This is a neat story about people doing something else cool with a boat. http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/10/28/floating.doctors.sailboat/index.html

We made it to Bamako Oct 23rd.  After spending some days sleeping in huts at the hiking place, we decided to splurge on this 5-star hotel.  So, we feel refreshed and human again.  The trip from the hiking place out here was unpleasant – I ate some street food that I don’t even want to describe here.  The word mucilaginous is just the start of it.

Then, we actually procured a yellow fever vaccination card from the taxi dispatcher in the last town in Guinea.  It got us through the border with no problems.  Our driver was the craziest and fastest driver we’ve had so far.  At one point a kid threw a pebble at the car as we drove by and he stopped, threw it in reverse, backed up at high speed before coming to a skidding stop, got out of the car to go spank the kid with a thin branch from a tree (I know beceause he came back to the car with it).  Then he roared off again, snapping his fingers to the Malian music he was blaring.

  
The hiking itself was very cool.  It is a wide green expanse called Guinea’s Grand Canyon.  It reminded me of the costarican island used for Jurassic Park, but spread out over a huge rift valley and dight with villages on the wide, flat plain of the floor.  We did one hike called chutes and ladders which was described by our guide as “Guinea’s AT in one day”.
 
Bamako is a cool town, bustling and vibrant, although also polluted.  There’s not too much to see or do here, though.  We’re just eating well and going out at night.  There is a Thai place here that we went tolast night that is absolutely delicious.   I think we might go back tonight- part of Andrew’s contentment with the known.  There’s also supposed to be the best live music in West Africa here in Bamako.  We hope to see some tonight.  Last night we ended up in a dance club after the bouncer lied to me (and in French too!) that there was live music inside.  It’s hot here, but not awful.  We’re staying in the air/con and by the pool.

We went to Bobo-Diallasso from Bamako.  The border crossing was a model of efficiency and the cashews that we bought from a young girl there were the best we’ve had so far.  (There are cashew vendors everywhere here.)  In Bobo we stayed at the Le Zion hotel which is way out of town.  Bobo itself is a smaller, sleepier version of the capital-we saw the sights in a few hours of walking around.  The Le Zion bathrooms were roach infested; I’m talking horror-show levels of creepy-crawlies.  Other than that, the place was nice enough.  The food was pretty good too.  I had a Nile perch lasagna and Andrew had a lamb tajine with honey sauce. 

We went out to a remoter corner of BF near Mali and Cote d’Ivoire the day before yesterday to hike in the “otherworldly” Sindou peaks. It was a long drive and the peaks themselves were nice enough, but not worth what we had to pay (which included a driver-guide, a hiking-guide, park entrance fee and lodging in a thatched roof hut) . Then, yesterday the guide took us out to a “village troglodytique” where the locals had built some houses high up in a sort of cliffside as protection from a war in the 18th century. We were surprised that there were some other white folks there; French of course.

On these small roads we pass locals- the women are beautifully dressed and carrying things on their heads, the men are smoking or carrying farm implements or on motos, and the children universally smile and wave and shout “toubab! toubab!” which means white. The kids love to get our empty plastic water bottles, which is kinda sad.

Anyway on the way back from the cave village, the driver went tooo fast over some rocks in the road (it’s a dirt road through rice fields and other sorts of fields, a lot of cashew trees) and he punctured the oil pan.  He was going to try to fix it, but we needed to get here by last night, so we started walking. We did about 10k in the very brutal sun (and some shade from the trees). Then we arranged to get motos to the next largest town.  We got into a heated discussion about this with the hotel proprietor, then the hiking guide.

Finally got on the way on the back of two new scooter driving by the “professeurs” of the local school. Made it into Banfora just in time to catch the bus into Bobo-Diallasso. That bus was really nice; all new and with air-con. Waited in Bobo for a while to catch the much less comfortable bus to Ouga. Had cous-cous that came with tomato sauce like the woman said, although she failed to mention the two chunks of meat that were sitting in the sauce. Andrew believes that there are two and precisely two chunks of meat in any dish that you order here, perhaps by law.

The bus pulled into Ouga late last night and we took the worst taxi imaginable through the dusty streets. They seem to prefer flourescent tube lights here- many places have them outside on poles.

People out here in West Africa love Barack Obama. I’ve met several people who have told us that he is “president of the world”. They sell t-shirts with Barry and Michelle on them, bags and belt buckles with his picture on an American flag background and the guy next to me on the bus had an obama wallpaper on his cell phone. The guy should run for president here, I tell you.

Now, we’re  in Ougadougou, Burkina Faso’s capital.

We’re off today to go towards Mali, we need to be in Mopti, Mail, on Thursday to catch our boat to go up the Niger to Timbuktu. That cruise should be a nice combination of relaxation and travel.

The evening in Dakar ended up being a real treat.  We met some Peace Corps volunteers and went out with them for the night.  The first place we went, Le Cozy, was an ultra modern, hip little joint by our hotel.  It could have been in New York or L.A.  Later we hit up the dark and small Texas saloon, with a lot more Senegalese clients.  It wasn’t the crazy thrumming scene I expected, but it wasn’t bad either.

Tired of Dakar’s hassles, we left the next day after picking up our passports at the G-B embassy.  The traffic and diesel fumes on the way out of town were terrible.  Our taxi driver had his handkerchief over his mouth and nose for a good while.  Then we hit the open road and it was much better.

We went to Jaol, a tiny town where there is a small, man made island made out of seashells.  We stayed in a little guesthouse there.  You had to pay extra to actually use the A/C that was in the room.  The place had an awesome terrace that looked out over a river to mangrove thickets across the way.

Over lunch of tieboutien, Senegal’s tasty fish and fried rice dish, we met a local guide.  He took us over to the seashell village, Fadiout.  It wasn’t all that interesting.  It’s mainly Christian and the little cemetary (on another seashell island) with its crosses was cute.

That night we went out in the dark of the evening.  It might have seemed unsafem but there were people everywhere.  We had a tasty dinner of falafel and hummus at a place tucked behind the town’s gas station.  A lot of the restaurants around here are run by Lebanese people, so falafel et cetera is not uncommon.

We left early in the morning to cross into Gambia.  WE took a taxi and then changed into a sept-place.  These are station wagons that have been converted to seat 7 people.  They’re in between a bus and a taxi.  They aren’t made with comfort in mind, though.  It was hot and uncomfortable, squeezed into the old rustbucket on a makeshift seat.

We had to change into another car at the border.  We had no problems with the officials there.  They were very friendly in fact.

We crossed into Gambia and waited for the ferry at Barra.  We were taken into a room by drug enforcement officers.  One searched Andrew’s bag, but the other merely glanced at mine and chided his friend for being so gung-ho.  “These are Americans.  We know Amercans,” he said.

I talked with a young guy named Gibril on the ferry across.  We were surprised to see some sailboats in the river there.  We reached Banjulm where there was surprisingly little bother from touts or vendors.

We ate lunch at Ali Baba’s. (Falafel again for me) We got a taxi to show us around a bit.  Gambia’s dictator has the whole cult of personality thing going.  There are billboards congratulating him and the Gambian people on the occasion of his birthday.  He also takes credit for “13 years of progress”, most of which was hard to see in the dusty roads of the capital.

Laybato was a nice little place, nearly empty, in Fajara.  We got the room, went down to the beach and threw the disc around.  The beach was really nice and full of guys doing exercises.   We had a mediocre dinner there and went out to Senegambia, the local strip.

Our guide for the evening was Ibrahim, a somewhat inebriated rasta guy who “works” at the hotel.  Most of the bars we empty or were full of prostitutes.  So, we left.

The next day, after breakfast, we had massages.  Full body massages for something like $12!.   It was wonderful.  Then, we went on a little tour with a guy called Wilson.  He took us to a crocodile farm, where you can pet a tame crocodile.  Then we went on a walk through a small nature reserve where we saw some monkeys.  Then we went to a cool lodge built in the middle of the mangroves.  Met a black woman from England who was there on vacation.  There were sailboats at anchor just outside the restaurant.  After that we went to Paradise beach.  It was a beautiful beach and nearly deserted.  We walked around for a long time and played a little disc.  We met another American there who was working at the medical research center in Fajara.

That night we went out for pizza at the “Italian Connection” and out on the town.  The bar we went to was called the Youth Monument.  It was just getting started and we didn’t have too much energy, so we left.  Still we had a good evening.

We left the next morning for Kartong, but not before we had brunch at a l\place called the butcher’s shop.  The place is run by a Moroccan, but feels like a deli in the U.S.  the brunch was oddly picnic lunch-y; potato salad, hard-boiled eggs and meaty dishes.  The other customers turned ou to be peace corps volunteers as well, at one point there were only Americans in the place.  Some of them were the crowd that had been there for years and they helped us with some advice for onward travel.

We went down to Kartong beach after that glorious, and expensive brunch.  We stayed at the Bobou beach lodge, in some treehouses.  The Gambians have a precise date for the start of tourist season, Oct. 14th, and so they weren’t quite ready for people.  The treehouses were cool little structures that swayed in the wind.  Beach there was beautiful, too.

The next day we decided yo try to cross the border there.  Lonely Planet says it’s not as easy as it looks on the map.  And it isn’t.  We walked in the hot sun to the river, got a little canoe across and then started walking on the other side.  It was beautiful grasslands spotted with trees.  Then we came on to the villages there.  It was intensely hot and humid as well.  When the sun hits your exposed skin, it actually starts to hurt.  We had pea and bean sandwiches in a little village along the way.  They’re surprisingly good, or maybe we were just hungry.  After 12 kilometers or so, we got to the road and caught a ride into Dialouloum where we hoped to get our passports stamped.

We couldn’t get them stamped there according to the surly policeman.  So, we had to get a taxi up to the usual entry place, Seleti.  There they wouldn’t stamp them because we didn’t have an exit stamp form the Gambia. (We had left knowing there was no one at the immigration checkpoint outside Kartong)  So, now we had to go back into The Gambia to get their stamp.  The guy at the border who had his shirt halfway off, gave us some trouble.  Well, he gave us about as much as we deserved; we were in the wrong and he wasn’t buying the dumb tourist bt.  In the end we paid him only a couple of dollars each to get the stamp.  Then we went back into Senegal and got that stamp.  Along the way we had to change cars for each country.  So, our awesome, independent border crossing was a bit bothersome at the end, but still worth it.

We stayed that night at a village campement.  these are locally owned tourist accommodations.  They weren’t really done with the construction at this place.  Our room had no electricity and was stifflingly hot.  It was a beautiful location ont he side of a wide flooded plain, though.  We slept on the foam mattresses without sheets or pillows.  Two hours after falling asleep, I awoke in a bit of a panic.  It was so hot I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I got up and splashed water all over myself and stood outside for a while to cool off.  Then I was able to get back in bed, still wet and fall asleep again.

We left in the morning fro Ziguinchor, the capital of the Casamance region.  We decided to splurge a little after staying a few nights in quite rustic accommodation.  We stayed at the Hotel Kadiadoumagne.  That word is the name of a rice-planting tool that looks like a long oar.  The hotel is upscale, but has an authentic local feel to it.  In short, it makes you feel colonial.

We took a tour in a tax yesterday to Cap Skiring, where there is another nice beach.  We may have walked into Guinea-Bissau there since it’s right on the border. Then we came back towards Zig and rented mountain bikes at Oussaye.  It took us a long time to find the guy who works at the place, but man, am I glad we did.  We had an awesome ride through the jungle (they call it the foret, but it’s a jungle)  weaving through bushes and vines on a singletrack.  We passed through villages out there and then came to one where the guide’s colleague was at home with his family.  He spoke very good Spanish.  Andrew was grateful.  There must be a lot of Spanish tourists that come here, or came here; everyone guesses that we are Spanish.   The Spanish-speaker made us Senegalese team which is very sweet.  It started raining and we loved it.  The Senegalese must of thought these white guys were crazy standing out in the rain while they took cover in the house.  The rain was cool and refreshing though, after all the muggy heat we had endured.

We continued on through rice fields and peanut fields back to where we rented the bikes.  The cab driver then took us back to the hotel as the evening faded into night.

We had a very nice dinner accompanied by a woman we had met in the cab in the morning.  She is a musician, single mother and businesswoman who speaks English.  That’s rarer than a hen’s tooth around here.  Unfortunately we couldn’t arrange a concert with her and her friends.  It’ll have to wait until next time.

Today we are off to Bissau.  We’ll spend a few days in G-B before heading over to Mali somehow.  But before we leave, I think there is a chance for one more dip in the pool!

Our flight from Las Palmas to Dakar touched down without incident on the shabby runway of Dakar’s international airport last night.  Our itinereraries said we should arrive at 1 a.m.  Our watches said it was 11 p.m.  The clocks on the wall said it was 10. Iberia is running some sort of time warp special there. Somehow, we flew East and ended up and hour earlier.

I’d been warned about the touts and hustlers of the Dakar airport, but they weren’t really all that bad. You couldn’t really blame them for trying. We found a taxi into town for 10,000 CFA ($1=450 CFA right now). In the darkness we drove past the shantytowns and refuse, gettign assailed by successive smells; garbage, burning garbage, manure and fish.

Our hotel is small but clean. The room has air conditioning which we kept on all night. The elderly assistant who wears a blue pyjama like outifit that has a name, possibly his, embroidered on the breast, went to turn it on for us before we walked up the steps. Down in the small courtyard bar/ restaurant, we had our first Sengalese beer, La Gazelle. It was nice and light, without that sweetness that too often characterizes beers from the tropics.

We slpet well despite the lack of mosquito nets. Hopefully keeping the doors and windows shut for the A/C kept the little buggers out as well.

In the morning we went to get more anti-malarial medication fromt eh nearby pharmacy. We walked past the Marche Kermel, which looks like a building to house a carousel. It’s a tourist attraction, apparently. There aren’t a lot of tourists here, as far as we can tell.

We found a breakfast place over on Place de L’Independence, the main square of town. A whole team of very pretty waitresses attended to us in the oasis of an air-conditioned dining room.

Did I mention that it is oppressively hot here? You practically drown in the humid air. On top of the heat and humidity, you have the smells that pop up to make breathing even less pleasant.

Walking through the Place, we were approached by Kadim, a young Senegalese guy. He talked to us for a bit and we were impressed by his American-accented English. He said that he had gone to Tuskegee University in Alabama to study music. From the way he dropped slang and Americanisms, I believed him. He turned out to try and take us to a shop where we were encouraged to look around. We didn’t want to buy anything or even be there in the first place. He quickly conceded tot hat. He wants us to come hang out with him tonight, but we’re still not sure we want to. On the one hand he’s warning us about strangers and on the other, he’s offering himself, a stranger, up as a guide or companion while we’re here. It might be an experience to see where he lives and drink tea, but how can we think there’s not going to be something in it for him?

After that encounter, we headed off to the Guinea-Bissau embassy. It’s off in another part of town called Point E. Our taxi driver didn’t know where it was exactly, even though the streets are numbered one way and lettered the other and we knew the coordinates.

We had our pictures taken in a little shack that sells drinks and snacks and does photocopies. (There are a lot of embassies around there, including the Iraqi embassy across the street from Guinea-Bissau’s) The guy who took the pictures accidentally printed out two copies of my picture. Then he told me it was his fault, so I should only pay half price for the extra copy.

We filled out the application form and dropped off our passports. They charge a ridiculous 45,000 CFA for the visa. Visa fees probably comprise a big chunk of G-B’s GDP.

Afterwards we tried to find the Thai restaurant recomended by Lonely Planet. Andrew remarkled that he’s never had good luck with LP’s restaurant recommendations, in fact, he’s never found any one of them. We rounded the corner and saw the sign for the Jardin Thailandes. I remarked that there’s a first time for everything, but at the gate we found that they only open in the evening. The Lonely Planet restaurant slump continues unabated.

So, we found another place and sat down for our first real Senegalese food. They didn’t have much by way of vegetarian options and we weren’t digging the fish. So we got aloko, which is fried plantains, and athiéké, which is a cort of cous-cous made with manioc flour. They served the athiéké with a delicious, smoky sauce of chunky tomatoes and onions. We scooped it on and devoured all of it. I sauced up the plantains with the two hot sauces they brought out with the salt. One was a red pepper sauce and the other more like a mustard.

Tonight we are planning on going out on the town for some of Dakar’s famous nightlife.

I’m falling woefully behind on the posting here.  My apologies to all and sundry.

Right now Andrew and I are in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria.  We are catching a flight from here to Dakar, Senegal tonight.  We are going to travel around Senegal, through The Gambia, down to Guinea’Bissau and over to Mali and Burkina Faso.  At least that’s the plan.  Things in Africa may affect our itinerary.  Already we have decided not to go to Guinea since we saw this article about a massacre carried out by the government.  Don’t worry too much about us, we have no interest in putting ourselves in harm’s way.  A little discomfort to see some amazing places, yes, but life-threatening situations, no.

I hope that I’ll be able to add brief updates here as we go.  I’ll fill in the gaps on our arrival to the Canaries and the last days in Spain and Gibraltar some time later.

For now, I’m excited to have nothing to do with sailing for a good long while.  We’re backpackers now.