After a quick breakfast at the really friendly omlette guy, we crossed the road to the musician's association to pick up our motos for the day. The guy was not yet ready and so we sat down on the benches outside to wait. The tiny shop had music pouring out of it, with three Burkinabes banging the hell out of some balafons (Burkinan xylophones) for about half an hour. Then we had some drums added to the mix too. They were really getting into it at 9am, with a small crowd of children bouncing along.
Next door to the music was a small shop where a white man was carving some kind of metal. After speaking to the man for a while (Pierre), we discovered that it was a joint effort with some local men who were also interested in brass sculpting. He even explained that he had been to Saffron Walden a few times to look at the glass-blowing there! Cliched, I know, but what a small world!
We were in for a shock, when the bikes eventually turned up, as they were ancient P50's - the slowest and most uncomfortable bike we could have imagined. They looked like anorexic motos, with room only for a two-horsepower engine, and to make matters worse they didn't have a second seat behind the driver, only a metal luggage rack. We thought about trying them, but the pain would've been excruciating over 18km! We apologised and asked them to get the more expensive bikes out that we'd decided against.
Another half hour wait, and a number of phone calls, and we were on the road with two pretty new motos, made by the national firm Kaizer. It was pretty hectic in the city, as we drove back to the hotel, but made it in one piece. Well, we nearly didn't as Dree (first time on a moto) took Kez on a lovely ride through a busy junction and up in between the oncoming traffic. Me and Barnes looked on in horror, but miraculously they emerged unscathed. Apart from some racing hearts.
The ride to the outskirts of town was equally scary, with huge lorries looming over us, and the style of driving reminiscent of Vietnam - chaotic ("You weren't there man!"). We were pleased with the mopeds, pretty comfy and drove well, and headed out of town looking for a natural swimming hole called La Guingetta. Undoubtedly, we got lost and had to ask a few people. With correct directions we headed out of the city past the new stadium (yay), down a sandy track (not good for the bike; drifting) and onto the main highway. Barney was expertly in control of the moto along the highway, and the only problem that happened was that we missed the turning for the swimming hole. Arriving there, we parked up next to the maquis that was by the side of the road, about 50m from the river, and took a break under the trees, reminiscing about near death!
The swimming hole itself was more of a slow-flowing river, quite deep in the middle, with soft sand underfoot. The water was so clear that we had no problems swimming in it - well less swimming, more laying under the shallow surface and occasionally letting yourself get carried downstream a little nway. It was a cool little spot and we ate some lunch there on the river bank.
As we prepared to leave, we noticed that the front tyre on Dree and Kez's bike was flat. We were kinda in the middle of nowhere, but the waiter from the maquis went with Dree to fetch a mechanic. The guy arrived by pushbike with a tiny bag of materials. He knelt down and found two punctures (one which needed sewing up with elasticated string), both of which he shaved down with a file, cut a small patch from a leftover inner tube, and sticking them on with a tiny bottle of glue that had a rag for a lid. Then he pumped up the whole thing with a handpump, a cloth to secure it, and also a tiny stone from the floor to open up the valve. Major man points! Reminded me of how Pop used to fix all sort of things. And to top it all off he charged us about 400 CFA - about 50p!
Back on the road, I drove the return leg, after a few falters whilst I got used to the moto. Felt great to open her up down the highway. But then went about 5mph through the city, as we went a different route back to the hotel. This took us in close contact with a number of lorries, and even more worryingly, roundabouts - which have definitely not caught on in Africa. People drive on them and stop while driving round, or just go at random times and in random directions. Getting back we noticed that the front tyre on OUR bike was flat. Luckily we made it to the hotel, where we pushed it round the corner to a mechanics - there are dozens of mechanics down every road, each one fixing broken motos. Me and Dree chose to just get the tyre pumped up after being glued, rather than pay 3000 CFA for a whole new inner tube; not our bikes!
Patched up, we dropped the bikes off at the association, before changing at the hotel for my birthday meal - 24 tomorrow! The four of us put on our Sunday best, or as good as we could manage, and went for a meal at a recommended restaurant. I cannot remember exactly what we ate, but it was a bit of a splash out for a special occasion, so me and Barney shared a bottle of red. We must spend some time apart after we get back...
All full up we went for a few drinks in the area that has been nicknamed "Little Brixton" after it's happening namesake in London. It wasn't too happening, but we tried a number of different beers (Barney had already had a Guinness Export at 7.5% that tasted thick as treacle), including Brakina, Flag and Beaufort, and sat on the street, where tables and chairs were laid out. We hadn't realised that we were sitting next to the entrance to a brothel. Lots of friendly ladies kept coming out, and older men going in. After a while it clicked and we headed into the bar next door, where there were old arcade games and pinball machines. Pretty cool having a beer and playing Tekken Tag, although I was awful, and some of the friendly ladies, who looked high as kites, were smartly waved off by my more sober friends. We did try and find some live music (the guys from the Association were playing apparently), but the whole place was in darkness.
The swimming hole itself was more of a slow-flowing river, quite deep in the middle, with soft sand underfoot. The water was so clear that we had no problems swimming in it - well less swimming, more laying under the shallow surface and occasionally letting yourself get carried downstream a little nway. It was a cool little spot and we ate some lunch there on the river bank.
As we prepared to leave, we noticed that the front tyre on Dree and Kez's bike was flat. We were kinda in the middle of nowhere, but the waiter from the maquis went with Dree to fetch a mechanic. The guy arrived by pushbike with a tiny bag of materials. He knelt down and found two punctures (one which needed sewing up with elasticated string), both of which he shaved down with a file, cut a small patch from a leftover inner tube, and sticking them on with a tiny bottle of glue that had a rag for a lid. Then he pumped up the whole thing with a handpump, a cloth to secure it, and also a tiny stone from the floor to open up the valve. Major man points! Reminded me of how Pop used to fix all sort of things. And to top it all off he charged us about 400 CFA - about 50p!
Back on the road, I drove the return leg, after a few falters whilst I got used to the moto. Felt great to open her up down the highway. But then went about 5mph through the city, as we went a different route back to the hotel. This took us in close contact with a number of lorries, and even more worryingly, roundabouts - which have definitely not caught on in Africa. People drive on them and stop while driving round, or just go at random times and in random directions. Getting back we noticed that the front tyre on OUR bike was flat. Luckily we made it to the hotel, where we pushed it round the corner to a mechanics - there are dozens of mechanics down every road, each one fixing broken motos. Me and Dree chose to just get the tyre pumped up after being glued, rather than pay 3000 CFA for a whole new inner tube; not our bikes!
Patched up, we dropped the bikes off at the association, before changing at the hotel for my birthday meal - 24 tomorrow! The four of us put on our Sunday best, or as good as we could manage, and went for a meal at a recommended restaurant. I cannot remember exactly what we ate, but it was a bit of a splash out for a special occasion, so me and Barney shared a bottle of red. We must spend some time apart after we get back...
All full up we went for a few drinks in the area that has been nicknamed "Little Brixton" after it's happening namesake in London. It wasn't too happening, but we tried a number of different beers (Barney had already had a Guinness Export at 7.5% that tasted thick as treacle), including Brakina, Flag and Beaufort, and sat on the street, where tables and chairs were laid out. We hadn't realised that we were sitting next to the entrance to a brothel. Lots of friendly ladies kept coming out, and older men going in. After a while it clicked and we headed into the bar next door, where there were old arcade games and pinball machines. Pretty cool having a beer and playing Tekken Tag, although I was awful, and some of the friendly ladies, who looked high as kites, were smartly waved off by my more sober friends. We did try and find some live music (the guys from the Association were playing apparently), but the whole place was in darkness.
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