear Susi shrieking as she lost control. The upside of the difficulty of the trail was the combination of stellar ocean views to one’s right, and real estate-gazing heaven to one’s left. Mansion after mansion after beach villa unfolded before us with some of the most painfully picture perfect beach views I’d even seen, including what Susi and I dubbed “THE Perfect Hammock” which we photographed about a dozen times from different angles.

We finally arrived at Captain Morgans and sheepishly approached the pool bar with its “Resort Members Only” sign. Carlos, the bartender, warmly welcomed us and suggested we take a dip and order a cocktail at the swim up bar. There was no-one else around.

We were moved to tears.

Enjoying myself a little too much

After a fabulous hour of sun, swimming and “Sea Breezes”, we headed back to our water taxi via the main road singing the Island theme song at the top of our voices.

Yeah. Madonna had a point.

“Tropical Island Breeze, all of nature wild and free. This is where I long to be…La Isla Bonita.”

All my photos from The Cayes can be viewed here.

Where: San Pedro, Ambergris Caye, Belize.

When: 30th March

How: Caye Caulker Water Taxi to San Pedro, Joe’s Bike Rental, Drinks at Captain Morgan’s Resort

Lago Atitlan: Laking around San Pedro La Laguna

23 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by in Guatemala

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Arnaud on our bike ride to San Marcos

Lake Atitlan, at 1573 meters/5238 feet, is a volcano fringed high altitude lake that is dotted around its shores with a series of villages that contain largely indigenous populations. Arnaud and I were very fortunate to have great weather on the morning we awoke at Gran Sueno, and we decided to forgoe the extremely expensive guided bike tours (at $55 a person) and just rent a few bikes and make our way along the northern “road” towards San Marcos where we planned to stop for lunch. The bikes were not the most modern, but they worked ok. What was a little cause for concern was hearing a grave warning about the road between San Juan La Laguna and San Marcos. Apparently there was a stretch of this route where tourists can be targeted and robbed by bandits. We were given two options: either get a pick-up to drive us through that section, or, if we saw shady looking characters, we could just ride extra fast to get by them.

Hmmmm…?

The "Las Rocas" Jumping Platform

As it turned out, we didn’t see any shady looking characters, just a bunch of farmworkers and locals walking between towns. Maybe they were bandits, but what exactly do bandits look like? More importantly, however, the road was full of very steep inclines that I struggled to push my bike over, sometimes being forced to jump off and heave my bike uphill on foot. If I were a bandit, I’d pick a nice spot at the top of one of these inclines, and then robbing me would be a piece of cake.

“Ride fast through these sections.” Yeah, right. This person had obviously never ridden a bike to San Marcos.

We made it  without any issues other than being exhausted and a little sunburnt. Dropping our bikes and our daypacks off at a hostel for an hour, we set out in our swim wear to find a spot on the lake where we were told it was possible to jump off the rocks into the lake. It was called “Las Rocas”- and it doesn’t appear in any guidebook. Sure enough, just to the right of the boat jetty, we found several wooden platforms, one of which had a “gate”, that you could open if you dared make the easily 30 feet/10 meter jump into the Lake. Arnaud jumped with no fear; I needed some more time to work up the courage. It was a long way down! After Arnaud made his second leap, he waited in the water below shouting encouragement. Someone said to me: “You can’t look, you just have to do it”.

So I did.

The road to San Marcos

What a rush! Not to mention having to re-assemble my bikini after hitting the water. After buying some yummy empanadas on the street, we elected to continue heading east to the last town accessible by the “road”, Tzununa, and then take the boat back to San Pedro from there. Cycling back to San Pedro was not an option for me, I was spent. The next section was unpaved and made the ride a little more fun and challenging. Plus it was mostly downhill. Score. On the boat back to San Pedro I was pleasantly surprised to meet up with a group of travellers from Poland, and I happily chatted to them in Polish about their trip. It always astounds me just how I always run into another Polish person no matter where I am in the world.

On our second and last day, we elected to climb Volcan San Pedro. We paid 100 quetzals each including entrance to the National Park and a guide. We were told that it was a 3 hour steep ascent, however, that didn’t include the hour it took to walk steeply uphill through San Pedro La Laguna to the park entrance! The climb was primarily in forest and it was unrelentingly steep. After 3 hours since departure, I was seriously feeling pain and hunger (especially since we hadn’t had a substantial breakfast). However, once emerging onto the rocky outcrop at the summit, the pain became all worthwhile as the vista revealed itself. The shining lake and surrounding mountains, thankfully free of clouds. We stayed on the summit until clouds rolled in about twenty minutes later, and completed the knee-jarring descent to the park entrance in two hours. Having adopted another hiker to our group, Nico, from Switzerland, we opted to pay for a tuk tuk directly to the Zoola restaurant to down some seriously needed nosh. After a quick shower, it was time for Arnaud and I to grab a shuttle and head back to Antigua in time for his flight home (sniff sniff) the following morning.

At the summit of Volcan San Pedro, 3020 meters

When: 13th and 14th of March

Where: Hotel Gran Sueno, San Pedro La Laguna and Casa Amarillo in Antigua

How: Shuttle from San Pedro La Laguna to Antigua.