We arrived in our final city, Cotonou, after hailing a private taxi by the roadside in Ouidah; once again we couldn't be bothered with the hassle and cramped space of a minibus, and were willing to pay a little bit more for comfort on our last big journey on four wheels.
On the way to Cotonou (where the national Beninese airport is, not in the nearby capital of Porto Novo) we saw some crazy vehicles that had been overloaded to the brink of collapse. Boots overflowing to the road below, furniture piled up on the roofs like jenga and people playing some kind of weird game of twister in the back seats!
The transport didn't improve in Cotonou. Thanks to a ridiculously incompetent map in our Bradt guide, we had no idea where we were, and chose to get some motorbikes to go to our hotel. With huge backpacks on the handlebars in front of the drivers, and each of us clinging onto the back seats, we set off in an unorthodox convoy through back streets, across dual carriageways, through puddles of murky liquid and zooming across very busy junctions with no braking... At one point we cut across one lane of fast moving traffic, jumped up the kerb to the central reservation and hopped down the other side before cutting through another lane to the 'safety' of the loose-sanded avenues. Terrifying!
After getting lost we made it to our hotel and decided to not pay the extra money the drivers had asked for (we had asked them to take us to one hotel and they had said they knew it). Unfortunately we were shoved on the fifth floor of this gigantic building, and had to go up/down just over 100 steps each time we wanted anything like a drink or something to eat. Lot of work, but think we all worked out our thighs going up and down a few dozen times!
Kez was unfortunately feeling unwell, and fainted whilst we were filling out our forms. Went white as a sheet, but Barney did well to catch her. After that, Kez rested for most of the next day or so, while us three checked out the market, looking for a few presents and trinkets for home. Specifically we wanted to get some of the loud 'suits' that most African men and women sported. There are literally hundreds of thousands of designs on print, in varying patterns, made up of any colours you could dream of. You chose the material and then took it to a tailor who got it made for you.
We spent about two hours looking around at all sorts of material, and after what felt like another two hours of bartering with stubborn women (I hate shopping), me and Barney left with some particularly loud pieces of material! Dree was a bit disappointed - he really wanted a piece of Barrack Obama material that he'd seen someone sport. Unfortunately, it wasn't to be found anywhere, but to make up for it he bought a couple of Obama bags - complete with the President's face plastered all over it! Stylish!
Me and Barnes went across to opposite our hotel, where there was a row of tailors working late into the night. On second thoughts, this could have been a sweatshop. The man in charge (slave master?) offered us quite a good deal to make the whole suits and I asked to have another shirt made up from some extra material I bought. We went around a few other places trying to barter for a better deal, but most weren't interested in our custom. Or maybe it wasn't the done thing to waltz into a factory and ask them to make a special suit for us tourists! we went back to the original man and were told to come back on our final full day in the country to collect them. They only took a few measurements, including not measuring waist. Concerning to say the least. What on earth would we get?!
The next day Kerry was feeling a bit better and so we headed to Ganvie - one of the apparent 'highlights' of Benin - a stilted village on the edge of a giant lake just outside Cotonou. Perfect for a day trip we thought. Quick taxi out to the lake's edge and we couldn't find any office or anything to lead us to believe this was anything more than a fish market. Then, out of nowhere, six or seven smartly dressed guys brought out a school exercise book and told us it would be about £15 each. One helluva chunk of our budget. We dillied and dallied, but eventually paid. It was our penultimate day, and we'd heard about this stilted village for quite a while.
Onto the boat and we were pushed out onto the lake. The man at the back pushed us along like a gondolier in Venice, while the man in front turned around to us and told us to pay an extra £1o each, or something equally ridiculous for the guide. we had already asked if the £15 covered everything, and they had said yes. We argued with this guy for about fifteen minutes, while floating in the lake. He was an absolute....you-know-what, and we shouted and voiced our anger in French and English. He refused to take us back and was essentially kidnapping us!
We couldn't believe what was going on. Barney got up to stop the 'gondolier' at the back, who was still pushing us further out into the lake when we were asking to return. The 'guide' at the front wanted us to pay more and said we couldn't go back. He eventually backed down after a lot of shouting and we headed off to the stilted village, not feeling particularly happy about the situation! The 'punt' to the village took about an hour, in the morning sun, with two kidnappers taking us on the way. Even when we got to the village it wouldn't have been worth having a guide; he only spoke French and didn't explain anything at all! To make matters worse, he kept annoying us by saying "Don't cry, don't cry", because he'd obviously ripped off tourists like this before. There was an opportunity to get off and stop at a restaurant. We declined as we didn't trust the guys to wait for us, and then we would have been truly stranded.
The village was okay: a few boats were around selling wares to other boats (each family had two boats each, to get to work, the market, to the school, in the same way we'd have two cars!). It was interesting to see how the houses were built - on mud banks in the middle of the lake. According to legend, a man had been transported there by a stork whilst trying to find a place for his family to hide from the King of Dahomey, who wanted to turn his family into slaves. Quite a likely story if you ask me! Sadly, the trip was tainted by the a***holes that wanted to steal our money. Shame really.
Back on dry land, and after NOT tipping, we headed to the artisans' market to buy some goodies to take home. We all wanted specific things, but mainly we were looking for some wooden carved masks and voodoo type things. I, as previously mentioned, hate shopping with a passion, and as the market involved walking in and around a maze of tiny shops each with similar stuff in, apparently carved out of the most precious trees in existence by genies hundreds of years ago (therefore explaining the extortionate first asking price - over £200 a couple of times...).
Every 30 seconds it was a new shop and someone else saying "hello my friend". i am getting worked up, just thinking about it! Angry Dum came out and I ended up going back after a night's sleep and bought some African art and masks. Because we'd all bought so much, we had to buy another bag to keep our souvenirs in. Kerry and Barney set off to find a suitable one, and came back with the biggest, vilest burberry holdall imaginable. But it did the trick perfectly, and we padded the sides with clothes and plastic bags.
(On the way back, Dree, in his Mr Bean-esque way, ended up walking smack bang into a tree branch, causing a deep cut in his head. It was pouring blood and we were thinking about getting stitches for him! He was okay in the end, but sported a lovely red gash on his forehead. Keep your eyes on the prize dribbley!)
Back at our hotel we had to check out, as our flight was that night, but there was a problem - our suits weren't ready... and we were due to leave the country in about 9 hours. We carried on with our original plan, as we were told the suits would be done in a couple of hours. The original plan was to go to the poshest hotel in Benin, leave our bags in a side room, and use their pool. This plan had two main plus points; a) we could use a pool and b) we could use the showers before we got on the plane! After yet another poor taxi journey, we blagged our way through the $250 room-per-night hotel and chilled out in the pool for a couple of hours. It was brilliant!
I left after a few hours to go and pick up the suits, which went surprisingly well, as there was nothing we could have done if they were wrong/not ready, and we even got the extra material back! Two perilously moto journeys later, almost dying a number of times, including a lovely overtaking manoeuvre facing an oncoming lorry at a crossroads, I made it back to the hotel and we all set off for the airport. After some incredibly expensive soft drinks (costing the same prices as in a bar in London) we said goodbye to Kez, who had to go via Kenya, and although she set off one hour before us, arrived home one whole day later!
Barney mentioned something to me about the cost of the flight, and it being wasted by falling asleep, and not taking advantage of the films and TV shows on offer... I took this to heart in an overtired mood, and ended up staying up the whole night, creating a messed up sleeping pattern that has just about got back to normal!
Oh one last 'funny' little thing - as we waited for our bags at Heathrow, the carousel (only time I'll probably ever use that word in a blog haha) stopped and the lights went off. "Right" we thought, "this cannot be good". We only had one rucksack and (somehow) the Burberry monstrosity! After a quick chat with the AirFrance desk, during which we were told that we were "lucky to get any of our bags", we filled out some forms, and my and Barney's bags arrived in one piece about 24 hours later. The excuse? The cold...
Well it was a truly awesome trip, seeing some sights that I shall forever hold in my memory (Voodoo festival, Senegalese wrestling, Dogon country views, Timbuktu sunset, River Niger ferry, Burkina adventures on bikes, masked dances, seeing a wild elephant up close, climbing the highest mountain in Togo on New Years Day... the list goes on). I would like to thank the guys that I went with, for making it such an unforgettable experience, and saying to anyone reading this, just take a chance, go on an adventure... get ready for a cliche...
...just buy the ticket, take the ride!
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Thursday, 4 February 2010
International Voodoo Festival 2010
After a breakfast of stew sandwiches (very spicy and oily, but they are fantastic with fresh bread), we wandered around the town looking for signs of the extravaganza we'd been promised. But there seemed to be nothing going on anywhere in Ouidah. Moto drivers kept asking us if we wanted to go to the beach, and we eventually headed there. It was the place to be. Hundreds of cars, minibuses and motos crammed the Slave Route to almost walking pace and we walked the last little bit. The beach had been transformed from the dead place we'd seen only 24 hours before, to a vibrant festival with dancers an musicians. Huge marquees boxed in an area the size of a football pitch just behind the Door of No Return, and there were as many tourists with cameras as there were locals in tribal dress! Again, this made us think about the authenticity of the event. Maybe it had been years before, but money does strange things to people, and the amount of cameras, and therefore camera fees, must have been running into thousands!
The international festival was set up years ago by the president when he was 'saved' from death by a Voodoo priestess. events take place all over the country, but the main festival kicks off on the beach in Ouidah, so we were in the perfect place! We watched all sorts of things during the day, but the main ones were involving a group of people wearing only shorts. Their numbers grew as more people became 'possessed' and rolled around on the sand after drinking some unspecified liquid. After being sat on by their friends, the person in question took off their tops (yes, even the women) and smeared bright yellow paint over their head and chest.
Then they began doing some crazy African dancing to a fast-beating drum, kicking up sand and running around like madmen! Then came the weird stuff - cactus's tied to their backs, beating their bodies with said cacti, drinking the paint and spitting it over each other, rolling around in the sand, smashing glass bottles over their heads and cutting their arms with sacrificial knives (the latter two drew a lot of blood).
Other events included some member of the voodoo royalty blessing the sea, meaning hundreds of people then blessed themselves with the water, lots of crazy dancing from different tribes, from different countries (including Kez joining in again - she loves the African dance moves!), and finally a goat sacrifice! I was lost after going to watch some people light branches on fire and hit themselves with them, and luckily stumbled upon a small group of people preparing the goat. I was just in time as a massive congregation turned up, including some dignitaries from the area, followed by TV cameras and people holding umbrellas for them!
In the front row I had a great view of the Voodoo King blessing the knife and goat, before feeding it some concoction (also blessed!). then as the goat stretched its neck to reach the leaves, a man grabbed it's head and the knife was sawn (not cut) through the poor thing's neck. I'd never seen anything like that at all beforehand, and it was pretty amazing to witness. The blood poured out as the goat struggled and was left to drip over a metal figurine and into a bowl. Someone also collected some in a glass bottle. Some internal piece of the goat (possibly an organ) was then diced up into very small pieces and washed around with the still-twitching goat's blood. Pieces were then dished out to people in the crowd, turning it into a scrum!
It was a pretty amazing thing to see, but as I've mentioned before I am not sure about the authenticity of the event. TV cameras were present to capture some government ministers, or local dignitaries, giving speeches and there were army guards complete with machine guns to make sure that the event didn't get out of control... The amount of tourists also put me off. It was about 1:1 tourists to locals.
That evening back in the town we went for dinner at a place on a sandy side street. The choice wasn't great, but we all went for the standard pintade (guinea fowl) and rice. However, the rice was running low and we had to go for a few bowls of pate as well. This isn't pate like Brussels, this is similar to fufu or kenkey - fermented maize in quite solid, gooey lumps. It tastes like it looks: grey. There is no flavour at all, but its okay for sustenance, with pintade or chilli paste. Another food I am glad to have tried but won't miss!
After a few beers at a bar, with the loudest sound system in the world, and all the locals having a blast after a hedonistic day of smashing bottles over their heads, we grabbed some more stew sandwiches and oranges (cheap as you like and so tasty) before packing for our final days of the trip in Cotonou. Sad times - an epic trip coming to a close.
The international festival was set up years ago by the president when he was 'saved' from death by a Voodoo priestess. events take place all over the country, but the main festival kicks off on the beach in Ouidah, so we were in the perfect place! We watched all sorts of things during the day, but the main ones were involving a group of people wearing only shorts. Their numbers grew as more people became 'possessed' and rolled around on the sand after drinking some unspecified liquid. After being sat on by their friends, the person in question took off their tops (yes, even the women) and smeared bright yellow paint over their head and chest.
Then they began doing some crazy African dancing to a fast-beating drum, kicking up sand and running around like madmen! Then came the weird stuff - cactus's tied to their backs, beating their bodies with said cacti, drinking the paint and spitting it over each other, rolling around in the sand, smashing glass bottles over their heads and cutting their arms with sacrificial knives (the latter two drew a lot of blood).
Other events included some member of the voodoo royalty blessing the sea, meaning hundreds of people then blessed themselves with the water, lots of crazy dancing from different tribes, from different countries (including Kez joining in again - she loves the African dance moves!), and finally a goat sacrifice! I was lost after going to watch some people light branches on fire and hit themselves with them, and luckily stumbled upon a small group of people preparing the goat. I was just in time as a massive congregation turned up, including some dignitaries from the area, followed by TV cameras and people holding umbrellas for them!
In the front row I had a great view of the Voodoo King blessing the knife and goat, before feeding it some concoction (also blessed!). then as the goat stretched its neck to reach the leaves, a man grabbed it's head and the knife was sawn (not cut) through the poor thing's neck. I'd never seen anything like that at all beforehand, and it was pretty amazing to witness. The blood poured out as the goat struggled and was left to drip over a metal figurine and into a bowl. Someone also collected some in a glass bottle. Some internal piece of the goat (possibly an organ) was then diced up into very small pieces and washed around with the still-twitching goat's blood. Pieces were then dished out to people in the crowd, turning it into a scrum!
It was a pretty amazing thing to see, but as I've mentioned before I am not sure about the authenticity of the event. TV cameras were present to capture some government ministers, or local dignitaries, giving speeches and there were army guards complete with machine guns to make sure that the event didn't get out of control... The amount of tourists also put me off. It was about 1:1 tourists to locals.
That evening back in the town we went for dinner at a place on a sandy side street. The choice wasn't great, but we all went for the standard pintade (guinea fowl) and rice. However, the rice was running low and we had to go for a few bowls of pate as well. This isn't pate like Brussels, this is similar to fufu or kenkey - fermented maize in quite solid, gooey lumps. It tastes like it looks: grey. There is no flavour at all, but its okay for sustenance, with pintade or chilli paste. Another food I am glad to have tried but won't miss!
After a few beers at a bar, with the loudest sound system in the world, and all the locals having a blast after a hedonistic day of smashing bottles over their heads, we grabbed some more stew sandwiches and oranges (cheap as you like and so tasty) before packing for our final days of the trip in Cotonou. Sad times - an epic trip coming to a close.
Ouidah - Vodou, Slaves and Python Temple
The next morning we left the auberge and trekked to where the bus station was on the map. It had obviously moved and so we each took a moto (with full backpack and daysack) through the streets of Porto Novo to the relocated site. We were coming towards the end of the trip, and were not up for anymore stressful journeys, rammed in the back of a falling-apart minivan, so we booked a private taxi and had an enjoyable hour or so drive to Ouidah - home to the biggest Voodoo celebration in the country (more than 60% of Benin practices Voodoo, which is admirable as this is where the strange religion has it's roots).
We arrived at Hotel Oasis, sans reservation, but were able to be fitted in because we were a few days early; the festival started on the 10th and we'd arrived on the 8th. The hotel's dimly lit corridors reminded me of The Shining, but on the plus side we didn't pay for air-con as they were broken, but Barney worked his (Voodoo?) magic and got it working. Sweeeet!
We spent the first morning having a wander around Ouidah, a small town that has become as famous for Voodoo as it has for being one of the most famous slave routes across the Atlantic. The Dahomey kings (from Abomey) sold thousands of slaves here, and the most well known 'middleman' was Francisco Felix de Souza, an African-Brazilian, whose house and family are still in Oudiah.
We visited the old Portuguese fort, that had been turned into a museum for the area. Slaves were held at the old, whitewashed fort, before being sent down the 'Slave Route' - a 3.5km trudge in full shackles in boiling heat before being loaded onto the ships at the beach. Inside the museum we were shown around by a guide speaking in rapid French (none of us understood any of it), but there quite a few interesting Voodoo pieces on the ground floor - art and statues. Then, as tourists, we were shown round the shop and 'artisan' market. We got chatting to a guy who spoke English, who said he'd take us on a guided tour of the Slave Route for an extortionate price. We decided to just do it ourselves the next morning before it got too hot.
That afternoon we were wandering around when we heard, and then saw, a Voodoo ceremony! A few hundred people had gathered in an opening just off the main road. In the middle were two giant haystacks, which had people in (sorry to break the Voodoo dream) who span around very quickly and in random undulating circles. The locals seemed to be petrified and scattered whenever the spinning haystack came near; flailing strips of string/hay like a dancer's dress that spins horizontally.
Barney went to take a photo and a fat man in a revoltingly tight, white tshirt came over and began shouting at him. We calmed him down after a while and he said we'd have to pay 10,000 CFA to take photos! That was about £13. We agreed not to take any. There were so many tourists about snapping away that we could easily just get some off the interweb when we got back. It made us think about the authenticity of the festival. They must be raking in thousands of pounds from all the tourists around taking photos and videos. Also the people involved in the haystack dance were playing up to the camera, drinking gin and posing in front of the stacks... It was still cool to see the dance though, and we hoped for a lot more things like this in the coming days.
That night we had goat brochettes (kebabs) whilst sitting at a bar on the roadside. Ghanaian service from the bar - no soft drinks and no beer, although we'd witnessed a delivery that day - but fantastic service, and price, for the kebabs. Sooooo good and for almost nothing at all. Still cracks me up thinking of kez eating kebabs with her fingers, picking off each piece and picking it apart!
The next day we walked the Slave Route (after a huge breakfast of an omlette AND porridge, due to a communication breakdown!) at about 10am. It was getting pretty hot already, and the walk wasn't made easier by the loose sand underfoot - that'd be fun on the moto drive back! We walked past a supernatural healer's place with a voodoo statue outside, palm trees, and a number of dubious statues relating to the slave trade. There were plinths at the side of the road, some with 'modern' art on, and others with overgrown deities on top. There didn't seem to be any info, and some plinths were without anything on top.
Crossing a river, via bridge, we saw the beach unfold before us. It wasn't as spectacular as we'd heard (rumours of one of the best beaches in the country), but it was nice to see a beach. As we walked off the sandy road we had dozens of hawkers shouting at us, banging drums and ringing bells - "my friend, my friend". We carried on and had a look at the Gate of No Return, a huge gateway engraved with carvings symbolising the slaves' struggles; it was pretty impressive. Walking along the beach (with litter) we saw the Door of Return - an equally large statue that had a cross in front of it, and the 'doorway was carved in the shape of Benin. Pretty cool. We sat in the shade to try and get out of the sweltering heat, and drank some milk from the coconuts...not sure if we were meant to eat them too...
We decided to get motos back, after having some drinks in a bar, as it was too hot to do the return journey. As usual we were asked to pay about 800% of the going rate and began to walk. Some of the moto drivers backed down and offered us a normal price, and so we took a scary ride back, drifting across the sand! Back in one piece, we had a nice cheap lunch and then decided to get the rest of the touristy sights out of the way so we had a full day to enjoy the Voodoo Festival tomorrow.
Firstly we went to the Python temple. We had been warned about this, but thought we'd better go see it regardless. We paid about £2 each, and had a guide. He took us into a courtyard, showed us a big tree, a spherical sacrifice block and then opened the 'temple'. There were about 50 pythons (harmless) inside in pretty drab conditions and barely any water. The guide put some pythons round our necks, we took photos, pythons were returned. Then he asked for a tip. That was it. Tour over. Absolute rip off, but very funny nonetheless! Probably the single worst tourist attraction I've ever been to!
Then we got motos to the edge of the town and went into the Sacred Forest (oooooooooooo - meant to be a ghost sound). Our guide showed us some statues that were depictions of Voodoo gods and explained them quite well in English. Then we saw a tree that, according to legend, a king had turned himself into to escape from his enemies. It was said that if you put a gift down for the king (i.e. money) then you could make a wish. I'm a sucker for things like that! Hasn't come true yet...
Tomorrow - Voodoo Festival!
We arrived at Hotel Oasis, sans reservation, but were able to be fitted in because we were a few days early; the festival started on the 10th and we'd arrived on the 8th. The hotel's dimly lit corridors reminded me of The Shining, but on the plus side we didn't pay for air-con as they were broken, but Barney worked his (Voodoo?) magic and got it working. Sweeeet!
We spent the first morning having a wander around Ouidah, a small town that has become as famous for Voodoo as it has for being one of the most famous slave routes across the Atlantic. The Dahomey kings (from Abomey) sold thousands of slaves here, and the most well known 'middleman' was Francisco Felix de Souza, an African-Brazilian, whose house and family are still in Oudiah.
We visited the old Portuguese fort, that had been turned into a museum for the area. Slaves were held at the old, whitewashed fort, before being sent down the 'Slave Route' - a 3.5km trudge in full shackles in boiling heat before being loaded onto the ships at the beach. Inside the museum we were shown around by a guide speaking in rapid French (none of us understood any of it), but there quite a few interesting Voodoo pieces on the ground floor - art and statues. Then, as tourists, we were shown round the shop and 'artisan' market. We got chatting to a guy who spoke English, who said he'd take us on a guided tour of the Slave Route for an extortionate price. We decided to just do it ourselves the next morning before it got too hot.
That afternoon we were wandering around when we heard, and then saw, a Voodoo ceremony! A few hundred people had gathered in an opening just off the main road. In the middle were two giant haystacks, which had people in (sorry to break the Voodoo dream) who span around very quickly and in random undulating circles. The locals seemed to be petrified and scattered whenever the spinning haystack came near; flailing strips of string/hay like a dancer's dress that spins horizontally.
Barney went to take a photo and a fat man in a revoltingly tight, white tshirt came over and began shouting at him. We calmed him down after a while and he said we'd have to pay 10,000 CFA to take photos! That was about £13. We agreed not to take any. There were so many tourists about snapping away that we could easily just get some off the interweb when we got back. It made us think about the authenticity of the festival. They must be raking in thousands of pounds from all the tourists around taking photos and videos. Also the people involved in the haystack dance were playing up to the camera, drinking gin and posing in front of the stacks... It was still cool to see the dance though, and we hoped for a lot more things like this in the coming days.
That night we had goat brochettes (kebabs) whilst sitting at a bar on the roadside. Ghanaian service from the bar - no soft drinks and no beer, although we'd witnessed a delivery that day - but fantastic service, and price, for the kebabs. Sooooo good and for almost nothing at all. Still cracks me up thinking of kez eating kebabs with her fingers, picking off each piece and picking it apart!
The next day we walked the Slave Route (after a huge breakfast of an omlette AND porridge, due to a communication breakdown!) at about 10am. It was getting pretty hot already, and the walk wasn't made easier by the loose sand underfoot - that'd be fun on the moto drive back! We walked past a supernatural healer's place with a voodoo statue outside, palm trees, and a number of dubious statues relating to the slave trade. There were plinths at the side of the road, some with 'modern' art on, and others with overgrown deities on top. There didn't seem to be any info, and some plinths were without anything on top.
Crossing a river, via bridge, we saw the beach unfold before us. It wasn't as spectacular as we'd heard (rumours of one of the best beaches in the country), but it was nice to see a beach. As we walked off the sandy road we had dozens of hawkers shouting at us, banging drums and ringing bells - "my friend, my friend". We carried on and had a look at the Gate of No Return, a huge gateway engraved with carvings symbolising the slaves' struggles; it was pretty impressive. Walking along the beach (with litter) we saw the Door of Return - an equally large statue that had a cross in front of it, and the 'doorway was carved in the shape of Benin. Pretty cool. We sat in the shade to try and get out of the sweltering heat, and drank some milk from the coconuts...not sure if we were meant to eat them too...
We decided to get motos back, after having some drinks in a bar, as it was too hot to do the return journey. As usual we were asked to pay about 800% of the going rate and began to walk. Some of the moto drivers backed down and offered us a normal price, and so we took a scary ride back, drifting across the sand! Back in one piece, we had a nice cheap lunch and then decided to get the rest of the touristy sights out of the way so we had a full day to enjoy the Voodoo Festival tomorrow.
Firstly we went to the Python temple. We had been warned about this, but thought we'd better go see it regardless. We paid about £2 each, and had a guide. He took us into a courtyard, showed us a big tree, a spherical sacrifice block and then opened the 'temple'. There were about 50 pythons (harmless) inside in pretty drab conditions and barely any water. The guide put some pythons round our necks, we took photos, pythons were returned. Then he asked for a tip. That was it. Tour over. Absolute rip off, but very funny nonetheless! Probably the single worst tourist attraction I've ever been to!
Then we got motos to the edge of the town and went into the Sacred Forest (oooooooooooo - meant to be a ghost sound). Our guide showed us some statues that were depictions of Voodoo gods and explained them quite well in English. Then we saw a tree that, according to legend, a king had turned himself into to escape from his enemies. It was said that if you put a gift down for the king (i.e. money) then you could make a wish. I'm a sucker for things like that! Hasn't come true yet...
Tomorrow - Voodoo Festival!
Saturday, 23 January 2010
Few days at the Auberge
As there was no train back down south, we got a taxi back to the gare routiere and a few guys helped us into a taxi heading to Porto Novo (the capital of Benin). We had a few days to kill before the Voodoo Festival in Ouidah, and unfortunately didn't have enough time to head up north and get back down beforehand. Just before the taxi departed from Abomey, we picked up a pretty well off kid from a house on the outskirts of town and from the way he was talking to the taxi driver, and the clothes he was wearing, we thought he was a prince!
Passing quite a few crashed, overturned and burnt out lorries on the way, we arrived in the capital and headed straight for the Centre Songhai - a sustainable agricultural project just on the outskirts of the city centre. In our guide book it was said to be the best place to stay, with over 80 rooms, a recommended restaurant on site and the fastest Internet connection in the city (which obviously didnt help me too much getting this up to date, as I'm still writing this after I'm home!).
Unfortunately, the Centre was full, but we had a very nice lunch of pintade (guinea fowl) and, yes you've guessed it, rice. We then had to try and hail down a taxi to take us back into the city centre to find somewhere to stay. This may sound quite simple, but in Benin there are very few car taxis, most taxis are zemidjans (aka zemi's - motorbikes that zoom back and forth across town for a very small fee). They are a great idea, but very scary or exhilarating depending on which way you view the journey! As we had all our bags, we waited till a four-wheeled taxi pulled up and got taken to the Detente Hotel. Which doesn't exist anymore.
We walked further up the road, just as the rain started up, and arrived at the Auberge Malabo. This seemed more our price range than the almost-palace next door, which we found out was a top government minister's house. The auberge was a really nice little place, run by a friendly chap who helped us out with directions etc around the city. Actually, that night we weren't sure where to go to eat, and the guy, who spoke a bit of English, flagged down a couple of zemis and showed us to a nice little restaurant a few minutes away.
We thought he was going to sit with us for the whole meal, but made his way back after making sure we were okay. The food was fine, but the service went back to Ghanaian and we had a lot of difficulty getting any drinks! Returning back to the auberge we discovered that there was no electricity. Not so bad for any rooms with windows, but mine and Barney's room was a veritable cell - it was in the middle of the building, with only a small window leading to a corridor for ventilation. When the fan was off it was a sweatbox; too hot to sleep.
The next day, we went to the city centre and found an omlette man down a side street. Dree went off to change some traveller's cheques while the rest of us went into a dubious museum called La Musee Da Silva. In the guidebook it said that the museum was a bit random and had a strange collection of objects. We went inside and found an English-speaking guide called Gerry. It turned out that Gerry was born in Benin, but his parents had left for Gabon because of the problems with communism in the 70's and 80's. Gerry had gone to university in Philadelphia in the USA and it was really good to have a guide we could chat with.
The Museum was created by a former government minister who had Brazilian ancestry, and was filled with all sorts of random items - from old cameras and typewriters, through hundreds of pictures of family members and famous people, to a Rolls Royce, a mummified turtle and some dubious artwork from around the world. It really was an unexpected little tour, but was very interesting. The former minister had collected all these things in his old house, which was in the original Afro-Brazilian style of architecture, but the tour itself was made by our guide.
Gerry was very, very funny, walking around explaining about the exhibits, and sometimes turning to us and saying "Now I'm only saying this because it says so on the label, but I don't think this is right!". One memorable one was the 'Thai' art section, which had some Western nude women in erotic poses. Very Thai! I was taking photos of some things on the way round, and Gerry kindly allowed me to, but became quite nervous towards the end. Probably because he'd been walking around chatting to us for about two and a half hours - when the tour was only meant to take an hour max! Poor Gerry got a rollicking when we got back (we obviously tipped him), but poor Dree had been sitting outside for the whole time!
After a cheap bite to eat we hit another museum - the museum of Entomology - but the Beninese lady who showed us round seemed frosty and annoyed at first. She was a bit aggrieved at having to speak English, although the employees were being taught to do the tour in both French and English. She was quite friendly toward the end, but the museum itself was more to do with families and the upbringing of children, and quite different to the eclectic-ness of the da Silva!
I spent the evening back at Centre Songhai, catching up on a few weeks of blog from over Christmas, and had a couple of very scary moto rides back and forth! The zemi riders zoom in and out of lanes at speed, and the Beninese as a whole don't seem to get the idea of roundabouts...they stop ON the roundabout to let others on. It all makes for a hair raising adventure!
The next day we'd planned to leave. However, things weren't going to plan. The ONLY time we'd paid for three days up front, rather than day by day, and we'd been stung! We asked to leave a day early, but apparently the 'police' had been informed of where we were staying and the 'tax' had already been paid... We couldn't afford to give up a night's paid accommodation, and so spent a very cheap day reading, eating from the street stalls and repacking our bags. Bit of a downer at the end of such a nice stay that we were kind of kidnapped, but compared to what would happen in a few days this was pretty mild!
Passing quite a few crashed, overturned and burnt out lorries on the way, we arrived in the capital and headed straight for the Centre Songhai - a sustainable agricultural project just on the outskirts of the city centre. In our guide book it was said to be the best place to stay, with over 80 rooms, a recommended restaurant on site and the fastest Internet connection in the city (which obviously didnt help me too much getting this up to date, as I'm still writing this after I'm home!).
Unfortunately, the Centre was full, but we had a very nice lunch of pintade (guinea fowl) and, yes you've guessed it, rice. We then had to try and hail down a taxi to take us back into the city centre to find somewhere to stay. This may sound quite simple, but in Benin there are very few car taxis, most taxis are zemidjans (aka zemi's - motorbikes that zoom back and forth across town for a very small fee). They are a great idea, but very scary or exhilarating depending on which way you view the journey! As we had all our bags, we waited till a four-wheeled taxi pulled up and got taken to the Detente Hotel. Which doesn't exist anymore.
We walked further up the road, just as the rain started up, and arrived at the Auberge Malabo. This seemed more our price range than the almost-palace next door, which we found out was a top government minister's house. The auberge was a really nice little place, run by a friendly chap who helped us out with directions etc around the city. Actually, that night we weren't sure where to go to eat, and the guy, who spoke a bit of English, flagged down a couple of zemis and showed us to a nice little restaurant a few minutes away.
We thought he was going to sit with us for the whole meal, but made his way back after making sure we were okay. The food was fine, but the service went back to Ghanaian and we had a lot of difficulty getting any drinks! Returning back to the auberge we discovered that there was no electricity. Not so bad for any rooms with windows, but mine and Barney's room was a veritable cell - it was in the middle of the building, with only a small window leading to a corridor for ventilation. When the fan was off it was a sweatbox; too hot to sleep.
The next day, we went to the city centre and found an omlette man down a side street. Dree went off to change some traveller's cheques while the rest of us went into a dubious museum called La Musee Da Silva. In the guidebook it said that the museum was a bit random and had a strange collection of objects. We went inside and found an English-speaking guide called Gerry. It turned out that Gerry was born in Benin, but his parents had left for Gabon because of the problems with communism in the 70's and 80's. Gerry had gone to university in Philadelphia in the USA and it was really good to have a guide we could chat with.
The Museum was created by a former government minister who had Brazilian ancestry, and was filled with all sorts of random items - from old cameras and typewriters, through hundreds of pictures of family members and famous people, to a Rolls Royce, a mummified turtle and some dubious artwork from around the world. It really was an unexpected little tour, but was very interesting. The former minister had collected all these things in his old house, which was in the original Afro-Brazilian style of architecture, but the tour itself was made by our guide.
Gerry was very, very funny, walking around explaining about the exhibits, and sometimes turning to us and saying "Now I'm only saying this because it says so on the label, but I don't think this is right!". One memorable one was the 'Thai' art section, which had some Western nude women in erotic poses. Very Thai! I was taking photos of some things on the way round, and Gerry kindly allowed me to, but became quite nervous towards the end. Probably because he'd been walking around chatting to us for about two and a half hours - when the tour was only meant to take an hour max! Poor Gerry got a rollicking when we got back (we obviously tipped him), but poor Dree had been sitting outside for the whole time!
After a cheap bite to eat we hit another museum - the museum of Entomology - but the Beninese lady who showed us round seemed frosty and annoyed at first. She was a bit aggrieved at having to speak English, although the employees were being taught to do the tour in both French and English. She was quite friendly toward the end, but the museum itself was more to do with families and the upbringing of children, and quite different to the eclectic-ness of the da Silva!
I spent the evening back at Centre Songhai, catching up on a few weeks of blog from over Christmas, and had a couple of very scary moto rides back and forth! The zemi riders zoom in and out of lanes at speed, and the Beninese as a whole don't seem to get the idea of roundabouts...they stop ON the roundabout to let others on. It all makes for a hair raising adventure!
The next day we'd planned to leave. However, things weren't going to plan. The ONLY time we'd paid for three days up front, rather than day by day, and we'd been stung! We asked to leave a day early, but apparently the 'police' had been informed of where we were staying and the 'tax' had already been paid... We couldn't afford to give up a night's paid accommodation, and so spent a very cheap day reading, eating from the street stalls and repacking our bags. Bit of a downer at the end of such a nice stay that we were kind of kidnapped, but compared to what would happen in a few days this was pretty mild!
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Ye Olde Kingdom of Dahomey
After winning the game of cards to win the coveted "bidet-bathroom" and air-conned room, we had a pretty good (if expensive) meal of chicken with rice and sauce. Of course before all of this, we had to have a mammoth shower to wash off the extra five layers of red dust from the day's open-bus journey!
The next day we walked the twenty minutes into town (with no help from the useless Bradt map; which held no resemblance to the actual town) and took a wander around. Abomey was the capital of the kingdom of Dahomey that is now known the Republic of Benin. The kingdom is notorious for being at the heart of the Transatlantic slave trade that we'd learnt about in Ghana. Dahomey supplied slaves for the Europeans by raiding villages and capturing enemies during their many wars.
Before we headed to see the famous palaces built by the Fon people (another UNESCO site), we found some lunch. Eventually. For some unknown reason, Abomey had very little in the way of restaurants, chop bars, street food or any kind of vendor of food products. We did find a place after about five or six rejections and ordered some of the local grub from the variety of pots outside. We ordered (were given) a plate of rice and some sauce with some deep fried things. Everyone else worked out that it was deep fried cheese way before I did. It was really nice to have something different - a change from anorexic chicken!
Now craving cheese, we made our way to the royal palace. Firstly we walked into the wrong high-walled area, and were confused when a lady said that the museum and palace was round the corner, as there were maps and signs for the palace inside. Once we got to the museum/palace, and the woman had woken up from behind the desk, we were ushered out into a main courtyard, which had been turned into a craft market. Cue hassle. It wasn't too bad to be honest, and after the tour we bought a few things that had been woven there. The looms were pretty cool - the guys operated them barefoot, with the thread tied to their toes!
We asked about an English-speaking guide and were told that there was only a French man available. We joined a French lady, and had the huge locked doors that led to other courtyards opened for us by a very old caretaker. He followed and locked the doors behind us as we walked through the palace. The tour guide spoke rapid fire French, but did speak some English pretty well when we asked him to. The basic overview was that the palace was the home of the kings of Dahomey, who lived there along with their hundreds of wives and mistresses, and personal army.
As we wandered through each enclosed area, we picked up a bit of what the French guide said. The gist of it was that the kings were very strict, and subjects who got even slightly out of line had their heads chopped off! This included people who looked directly at the king's favourite mistress, and the executioner, who would also be decapitated if he didn't behead someone in one fell swoop! It was basically quite hard to KEEP your head! Furthermore, the high walls surrounding the palace were apparently coloured with the blood of enemies.
One particular group of warriors also caught our eye. The Amazonians were a unit of women that were renowned for being ruthless in battle, and were not, as I thought, anything to do with the Brazilian rainforest! They apparently fought with more passion and anger than their male counterparts, and were the kings' favourite battalion.
After about an hour of wandering around the separate enclosures (seeing cannons, probably a new addition, low buildings where people were buried, and some funny artwork from back in the day which showed warriors stabbing their enemies in the bottom), we came back out to the craft area and saw some overpriced tat. For example, there were old bottles that had been taken from a rubbish tip, painted some colour, hung from a tree and then were being sold for 10,000 CFA - about £13 - for a discarded bottle...
We did find out that the train wasn't running to the cities on the coast, and so had to re-evaluate our plans. We headed back to the auberge and ordered dinner (as there was nowhere else to eat in the city!), before deciding to leave the next morning for Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin.
The next day we walked the twenty minutes into town (with no help from the useless Bradt map; which held no resemblance to the actual town) and took a wander around. Abomey was the capital of the kingdom of Dahomey that is now known the Republic of Benin. The kingdom is notorious for being at the heart of the Transatlantic slave trade that we'd learnt about in Ghana. Dahomey supplied slaves for the Europeans by raiding villages and capturing enemies during their many wars.
Before we headed to see the famous palaces built by the Fon people (another UNESCO site), we found some lunch. Eventually. For some unknown reason, Abomey had very little in the way of restaurants, chop bars, street food or any kind of vendor of food products. We did find a place after about five or six rejections and ordered some of the local grub from the variety of pots outside. We ordered (were given) a plate of rice and some sauce with some deep fried things. Everyone else worked out that it was deep fried cheese way before I did. It was really nice to have something different - a change from anorexic chicken!
Now craving cheese, we made our way to the royal palace. Firstly we walked into the wrong high-walled area, and were confused when a lady said that the museum and palace was round the corner, as there were maps and signs for the palace inside. Once we got to the museum/palace, and the woman had woken up from behind the desk, we were ushered out into a main courtyard, which had been turned into a craft market. Cue hassle. It wasn't too bad to be honest, and after the tour we bought a few things that had been woven there. The looms were pretty cool - the guys operated them barefoot, with the thread tied to their toes!
We asked about an English-speaking guide and were told that there was only a French man available. We joined a French lady, and had the huge locked doors that led to other courtyards opened for us by a very old caretaker. He followed and locked the doors behind us as we walked through the palace. The tour guide spoke rapid fire French, but did speak some English pretty well when we asked him to. The basic overview was that the palace was the home of the kings of Dahomey, who lived there along with their hundreds of wives and mistresses, and personal army.
As we wandered through each enclosed area, we picked up a bit of what the French guide said. The gist of it was that the kings were very strict, and subjects who got even slightly out of line had their heads chopped off! This included people who looked directly at the king's favourite mistress, and the executioner, who would also be decapitated if he didn't behead someone in one fell swoop! It was basically quite hard to KEEP your head! Furthermore, the high walls surrounding the palace were apparently coloured with the blood of enemies.
One particular group of warriors also caught our eye. The Amazonians were a unit of women that were renowned for being ruthless in battle, and were not, as I thought, anything to do with the Brazilian rainforest! They apparently fought with more passion and anger than their male counterparts, and were the kings' favourite battalion.
After about an hour of wandering around the separate enclosures (seeing cannons, probably a new addition, low buildings where people were buried, and some funny artwork from back in the day which showed warriors stabbing their enemies in the bottom), we came back out to the craft area and saw some overpriced tat. For example, there were old bottles that had been taken from a rubbish tip, painted some colour, hung from a tree and then were being sold for 10,000 CFA - about £13 - for a discarded bottle...
We did find out that the train wasn't running to the cities on the coast, and so had to re-evaluate our plans. We headed back to the auberge and ordered dinner (as there was nowhere else to eat in the city!), before deciding to leave the next morning for Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Country Number Eight!
We all fell asleep pretty quickly that night, after a hectic, action-packed few days, but as usual Barney got up for the first in his toilet visits during the night, as he'd drunk two Cokes. I get woken up just after, by a crazed Mr Webb saying "We're locked in!". It was true - the deadbolt lock was broken and the key just turned loosely. There was no way out apart from a high drop from the small window to the house below. We tried for about twenty minutes to break open the deadlock, and eventually resorted to cutting into the woodwork with our penknives. But the nails went too far in! After even more hard work, and bending of the lock, the door swung open but not without injury - I sliced my poor thumb... At least Barney could go pee!
We left the Auberge pretty early, as we had to make a lot of distance to make it across the border to Benin, our final country. It was a shame to only have a few days in Togo, but we had plans in Benin for the next week before flying out of Cotonou. We hiked down the checkpoint before the village, and a very nice army sergeant helped us get some motorbike taxis back to Kpalimè. The bike journey was pretty nerve-wracking, as the route back to Kpalimè was all winding roads, with steep drops over the side. Not to help matters, the driver had my big bag on his handlebars and insisted on doing some pretty quick 'superbike' turns (with his knee close to the tarmac) and leaving it till the last moment to dodge potholes.
We all met up for breakfast in Cafè Bel Air in the centre of town, after Barney's driver got lost, and Kez and Dree managed to wangle a taxi. From there we arranged a tro-tro from the gare routiere, but had to wait for an hour or so before enough bodies got on board. The cramped vehicle drove down some very dusty tracks at speed, and we all got completely covered with red. This was mainly because there were no wheel arches on the minibus, and holes underneath. The inside looked like a Sahara sandstorm for most of the journey, and I ended up breathing through a towel.
From our drop off at Notsè, we found a driver willing to drive us to the border town of Tombè, for more than we'd normally pay. However, there were no other vehicles going that way, and it was the private car or stay in Notsè. The road there was... standard for Africa, and we bumped along with the windows stuck open. The driver was an idiot and drove through Tombè and to the border, which we'd asked him not to as the price was too much and we needed a minivan going ACROSS the border to the Benin side. We said that we'd only pay him 10,000 CFA, not an extra 3,000 from Tombè (only 2km).
After being checked through by the grumpy officials (unsure why, as it seems a pretty cushty, well-paid job) there was a bit of a fracas between Dree and the driver, who tried to pick up one of our bags. He knew we didn't want the border, and we argued for a while. The sergeant in charge at the border called us over and Dree did a tremendous job of explaining what happened in French. The guards seemed on our side and told the driver to take the 10,000. He kept complaining and we just paid and left, Dree subtly calling him a thief along the way.
On the Benin side, after a few formalities with a slightly less grumpy Benin official, a really, really nice couple of blokes had pulled over and waited for us in their van, after chatting to us on the Togo side. We'd been about half an hour and expected them to have given up and left. But they were so friendly, such a contrast to our last few minutes in Togo, and they took us to a local town where we tipped them and thanked them again.
From there, it was just an hour's drive or so to the notorious city of Abomey, capital of the old empire of Dahomey. A pretty uneventful journey in the wide, 1970's Peugot 505; apart from hitting a dog we arrived just before dusk at the Residence Marie-Josè, and after a few photos for the scrapbook - we were filthy from the dusty minibus earlier - we played cards for who would get the room with air-con and bidet. Yes, you read correctly, a bidet!
We left the Auberge pretty early, as we had to make a lot of distance to make it across the border to Benin, our final country. It was a shame to only have a few days in Togo, but we had plans in Benin for the next week before flying out of Cotonou. We hiked down the checkpoint before the village, and a very nice army sergeant helped us get some motorbike taxis back to Kpalimè. The bike journey was pretty nerve-wracking, as the route back to Kpalimè was all winding roads, with steep drops over the side. Not to help matters, the driver had my big bag on his handlebars and insisted on doing some pretty quick 'superbike' turns (with his knee close to the tarmac) and leaving it till the last moment to dodge potholes.
We all met up for breakfast in Cafè Bel Air in the centre of town, after Barney's driver got lost, and Kez and Dree managed to wangle a taxi. From there we arranged a tro-tro from the gare routiere, but had to wait for an hour or so before enough bodies got on board. The cramped vehicle drove down some very dusty tracks at speed, and we all got completely covered with red. This was mainly because there were no wheel arches on the minibus, and holes underneath. The inside looked like a Sahara sandstorm for most of the journey, and I ended up breathing through a towel.
From our drop off at Notsè, we found a driver willing to drive us to the border town of Tombè, for more than we'd normally pay. However, there were no other vehicles going that way, and it was the private car or stay in Notsè. The road there was... standard for Africa, and we bumped along with the windows stuck open. The driver was an idiot and drove through Tombè and to the border, which we'd asked him not to as the price was too much and we needed a minivan going ACROSS the border to the Benin side. We said that we'd only pay him 10,000 CFA, not an extra 3,000 from Tombè (only 2km).
After being checked through by the grumpy officials (unsure why, as it seems a pretty cushty, well-paid job) there was a bit of a fracas between Dree and the driver, who tried to pick up one of our bags. He knew we didn't want the border, and we argued for a while. The sergeant in charge at the border called us over and Dree did a tremendous job of explaining what happened in French. The guards seemed on our side and told the driver to take the 10,000. He kept complaining and we just paid and left, Dree subtly calling him a thief along the way.
On the Benin side, after a few formalities with a slightly less grumpy Benin official, a really, really nice couple of blokes had pulled over and waited for us in their van, after chatting to us on the Togo side. We'd been about half an hour and expected them to have given up and left. But they were so friendly, such a contrast to our last few minutes in Togo, and they took us to a local town where we tipped them and thanked them again.
From there, it was just an hour's drive or so to the notorious city of Abomey, capital of the old empire of Dahomey. A pretty uneventful journey in the wide, 1970's Peugot 505; apart from hitting a dog we arrived just before dusk at the Residence Marie-Josè, and after a few photos for the scrapbook - we were filthy from the dusty minibus earlier - we played cards for who would get the room with air-con and bidet. Yes, you read correctly, a bidet!
Waterfalls and Butterflies
The next day - 2nd January - we packed all our gear up and left our bags in the rooms. Jumping on a tro-tro for another village twenty minutes away (for which we weren't ripped off - yay!), we arrived and instantly saw the huge waterfall from the roadside, as it cascaded down the ridge a kilometre away. We shrugged off the attention of a few hangers-on who said we had to pay in the village, we wandered down the straight track as the waterfall grew in front of us. It was massive - about 150 metres high, maybe more!
Paying at the gate (what a surprise), we walked a bit further and gazed up the vast, sheer rock wall at the water cascading down. We stripped off, not all the way, and perilously wandered across slippery rocks till we were underneath the fall itself. The smooth rocks were so slippery underfoot, and the power of the waterfall was incredible after falling for so many hundred feet. We took a few pictures and had a muck around in the water, before taking one of our standard group photos with Barney's timed camera. This time it didn't go too smoothly as his flip flop broke and he missed one of the pictures - ironic as he was fine climbing over rocks and waterfalls in Burkina, but had trouble over even ground in Togo!
Back in Kpalimè after a bumpy ride in a tiny pick-up, we grabbed our bags and left for Kouma Kounda village, in the shadows of Mount Klouto, Togo's second highest peak. Don't worry, we weren't about to try and scale this one too! The taxi to get there was a bit of a strange one. As we sat in the gare routiere (bus station), we joked about being in the car with fat people, mainly because there was a MASSIVE lady behind us - about five times the size of Kez! As we got in the sept-place (ah, like old days) we were four across the back seat. Then the fat woman got in the front passenger seat along with another, not particularly small, lady. So it was three in the front, four in the back. The driver tried to get a boy of about 13 into the back too, but we protested. Where would he go?!
The car eventually left, but pulled up after the police check and the boy got in the front seat! Next to the driver. No idea how they managed it, or how we actually drove anywhere. The boy hopped out again before the next police check, and we made it in one piece to Auberge Papillion in the village of Kouma Kounda. The place was highly recommended, with good food and good guides to do a butterfly tour with around the mountain. The truth was that it was not very well run, and the guide that talked to us was drunk and toothless.
We did find another guide, who took us on a three hour excursion around the forest/jungle on the mountain. He had a butterfly net, and caught a number of colourful specimens to show us. they were everywhere. Dree seemed to take it all in his stride, firstly trying with the net, but having more success catching them with his bare hands! We were also shown some plants that were used by artists because of their vibrant colour (crushed leaves oxidising and turning blue, and bright orange and white sap). It was all really interesting and we also tried fruits and fresh kola nuts - far better than those tried in Senegal. The next places we visited were a cave and a couple of waterfalls that we dipped into, before realising they were freeing cold!
We heard some drumming and singing in the forest valley and our guide kindly took us down. It was part of the area's New Years celebrations (as the days after New Years are celebrated more than the one evening; a great idea!), and we paid a small fee to head down. There were hundreds of villagers in an opening near a river, along with a DJ and speakers, bullhorns, whistles, drums, and all kinds of food and drink, including a Fan Milk man and a woman dishing out palm wine and other booze. Everyone was having an excellent time, probably because of the aforementioned booze, and we stayed for a while.
However, dusk was closing in and we wanted to get back before dark. We'd been climbing steadily down for a few hours and were pretty tired after a full few days walking. Walking back along the twisting main road took a while, but when we got back we were in for a surprise. We had ordered some spaghetti and chicken for dinner before we left, and as we got back I confirmed with the 'chef'. Then half an hour after we were meant to have eaten, we realised that the kitchen was locked up, lights all off. A kind man in the village cooked up some rice and sauce for us, no thanks to anyone at the auberge.
We called it a night after polishing off some gin we had left over from NYE - it's good for the health/ bonne for la santè!
Paying at the gate (what a surprise), we walked a bit further and gazed up the vast, sheer rock wall at the water cascading down. We stripped off, not all the way, and perilously wandered across slippery rocks till we were underneath the fall itself. The smooth rocks were so slippery underfoot, and the power of the waterfall was incredible after falling for so many hundred feet. We took a few pictures and had a muck around in the water, before taking one of our standard group photos with Barney's timed camera. This time it didn't go too smoothly as his flip flop broke and he missed one of the pictures - ironic as he was fine climbing over rocks and waterfalls in Burkina, but had trouble over even ground in Togo!
Back in Kpalimè after a bumpy ride in a tiny pick-up, we grabbed our bags and left for Kouma Kounda village, in the shadows of Mount Klouto, Togo's second highest peak. Don't worry, we weren't about to try and scale this one too! The taxi to get there was a bit of a strange one. As we sat in the gare routiere (bus station), we joked about being in the car with fat people, mainly because there was a MASSIVE lady behind us - about five times the size of Kez! As we got in the sept-place (ah, like old days) we were four across the back seat. Then the fat woman got in the front passenger seat along with another, not particularly small, lady. So it was three in the front, four in the back. The driver tried to get a boy of about 13 into the back too, but we protested. Where would he go?!
The car eventually left, but pulled up after the police check and the boy got in the front seat! Next to the driver. No idea how they managed it, or how we actually drove anywhere. The boy hopped out again before the next police check, and we made it in one piece to Auberge Papillion in the village of Kouma Kounda. The place was highly recommended, with good food and good guides to do a butterfly tour with around the mountain. The truth was that it was not very well run, and the guide that talked to us was drunk and toothless.
We did find another guide, who took us on a three hour excursion around the forest/jungle on the mountain. He had a butterfly net, and caught a number of colourful specimens to show us. they were everywhere. Dree seemed to take it all in his stride, firstly trying with the net, but having more success catching them with his bare hands! We were also shown some plants that were used by artists because of their vibrant colour (crushed leaves oxidising and turning blue, and bright orange and white sap). It was all really interesting and we also tried fruits and fresh kola nuts - far better than those tried in Senegal. The next places we visited were a cave and a couple of waterfalls that we dipped into, before realising they were freeing cold!
We heard some drumming and singing in the forest valley and our guide kindly took us down. It was part of the area's New Years celebrations (as the days after New Years are celebrated more than the one evening; a great idea!), and we paid a small fee to head down. There were hundreds of villagers in an opening near a river, along with a DJ and speakers, bullhorns, whistles, drums, and all kinds of food and drink, including a Fan Milk man and a woman dishing out palm wine and other booze. Everyone was having an excellent time, probably because of the aforementioned booze, and we stayed for a while.
However, dusk was closing in and we wanted to get back before dark. We'd been climbing steadily down for a few hours and were pretty tired after a full few days walking. Walking back along the twisting main road took a while, but when we got back we were in for a surprise. We had ordered some spaghetti and chicken for dinner before we left, and as we got back I confirmed with the 'chef'. Then half an hour after we were meant to have eaten, we realised that the kitchen was locked up, lights all off. A kind man in the village cooked up some rice and sauce for us, no thanks to anyone at the auberge.
We called it a night after polishing off some gin we had left over from NYE - it's good for the health/ bonne for la santè!
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