Tag Archives: Transport

Ethiopia Part III: Visiting the Ancient Axumite Kingdom

04 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ethiopia

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The most “Totes Adorbs” sheep you’ve ever seen napping anywhere

The night in Debark turned out rather badly.  Though I was pretty much recovered from the shit-barfs, my cough was back with a vengeance and I awoke around midnight to feeling utterly parched, with a hacking cough.  I looked over and saw that my water bottle was empty – so I got up to refill it and was going to steripen it and drink a whole liter ( I was very dehydrated from the prior day’s exertions) – when I discovered, to my horror, that there was no water coming out of the tap.  I looked over at Mike’s stuff – he was out of water too.  None of us had refilled prior to going out the night before and we’d only drank beer with dinner.

Long winding roads to Axum

I tried to go back to sleep, but found that I wasn’t able to and started getting a headache from the dehydration.  Around 630 am, I decided that maybe someone might be up downstairs and could point me towards a functioning tap.  I dressed and walked down the four flights of stairs only to find that it seemed like the whole hotel and/or block had the water turned off.  I begged for hot water from the kitchen, since they were undoubtedly going to make an entire cauldron of coffee for the buffet breakfast that was due to be ready by 7.  No one understood me.  I went out into the street and walked along for a few blocks when I saw a security guard dozing in a garden of a building that appeared to have a hose attached to a tap.  I walked over and showed him my empty bottles and he kindly turned the tap and miraculously – water came out!

As I hurried back to our room to treat the water so we could drink – I was stopped by a man in the lobby who told me that Tadele (our asshole tour operator) had told him to come and get Mike and me to go to the bus station.  I thanked him, but explained that we were planning to eat first and head over to the station around 8 o’ clock.  That’s when he said we would need to leave by 7:15 because sometimes the bus showed up at 07:30 am – early from Gonder.

A random dude puts our luggage on the roof of the bus

Frustrated and panicked, I rushed up the stairs, woke Michael up and told him we had 15 minutes to get up, pack and be heading to the station.  It was not the morning I had envisioned but we made it to the station by 0730 and anxiously waited for the bus to arrive, where presumably, someone was sitting in our seat from Gonder to ensure someone else didn’t take it.  It’s a strange system.

New Church of St. Mary of Zion, Axum

Our guide who’d brought us disappeared and the minutes ticked on by with no sign of him or the bus.  Eventually, around 0815, I went and found someone who spoke English and he told me that the bus from Gonder usually showed up around 9am, or later.

All that rushing for no reason.

Additionally – the “guide” eventually showed back up and I asked him why he’d told us to come for 0730?  He repeated that sometimes the bus showed up that early.  Then I asked whether he knew the guy who was actually on the bus reserving our seats.  Turns out that he did.  I asked whether he had that guy’s cell phone number?  He said he did.  So, logically, I asked him “Why on earth didn’t you just tell the guy to give you a call when the bus was 15 minutes away from Debark?”

He stared at me, and then responded “Thank you.  That is a very good idea.”

I’m still not sure if he was being genuine or if he was the first African I’d met who understood the concept of sarcasm.

NOT happy on this bus ride

In any case, the bus eventually showed up on the street at around 9:15am and there was total pandemonium.  Some guy grabbed our suitcases and hauled them up to the roof, and then started demanding money.  People were yelling and squeezing to get on board which had standing room only.  Our guide literally pushed us on board where we played squeezing musical chairs to get into our seats for the journey.

Finally, we were on our way.  Despite the fact that the journey first to Shire was only 180 kms or 100 miles, it took over 9 hours to arrive.  The bus literally struggled to keep moving forward on the bending mountainous roads we covered.  It was incredibly hot, and since Ethiopians just hate direct sunlight or a breeze, most of the windows either stayed shut, or if by the grace of God they were open, the curtain was pulled all the way across preventing precious fresh air from getting in.  It was an exhausting and claustrophobic journey – and we were lucky enough to be seated!  Many people stood this entire way.

Legends abound in Axum

We stopped a couple of times to pee in the bush, but I definitely arrived in Shire dehydrated and tired.  Mike had the smart idea to gather all the faranji folks from the bus (there were about 7 of us) and we each paid for 2 seats on a minibus for the final hours’ drive to Axum and subsequently, we were able to leave straight away.  The room and open windows in the van were an incredible relief – even more so to the few passengers who’d begun their journey that morning at 5am from Gonder!

We finally arrived at our chosen hotel for the night – aptly and generically named Africa Hotel.  Mike and I wandered off to an international hotel for dinner and ordered some delicious tomato soup and then we shared a burger (my appetite had still not fully returned.)

Mike checks out the funeral procession

Group of churchgoing white-robed ladies

We chose to rest the following day as we were both spent from the Simiens and what was an even more arduous day of sitting on the bus the day before.  I did laundry and tried to edit photos – though I was having some major technology issues that was taking hours to work around and in the end I gave up and went for a walk and had beers with Mike at a lovely little restaurant he’d found called Kuda Juice and Burger that had this delightful outdoor green space.  I felt a little better after having a good cry with Mike (I don’t quite remember what was upsetting me at the time) – he is certainly a good listener and I appreciate him for that very much.

It was time to pack and head out again – this time we would be traveling through the region known as Tigray which had some famous 5th and 6th century rock-hewn churches to visit and would be a nice way to kill time as we made our way to Mekele from where we would join a tour with Ethio Travel Tours to the Danakil Depression.

The agency we booked with was located in our hotel and we were given the choice of a one day drive-thru to Mekele visiting a couple of churches, or a two-day private tour where we could visit four or five churches.  Not being an avid history aficionado, and certainly not someone to whom visiting churches, however historical, is that appealing –  I told Mike I wasn’t really bothered about which tour we did and could do whatever he felt made the most sense.  Mike opted for the two-day tour as it would include a visit to Debre Damo – a monastery atop a mountain that was only accessible by men and involved a 15 meter climb with rope and a priest helping to haul you up the vertical cliff.  He liked the idea of the challenge since he has a fear of heights.  I wanted to support him in that brave quest.

Stelae Field in Axum

The next morning we met our driver who said his name was “Sneetchie” – I have no idea if I’ve spelled his name correctly or not.  He was 22 years old and played some awesome music for us in the minivan that we had all to ourselves.  We arranged first of all to visit some of the historic sites of Axum including the Stelae field (which date from 300 to 500 A.D) which most likely served as funeral monuments and pre-date the arrival of Christianity to Ethiopia (Ethiopia was the second country after Armenia to implement the practice of Christianity) The tallest one still standing is 24 meters, and the Great Stele probably fell down during construction – was 33 meters in length.  When Italy occupied Ethiopia under Mussolini’s regime in 1937 – the five broken pieces were taken by truck and ship to Rome as ‘war booty’ and put back together, not getting repatriated back until 1947!

The five-piece stelae that was returned to Ethiopia in 1947

These Stelae marked the center of what at the time was one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world – the Royal Kingdom of Axum, and they are still quite an impressive sight.  There are tunnels and burial sites that you can walk through – and though they were once filled with incredible treasures – they have since all been looted and robbed.

Some of the Stelae had modern reinforcements now

One of the burial sites

We spent a few hours walking around and then when it was time to leave – we couldn’t seem to locate our private van anywhere.  Worse yet, Axum has some of the pushiest cab/tuk-tuk drivers anywhere and we were asked every two minutes whether we needed a taxi.  Getting hungry, I started eating a dry sweet roll I’d bought earlier that morning and some guy walked over and told me to stop eating in public because other people were fasting that day.  I told him that I wasn’t fasting or a Christian.   So, not a very comfortable place to sit around waiting.  Though we did get to watch and photograph these gorgeously cute sheep who were napping on each other on the side of the road.

After wandering around a while longer, we came across a funeral procession and a few of the modern churches that were dotted around the Stelae field and the Queen of Sheba’s baths (though they looked like disintegrating rock walls to me.)  The official Ark of the Covenant was supposedly also housed in some museum in Axum – but our guidebooks stated that there was no credible evidence that it was actually here – so my Indiana Jones’ notions were crushed.

Eventually, Sneetchie showed up and we headed in the direction of Tigray.

Benin Part II – Stilt Villages and Voodoo

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Benin

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The Stilt Village of Ganvie

The bus journey was actually quite comfortable.  If you can stand the fact that they insisted on blaring loud gospel music for hours starting at 6am, followed by God-awful Benin-ois soap operas played back to back for hours on end, all of which had essentially the exact same plot.  There would be a room of men shouting at one guy, the victim.  He would eventually get beaten with a stick and have his shirt taken from him while all the men continued yelling.  Then there would be a “romance” scene with a man and a woman in some passionate embrace, followed by them having a falling out.  The woman would then grasp her face in both hands, crying, and begging the man to not leave her (am guessing here) while he loudly berates her before storming out.  Then the final scene would be the crying woman seeking comfort from her father/friend about the awful man who’d yelled at her.

I swear it was the same plot every episode – and the people on the bus were absolutely mad for it and laughed up a storm.

The good thing about this very long journey was the fact that we had air conditioning.  The bus also actually stopped a number of times for bush pees – and I learned a fascinating thing.  The women in Benin use large rectangles of fabric, much like the material they use to tie a baby to their backs, to cover themselves while they squat and pee out in the open alongside the men!  It’s ingenious!  The only trick is to skip wearing panties, and presto – the woman’s nightmare of peeing in the bush in Africa in private is partially solved.

Our lovely air-conditioned bus from Tanguieta to Cotonou

Sure beats holding it in for hours, I can tell you.  I made a mental note to make better use of my sarong for next time.

After weeks and weeks of public transport and bus stations – I can tell you that what Africa needs above all else – is an abundance of clean, available, usable, public toilets.  We take toilets for granted.  Toilets are a luxury item.  And peeing isn’t a big deal for guys – though some very funny signs in Togo and Ghana warned that urination against a particular wall carried with it the penalty of death!

We got off the bus in Abomey-Cavalie, the town where there was a port where one could catch motorized pirogues (long wooden fishing boats) to the stilt villages of Ganvie.  Hundreds of years ago, the local people started building homes on the lake to try and escape being captured in the slave trade.  Since then, over 130,000 people now call these settlements in the middle of the lake home (and, presumably so does the raw sewage they must pump out into it on a daily basis…)

Men and women sporting matching outfits in pirogues in Ganvie

We were met with the normal swarm of moto-taxis vying for our business.  Two guys who were particularly aggressive told us they knew where our hotel was and started grabbing our bags before we had negotiated a price.  They asked for 1500 and I stated I wanted to pay 1200 and they started arguing violently talking about the price of gas, blah and blah as per normal.  However, they were also super pushy, so I decided against going with them and walked a little further down to a nice quiet rider who immediately agreed to my stated fare.  At that moment, the two guys who’d lost my business come over and start screaming at this man saying he doesn’t get to give me and Mike a ride.  This escalates and Mike and I take a step back as now a larger group of men are screaming at each other and starting to fight.  The whole thing is ridiculous.

A “supervisor” of sorts comes over and asks me what is going on.  I state that I want to ride with my chosen moto-taxi.  He takes our luggage and starts walking away and gives it to two totally new moto drivers and we are forced to leave this melee that is quickly worsening.  I turn around and try to tell the poor man who is being attacked that I’m sorry – and off we go.

Not exactly what we wanted for our first 10 minutes off an 11-hour bus ride.

We arrive at our accommodation for the night and immediately order some dinner and beer.  After half an hour, the driver who was attacked shows up to apologize.  He told us that the two guys who first tried to take us to our hotel were drunk and it was good that I had avoided them.  At first I am taken aback by his kindness, but then came the predictable “sob story/ask for help/please can I call you in the US and you can get me a visa?” part of the conversation.  By this point, I was hoarse with my standard sore throat/cough and could barely speak English, let alone French.  I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to send this poor guy away empty-handed.

I told him, in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t help him come to America.  That it wasn’t the prized solution he thought it was – it was a tough and unforgiving place where you need to speak English, not French, to get by.  I told him if he was determined to leave Benin, he should consider France first – but also to consider that perhaps life in the West was not as glorified as he imagined.  I asked if he wanted the opportunity to make some money and make up for the business he had lost that evening.  He said yes.  So – I asked him what he would charge us to go buy phone credit for Mike and some cough/cold medicine for me.  After another short lecture on how important it is for him to decide what the value is for his time (since so many Africans rely on the “pay me whatever you think my services are worth to you” mentality) we came to an agreed amount.  He happily went and ran our errands for us, and we were able to pay him for his time.

It felt like a positive outcome from a negative event.

The following morning, we moto’ed again over to the port to await the arrival of our orange truck.  It felt a little weird and good at the same time to be seeing our friends again, and we soon got a message from Sinead that they were running a little behind schedule.  A commotion on the dock drew our attention and we wandered over, only to find ourselves in the midst of an annual Voodoo ceremony commemorating the start of the Voodoo calendar in Benin!  It was quite a spectacle.

Priest officiating the Voodoo Ceremony

Woman, feeling the “spirit” move her

There was a couple hundred people all dressed ornately in white, some with face tattoos/painting.  A priest, I’m assuming, was chanting over some lit candles which were, in fact, not candles at all but lit cigarettes mounted in a tall candle-holder.  He was holding a pigeon that was presumably going to get sacrificed.  All the while, musicians played rhythmically on drums, drawing shouts and dancing from the crowd.

After a few minutes, several women starting showing signs of contortion and flailing about, as if possessed.  They pawed at their own faces and started screaming in gibberish (though, of course, we couldn’t quite tell the local dialect from gibberish, so whether or not they were speaking in tongues or not remains a mystery.)  It was quite a spectacle and Mike and I were proud that we had taken the initiative of walking over and getting involved with this local ceremony – we were travelers, unlike the other white “tourists” who stood waiting for their own pirogues to show up on the docks – completely ignoring this authentic display of culture because it wasn’t a part of their organized itinerary.

Soon enough, the Dragoman truck showed up and we were greeted heartily by our friends old and new before piling into two boats that headed out into the lake.

The stilt village of Ganvie was a photographer’s dream because it was full of people going about their daily lives, so very different to any other we’d seen, because their life was on the water.  It was a Benin version of Venice.  In addition, since it was a Sunday, and the start of their New Year, many locals were dressed in their very best – and even better, entire boatloads of men and women passed by our chosen hotel for the night dressed in identical vibrantly colored and highly-patterned costumes.

One of our pirogues used to get to the island

Our hotel was very basic and unfortunately, not all rooms had fans in them and we were facing a very sleepless night in the bug-infested, hot and humid night air.  In addition, the hotel was built out of wood with very rickety floorboards that had massive gaps/holes in them – our room being situated above the kitchen such that we also got the conversations and the plethora of aromas rising up from below.  Add to that the fact that the bed was on a sloping floor, we both committed to sleeping somewhere out in the open that night – especially after deciding to move the bed clockwise so that the slope was from head to feet rather than lateral, and realizing too late that this meant our mosquito net would no longer fit the bed.

Some of the oldest structures on the lake – over 120 years old.

We passed lunch with beer catching up with friends and watching life boat by us on the water from the convenient balcony above the restaurant which afforded a great viewing platform.  In the afternoon, we ventured out onto the water once more, visiting more settlements, some of the oldest stilt homes in the lake, and a few mosques/churches built on the few land masses/islands that existed at the center of this large body of water.

The oil needed for boats, generators and cooking in these villages came from Nigeria – and we were shown the giant jerry-can laden boats that make the hazardous journey via the lake across the border to buy illegal oil to bring back in the dead and dark of night.  We were also lucky enough to spot some beautiful kingfishers diving for their own lunches in the water.

Offerings on the ground at the Voodoo Ceremony

On our return, we saw a huge line of boats with villagers all patiently waiting for fresh water that is presumably pumped from a spring hundreds of meters below the lake bed.  The water was being dispensed by a giant pipe that one by one was filling the huge water containers that locals used for their freshwater needs.

It was a sight to see and the line didn’t seem to grow any shorter as the sun began to set.

My night passed quite fitfully and awkwardly – maybe one of the worst I’d had in Africa yet on this trip.  Mike, I and Jodie all opted to vacate our “rooms” above the kitchen to place our mattresses on the second floor of the hotel in a wide open space at the top of the stairs.  The air was still and hot, but at least it was cooler than our fanless rooms.

After about an hour, Mike fast asleep, I noticed I was getting bitten all over by mosquitoes.  I decided to go back to the room, realizing though, that our bed no longer had a mattress on it!  Thankfully, I had my own inflatable sleeping pad, but once I placed it on the bed – I faced two issues.  One – the slats of the bedframe were too big to properly support my small pad, and Two – the mosquito netting only covered the pad partially, inviting my original problem back with a vengeance.

Realizing that Jodie had also left her room, I went next door and settled my sleeping pad on her bedframe which was made out of wire and therefore supported my pad.  Unfortunately, without her mattress on the bed frame, the mosquito net also didn’t quite reach me, and some of the little buggers were able to fly up for their blood-feed through the wire frame of the bed.

It was 2am by now and I was exasperated and tired.

I decided to take my sleeping pad and try the other side of the hotel where perhaps additional breeze meant fewer mozzies.  I found Ron, one of the trucks’ passengers trying to catch some Zzzz’s in a chair – telling me it was just too hot in his room to sleep.  Sympathizing, I offered him my sleeping pad, and resolved to go back to where Mike was still happily asleep.

I doused myself in extra repellant, took an ambien, and hoped for the best.  I finally managed to get a few hours’ sleep before having to awake for breakfast and our boat ride back to the mainland.

Grabbing our luggage from the hotel in Abomey-Cavalie, our guides from Ganvie were kind enough to drive us to a taxi rank and negotiate for us a ride to Ouidah – our next stop along the Benin coast.  Turns out that the screaming/arguing we had observed a few nights’ prior amongst moto and taxi drivers alike – is standard practice.  At least we weren’t involved this time as it took about 15 minutes for our guides to negotiate a fair and reasonable fair to the coast.  I was so tired, I was glad to have someone else deal with this apparently unavoidable discussion/fight that ensues at almost every stage of navigating the logistics of public transport.

Super happy and chillin’ in our lovely hotel pool in Ouidah

On arrival in Ouidah, we found a lovely and well-maintained, clean, rather upscale hotel with a beautiful pool only ten minutes’ walk from the beach.  I was thrilled, and after some lunch and a swim, enjoyed a glorious nap to make up for my prior mostly sleepless night.

Benin Part I: A Safari to Remember

13 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Benin

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Beautiful bird in Penjari

The night in Fada N’Gourma luckily passed without incident, unless you count the fact that Mike and I both got up in the night and had to pee in our shower, since our bathroom was sans toilet.  We had to get transport to Pama and then onto the border with Benin from there, so the first order was to find a ride to where minibuses were heading south.  We had been seeing these tricycle trucks that were flatbed trucks being pulled by a motorcycle, and I couldn’t resist thumbing one down and asking if he would take us to the station.  At first, the guy was confused since he wasn’t a taxi – but gladly accepted our offer of money and we were happily on our way.  It was one of my favorite forms of transportation yet.

Happy on the Tricycle

Getting aboard the tricycle

Better yet, the guy driving knew exactly where to go, and I was lucky enough to be able to find a café that let me fill my Nalgene with coffee for the long journey ahead.

In a triangulation with 3 countries

The minibus was jam-packed and turned out to be one of the tightest squeezes on our foray into West African public transport to date.  At one point we were 23 people, 6 goats, a motorcycle strapped to the roof, luggage, jerry cans and even then 2 more people squeezed in through the back windows to fill any available pocket of air, regardless of whether an area of their butt actually touched a seat or not.  Mike and I were squished together to where we had to relieve certain areas of our body that had gone numb in unison, otherwise it was pointless.

I was pretty happy to get out of that transport once we were close to the border.

Guy getting in to the already crammed minibus through the window!

Our minibus

For the rest of the ride, we negotiated to go in a private taxi that wanted to take six people before it would leave.  Imagine riding with 2 people in the front seat and 4 squeezed into the back?  Yeah.  That is standard practice in Burkina.

To be able to get going faster and have a little more room, we negotiated to pay the cost of 5 seats so that the one person waiting could still go and we wouldn’t have to wait any longer.  All seemed to be going well until our driver decided it would be ok to try and make some extra cash along the way and leverage the fact that he already had six paid fares in the bag.  First, he picked up someone who rode in the front for five miles and then mysteriously got out.  Then, he tried to put a pregnant woman and her small daughter in the front seat sitting next to/on a man she’d never met.  We violently protested and, of course, insisted that she get in the back with us.  I complained to the driver who just kept saying it was only for a “short distance” – which was a blatant lie.

The woman, who at first was grateful, decided she could own her part of the back seat and gladly spread out herself and her child to where Mike and I were now squashed.  I assured the driver that he had broken his agreement with us and he was not gonna be getting the full fare.

How to wind up a window in Burkina Faso

I was well and truly convinced of this when he had the audacity to then further pick up another THREE guys and put them in the rear of the vehicle, crushed and sitting on top of our luggage.  I was livid at this point, and by the time Mike and I had made it through the border crossing and the extra hour to Tanguieta, the town we would stay at in order to visit Penjari National Park the next day, I was determined to only pay for 3 of 6 seats and geared up for a confrontation.

I gave the money to the driver, got out of the taxi and walked straight into our hotel for the night – and the taxi drove away without saying a word.

Huh!

Mike climbing onto the “death seat”

Exhausted, hot, sweaty and irritated – we still had to figure out transport and a guide for tomorrow, as well as figure out communication/SIM cards for our time in Benin.  After a shower and beer on the rooftop terrace, we started feeling a little better.  The hotel contacted a local guide, Charles, who came over to the hotel to explain what would be involved in a visit to Penjari the next day. Another guy who worked for the hotel in maintenance had also been kind enough to go into town and register SIM cards for Mike and I.  We offered to pay him for his trouble and he actually turned it down.  We were shocked – that was a first in Africa.   Charles explained that this was not that uncommon and that the Beninoise people were very hospitable by nature and truly wanted visitors to feel welcome.

We were going to need to be ready to leave the next day at 4:30am in order to get to the park at a reasonable hour to spot wildlife.  We would rent a private 4×4 vehicle and complete a full game drive till around 2pm when we would leave the park and head to a waterfall for a refreshing swim.  We then negotiated into our private tour the option to visit a traditional Tata Somba house in the evening before returning to the hotel.

Baboon

Baby Elephant

Charles didn’t disappoint.  Unfortunately, despite being promised repeatedly that there would be a packed/prepared breakfast ready for us to take on safari at 0500 – the restaurant was closed and no-one who was awake knew or cared enough to find out where our promised food order was.  This meant that we would have to go till 2pm without refreshment as there was apparently no services inside the park until we had reached a distance where the two lodges were located.  Luckily, Charles knew of a shack that sold coffee and eggs that was open at this ungodly hour.

Not only was it open, but they were literally blasting a full on action movie at that time.  It was something to behold.  Armed with coffee and baguettes with fried eggs – we could finally be on our way.

We tried to get some sleep but the road was just too bumpy.  We arrived at the park around 6am and had to register.  Then Charles put up the rooftop seat for us to climb into for our private game drive.  Apart from the fact that the seat up there had no guard rail and a large bump in the road or an overly enthusiastic right turn would result in certain death for the unfortunate occupant of that side of the seat or both – it was super fun being up there.

Beautiful Penjari Lodge where we had lunch

Mike, ever the gentleman

I’d say the wildlife here was far less habituated to humans than we had seen in Mole and so, Penjari became a highlight for us.  Aside from the expected crocodiles, hippos, baboons, oodles of antelope (JAFA, or AKA Just another fucking antelope) elephant and warthogs, we also saw red colobus monkey and some incredibly colorful birds that I can’t remember the names of, but will try to include photos of lhere.

We were altogether quite happy with our decision to visit, and yet, the highlight of our day was to come during our lunch stop at the Penjari Lodge.  I had requested to dine at this accommodation because I knew they had a watering hole and I thought we might be able to view more wildlife while having lunch.  As it turned out, it was a beautiful spot and rather swanky to boot – and despite the fact that they told us the kitchen didn’t serve lunch, per se, and we could only have spaghetti with tomato sauce – we were quite happy to enjoy cold beer and our simple meal while watching for more animals.

During our meal, the waiter came over to tell us that a lion had been spotted at the watering hole.  We excitedly made our way over and looked through our own binoculars as well as with the hotel’s own standing powerful scope that afforded a very clear close up of the two lionesses who were walking together around the water.  It was such a treat to see big cats – which are rarely spotted anywhere in West Africa anymore.  After about a half hour, satisfied, we returned to finish our now-cold spaghetti.

A huge herd of Hartebeest started approaching the watering hole and also a family of warthogs (well, I like to think they were a family, but I really have no clue).  The lions were nowhere to be seen, but the herd was beautiful to see nonetheless.

Just as I had grown tired of watching them and was about to go back yet again to our table, Mike shrieks and says “Oh My God!  One of the lionesses just grabbed an antelope!” and in an instant I spun around to see the cloud of red dust from which emerged the gruesome sight of an unfortunate Hartebeest with its neck in the jaws of one lioness while the other was chewing away at its intestines and leg.  This was my second time seeing a “kill” in the wild, and I couldn’t believe we were so lucky as to have such a clear view of what in reality was a good distance away, through the hotel’s scope.  I started screaming in French in case any of the other guests of the hotel were in earshot and wanted to witness this spectacle.

Lionesses with their kill

Lions at the watering hole

Incredibly, people seemed totally nonplussed at this awesomeness and we continued to have the viewing platform to ourselves, and we were giddy as children with toys.

As gruesome as it was to watch, it was still just astonishing.  These cats really play with their food.  This animal was being eaten alive – it took a full ten minutes for it to die.  One cat just held it in its mouth, allowing the other to eat.  You could see the ring of blood around her mouth as she munched away.

In any case, we were grinning from ear to ear when we left and Mike was excited to see what shots he’d managed to capture on his zoom camera.  Charles was happy for us – he didn’t get to see it at all as he was attending to our rented vehicle whose wheel had decided to come loose…luckily for us, right as we arrived at the lodge.

If the lion kill hadn’t been entertaining enough, Charles woke us both from afternoon naps on the way out to see a herd of elephants that were crossing the road right in front of the car, including a few juveniles.  As we stood up out of the car to get a better look, the dominant male starting to charge our vehicle!  We jumped back inside and Charles floored it out of there.  So exciting!

By the time we reached the waterfall it was after 4 in the afternoon and blazing hot.  It was a nice 30- minute walk to the lower falls and we cheerfully noted that we passed the campground where the Dragoman truck had stayed just three days prior.  After a refreshing swim in and around the falls, and watching the daredevil climbing antics of a few locals – it was time to head back to Tanguieta.  I did purchase some drop earrings made from bone that were being sold by a local artist – it’s so rare that I buy souvenirs, but this had been a special day for sure.

Mike and I at the first waterfall

Refreshing dip at the second waterfall

Despite our blinding exhaustion, Charles said that he had promised us a Tata Somba tour, and by God, despite the growing darkness, he was going to show us one.  These are traditional homes in the north of Togo and Benin that are designed to house livestock in the ground floor of the home along with a kitchen, and the roof contains other rooms where the family sleep, eat, and where grains/foods are stored.  We got a tour by a very enthusiastic Tata Somba occupant, and managed to take just a few flash-produced photos before I insisted Charles drive us back to our lodging at Hotel Atacora because we had now had a 15-hour day-trip and I was so tired I no longer knew my own name.

Me climbing to the roof of this traditional Tata Somba home

Unfortunately, there is no rest for the wicked, and the next day we were going to be leaving the hotel at 0500 to catch the 0600 bus that would be taking us all. The. Way. South. To Abomey-Calavie – a stop just short of Cotonou, and a journey which promised to be about 11 hours long.  We would be re-joining our friends on the Dragoman truck the following day on an overnight stay/tour to the stilt villages of Ganvie.

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!

Burkina Fasso Part I: Swine by Candlelight

08 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Burkina Fasso

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Entering a traditional home in Tiabele

We ordered a private taxi to take us back to Domango where we would pick up a minibus heading back to Tamale and then north from there to the Burkina Fasso border. We asked that he make a stop along the way to a famed mud and stick mosque that’s over 700 years old in Larabanga – and it’s still in use today!

Here are the photos. These types of structures are most famous for being located in Mali, but they do occur in other places across this latitude.

At the Mud and Stick Mosque

Once we arrived in Domango we found a minibus that was slowly filling up to take people to Tamale, but it was progressing rather slowly and something just didn’t feel right to me when I was told that this was the “only” form of public transport going to Tamale. In looking for a bathroom, I stumbled across the public bus station and lo and behold but a large bus was about to leave for Tamale for the same price!! I was so mad and told them to wait before having to run back down the road, scream at Mike to come and demand our money back from the lying minibus driver before just making it and finding seats.

Though the bus was slow going and rough going over those famous Ghanaian speed bumps, we were glad to at least be moving, and we might have been waiting over two hours for the first form of transport to depart.

Once arriving in Tamale, rather strangely in the middle of a food market (what the actual fuck) we took a cab to the Tro Tro station that served northern routes to Bolgatanga. Since the Tro Tro was full, we were offered a private car for 25 cd’s each, but we had to wait for it to fill. So, we decided to pay for 3 seats so we wouldn’t be squashed in the back and we could leave sooner.

The driver of this taxi turned out to be a total douchebag and tried to charge us mid-journey another 5 cd’s each for our luggage in the trunk. We argued that since we’d bought the middle seat in the back, we would happily move our luggage to occupy the empty space between us – and he started arguing “what IF a third person was sitting back there – THEN where would you put your luggage?” I really lost my temper at that point and told him that the time to inform a passenger of ALL applicable costs was BEFORE the journey commenced and that he could take his illogical hypothetical nonsense and shove it because he was being an idiot. If he didn’t like it – we would get out of the car there and then.

I could feel Mike cringing next to me, but I’d had enough and was unwilling to let patience and politeness rule the day with this man. Fortunately, my abrasiveness paid off – he didn’t know what to do or say to me and kept quiet the rest of the way, even showing a willingness to take us further on to the Burkina border for a reasonable fare.

I guess he wasn’t used to having a woman stand up to him.

I was initially nervous about the border crossing and traveling there as Burkina Fasso had recently experienced an enormous drop in tourism since the two terrorist attacks by the Northern African branch of ISIS in 2016 and 2017. Over 30 people had been shot at the popular coffee spot “Cappuccino” on Kwame Nkrumah avenue and the Splendid hotel across the street in Ougadougou in January of 2016, then in August of 2017, 18 people were killed just down the street at Aziz Istanbul restaurant. Both attacks had targeted westerners/ex-pats and Burkina has seen a sharp drop in tourism since then.

At the Burkina Fasso Border Crossing

As it turned out, the border crossing was simple, and the customs guy on the Burkina side was overjoyed that two Americans were coming to his country. Plus, it was nice to speak some French again.

We had arranged to visit a unique set of villages in a place called Tiabele, which was only about 60kms or so from the border. A guide named Arnaud had been recommended to us to arrange accommodation and a tour of his home, made famous for both its culture and for how they are made out of mud clay and then painted in a variety of symbolic artwork and color.

We took a very very old and rickety taxi to Po, where we would be meeting with Arnaud. Burkina turned out to have the oldest ramshackled vehicles on the trip thus far, with drivers using brute force to change gears, or even open a window (with a wrench kept in the glovebox for this purpose.) Since we didn’t have a sim and we were running about an hour behind schedule, I borrowed the driver’s phone to let Arnaud know that we were on our way.

I was hot, dusty, exhausted and thirsty when we arrived and the very last thing I wanted to do was have a long conversation in French. However, when Arnaud suggested we start with a cold large beer for refreshment, that certainly perked me up somewhat.

Arnaud seemed very genial – he explained that his village system had a royal court/family and that he was a prince (ooh la la) and we would be staying at an Auberge only 100m from his residence in a traditional style hut with rooftops where one could take a mattress on hot nights to sleep outside. He suggested we get showers and a good meal tonight and then tomorrow he would plan a full day’s activities for us.

Once acquainted, imbibed, and a guinea fowl purchased (alive and presumably for Arnaud’s family dinner) we hopped in his rented vehicle and drove to Tiabele, arriving as it was getting dark.

Arnaud driving with the shortly doomed Guinea Fowl

We showered and walked over to the restaurant that Arnaud had arranged for us. It was a couple’s home, with a few tables and chairs laid out in their garden. The host was super gracious and friendly, and fixed a candle to the table itself by pouring hot wax first to hold the candle firmly in place.

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

Our meal could only be described as maize based white sticky paste and a side dish of brown mush that may have contained some nuts and meat. It was edible and another beer helped wash it down.   It was the ambiance that was so indelible, and I joked with Mike (who is like a brother to me) that we were really missing out on this opportunity to gaze at each other, and drink some wine by candlelight in this romantic spot.

He laughed and looking around and seeing the family’s chickens, goats, cats and pigs all meandering around us, he replied, “Well, we do have SWINE by candlelight, for sure!”

Ghana Part VI: Tamale, Mole and the whole Enchilada

06 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ghana

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Finding an empty Tro Tro at side of the road near our hotel…YEAH!!!

We grumpily decided we’d need to get an early start that Friday (19th of January) in order to make it back to Accra with plenty of time to collect my passport from Isaac and get to the airport in time for our 3pm flight with Africa World Airlines- an airline name that defies our US president – to Tamale, a northern city that serves as the gateway to Mole National Park – Ghana’s biggest and most famous national park (which, incidentally, was not included in any of the Dragoman itineraries)

We managed to flag an empty tro tro on the side of the road that was heading to Ho. I know, this joke never gets old. Incidentally, I had forgotten to mention that when I had arrived in Amedzofe a few days prior, on foot, a taxi had pulled up alongside me, rolled down the window and asked “Ho?”.

Hilarious.

Once we were in Ho, it was an easy transfer to another tro tro heading to Accra – and we were offered the front seat, so it was decidedly comfier. After grabbing some ice creams (which are basically plastic tubes of ice cream that you suck through the corner of the bag after you’ve ripped the corner off with your teeth) it was a relatively easy journey that even dropped us off at a bus stop for the airport.

Thankfully, Issac met us at the stop and walked with us to the airport. I haven’t walked to many airports before, so this was interesting.

After checking in, Mike and I caved in to eating some comfort food in the form of pizza and beer and before we knew it, it was time to board.

Boarding our Africa World Airlines Flight

The flight only lasted 50 minutes but was incredibly comfortable and well serviced. We were given a drink of juice and a meat pie (which we thankfully ate later in the taxi heading to the park) and we were able to see the outlines of dusty villages from the dry and barren savannah lands that define the north of the country.

On arrival, we met a Cameroonian who played basketball in Austin, which is incidentally where Mike last lived before venturing out on his travels. His name was Alex, and he has started a non-proft called Leading through Reading and was there doing some work. Apparently, his parents adopted him from Cameroon when he was already 14 years old and didn’t speak a word of English. At 6ft 8”, he was a gentle giant and I’ll always remember his warm smile and demeanor.

Mike chatting with Alex about Basketball, presumably showing him how to shoot hoops

We were bundled off into a taxi with a very miserable driver (not many of them in Ghana) who complained about my trying to negotiate a rate with him to drive us all the way to Mole saying the usual “Petrol is expensive. That is too cheap, Madam, and you understand this is the standard price…blah blah blah” bullshit that every driver spits out the moment you question his quoted fare.   In any case, he was only taking us to the station where we were going to catch public transport to as close to the park as we could get.

As we headed to a tro tro, I stopped to ask another taxi driver what he would charge to drive us all the way privately (it was at least a two hour drive and would be longer/dark by public transport). I managed to negotiate a rate that was less than half what Mr Misery wanted and given the fact that he would also take us straight to the Mole Motel where we had a reservation, and the fact that we’d been traveling all day, we jumped at the chance.

Ecstasy over finding a top sheet

This driver was the total opposite of the first. His name was Abdullah and he had the most infectious, raucous laugh that came from nowhere – he laughed at almost every thing we said, even when it was just to comment on the speed bumps.

Oh, speed bumps. In Ghana. Are the worst.

Though the fact that we timed cute noises as our driver ran his ramshackle beat up car that hadn’t seen a new cabin filter in over two decades over the bumps at breakneck speed made him crack up even more heartily.

He made the two hour journey in about 90 minutes. I had a headache from the fumes that seemed to be coming directly into the car and keeping the windows open wasn’t stopping us from inhaling it. But we were super grateful to arrive at our hotel with enough time to grab a quick bite to eat (which ended up being a rather stale and dry piece of chicken that the waiter claimed was Guinea Fowl and looked at me with a death stare for daring to question the validity of his claim) before retiring to our massive three-bedded room with corresponding three blue buckets of water in the bathroom.

Our beds had topsheets and we enjoyed a good laugh taking some pictures of me ecstatic from having a topsheet.

The next morning we woke early to catch a 7am game drive.   Safaris here are some of the cheapest in Africa, costs being about $11 per person for a two hour excursion (with five persons sharing the vehicle.) . We were lucky in that we were able to share our vehicle with a group of three young ladies from the Netherlands who were volunteering in Tamale as this kept our overall cost down.

Our Safari vehicles in Mole

Immediately upon trying to leave Mole park headquarters, we spotted an elephant roaming around the ranger residences and getting extremely close to the tourists who had opted for a walking safari. Although it was lovely to see an elephant so soon, we didn’t want to photograph an elephant that had a crowd of people in the foreground and houses in the background. It just didn’t feel right. That, and the fact that we had paid for a vehicle, which was thus far only following the walking tour.

After heading out of the area, we passed Mole village where many of the park workers live. We saw a lot of baboons and warthogs hanging around and they seemed totally habituated to humans.

The rest of the drive did not disappoint, thought it was bitterly cold in the morning air and I cursed at myself for not grabbing my windbreaker. The safari vehicles were kitted out with rows of benches for sitting on the roof, allowing for a great viewing platform from which to spot animals. We managed to see more elephants, a beautifully vibrant-colored bird called an Abyssinian Roller, lots of antelope, waterbuck, a mongoose and we ended the drive at a watering hole complete with crocodiles. We were allowed to descend from the vehicle and take photos and as we did, another herd of elephants arrived to drink at the water and afforded us some lovely photographic opportunities.

Mike and I by the watering hole with Elephants

By the time we returned, we were ravenous for breakfast and happily joined our new Dutch friends who were young enough to be our children and still shone brightly with the naivety and innocence of barely having reached adulthood.

The day grew quite hot and I was excited that the hotel had a pool. We were planning on getting changed into our bathers and taking a dip when someone called over that a group of elephants were now getting in to the watering hole and were bathing themselves.

In all, there were nine elephants that we were able to watch and observe for a good few hours as they frolicked about and swam in the lake below. I was even able to do this with a cold Smirnoff in my hands by the pool in my bikini.

I was liking Mole thus far.

After a much needed afternoon nap, I awoke to Mike returning from a very hot meander around the village where he had spotted warthogs trying to eat a carcass. I decided to shower and found myself sharing it with a little gecko who afterwards very much needed Mike’s help in getting out of the tub for fear he might get sucked down the drain.

Watching elephants while relaxing by the pool

We had a little happy smoke before heading over to the restaurant for dinner. I was very giggly. All was good.

We took a night safari that evening and though it was a little more pricey at $20 each – it had a great atmosphere to it with the night sky overhead, being all wrapped up in multiple layers, and using flashlights altogether to try and spot the animals.

Gecko who shared my shower

As well as the same animals we’d seen during the day, we were lucky enough to also spot some Janet cats, bush babies, and a giant owl from the drive.

Getting back we were beat and as we had to face another long travel day in the morning heading back to Tamale and onward to the border with Burkina Fasso, we went straight to bed.

Ghana Part I: Physical and Personal Journeys

26 Friday Jan 2018

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Tuesday the 9th turned into a super long, hot, and frustrating day of driving with a long sweaty border crossing thrown in for good measure. The guards at the Ghana border were quite funny though and kept telling us that all was good because we could finally stop having to talk in French and speak English again. “This is Ghana! We speak English here!” they kept saying.

We stopped at a market to do cook team shopping and I caught sight of an exact replica of the very first car I drove – a 4-door Silver Renault 5 from the early 80’s. I had a photo standing next to it and for some reason, it made me feel rather nostalgic.

We stopped on the side of the road to make lunch in the middle of the day and quickly were told to move by a local because an armed robbery had taken place in that exact location the day before. It was a little unnerving but I was super impressed with how efficiently the group quickly packed everything away in just a few minutes so that we could find a safer spot to eat.

We arrived at our destination for the next two nights – Elmina’s Stumble Inn – when it was already dark. Most people set up tents on the beach but I was feeling quite tired and stressed out and so I opted to upgrade to my own beach bungalow which came with its own private outdoor bathroom. I include photos of that here because it was truly a unique room to enjoy.

The reason for my stress was quite a personal one but I will share it here as I will surely look back upon it with relief rather than embarrassment. The truth was – my monthly flow was severely overdue and I had finally broken down and bought a pregnancy test. Due to the stress I’d experienced prior to my departure, my last menses was extremely light – and that fact combined with the calculation that I was now 18 days overdue had caused me to become completely paranoid that I might be pregnant. That is not something I would wish upon anyone traveling on an overland truck in West Africa. Denial was proving to be much more than a river in Africa, and I had been putting this off for days now – convincing myself that there was no WAY I could be pregnant with my ex’s baby given the fact that I have an IUD – and ignoring the fact that I had been throwing up in the morning the past few days and feeling more bloated and emotional than possibly any other time in my life.

Thoughts of what it would MEAN if I were pregnant had been haunting my every waking moment for days and it was my friend Jack who convinced me after I’d broken down crying to her in Grand Bassam that it was time to buy a test and just find out for sure.

The test was negative.

On the one hand – it was a huge relief. And on the other – an emotional kick in the gut. If a baby had found a way to form in my body, at 41 years of age, despite the measures I’d taken to prevent it, I’m almost certain I would have had the child. That possibility wiped from my mind, I immediately could stop ruminating on the “what ifs” such a scenario would impose upon my life and all of its repurcussions.

Additionally, it led me to be even more worried about my physical health. I had never before been more than a few days late. I was as regular as a clock. Clearly, I had mentally underestimated the extreme stress and heartache I’d been going through – but my body was not so easily fooled.

In the end, it wasn’t until Accra 4 days later that my period finally arrived. I don’t think I have ever felt so relieved and happy, mentally, hormonally, physically and emotionally.

Guinea Part I – Truck problems, the warmest welcome and horror hotels

13 Saturday Jan 2018

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Beautiful Guinean Landscape

On Boxing Day we were scheduled to drive west back to the main road between Freetown and Makeni and then head north-east toward Kabala, staying in a local guesthouse there.  Unfortunately, the truck started making some very strange noises on the road and we pulled over several times for Sinead and Mike to get under it and assess what was going on.  It seemed that it had to do with the drive shaft and some loose ball bearings (I know nothing of truck mechanics, so I apologize if this makes little sense!)

We got to Makeni and were told to take a really long lunch while they found a garage to determine what repairs, if any, were necessary.  A few of us went to the Club restaurant where proceeds for our meal went to benefit the street children of Sierra Leone project.   As typical, the meal took two hours to arrive at which point we had to down it in 15 minutes flat and then bee-line it back to the truck.  As it turned out, the truck needed to stay to be worked on and so Sinead was going to try and arrange accommodation for the 22 of us in Makeni for the night.  This turned into a rather logistical nightmare with taxis back to the truck then taxis to a hotel where she’d been told there were double beds but they were only single.  Then she had to go in another taxi by herself and find another suitable hotel and then bundle us all over there.  By the time we arrived, we were hot, dusty, tired and ready for a shower.

The hotel was quite nice and afforded good views over the city of Makeni.  This region of West Africa suffers from what is known as the Hamattan winds in the dry season which brings dust and sand from the Sahara and sweeps it all across this region.  As such, it is quite hard on the respiratory and immune systems, not to mention it mixes not so well with cities already congested with carbon smog to create the most toxic combination of air.

After a refreshing shower, we took a meal in the hotel restaurant and had a great belly laugh listening to Kelly improvising spoken subtitles for a hilarious Nigerian soap opera that was on TV.  I laughed till I cried.

The following morning we were told that the issue with the truck was not so serious that we couldn’t continue onward with our journey, but we wouldn’t be able to use four-wheel drive, and the truck would need to undergo extensive repairs, probably once we got to Accra.  So, for now, it was “on the road again”!

Many of the days in the early part of this overland itinerary are spent on the truck for long distances, and this was no exception.  We passed the time creating nerdy travel quizzes with each other (which is way fun when you have this many well-traveled/seasoned overlanders in one truck) such as “Name the 9 countries in the world that only contain 4 letters in the name, and “Name all the countries that don’t have enclosed letters of A, B, D, O, P, Q, R, in their name.”  I think we pissed off some of the other passengers when the 3 Americans started quizzing each other on the states and their capitols.  And so we went back to being quiet again and trying to stay in our seats as the truck bumped along across the rough roads.

This evening was another bush camp, and again, we managed to attract some local observers who wanted to watch us cooking our dinner and setting up our campsite with western efficiency.  After dinner and whisky around the fire, I made my way back to my tent and ended up shivering all night as the temperature fell way below what I was expecting/what I was told was normal for this region and time of year.  I had bought a special light sleeping bag that’s only rated to 55f and by 4am I had put on four more layers of clothing including putting my feet/legs into my light down jacket and zipping my hood up over my head.  Even then it was brisk.  To add to the weather – we were all awoken around 1am by what sounded like the Islamic Call to Prayer – but turned out to be a funeral for the village chief nearby.  It was so loud, was broadcast from some very hefty speaker and went on for at least two hours.  Very bizarre to hear this in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

The next morning, still wearing my long sleeved shirt, fleece and long pants, we boarded the truck and drove on to our first border crossing into Guinea.  Guinea has to be one of the poorest countries I’ve ever visited.  We drove past village after village where several hundred families live in small communal roundhouses with one well or water pump providing fresh drinking water for the community.  By nightfall, you see the smoke coming from wood burning/charcoal fires as families prepare their evening meals and people walk around in the dark or carrying battery operated torches.  No streetlights, no power outlets, no running water, no tv – none of the day to day things we take for granted having within arms’ reach in our lives.  It really boggles the mind how so many of the world’s people live like this and seem so happy.  Having said that, if one is born into a community like this, then this would be the only reality you would ever know and it would therefore be much easier to accept and assimilate.

The border crossing was in an extremely remote section of the country and the border was literally a single rope strung across the ground between two flagpoles – there was even someone’s washing hanging out to dry on one side of the “barrier”.  Though we were able to check out of Sierra Leone, our leader had to check-in at a police station on the other side and took one passenger with her since he’d had issues obtaining his visa in advance and was going to try to gain entry via a transit visa.  Luckily, he was successful, but in Sinead’s words “there was no other option.  It had to work and that’s all there was to it”.  She really is a super smart and competent young woman and I greatly admire her capabilities and her can-do no-nonsense attitude.

Once into Guinea, the roads were so bad it was impossible to read or nap or do anything besides hang on for dear life as our bodies were jolted from side to side and up and down.  The further back in the truck one sits, the worse the being thrown around action is.  It can be quite funny, especially when an unexpected pothole is struck suddenly and you go flying.

Soon enough we arrived in Faranah – not exactly a tourist hub of a town, many residents had never seen tourists before and once again we enjoyed a continuing celebrity status as we drove in.  Our guide warned us about the hotel and told us to keep our expectations very low as it was of not a high standard.  Not a high standard?  This hotel has got to be one of the worst I’ve ever stayed in – it more closely resembled a years-long ago abandoned crack den.  Our room was filthy, had no running water, not even a bucket of water to wash in, no mosquito netting or screens on the windows, no fan, no electricity before 7pm (though this was pretty standard in Guinea and Sierra Leone) and the mattress was a thin layer of foam across old wooden planks.  One of the guests also found a hand sized spider in her room.  The staff tried to assist as best they could to the grunts and complaints from our group as everyone tried to wrap their heads around the conditions – fetching us buckets of water and answering our questions about power/fans/netting etc…most of which were answered in the extreme negative.

After doing some much needed handwashing, and a cold bucket shower, some of us walked the dusty road into town, passing by a strangely papered statue of an life sized elephant along the way.  Getting to the market, we watched and observed the frenetic selling over pots of boiling vegetables, zooming motorcycles, trash and the sounds of hundreds of people bartering and going about their evening.  I asked a local (in French, as Guinea was a former French colony) if she could recommend a good restaurant and she informed me that I would need to go to Konakry for that.  Konakry is the capital of Guinea and was about a five hour drive from Faranah.  Luckily, we found a nice street stall where a young mother, with a small baby strapped to her back, served us a very tasty and fresh meal of boiled potatoes, onions, tomatoes, eggs and mayonnaise.  It was surprisingly good.  While the others headed back to our drug den of a motel, Mike – the other American on the trip who happens to also be only a month younger than me – and I decided to walk a little more around town and make our way back a little more slowly.  It was a hot sticky night when everything clinged to your body and just dodging traffic and people gets to be quite tiring.  On our way home we were stopped, not once, not twice, but three times for photos with locals who wanted to pose with us.  It is so funny having people come running up to you and asking if they can take their picture with you just because you’re white and/or foreign.  One guy also insisted on planning a kiss on my cheek for his selfie.

Me and the mob of kids in Faranah

Just when we were getting close to our Ritz-Carlton accommodation, an entire soccer team of kids came screaming and running up to us to have their photos taken.  Here are the results of that “mob” encounter!

That night we all sat under the outdoor rotunda drinking beers and telling stories until quite late because no one wanted to go to their room.  A few people decided to stake their tents there rather than risk the unhygienic conditions of the beds.  I thought It was all quite funny and decided to embrace the experience, taking a valium before crawling into my self-contained sleeping sheet and trying desperately to fall asleep despite the hot, still night air.

Overlanding Through Tanzania

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by in Africa, Tanzania

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The market in Marangu

The market in Marangu

After getting back to our campsite at Snake Park in Arusha, we were all pretty wiped from our three days in the Serengeti and pretty much passed out in our tents early in the evening.  We were facing a few travel days coming up before arriving in Dar Es Salaam for one night prior to our mini-trip of five nights on the island of Zanzibar.

Travel days are quite arduous.  Sitting on the truck for hours at a time, sometimes with very limited or no toilet stops (or having to go on the side of the highway) and limited options for food along the way is a challenge.  The heat has been a difficult adjustment for me – it has been over 100 degrees since we left the slightly cooler foothills of Kilimanjaro.  As has the dust – the efforts to keep skin, clothes, tent, feet, and hands clean is a constantly losing battle.

I’m very grateful that I invested in a Kindle Paperwhite before the trip, and I’ve already finished reading two books.  Otherwise, I find it literally impossible to nap on the truck due to the heat and the noise of 15 individuals talking, playing music etc.

The three travel days were nicely broken up by a morning excursion in the town of Marangu.   A few of us opted to do a small trek to a waterfall and learn a little about the local indigenous tribe – the Chaga.

At the night market in Zanzibar

At the night market in Zanzibar

We found ourselves walking through small farms and houses in this mostly rural village (also the starting point for the most popular route up Kilimanjaro) and getting to observe how the locals live and keep their chickens and cows.  Vegetation was lush and the temperature already searing by mid-morning as we made the steep descent to the refreshing waterfall.  We eagerly got into our bathing suits and had a swim in the glacially fed waters, taking a jaunt upstream with our guide, Thomas, to a natural water spring where we could drink free of the worry of any contaminants.

After walking back up to the village, we were introduced to the history of the Chaga people who came to live here in the Kilimanjaro region of Tanzania more than 700 years ago.  We visited one of their re-created grass huts and saw examples of their weaponry, masonry, pottery, furniture and artwork all masterfully explained to us by an enthusiastic descendant and proprietor of the museum.  Later we descended into a cave that the Chaga people used as a hideout during the war with the invading Masaai who came from the north to take over these lands.  As the Masaai were tall warriors and used jumping when they fought, the caves offered the Chaga people a distinct advantage, and were able to hide from their enemies and kill them more easily if they attempted to enter the cave.

After about a five hour drive, we arrived in Zebra camp where we ate a simple dinner and I took a shower by scooting under a running tap in the dark (the showers and the lights were not functioning – fun!) and went to sleep after setting up our tents, forced to use our rain fly despite the heat because of the high winds.

Overlooking the Ngorongoro Crater

Overlooking the Ngorongoro Crater

The following day involved a very long day of driving into Dar Es Salaam, which to date, might be the most congested, polluted, and scariest looking place I’ve been to.  When we arrived in the urban area, our guide Tabitha (who is Kenyan) told us to lean out of both sides of the truck and keep an active eye out for people who would run up to the truck and try to open one of the doors on the side where we kept our gear and food – in an effort to dissuade them from trying to rob the truck.  Unfortunately, a couple of guys actually ran under the truck as we were stuck sitting in idle traffic and stole the dipstick from the engine.

Crazy, huh?  Apparently such a part is valuable enough that they would risk their lives to take it.

This is not a city where you would wander around, especially by yourself, and even more especially as a woman.

The lovely beach outside of Dar Es Salaam

The lovely beach outside of Dar Es Salaam

Luckily, our night before heading to Zanzibar was spent at a lovely campsite next to the beach on the outskirts of the city center.  I was thrilled when I saw the lovely white sand, swaying palm trees, pool and bar welcoming us from the long, hot, dusty journey.

I jumped into the water well before I set up my tent and it felt amazing.  The ocean was actually like bath water – so warm!  After two rum and cokes (with safe ice!!) I was feeling a little more like myself again.  Though the amount of attention I get as a white woman swimming in a sea full of black men is rather disconcerting.  It is about as opposite of an experience as I could possibly have to doing the same thing in Seattle.  Still, it is flattering to be reminded that I am desirable, even if it is just for being “different”, or being perceived as having money?

In the morning, we took a tuk-tuk (yay!!) to a ferry, walked 15 minutes with our bags wrapped closely to our chests, to the big ferry that we would take to Zanzibar.  We have so far spent one night in Stone Town – so named for its Arabic (Oman) architecture and history.

I will fill you in on Zanzibar in my next post!  Incidentally, I wrote my post on the Serengeti on another person’s computer and they didn’t bring the laptop to Zanzibar – therefore, I will be posting out of sequence 🙂

Onward to Ecuador: When it sucks to travel alone

27 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by in Ecuador, South America

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The day I arrived in Huaraz after 4 transfers

The day I arrived in Huaraz after 4 transfers

I have been traveling the world solo for many years and to lots of different destinations.   When asked, I’m the first person to sit up and spout the benefits of solo travel: you can go anywhere you want anytime you feel like it, you have complete freedom, you change your plans on a whim.  But the greatest benefit of traveling alone that I willingly promote is that traveling alone hardly ever means that – you end up meeting a plethora of like-minded individuals and traveling together with all sorts of people from a day to weeks at a time.

Regardless, I always have the same set of fears before I set off on a trip with regard to the aspect of doing it by myself.  What if I don’t meet up with anyone when I get there?  What if I’m forced to spend days and weeks alone without anyone to talk to?  What if I get robbed and there’s no-one to help?  What about eating meals in restaurants alone?  I had these exact questions in the week or so leading up to my flight to Lima.

The German girls I befriended on arrival in Peru

The German girls I befriended on arrival in Peru

It’s not like I had actually really planned this trip to begin with.  As some of you know, I suffered a serious personal loss and I wasn’t myself anymore.  I’d lost purpose and focus.  Travel is what I always have turned to in similar situations to feel better. So it seemed like the right thing to do.  Though given my already precarious and fragile emotional state, my concerns regarding traveling solo were more acute this time around.  How would I handle my anxiety?  What if I felt really sad and was crying with no-one to talk to?  Memories of South America, 2009 came flooding back.  While I’d had a good trip, my tears could have filled a swimming pool. I had a broken heart after a relationship ended a few months before my departure from the States.

I didn’t want to repeat that.

Nevertheless, despite the fear, I decided to proceed with the fear not because of it. I said goodbye to my boyfriend and my house and I got on a plane (well, 4 planes actually) and flew to Huaraz, Peru.

It wasn’t long before my fears were allayed.  Upon arriving at the tiny Huaraz airport, I discovered that the transport I’d arranged to get to my hostel hadn’t shown up.  3 girls from Germany very kindly offered to share their transport with me, and before I knew what was happening, I’d made 3 friends with whom I’d go on an acclimatization hike with the next day.  And I did.  They were great – and it was the perfect segway to my getting up the courage to book my 4-day and 10-day treks that I’ve since written about.  Incidentally, my German girlfriends had invited me along on their Cordillera Huayhuash experience, but since it was twice as expensive and only 8 days in length, I’d politely declined.

So all was well.

Until I got back from the trek.

At least I got you, Quatchi

At least I got you, Quatchi

I arrived back to my hostel on Saturday night and was perfectly happy spending Sunday resting and recovering.  In fact, I did go out and have a celebratory dinner with the Polish-French Canadian couple from the trek that day.  However, the following day I left for Ecuador and I’ve been alone most of the time ever since.

Monday set up that classic set of fears one has traveling alone (especially as a woman.)  I thought I’d devised an ingenious way of getting to Cuenca, Ecuador whilst avoiding 3 days/nights of buses, which is what it would take to travel overland.  I decided to fly to Lima, then fly to the northernmost city in Peru that has an airport, Piura, and then figure out a bus across the border from there.

All was going well until I got to Piura.  The woman at the airport told me there were two companies that could get me across the border and they both had night buses, however, that night buses were not safe for women traveling alone, plus crossing the Peruvian/Ecuador border was quite “peligroso” as she put it to begin with.  Not really wanting to spend a night in this town, I left for the bus terminals by taxi undeterred.

I was faced with a dilemma: take an uncomfortable night journey with a non-reclining bus seat through the “safe” border, or a “semi-cama” reclining seat on a better bus through the “dangerous” border.  Just when I was starting to feel quite anxious as I was trying to keep an eye on all 3 pieces of my luggage attached to various parts of my person at all times (the number one most annoying aspect of traveling alone – having to keep track of your bags at ALL times, INCLUDING! ALWAYS having to take all your luggage into the bathroom with you…ugh!) my eyes laid down on two gringos also in line for tickets!  Someone who spoke English that I could talk to!

Ceviche with Gustavo and Javi

Ceviche with Gustavo and Javi

As it turned out: Gustavo and Javi were Chileans but spoke fluent English.  Gustavo was also unusually fair skinned with red hair, and so forgave me for assuming he was Scandinavian or Scottish.  After about an hour of debate and lugging bags back and forth between the two bus companies, we all decided to take the better bus and worse border crossing combo.  Gustavo and Javi were staying with the bus straight through to Guayaquil, however, the additional issue was that I’d have to change buses in Machala and we’d be arriving there around 4:30am in the dark.  Since Peruvian travel agencies would NEVER take it upon themselves to have more information on hand than is necessary to do the bare minimum required for their job, no-one had a clue about when the first bus might be to Cuenca from Machala.  I might be waiting around for hours. Alone. In the dark. With my luggage.

Screw it, I could deal.

I can’t tell you what a delight it was to hang out with Gustavo and his girlfriend Javi for that hour or so that night.  They were so wonderfully conversational, involved, enthusiastic and funny. We had dinner at a seafood place and I was thrilled to finally have some ceviche before I left Peru!  It was scrumptious, but soon enough – we were sitting in our designated half-bed (not really) bus seats and drifting off to sleep. That is, until the border crossing – which turned out to be completely benign and the 3 of us giggled as we filled in our forms half-asleep and I dealt with a particularly offensive banana explosion in my backpack.

That moment of fear returned when we arrived in Machala and I got kicked off the bus.  Gustavo was so sweet getting off with me very quickly to enquire about next buses.  He looked at me and pointed across a very dark 4 lane street to a fruit stand where a handful of shady characters were standing around and said “That’s where they say the bus to Cuenca stops.  He says there should be one in half and hour.  Good luck!”

And that was that.

I swallowed hard, held my head high, and walked with my 3 pieces of bodily-attached luggage in the dark hours of the early morning and sat down next to the shady fruit stand and tried to appear very confident that the bus was coming any moment.  I even got up the nerve to buy some drinking yogurt.  Luckily, they use the US Dollar in Ecuador…  Even more luckily – a bus to Cuenca came within 15 minutes and I was saved from having to continue to put on a brave face when I really just wanted to cry.

My first Ecuadorian meal "Plato Typical"

My first Ecuadorian meal “Plato Typical”

I spent all day on Tuesday in Cuenca.  There was literally no-one in my darling little hotel, La Casa Cuencana, and after a little nap, I wandered the streets of the city for hours and then ate my first Ecuadorian meal alone.

I took a photo of it.

Cause that’s what you do when you’re eating alone when you’re traveling!

The other downside to solo travel - you almost always have to take selfies to get pics of yourself

The other downside to solo travel – you almost always have to take selfies to get pics of yourself

Cuenca was a beautiful little city – and recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.  However, no matter how much I enjoyed the architecture, or the ambience of the central park and cathedral, and even smiled at the crowds of happy families and amorous couples enjoying the festivities of Corpus Christi (where, apparently, we devoutly remember the gift Christ gave us with his sacrifice by pounding our faces at hourly intervals with sweets, donuts, chocolate, and ice cream)- I felt completely alone.  And lonely.

I believe there is a difference between the two, and I felt both.

The following morning, I was convinced I’d meet up with some cool people.  Maybe taking in a musem in Cuenca? Maybe on the bus to Alausi? (I was heading up north to ride the famous Nariz Del Diablo train)

The stunning Cathedral in Cuenca

The stunning Cathedral in Cuenca

But no.  I walked around the city again, this time in a light drizzle, visiting the medical museum (recommended by a friend because it was super creepy, and she was right) and the town market where I ate fresh pork sliced off an entire roasted pig together with pico de gallo and potatoes for 2 bucks.  Then I caught a taxi and a bus to Alausi.  The bus was packed, and I don’t know why – but of the 3 buses I’ve taken so far in Ecuador – I have each time ended up with an indigenous woman with a newborn attached to her back sitting next to me.  Which is fine, I’m glad she got a seat, except that I’m sorry to report, the clothes these women wear, whilst very attractive in color, have not seen the inside of a washing machine, or tub for that matter in months or years.  At one point today, I had to stick my head out of the window because I thought I was going to hurl from the horrendous odor.

Indigenous Local women in their very colorful, but unfortunately rather smelly attire

Indigenous Local women in their very colorful, but unfortunately rather smelly attire

So I got to Alausi and had another scary experience worsened by my being alone.  The bus “dropped me off” on the edge of town without driving into the center.  It was dark, around 7pm, and there were no taxis, just a lot of people staring at me as I asked directions to the center of town.  I had to walk for about 15 minutes down a very steep hill with my luggage bouncing along in front of me.  Still no taxis.  Got yelled at by some drunk guy.

The whole atmosphere of the place was worsened by the kind of dense fog that would make John Carpenter proud.  I was feeling kinda stupid for coming all this way to ride a train where I wouldn’t even be able to make out the tracks let alone any scenery from the carriage window.  And then I did something I almost never do – I walked straight to what seemed like the first clean, nice, well-lit hostal I could see.

Hosteleria Verana was lovely.  I almost cried I was so happy when I was offered a room with private shower for $15.  The lovely owner, who had just laid out dinner for her kids, offered me a plate of the same with an ice cold beer.  Spinach soup, Beef with potatoes.  I was so happy to feel safe again, I forgot my loneliness.

Me, riding the Nariz Del Diablo Train in Alausi

Me, riding the Nariz Del Diablo Train in Alausi

This morning I rode the train (will write about this more later) and did meet a very nice American man who is teaching English as a second language in Colombia, and two Taiwanese friends touring South America.  We chatted briefly, but all left quickly after to return to Quito and Cuenca respectively.

And so, I got on another bus, with another indigenous woman co-passenger, and then repeated this step after changing buses via taxi in Riobamba and arrived in Banos today around 5pm.

My tiny little room in Banos

My tiny little room in Banos

I will admit that I cried when I got into my room at the little Planta Y Blanca hostel.  I feel so lost. The weather is matching my mood with rain and large, dark grey clouds looming above.  I was so lonely, I decided I needed a massage – if only to feel some human touch.

Feeling a little better, I went in search of a good restaurant for dinner.  After having sat down, I noticed another traveler eating by himself.  Taking a deep breath for courage, I approached and asked if I might join him.  “I’d rather you didn’t,” was his response.

Ok. That’s fine. How could I assume anything – he might have had a bad day himself.

Even so, I was so glum when I ordered my food.  What is going on?  I never have these issues when I travel solo!  What kind of sad vibe am I giving off that no-one wants to engage?  Oh God: I’m bringing this on myself through the laws of attraction! I came to Banos to go hiking, mountain biking and visit the thermal pools.  But I don’t want to do any of those things by myself.  I have no motivation.

And then…3 very young Americans walked in and allowed me to join them.  They are so sweet and fun and innocent (ranging in age from 19-22.)  Tomorrow we will go bike riding together.

I hope for now, the spell is broken and I’ll start liking solo travel again.