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!
What to do on the first day of 2010...?
Sometime in the last few days, we had planned what we would be doing in Togo on New Years Day 2010, mainly because we only had a few days left on our visa from the friendly border guard. Therefore we got up, had a quick (but hearty) breakfast, bought bananas and water and then got a taxi to a small village 20km from Kpalimè. There we got out and were faced with our task for the day - climbing the highest mountain in Togo!
Now at only 986m it isn't wouldn't be officially recognised as a mountain if it were in England (thanks Kez - by the way what's your favourite hill?!), but as we stood at the bottom it looked bloody enormous! We politely declined the offer of a guide - how hard could it be right? - and set off up the steep road leading towards the mountain. With the beauty of hindsight, we should have got a guide, and ended up getting lost ten minutes up the winding track. The track just stopped adjacent to a few buildings (where Christian rock blared out) and we chose to head up some wide, concrete steps that we assumed was the way.
Briefly stopping for our first of many breaks, as the heat and humidity was killing us, and the physical exercise and hangover was killing me, the terrain changed into thick jungle, with a tiny path going past a disused, open-air church. Further on, the steep path disappeared and we decided that this was not the way. the guidebook was quite clear in saying that we'd pass a village with schools on a set path before moving into banana plantations on the mountain side. Little did we know we'd started in the wrong place!
After some assistance from a very kind, and multilingual, Christian, we took an even steeper path at the bottom of the steps. The walk wasn't too bad in itself, but the heat and absolutely ridiculous humidity was killing us. We carried on, and took a number of wrong turns, where the path that was barely a foot wide, ceased being and left us in the middle of thick vegetation.
We did find one almost-path that we kept climbing (not walking now) up; feet skidding on loose rocks, and knees and shins brushing plants to the side. Thankfully we'd all decided to wear walking boots! After about quarter of an hour of climbing up we cut through yet another banana plantation (no path now, just through the undergrowth) and stopped when we heard water. In front of us was a huge rock, too big to climb around or up, and we thought that we were quite close to the peak.
We went back down to where there was a distinctive path and followed it round the side of the mountain. The walking was much easier, as we weren't going through the jungle any more! We paused to eat the bananas and wring out our clothes - my vest was literally soaking wet. It was so humid. After another few attempts to climb higher up the mountain, we decided to head back because we didn't want to be stuck in the village overnight, and there were only a few motorbike taxis around when we arrived. It was also New Years Day; who would be crazy enough to climb Mount Agou!
We tried one last time to get higher, and got a great view of the village and valley stretching below, but the banana trees and thick canopies above blocked a far better panoramic. We returned to the bottom of the mountain (it's a lot quicker going down than up) and sat by the roadside waiting on a taxi. Our thoughts that we'd almost reached the top were dispelled when a local man explained there was an antenna at the top, and also a road leading up to it. We'd gone completely the wrong way! But I'm definitely stating that we conquered the highest point in Togo - we wandered around there for hours!
Dree and B went to try and sort transport back to Kpalimè, while me and Kez regained our composure watching some locals dancing and singing to some drum beats. We were invited to dance along, and joined in the slow-moving circle, doing a kind of two-step shuffle with the occasional bum wiggle. It was a good laugh, but we didn't know the words or the dance moves so tried to copy as best we could. The guys returned to find us getting down with most of the Togolese village!
They had done well, and found two motorbike taxis for us (meaning we would be three people per bike...). After a heart-to-heart with a very, VERY drunk Togolese man who called us "the same: brothers with different skin, we got on the bikes for a nervous journey. The bike that me and Kez were on seemed to have some trouble stying in gear and the bike that guys were on kept coming up very close behind and bumping our rear tyre, possibly joking around, possibly jump starting... The short journey took about 15 minutes, but I didn't let go of the bike once, and we slammed through a couple of pot holes. We got off white-knuckled from the experience at the edge of town, because we didn't fancy going through chaotic junctions like that, but at least it made us forget how tired we were from hiking round a mountain with a hangover.
Next stop; waterfalls and butterflies.
Now at only 986m it isn't wouldn't be officially recognised as a mountain if it were in England (thanks Kez - by the way what's your favourite hill?!), but as we stood at the bottom it looked bloody enormous! We politely declined the offer of a guide - how hard could it be right? - and set off up the steep road leading towards the mountain. With the beauty of hindsight, we should have got a guide, and ended up getting lost ten minutes up the winding track. The track just stopped adjacent to a few buildings (where Christian rock blared out) and we chose to head up some wide, concrete steps that we assumed was the way.
Briefly stopping for our first of many breaks, as the heat and humidity was killing us, and the physical exercise and hangover was killing me, the terrain changed into thick jungle, with a tiny path going past a disused, open-air church. Further on, the steep path disappeared and we decided that this was not the way. the guidebook was quite clear in saying that we'd pass a village with schools on a set path before moving into banana plantations on the mountain side. Little did we know we'd started in the wrong place!
After some assistance from a very kind, and multilingual, Christian, we took an even steeper path at the bottom of the steps. The walk wasn't too bad in itself, but the heat and absolutely ridiculous humidity was killing us. We carried on, and took a number of wrong turns, where the path that was barely a foot wide, ceased being and left us in the middle of thick vegetation.
We did find one almost-path that we kept climbing (not walking now) up; feet skidding on loose rocks, and knees and shins brushing plants to the side. Thankfully we'd all decided to wear walking boots! After about quarter of an hour of climbing up we cut through yet another banana plantation (no path now, just through the undergrowth) and stopped when we heard water. In front of us was a huge rock, too big to climb around or up, and we thought that we were quite close to the peak.
We went back down to where there was a distinctive path and followed it round the side of the mountain. The walking was much easier, as we weren't going through the jungle any more! We paused to eat the bananas and wring out our clothes - my vest was literally soaking wet. It was so humid. After another few attempts to climb higher up the mountain, we decided to head back because we didn't want to be stuck in the village overnight, and there were only a few motorbike taxis around when we arrived. It was also New Years Day; who would be crazy enough to climb Mount Agou!
We tried one last time to get higher, and got a great view of the village and valley stretching below, but the banana trees and thick canopies above blocked a far better panoramic. We returned to the bottom of the mountain (it's a lot quicker going down than up) and sat by the roadside waiting on a taxi. Our thoughts that we'd almost reached the top were dispelled when a local man explained there was an antenna at the top, and also a road leading up to it. We'd gone completely the wrong way! But I'm definitely stating that we conquered the highest point in Togo - we wandered around there for hours!
Dree and B went to try and sort transport back to Kpalimè, while me and Kez regained our composure watching some locals dancing and singing to some drum beats. We were invited to dance along, and joined in the slow-moving circle, doing a kind of two-step shuffle with the occasional bum wiggle. It was a good laugh, but we didn't know the words or the dance moves so tried to copy as best we could. The guys returned to find us getting down with most of the Togolese village!
They had done well, and found two motorbike taxis for us (meaning we would be three people per bike...). After a heart-to-heart with a very, VERY drunk Togolese man who called us "the same: brothers with different skin, we got on the bikes for a nervous journey. The bike that me and Kez were on seemed to have some trouble stying in gear and the bike that guys were on kept coming up very close behind and bumping our rear tyre, possibly joking around, possibly jump starting... The short journey took about 15 minutes, but I didn't let go of the bike once, and we slammed through a couple of pot holes. We got off white-knuckled from the experience at the edge of town, because we didn't fancy going through chaotic junctions like that, but at least it made us forget how tired we were from hiking round a mountain with a hangover.
Next stop; waterfalls and butterflies.
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
Last few days of 2009
Lomè was our home for the next day at least, as our passports were held at the Benin Embassy for the visa. We did the usual wander round town, passing through markets and flagging down Fan Milk salesmen (thank God they still have these guys; lifesavers in the heat, dishing out cheap ice cream and frozen lollies). The one thing that Togo didn't have was taxis. Almost all of the vehicles in Lomè were motorbike taxis, that zoomed dangerously in and out of the traffic at speed, ferrying passengers all over the city for about 100 CFA (15p). Some were terribly overloaded, and every time we tried them out we had a pulse-racing few minutes going the wrong way down roads, cutting across busy junctions and squeezing past giant lorrys! Good for the old heart though!
The beach was quite wide, but because it is in the city itself, it has problems with crime. We checked out the sea one afternoon, and were immediately joined by a shady couple of characters. We headed through the cramped market, where Kez bought some material to use as a sarong/skirt. This reminded us to get some funky African suits made up. Most men wear a trouser, open shirt combination made from bright and vibrant colours. Pyjamas here we come!
We returned to the Benin Embassy to pick up our passports and visas, after a sweaty day hiking across Lomè. Little did we know what was about to happen. After being made to wait silently outside the snotty woman's door for five minutes, she came out and took us into an adjoining room, where the Ambassador of Benin sat behind a huge black desk. We were in no way prepared for this and must've looked like right states! We were polite as we could be, as the large man looked over the visas and signed them off. His office was massive with lots of souvenirs from around the area, and he had four phones on his desk. A very important man!
After having a wash and recovering from meeting a dignitary, we splashed out a bit again and had pizza for dinner. It was nice to have a change, and afterwards we played a game of pool in a room next to the restaurant. Tomorrow was New Years Eve 2009, and we were heading inland for the celebrations to Kpalimè!
Pronounced Pa-lee-may, Kpalimè is a large town a few hours above Lomè, and was going to be our base for excursions during our time in Togo. Unfortunately, we didn't have too much time in the country, because the impromptu visa on the border meant we had to leave by the 4th January. No matter, as we certainly made the most of it!
The bus ride was a little uncomfortable, as we'd left Ghana and its great rule of only three people to a minibus row, and were back to standard African "You can fit four or five on there"! Me and Kez were sandwiched between two massive ladies on the back row. Popping out of our seats, and nursing bruised hips, we arrived in Kpalimè and went to Domino Hotel, a small establishment in the centre of town. Looking back it was a very good little place, clean, with running water and electricity - essentially luxurious for us!
We took the afternoon easy, as it was New Years Eve and we decided to start in the traditional fashion by buying a bottle of gin to see in 2010. The gin only cost around £1.20, the same price as the bottle of Sprite cost to accompany it - bargain! We firstly went out for a three course meal at a hotel, before returning to our room for pre-drinking and an increasingly rude game of charades! As the last hour of 2009 came upon us, we went into town and had a few beers at a local bar. No one else seemed to be celebrating, but we did a countdown, cheered and then tried to sing 'Auld Lang Syne' as best we could - a few mumbled lines!
The beach was quite wide, but because it is in the city itself, it has problems with crime. We checked out the sea one afternoon, and were immediately joined by a shady couple of characters. We headed through the cramped market, where Kez bought some material to use as a sarong/skirt. This reminded us to get some funky African suits made up. Most men wear a trouser, open shirt combination made from bright and vibrant colours. Pyjamas here we come!
We returned to the Benin Embassy to pick up our passports and visas, after a sweaty day hiking across Lomè. Little did we know what was about to happen. After being made to wait silently outside the snotty woman's door for five minutes, she came out and took us into an adjoining room, where the Ambassador of Benin sat behind a huge black desk. We were in no way prepared for this and must've looked like right states! We were polite as we could be, as the large man looked over the visas and signed them off. His office was massive with lots of souvenirs from around the area, and he had four phones on his desk. A very important man!
After having a wash and recovering from meeting a dignitary, we splashed out a bit again and had pizza for dinner. It was nice to have a change, and afterwards we played a game of pool in a room next to the restaurant. Tomorrow was New Years Eve 2009, and we were heading inland for the celebrations to Kpalimè!
Pronounced Pa-lee-may, Kpalimè is a large town a few hours above Lomè, and was going to be our base for excursions during our time in Togo. Unfortunately, we didn't have too much time in the country, because the impromptu visa on the border meant we had to leave by the 4th January. No matter, as we certainly made the most of it!
The bus ride was a little uncomfortable, as we'd left Ghana and its great rule of only three people to a minibus row, and were back to standard African "You can fit four or five on there"! Me and Kez were sandwiched between two massive ladies on the back row. Popping out of our seats, and nursing bruised hips, we arrived in Kpalimè and went to Domino Hotel, a small establishment in the centre of town. Looking back it was a very good little place, clean, with running water and electricity - essentially luxurious for us!
We took the afternoon easy, as it was New Years Eve and we decided to start in the traditional fashion by buying a bottle of gin to see in 2010. The gin only cost around £1.20, the same price as the bottle of Sprite cost to accompany it - bargain! We firstly went out for a three course meal at a hotel, before returning to our room for pre-drinking and an increasingly rude game of charades! As the last hour of 2009 came upon us, we went into town and had a few beers at a local bar. No one else seemed to be celebrating, but we did a countdown, cheered and then tried to sing 'Auld Lang Syne' as best we could - a few mumbled lines!
Another border; Another border guard
At about 4:00am we left Hotel Ingot in Accra, and tried to find a taxi to take us to the bus station. One hailed us from a side road, before going back to where it had been, and paying a scantily clad woman some money outside a house. Drugs or prostitution we obviously decided! He didn't really seem to know where he was taking us, and it was lucky that we left plenty of time before getting on a 5:30am coach to Aflao - the border town on the Ghanaian side. From there we could walk the 500m or so across the border into Togo. Country number seven!
We changed whatever cedis we had on us back to CFA (the common currency, like the Euro, for most of West Africa), and then had to try and get rid of a guy called Larry who "wanted to help". We kept trying to say thanks but we can walk there by ourselves, but he tagged along. It didn't help matters that he had a voice like Joe Pasquale!
After the Ghana exit stamp, we headed for the Togo side (although the general chaos at the border made it difficult to know where to go). A guard asked to see our visas, which we knew we could buy at the border. He started off incredibly angry ("Why don't you get before?!"), but calmed down and took an incredibly long time to do his JOB and issue the seven day transit visa. At the end of it he was joking along with us, possibly to do with the crazy Catholic minister reading from some magazine and praising God, but also possibly due to the 'Driver is Chauffeur in English' joke. Always goes down well with the Frenchies!
The border was scam central, with hundreds of people passing through every fifteen minutes. Anyone who looked slightly wealthy was stopped and had to pay a 'tax' to the lazy guards; sitting in the shade with their feet up, doing nothing at all, apart from fleecing people. They took bribes of about 1000CFA each person, so must have taken in about 50,000 while we were there for under an hour - £80, for a country as poor as Togo. Terrible really.
Lomè, capital of Togo, a very thin country squashed with Benin between Ghana and Nigeria, is right on the border, and we were in Hotel Gallion within minutes. The main road in Lomè was under construction (as most things seem to be in some state of over here), and was just a wide, sandy track running parallel to the beach. The French-run hotel we stayed in was quite expensive, but was in a capital city, and they were probably shocked at the amount of washing we gave them after ten days on the beach! Had to be done though. We'd usually do our own, but a) it stunk and b) our sink was the size of a tea cup!
After a strange encounter with a possibly diabetic Ghanaian man, we ate some cheap riz gras in a small restaurant before heading to the Benin Embassy to sort out our visas for the final country. We eventually found the embassy, after a bit of a lost wander around the sandy streets of Lomè, possibly down to the quality of the map, possibly Barney's map reading skills... The receptionist was very friendly, but that is more than can be said for the lady who issued the visas, but more on that next blog.
I shot off to send my Christmas postcards off 3 days AFTER the day itself - somehow I don't think they'll arrive in time, maybe for next Christmas haha! Another cheap maquis (street food) dinner for about £1 and we were well on course for budgeting well in Togo.
We changed whatever cedis we had on us back to CFA (the common currency, like the Euro, for most of West Africa), and then had to try and get rid of a guy called Larry who "wanted to help". We kept trying to say thanks but we can walk there by ourselves, but he tagged along. It didn't help matters that he had a voice like Joe Pasquale!
After the Ghana exit stamp, we headed for the Togo side (although the general chaos at the border made it difficult to know where to go). A guard asked to see our visas, which we knew we could buy at the border. He started off incredibly angry ("Why don't you get before?!"), but calmed down and took an incredibly long time to do his JOB and issue the seven day transit visa. At the end of it he was joking along with us, possibly to do with the crazy Catholic minister reading from some magazine and praising God, but also possibly due to the 'Driver is Chauffeur in English' joke. Always goes down well with the Frenchies!
The border was scam central, with hundreds of people passing through every fifteen minutes. Anyone who looked slightly wealthy was stopped and had to pay a 'tax' to the lazy guards; sitting in the shade with their feet up, doing nothing at all, apart from fleecing people. They took bribes of about 1000CFA each person, so must have taken in about 50,000 while we were there for under an hour - £80, for a country as poor as Togo. Terrible really.
Lomè, capital of Togo, a very thin country squashed with Benin between Ghana and Nigeria, is right on the border, and we were in Hotel Gallion within minutes. The main road in Lomè was under construction (as most things seem to be in some state of over here), and was just a wide, sandy track running parallel to the beach. The French-run hotel we stayed in was quite expensive, but was in a capital city, and they were probably shocked at the amount of washing we gave them after ten days on the beach! Had to be done though. We'd usually do our own, but a) it stunk and b) our sink was the size of a tea cup!
After a strange encounter with a possibly diabetic Ghanaian man, we ate some cheap riz gras in a small restaurant before heading to the Benin Embassy to sort out our visas for the final country. We eventually found the embassy, after a bit of a lost wander around the sandy streets of Lomè, possibly down to the quality of the map, possibly Barney's map reading skills... The receptionist was very friendly, but that is more than can be said for the lady who issued the visas, but more on that next blog.
I shot off to send my Christmas postcards off 3 days AFTER the day itself - somehow I don't think they'll arrive in time, maybe for next Christmas haha! Another cheap maquis (street food) dinner for about £1 and we were well on course for budgeting well in Togo.
Expensive Accra
Leaving Stone Village at dawn, saying goodbye to a very sleepy Rastaman, and leaving behind a few items of clothes in my early morning daze (D'oh), we got to Agona Junction and straight onto a tro-tro for Accra. We didn't really want to spend any time there - no need for a visa stopover at all - but did not fancy doing a REALLY long day to get to Lomè, capital city of Togo.
Somehow we were in Takoradi by 8:30am, and got on a bus for Accra by 9:30! A journey that went to plan, you'll all be glad to know (he says with a sarcastic smile)! Once there, our luck changed again, as every place we tried to find a room in was either shut, full, or out of our budget. Seems that the author of the guide book didn't update any of the 'Budget' accommodation in this edition. Most of them were priced at over $25 a night (almost our daily budget), and even the Catholic Mission didn't have any room...in the inn, but did have the same old Ghanaian service. After a lot of little taxi journeys in Fiat Cinqchentos, we found Ingot Hotel tucked away. It was good enough for one night's stay, but we had an idea of what kind of place it was when we saw a giant bowl of condoms at the front desk.
After some Internetting in a very plush setting, where I discovered I'd been banned from Facebook (grrrr, an inconvenience), we stopped off at a Chinese and had a massive plate of fried rice, sweet 'n' sour chicken and spring rolls for about £2, at a great little place called Wok Inn. Back at the hotel, we discovered that the televisions worked, if only for one channel, and relaxed by letting our eyes go square to some awful, imported American rubbish.
Somehow we were in Takoradi by 8:30am, and got on a bus for Accra by 9:30! A journey that went to plan, you'll all be glad to know (he says with a sarcastic smile)! Once there, our luck changed again, as every place we tried to find a room in was either shut, full, or out of our budget. Seems that the author of the guide book didn't update any of the 'Budget' accommodation in this edition. Most of them were priced at over $25 a night (almost our daily budget), and even the Catholic Mission didn't have any room...in the inn, but did have the same old Ghanaian service. After a lot of little taxi journeys in Fiat Cinqchentos, we found Ingot Hotel tucked away. It was good enough for one night's stay, but we had an idea of what kind of place it was when we saw a giant bowl of condoms at the front desk.
After some Internetting in a very plush setting, where I discovered I'd been banned from Facebook (grrrr, an inconvenience), we stopped off at a Chinese and had a massive plate of fried rice, sweet 'n' sour chicken and spring rolls for about £2, at a great little place called Wok Inn. Back at the hotel, we discovered that the televisions worked, if only for one channel, and relaxed by letting our eyes go square to some awful, imported American rubbish.
Monday, 11 January 2010
More Christmas at the beach
Merry Christmas!!!
Once we had all had a sufficient lay in, from all the dancing the night before, Beagle brought us a complimentary omlette for Christmas, only one. Bless him though! We spent the whole of Christmas Day relaxing in our secluded section of bay, and after nipping into town quickly, we phoned our families from Kez's mobile on a Ghanaian sim card. We thought it would be really expensive, but only cost a few pounds each. Absolute bargain!
In Busua there are three men who you will come to know - Daniel the Pancake Man, Joseph the Lobster Man and Frank the Juice Man. They are all a novelty, and then become pretty annoying as you see them a few times a day and each time they ask you if you want a pancake/lobster/juice. We decided to check out Daniel the Pancake Man for a late breakfast. He brought out some banana and chocolate pancakes with a thin chocolate bar still in the wrapper. he'd obviously just thrown it on the heat after the pancakes!
We spent the rest of the day swimming and enjoying our version of a Christmas nibbles table (tonnes of sweets from roadside shacks - popcorn, lollies, chew sweets, chocolate etc), before heading to Busua Inn for a 3 course Christmas dinner. The main course - lobster! It was a really good meal, but more than we've eaten for the past few months together! We went to Sankfora afterwards for a drink and watched some of the local kids doing fire spitting ( any excuse for them to drink gin I think!) and then doing some somersaults and jumps over a line of fire, and a brave man standing on his head!
For Boxing Day we headed to the beach to see the surf competition. The waves picked up as we sat there, and it was cool to see some locals get involved! They were all far better than I could've been! We went to Alaska (resort not the place) for lunch, which was overpriced for a basic BBQ chicken menu, but almost everywhere else was shut. Barney tried kenkey - one of the dozens of fermented-maize-type, grey blobs - and immediately regretted it. Gotta be tried though!
That afternoon me and Barney took a wander (getting to be a regular thing now....) down the beach to the other end. It didn't seem too far, but was a good kilometre if not more! By the tile we got to the end, we were too knackered to climb the hill to the white house we could see from a distance. Instead, we got chatting to a few local kids, who were digging for crabs in the sand. Wherever a hole was, there was usually a crab. They dug down with bare hands, and usually the crabs made a run for it to the sea. This was the best part of the exercise, as we all then ran after the crab, trying to flick it back up the beach, diving all over the place! Great fun.
Then the kids challenged me and Barney to a kick around. We were trying all sorts of keepy-ups, but they made two ridiculously tiny goals and carved out a pitch. 2 on 2; England versus Ghana; me and B versus two 13 year olds.... Guess what happened. We got trounced. They were just too quick, with too much energy. And I have two left feet. Sorry dude.
Another meal at Okorye Tree followed, and we headed to a shady bar called 'Sly Joint' to buy some sachets of gin. Double shots of 'Striker' gin were only ten pence per sachet! We took a fair few back to the hut and sat outside playing cards and chatting. Some people also went for a skinny dip as well....
Barney got up early for one of his walks, and I had agreed the night before to go. Reluctantly I dragged myself out of bed, and we headed around the beach before cutting through a small path in the undergrowth that led up to the ridge where the white house was. The heat was ridiculous for so early in the morning, and I had to take a few leaps into the sea along the way. Climbing up, we arrived at the house, or set of small bungalows, that had washing outside and tyre tracks leading up to them. Looked a lot like a drug dealer's place so we carried on. Heading past some guys chopping up palm trees for either palm oil or wine, we were treated to a great view back across Busua and our bay. We could have gone down an even steeper decline on the other side, but we'd have had to come back up it! Therefore we headed back for some breakfast.
After a quick breakfast on the beach at Okorye Tree, watching the surf and chatting to a couple of US Peace Corps volunteers, we met up with Kez and Dree at the 5-star resort at the end of Busua. We thought we'd 'splash out' (get it?) and pay a few cedis to use the pool. The resort was well out of our budget - rooms going for about US$200 - but we made good use of the pool for a day! However, as it was Christmas there was a DJ blaring out hip-hop at a ridiculous level; it was like being in a night club. I asked him to turn it down, and he did, but just enough to hear each other speak. Seemed kind of inappropriate music too, about being very friendly with a lady, in the morning with kids about...
That evening we went back to Daniel the Pancake Man for a dirt cheap fish supper: tuna, rice and plantains for the magical price of 4 Cedis (£2!). I do love the Ghana prices, and the fresh seafood. Shame we had to leave tomorrow, but Togo and Benin were beckoning.
Christmas Eve at Stone Village
After a ridiculously sweaty night's sleep, we left Blissjoy (feeling neither bliss or joy-ful) and moved our gear to Stone Village, an inexplicably bright yellow hut, right at the end of the beach, cut off at night-time by a river that swells with the tide. But there is a bridge that leads across and up to Black Mamba - the resort which is currently closed and the one that our Rasta friend didn't deny his was!
Next to the hut was a wooden structure where a couple of tents were placed on, under shelter. The hut itself had a really nice double bed, obviously Dree and Kerry's, with me and Barney having the floor in the adjoining room with a couple of mattresses. Weirdly, the Rasta man who was in charge at the place (called Black Eagle.... real name Azulo) said that we wouldn't need a key because the door wouldn't lock. With Danielle's words ringing in our ears about keeping our wallets shut, we asked to have the key regardless and all made sure we'd have money belts and passports with us at all times!
I got chatting to Black Eagle a few days later and found that he and his German wife had started up Stone Village, which was a really nice plot of land at the edge of the beach, far enough away to not be disturbed, with it's own little swimming area away from the fishermen, before she fell pregnant and wanted to return to Germany for the baby. Beagle (Black-eagle) was looking after the place and renovating it ever so slowly. He was a really nice guy, although he seemed to be stoned most of the time, and came out with some phrases like 'Rastafari' and 'Serious?!'. One day we had no water in the tank to flush the loo or shower (both in a separate yellow block to the hut). It took a while to get some from the village, but he was really apologetic.
Once we'd moved in we went down the beach to a surf bar called Sankfora and got some lunch. The guy who was running that was called Brett and used to work for Ripcurl, before travelling around the world looking for the waves. He was looking after the bar for a friend who was back home, and introduced us to Yao, a deaf and dumb young lad from Busua, and the dancing baby, who reminded me of Ella as he bopped along to the African hip hop!
Brett told us about the surfing competition that was happening on the 26th and 27th December, which was strange as I didn't think the waves were that good, and more importantly about the whole pig that Brett was planning on roasting on a fire on the beach for Christmas dinner! It sounded mouthwateringly good, but unfortunately it didn't happen as the butcher backed out of the deal for some reason.
After a good lunch, we returned to Stone Village, which involved a climb over some smooth rocks after the river; which a lot of people seemed to use as a cut through to go around the bay, so not too private... While we'd been gone for lunch, Beagle had unlocked the door and put some more pillows inside. I don't think there was a bad intention in just opening the door to our hut, and he was just trying to be kind. It was weird though; having a key that was, in effect, useless, but we just left it.
The water close to Stone Village was really clear and was just sand underfoot. It meant for some good swimming away from too many harsh waves - how it was for the rest of Busua beach, where the surfing was going to take place. Then we chilled in the sun, reading some National Geographics that were in the hut. Pretty random but Beagle said he liked them!
As it was Christmas Eve, we decided to go out for a few. Starting, and finishing, at Okorye Tree, a restaurant on the beach, Barney started in true Kronenbourg fashion and had three beers before the food arrived. After a particularly nice Red-Red (jollof rice, fried plantain, mmmmmm, and spicy beans) we ended up dancing with some of the staff (the lovely Esther) after the restaurant closed, and had a few dubious shots. Then I showed the guys that I'd ripped a SMALL hole in my trousers and Dree went in for the kill - ending up in a massive rip across my crotch. Pants exposed and dignity lost, I ended up heading home soon after. Barney had left before most of the dancing due to his intolerance for beverages, and so couldn't have shown us his moves!
Next to the hut was a wooden structure where a couple of tents were placed on, under shelter. The hut itself had a really nice double bed, obviously Dree and Kerry's, with me and Barney having the floor in the adjoining room with a couple of mattresses. Weirdly, the Rasta man who was in charge at the place (called Black Eagle.... real name Azulo) said that we wouldn't need a key because the door wouldn't lock. With Danielle's words ringing in our ears about keeping our wallets shut, we asked to have the key regardless and all made sure we'd have money belts and passports with us at all times!
I got chatting to Black Eagle a few days later and found that he and his German wife had started up Stone Village, which was a really nice plot of land at the edge of the beach, far enough away to not be disturbed, with it's own little swimming area away from the fishermen, before she fell pregnant and wanted to return to Germany for the baby. Beagle (Black-eagle) was looking after the place and renovating it ever so slowly. He was a really nice guy, although he seemed to be stoned most of the time, and came out with some phrases like 'Rastafari' and 'Serious?!'. One day we had no water in the tank to flush the loo or shower (both in a separate yellow block to the hut). It took a while to get some from the village, but he was really apologetic.
Once we'd moved in we went down the beach to a surf bar called Sankfora and got some lunch. The guy who was running that was called Brett and used to work for Ripcurl, before travelling around the world looking for the waves. He was looking after the bar for a friend who was back home, and introduced us to Yao, a deaf and dumb young lad from Busua, and the dancing baby, who reminded me of Ella as he bopped along to the African hip hop!
Brett told us about the surfing competition that was happening on the 26th and 27th December, which was strange as I didn't think the waves were that good, and more importantly about the whole pig that Brett was planning on roasting on a fire on the beach for Christmas dinner! It sounded mouthwateringly good, but unfortunately it didn't happen as the butcher backed out of the deal for some reason.
After a good lunch, we returned to Stone Village, which involved a climb over some smooth rocks after the river; which a lot of people seemed to use as a cut through to go around the bay, so not too private... While we'd been gone for lunch, Beagle had unlocked the door and put some more pillows inside. I don't think there was a bad intention in just opening the door to our hut, and he was just trying to be kind. It was weird though; having a key that was, in effect, useless, but we just left it.
The water close to Stone Village was really clear and was just sand underfoot. It meant for some good swimming away from too many harsh waves - how it was for the rest of Busua beach, where the surfing was going to take place. Then we chilled in the sun, reading some National Geographics that were in the hut. Pretty random but Beagle said he liked them!
As it was Christmas Eve, we decided to go out for a few. Starting, and finishing, at Okorye Tree, a restaurant on the beach, Barney started in true Kronenbourg fashion and had three beers before the food arrived. After a particularly nice Red-Red (jollof rice, fried plantain, mmmmmm, and spicy beans) we ended up dancing with some of the staff (the lovely Esther) after the restaurant closed, and had a few dubious shots. Then I showed the guys that I'd ripped a SMALL hole in my trousers and Dree went in for the kill - ending up in a massive rip across my crotch. Pants exposed and dignity lost, I ended up heading home soon after. Barney had left before most of the dancing due to his intolerance for beverages, and so couldn't have shown us his moves!
A surprise before back to Busua!
After a good topping up of the tan, and power reading of the book, we headed through Akwidda, back to Green Turtle Bay for dinner. The food was okay at Ezile, but nowhere near as good as we'd had before. As we walked up the beach into the resort who did we see but Mathilda, who had travelled with us through Mali! It was really unexpected to see her, but was great to catch up on the past month of travelling. We shared a few stories before getting some drinks and sitting on the beach.
Tilly's friend, Valeria possibly, joined us. She was Swiss and had the job that I want. She worked for a travel company, and part of her contract meant that she had to got to various countries. She even had allocated time off! I'm not too sure how old she was, but she'd been to some cool places - Iran, Uganda, Colombia, India; all over the place.
We all had some food, before us four racked up a handsome tab on the old cocktails, and played another game of Trivial Pursuit. A lot of fun when tipsy. We left late that night, think we were one of the last tables to turn in, and agreed to meet the next day at Green Turtle for a proper catch up. I really wanted to find out more about this magical job! We staggered home, mainly because of the sand though...., and hit the hay.
Unfortunately, we had to leave Ezile Bay that next morning because there were no more free spaces. It was a long hike back to Green Turtle to explain to Tilly and then come BACK to Akwidda to try and get a tro-tro (minibus) from the main road, so we headed straight through the village, sure that she would understand. Bit of a shame, but hey-ho.
The village was strangely built, and we couldn't find a main road. Asking some fishermen, they pointed up by the side of a building and off we went. Then another guys stopped us and asked why we were going a route that we didn't know....After some confusion, a boy led us to a small opening inbetween some huts, and then finally down to the main road. We caused quite a stir in the village, with both children and drunk men coming over for a chat.
Eventually got on a cramped minibus (with customary screaming baby goat under the seats) and took a bumpy route to Agona junction, the crossroads a few km from Busua. Once in Busua, we found out that Stone Village was full until the night we'd booked, so we checked into Blissjoy Lodge, in a maze of backstreet houses. Quite sure we cut through someone's backyard everytime we arrived and left.
The strange owner - Phil - had an infected, bandaged up foot and was overly helpful ("You'll have plenty of water and all the lights"). Should have rung a bell. That night, after checking places in Busua for Christmas dinner, including the 5 Star hotel at the end of the town, we came back to a hot, sweaty room, no electricity and no water. We asked what was going on and were told that it was getting sorted out. We don't mind roughing it with bucket showers (maybe Barnes does...) and no leccy, as we've done a lot of times on this trip, but he was insistent that we would have running water and a fan. He got some engineer over to 'fix' a generator. When me and B went to check what was going on, we found a man causing sparks by fiddling with the fuse board, and then wrapping a plastic bag around a bare wire, leading to a generator that was on! SAFE!
Got a bit fed up waiting after an hour, as we were promised water as soon as the electricity came on (still unsure how that would work...), and went for dinner at Nana's in town. The food is really good there - fresh as you can get seafood and great, spicy jollof rice. The downside is that you have to endure Nana. A friendly man at first he ended up getting right on my goat. I joked that Dree and Kez were brother and sister and he got angry, saying "Don't lie to me; I'm a Christian!".
Then we tried to get some change back from the meal that I'd paid for. He said he didn't have it, so we said we'd return tomorrow. No worries. We ended up going back about six times, most of which he was nowhere to be seen, and then one evening I see him sitting outside. He plays the fool and pretends that he is drunk ("I'm sick from the wine"). Two nights later, I stand there till I get the change. It sounds petty for only about a quid, but its the principle, especially from such a Christian!
Tilly's friend, Valeria possibly, joined us. She was Swiss and had the job that I want. She worked for a travel company, and part of her contract meant that she had to got to various countries. She even had allocated time off! I'm not too sure how old she was, but she'd been to some cool places - Iran, Uganda, Colombia, India; all over the place.
We all had some food, before us four racked up a handsome tab on the old cocktails, and played another game of Trivial Pursuit. A lot of fun when tipsy. We left late that night, think we were one of the last tables to turn in, and agreed to meet the next day at Green Turtle for a proper catch up. I really wanted to find out more about this magical job! We staggered home, mainly because of the sand though...., and hit the hay.
Unfortunately, we had to leave Ezile Bay that next morning because there were no more free spaces. It was a long hike back to Green Turtle to explain to Tilly and then come BACK to Akwidda to try and get a tro-tro (minibus) from the main road, so we headed straight through the village, sure that she would understand. Bit of a shame, but hey-ho.
The village was strangely built, and we couldn't find a main road. Asking some fishermen, they pointed up by the side of a building and off we went. Then another guys stopped us and asked why we were going a route that we didn't know....After some confusion, a boy led us to a small opening inbetween some huts, and then finally down to the main road. We caused quite a stir in the village, with both children and drunk men coming over for a chat.
Eventually got on a cramped minibus (with customary screaming baby goat under the seats) and took a bumpy route to Agona junction, the crossroads a few km from Busua. Once in Busua, we found out that Stone Village was full until the night we'd booked, so we checked into Blissjoy Lodge, in a maze of backstreet houses. Quite sure we cut through someone's backyard everytime we arrived and left.
The strange owner - Phil - had an infected, bandaged up foot and was overly helpful ("You'll have plenty of water and all the lights"). Should have rung a bell. That night, after checking places in Busua for Christmas dinner, including the 5 Star hotel at the end of the town, we came back to a hot, sweaty room, no electricity and no water. We asked what was going on and were told that it was getting sorted out. We don't mind roughing it with bucket showers (maybe Barnes does...) and no leccy, as we've done a lot of times on this trip, but he was insistent that we would have running water and a fan. He got some engineer over to 'fix' a generator. When me and B went to check what was going on, we found a man causing sparks by fiddling with the fuse board, and then wrapping a plastic bag around a bare wire, leading to a generator that was on! SAFE!
Got a bit fed up waiting after an hour, as we were promised water as soon as the electricity came on (still unsure how that would work...), and went for dinner at Nana's in town. The food is really good there - fresh as you can get seafood and great, spicy jollof rice. The downside is that you have to endure Nana. A friendly man at first he ended up getting right on my goat. I joked that Dree and Kez were brother and sister and he got angry, saying "Don't lie to me; I'm a Christian!".
Then we tried to get some change back from the meal that I'd paid for. He said he didn't have it, so we said we'd return tomorrow. No worries. We ended up going back about six times, most of which he was nowhere to be seen, and then one evening I see him sitting outside. He plays the fool and pretends that he is drunk ("I'm sick from the wine"). Two nights later, I stand there till I get the change. It sounds petty for only about a quid, but its the principle, especially from such a Christian!
Ezile Bay
We got up quite early that morning, as one does in a tent, and had some breakfast. By the tile we had got around to sorting the bill out, and waiting for one of the guys to get back to us about Black Mamba in Busua (we'd asked him to phone for us and confirm our booking), the sun was already pretty warm.
We got all our gear together and hiked it the kilometre or so round the beach and through the fishing village, seeing a man go to the toilet in some boulders near the sea. Not a number one. Wouldn't be swimming there! We made it to Ezile bay for a late breakfast of French toast and a big mug of tea, before we checked into our small, self-contained beach huts only a few metres from the beach, surrounded by palm trees. Excellent!
The rest of these days was spent on the beach or in the sea, where the waves weren't as powerful as round the coast. This made swimming and bodyboardig much easier. Eventually found something I'm good at! There were a few rocks underfoot, but it didn't matter too much as the whole beach was pretty much ours. Our own personal resort. Well shared with Dennis and his puppy, who was, as with all African pets, the cutest little thing. The other dog there didn't make too many friends, especially with Kez, as he bounded onto her beach towel again and again!
Apart from beach time, the only other thing that happened was that Barney and me took a walk round towards Cape Three Points, a place that the two Aussies from Molè had talked about, but unfortunately we didn't have time to visit. We wandered in that direction one afternoon and saw a few abandoned buildings along the forest path. Then, a few bays across, we arrived at a village right on the beach. The kids were all playing on the sand and the fishermen were fixing nets on their boats. We got chatting to one guy, who worked at a resort a few miles past ours, and he explained that the path went on for a long way. Turning back we had a following of kids, who I tried to impress with some truly pathetic handstands.
When we got back, a lady called Danielle introduced herself to us. She owned Busua Inn, back in town, and me and Dree had asked her about rooms a few days before. She asked us where we were going to stay, and we mentioned Black Mamba. She said it wasn't open and asked if it was a Rasta who was looking after one hut. It turns out the place we had booked was called Stone Village and her only advice to us was to "Keep your eyes open, and your wallet closed". Great!
That night Dennis was out and we ordered the normal chicken and plantains. This time the plantains came out boiled, not fried.... We decided to head back to GTB for dinner the next evening. Also for cocktails! Tell you something though, it's nice to fall asleep listening to the sounds of the waves and then get up for a morning swim before breakfast. A bit romantic I know, but what a life!
We got all our gear together and hiked it the kilometre or so round the beach and through the fishing village, seeing a man go to the toilet in some boulders near the sea. Not a number one. Wouldn't be swimming there! We made it to Ezile bay for a late breakfast of French toast and a big mug of tea, before we checked into our small, self-contained beach huts only a few metres from the beach, surrounded by palm trees. Excellent!
The rest of these days was spent on the beach or in the sea, where the waves weren't as powerful as round the coast. This made swimming and bodyboardig much easier. Eventually found something I'm good at! There were a few rocks underfoot, but it didn't matter too much as the whole beach was pretty much ours. Our own personal resort. Well shared with Dennis and his puppy, who was, as with all African pets, the cutest little thing. The other dog there didn't make too many friends, especially with Kez, as he bounded onto her beach towel again and again!
Apart from beach time, the only other thing that happened was that Barney and me took a walk round towards Cape Three Points, a place that the two Aussies from Molè had talked about, but unfortunately we didn't have time to visit. We wandered in that direction one afternoon and saw a few abandoned buildings along the forest path. Then, a few bays across, we arrived at a village right on the beach. The kids were all playing on the sand and the fishermen were fixing nets on their boats. We got chatting to one guy, who worked at a resort a few miles past ours, and he explained that the path went on for a long way. Turning back we had a following of kids, who I tried to impress with some truly pathetic handstands.
When we got back, a lady called Danielle introduced herself to us. She owned Busua Inn, back in town, and me and Dree had asked her about rooms a few days before. She asked us where we were going to stay, and we mentioned Black Mamba. She said it wasn't open and asked if it was a Rasta who was looking after one hut. It turns out the place we had booked was called Stone Village and her only advice to us was to "Keep your eyes open, and your wallet closed". Great!
That night Dennis was out and we ordered the normal chicken and plantains. This time the plantains came out boiled, not fried.... We decided to head back to GTB for dinner the next evening. Also for cocktails! Tell you something though, it's nice to fall asleep listening to the sounds of the waves and then get up for a morning swim before breakfast. A bit romantic I know, but what a life!
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Green Turtle Bay
We got up quite early the next morning, to make the most of the beach that we had, but were told that we could stay in the hut for a second night. Things were looking up; maybe there would be Christmas cancellations! We spent a lot of the next day sunbathing, reading and playing about in the waves, but in the afternoon the sand was cool enough for us to play some volleyball on the net that was on the beach. The numbers were made up by one of the guys who works for GTB but was off duty ("African friend") and an American girl. Volleyball is a hell of a lot of fun, even though I am awful at it and spent most of my time on the sand it was really good fun. Also good to be able to dive into the sea when you got too hot or sandy!
The food at the restaurant on site was so good; and not too badly priced considering we were a few kilometres from any other town. We mainly had BBQ'd fresh fish or chicken with rice and really good sauces, but the other good thing was that the menu was quite varied! Breakfasts were quite good as well - an attempt at a 'Half English' was pretty good.
Green Turtle Bay was in the guide book as a heavily recommended place to stay, with an eco-friendly set up and great facilities. The toilets were all self composting and the electricity came from solar panels on the huts' roofs. Another benefit was to see some rare turtles head onto the beach during the night and lay their eggs. We had signed up for that night, but no one came up to us to say that the tour would start.
Instead, we found Trivial Pursuit at Green Turtle Bay, and over the course of Happy Hour at the bar - cheap gin and tonics for me - we found ourselves in a battle of wits! Turns out it was the Genius Edition! Saying that though, we did answer quite a few correctly, and me and Barney beat Kez and Dree. Even though Barney doesn't know where a coffin joint on a horse is... (Wish I'd have taken a photo of the surfboard over the bar, which itself was an old pirogue, as it was a caricature of Jesus painted on it, with him saying "Jesus loves cocktails!").
The next day we had to move out of the hut and into the tents for our last night. Such a shame that we didn't think about booking for Christmas a few months ago, but the owners mentioned that they'd been booked for a longer time than that. Made us feel a bit better anyway. Kez was sick during the night and wasn't too sprightly that morning, but we think it's probably because of all the salt water she swallowed during her battle with the sea!
Me and Barney went for a walk around the bay to see if we could find any alternative accommodation for the next few days, before our stay in Busua over Christmas. Barnes had already taken a wander the morning before during a bout of sleeplessness, and so we set off the same way. Passing through the local village of Akwwida, with its fishing boats pulled up on the sand, and wooden bridge over a lagoon that depends on the height of the tide.
On the other side of the bridge we followed the shoreline round, and had to cut up a steep, tree-lined hill before coming down on the other side in a completely sheltered little bay. There were huts about 10 metres back from the beach and we aimed for one of the bigger buildings. After talking with the manager Dennis, a Frenchman who had only been in the job for a few months, and spoke only a little English, we organised staying there for the next three nights. At least something was sorted. More about Ezile Bay later.
Another beach day followed - more body boarding, swimming and tanning -before us three lads went for lunch at Paco's Tacos; a little bar hidden in palm trees a few dozen metres from the resort. Nice to mix things up a bit, foodwise, and we had a good little Mexican lunch. Afterwards we moved everything into the tents. They weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be, but were tents regardless. The far cheaper price made it a lot better though.
After another few hours relaxing on the almost deserted beach, we had a good meal (fresh fish coconut curry for me) and then decided to call it a night. We wanted to get up before the sun became too hot, for our walk around the bay to Ezile. Me and Barney stayed up reading for a bit longer and were asked if we wanted to join the turtle tour. Better late than never I suppose, as we signed up two days ago, but off we went (Kez still not feeling well and Dree sleeping).
It was about 9:30pm and so was pitch black. To add to that, the guide who came with us spoke quietly, and over the roar of the waves crashing down we couldn't hear anything. We took a torch with us and the only wildlife we saw were the hundreds of opaque/white crabs scuttling around on the beach. The closest we saw to a turtle was a track where one had crawled up to the treeline a few days before. The whole thing took about an hour, and after more than a kilometre walking on sand, the group turned round and headed back. Will say one thing though; we were out like lights as soon as we got into the tent.
The food at the restaurant on site was so good; and not too badly priced considering we were a few kilometres from any other town. We mainly had BBQ'd fresh fish or chicken with rice and really good sauces, but the other good thing was that the menu was quite varied! Breakfasts were quite good as well - an attempt at a 'Half English' was pretty good.
Green Turtle Bay was in the guide book as a heavily recommended place to stay, with an eco-friendly set up and great facilities. The toilets were all self composting and the electricity came from solar panels on the huts' roofs. Another benefit was to see some rare turtles head onto the beach during the night and lay their eggs. We had signed up for that night, but no one came up to us to say that the tour would start.
Instead, we found Trivial Pursuit at Green Turtle Bay, and over the course of Happy Hour at the bar - cheap gin and tonics for me - we found ourselves in a battle of wits! Turns out it was the Genius Edition! Saying that though, we did answer quite a few correctly, and me and Barney beat Kez and Dree. Even though Barney doesn't know where a coffin joint on a horse is... (Wish I'd have taken a photo of the surfboard over the bar, which itself was an old pirogue, as it was a caricature of Jesus painted on it, with him saying "Jesus loves cocktails!").
The next day we had to move out of the hut and into the tents for our last night. Such a shame that we didn't think about booking for Christmas a few months ago, but the owners mentioned that they'd been booked for a longer time than that. Made us feel a bit better anyway. Kez was sick during the night and wasn't too sprightly that morning, but we think it's probably because of all the salt water she swallowed during her battle with the sea!
Me and Barney went for a walk around the bay to see if we could find any alternative accommodation for the next few days, before our stay in Busua over Christmas. Barnes had already taken a wander the morning before during a bout of sleeplessness, and so we set off the same way. Passing through the local village of Akwwida, with its fishing boats pulled up on the sand, and wooden bridge over a lagoon that depends on the height of the tide.
On the other side of the bridge we followed the shoreline round, and had to cut up a steep, tree-lined hill before coming down on the other side in a completely sheltered little bay. There were huts about 10 metres back from the beach and we aimed for one of the bigger buildings. After talking with the manager Dennis, a Frenchman who had only been in the job for a few months, and spoke only a little English, we organised staying there for the next three nights. At least something was sorted. More about Ezile Bay later.
Another beach day followed - more body boarding, swimming and tanning -before us three lads went for lunch at Paco's Tacos; a little bar hidden in palm trees a few dozen metres from the resort. Nice to mix things up a bit, foodwise, and we had a good little Mexican lunch. Afterwards we moved everything into the tents. They weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be, but were tents regardless. The far cheaper price made it a lot better though.
After another few hours relaxing on the almost deserted beach, we had a good meal (fresh fish coconut curry for me) and then decided to call it a night. We wanted to get up before the sun became too hot, for our walk around the bay to Ezile. Me and Barney stayed up reading for a bit longer and were asked if we wanted to join the turtle tour. Better late than never I suppose, as we signed up two days ago, but off we went (Kez still not feeling well and Dree sleeping).
It was about 9:30pm and so was pitch black. To add to that, the guide who came with us spoke quietly, and over the roar of the waves crashing down we couldn't hear anything. We took a torch with us and the only wildlife we saw were the hundreds of opaque/white crabs scuttling around on the beach. The closest we saw to a turtle was a track where one had crawled up to the treeline a few days before. The whole thing took about an hour, and after more than a kilometre walking on sand, the group turned round and headed back. Will say one thing though; we were out like lights as soon as we got into the tent.
Homeless for Christmas?
We headed to the Elmina bypass road early in the morning and our taxi driver kindly helped us flag down a tro-tro going to Sekondi, the closest city to the beaches. We climbed in and saw our stuff get stuffed in under a dozen fish bowls that we had seen the day before (thankfully not full), and the boot was left open and precariously tied on with rope.
Made it in one piece to Sekondi where we got another tro-tro from another station to Agona - the crossroads town closest to the beaches. We tried to check the net for any other replies about Christmas accommodation, before we headed to the beach, but the man said it wasn't working. We were about to head off when we noticed that they were watching Youtube videos! Typical Ghanaian service. We hiked to the bus station and found one going our way. The annoying thing about being on minibuses is drivers trying to rip you off because you are a tourist, or overcharge you for your rucksack. These jokers are smiling as they lie to you, and are supposedly good Christians (it's plastered all over their cars). We eventually only paid the local price for the journey and headed off. After a few Fan Milks....
Our driver was an utter idiot, driving really fast over some speed humps, and the boot flew open. Kez's bag went bouncing into the middle of a junction, making cars skid around it. We shouted at him to stop, which he eventually did, but a taxi passenger had skilfully scooped up the bag and driven onto a safe stopping point. We thought that was the last we'd see of the bag, but the kind passenger gave it back a few seconds later. We shouted at the driver to tie on the boot properly (as we'd paid separately for the bags), but he was grinning all the way through it.
Five minutes down the road, over another speed hump too quickly and the boot flies open again. Poor Kez's bag goes cartwheeling down the road and we start shouting at the driver again. After that Kez and Dree kept their bags on their laps; mine and B-dogs were safely under the seats. We hopped out at Agona (no tip?) and got into a taxi to Busua - a small fishing village right on the beach, with a few potential places to stay over Christmas.
The taxi was a bargain at only 60 pesewas, about 30p, and we stopped for a drink in a bar called 'Swingers Place' before deciding on guesthouses to check out. We took it in turns to go and check places out, but everywhere was full - should have booked! Me and Dree even looked at some places that looked expensive; the first was $80 per night, and the second one was a five-star complex with pool and conference centre. The 'mattress only' option was $20 alone. Our daily budget is about that!
Barney and Kez took the next shift and checked a few more places out and eventually returned with good news. They'd booked a little hut right on the beach for about fifteen pounds a night between us all! It all sounded great, and the place was called Black Mamba. The only problem was the guy they spoke to was a high rasta. At least we weren't homeless for the holiday period. Let's hope the Rasta remembers!
We ate at a small place called Nana's, a character in himself, whose little shack had writing on all the walls from happy customers congratulating on great food. They were from all over the world and so we were expecting great things! The food was pretty good - really nice spicy jollof rice and fresh fish, so fresh that we had to give him an advance to buy it from the fishermen on the beach!
We decided to head to Green Turtle Bay, the resort that was raved about, but full over the holidays. It was early enough in the day to be turned away but we thought we'd give it a shot. It sounded amazing in the book. After a steep and bumpy tro tro ride, we arrived and actually met the owners Steve and Tom - two Brits. The place was amazing: tiny little huts, good restaurant and bar (Happy Hour Gin and Tonics!), and a gorgeous beach only yards away.
We checked into a room for one night, had to get an extra mattress, and the guys informed us that we would have to move into tents for the next night and then unfortunately move out. Didn't worry us at that point - we had a beach for the first time in a few months!!!!! Jumping into the sea we were surprised to find the waves very strong, with a dangerous riptide underneath. The waves were really cool though, great fun for diving around in and renting bodyboards from the resort. Poor Kez was battered by the waves and had a lot of trouble standing up and keeping her bikini on! We all got thrown around by them, and at times it felt like a washing machine, as we got spun around under the water. Still have the scratches on my back from being thrown against the sand under the waves. Great fun though!
As we ordered food that night we bumped into Clive ("Colin, Colin, Colin") and Tania - the Land rover couple on an 18 month trip, who we'd first met in Bamako - what a small world eh! We swapped tales of where we'd been since and it was really nice to see them again. They had been at Green Turtle for six days, three more than planned because it was so nice. That night we had some really good food at the restaurant, fresh fish with chunky 'Bensons' chips, and ate on the beach-front tables with gas lanterns, with the waves crashing only feet away.
Could see ourselves staying here for a while if possible....
Made it in one piece to Sekondi where we got another tro-tro from another station to Agona - the crossroads town closest to the beaches. We tried to check the net for any other replies about Christmas accommodation, before we headed to the beach, but the man said it wasn't working. We were about to head off when we noticed that they were watching Youtube videos! Typical Ghanaian service. We hiked to the bus station and found one going our way. The annoying thing about being on minibuses is drivers trying to rip you off because you are a tourist, or overcharge you for your rucksack. These jokers are smiling as they lie to you, and are supposedly good Christians (it's plastered all over their cars). We eventually only paid the local price for the journey and headed off. After a few Fan Milks....
Our driver was an utter idiot, driving really fast over some speed humps, and the boot flew open. Kez's bag went bouncing into the middle of a junction, making cars skid around it. We shouted at him to stop, which he eventually did, but a taxi passenger had skilfully scooped up the bag and driven onto a safe stopping point. We thought that was the last we'd see of the bag, but the kind passenger gave it back a few seconds later. We shouted at the driver to tie on the boot properly (as we'd paid separately for the bags), but he was grinning all the way through it.
Five minutes down the road, over another speed hump too quickly and the boot flies open again. Poor Kez's bag goes cartwheeling down the road and we start shouting at the driver again. After that Kez and Dree kept their bags on their laps; mine and B-dogs were safely under the seats. We hopped out at Agona (no tip?) and got into a taxi to Busua - a small fishing village right on the beach, with a few potential places to stay over Christmas.
The taxi was a bargain at only 60 pesewas, about 30p, and we stopped for a drink in a bar called 'Swingers Place' before deciding on guesthouses to check out. We took it in turns to go and check places out, but everywhere was full - should have booked! Me and Dree even looked at some places that looked expensive; the first was $80 per night, and the second one was a five-star complex with pool and conference centre. The 'mattress only' option was $20 alone. Our daily budget is about that!
Barney and Kez took the next shift and checked a few more places out and eventually returned with good news. They'd booked a little hut right on the beach for about fifteen pounds a night between us all! It all sounded great, and the place was called Black Mamba. The only problem was the guy they spoke to was a high rasta. At least we weren't homeless for the holiday period. Let's hope the Rasta remembers!
We ate at a small place called Nana's, a character in himself, whose little shack had writing on all the walls from happy customers congratulating on great food. They were from all over the world and so we were expecting great things! The food was pretty good - really nice spicy jollof rice and fresh fish, so fresh that we had to give him an advance to buy it from the fishermen on the beach!
We decided to head to Green Turtle Bay, the resort that was raved about, but full over the holidays. It was early enough in the day to be turned away but we thought we'd give it a shot. It sounded amazing in the book. After a steep and bumpy tro tro ride, we arrived and actually met the owners Steve and Tom - two Brits. The place was amazing: tiny little huts, good restaurant and bar (Happy Hour Gin and Tonics!), and a gorgeous beach only yards away.
We checked into a room for one night, had to get an extra mattress, and the guys informed us that we would have to move into tents for the next night and then unfortunately move out. Didn't worry us at that point - we had a beach for the first time in a few months!!!!! Jumping into the sea we were surprised to find the waves very strong, with a dangerous riptide underneath. The waves were really cool though, great fun for diving around in and renting bodyboards from the resort. Poor Kez was battered by the waves and had a lot of trouble standing up and keeping her bikini on! We all got thrown around by them, and at times it felt like a washing machine, as we got spun around under the water. Still have the scratches on my back from being thrown against the sand under the waves. Great fun though!
As we ordered food that night we bumped into Clive ("Colin, Colin, Colin") and Tania - the Land rover couple on an 18 month trip, who we'd first met in Bamako - what a small world eh! We swapped tales of where we'd been since and it was really nice to see them again. They had been at Green Turtle for six days, three more than planned because it was so nice. That night we had some really good food at the restaurant, fresh fish with chunky 'Bensons' chips, and ate on the beach-front tables with gas lanterns, with the waves crashing only feet away.
Could see ourselves staying here for a while if possible....
Il Costa De Elmina de Ouro
A quick tro-tro down the coast to Elmina only took 20 minutes and only COST the equivalent of 55p! Bit of a bargain. The original name of Elmina is in the title of this blog and is the Portuguese name for 'The Coast of Gold Mines' and is important as the first place that Europeans actually purchased some land form the local chiefs, and there the Portuguese bought a small fort that became Elmina Castle. The town is now a major fishing producer and from the heights of the castle, you can see the other main industry - salt. Shallow lakes of sea water are dried by the sun and the salt is collected by hand, and sent via huge trucks all across Africa and Europe.
As we arrived quite early in the morning we had breakfast by the lagoon that separates the castle from the rest of the town. The bridge (as we were in Ghana, it was a bright red Vodaphone bridge) that crosses this small stretch of water had hundreds of men and boys sitting anywhere they could. As we sat watching, the guys would cheer any boats or pirogues coming back in from a nights fishing - the bigger the applause, the bigger the haul. Such a good atmosphere! The boats carried onto the dock, where women with huge silver bowls on their heads collected full bowls to be sold in the market or taken by car to other towns. Also as in we were in Ghana, the bowls and boats were all emblazoned with religious sayings such as "Creator" and "God sees All"!
We dumped our gear at our accommodation and headed to the castle for our second slave fort tour in two days. Pretty hardcore. We got another English guide who began talking about the church in the middle of the courtyard. he asked us what religion we were and we all answered "None". Luckily we were the only ones in the group at that moment as he went off on a rant about religion and God being real. We weren't arguing but he made it his mission to try and convert us. Kez also tried (gallantly) to explain about evolution and science being our main beliefs, and that it is okay to believe anything you want to, but our guide started off again. he seemed truly shocked that we weren't religious. Thankfully some more people turned up and the tour started again, but he kept saying "I'll talk to you later"!
As I mentioned before the site of the castle was sold to the Portuguese to aid commerce, but the local chief was cautious, but the gifts of booze and tobacco helped calm his nerves somewhat! The castle grew year on year, and was even able to stop two attacks by the Dutch from the sea. Unperturbed the Dutch bribed a tribe to show them an inland way. They started another false attack from the sea, and then fired cannons from a grassy hill behind the castle, where there were no cannons, and so no protection. The Dutch took over the castle and then built a lookout known as Fort Jago on the grassy hill, to stop this happening to them.
Gold and ivory were the main things traded, but later on the Dutch also became involved in the lucrative slave trade. Elmina Castle was also very impressive, standing on the rocks right on the shoreline. As in Cape Coast Castle, we were shown the dungeons and holding cells for slaves, as well as the Point of No Return. The slaves were put through a very narrow gap in the outer wall before walking down an old jetty straight into the cramped ships. Unfortunately, even if over half the slaves died en route during the months at sea, it would still be a worthwhile exercise financially speaking from the traders point of view.
The tour was still very good, and the guide was full of useful information saying that the castle was the oldest European building in Africa (sub-Saharan), but it was all interjected with questions about where do we think we come from and who created all the animals etc. Kez did a stirling job trying to talk to him, but he wouldn't even listen to anything that wasn't about God or the world created in six days!
We were shown the store room and a magazine for keeping ammunition (full of bats) before being shown two cells that were next to each other. One was for drunk soldiers, or those who disobeyed orders, and although it was definitely a cell, it was far bigger, with more ventilation and lighter than the cell next door; which was where disobedient or unruly slaves were kept before being executed or just left to die over a week.
We had a bite to eat in the Castle's restaurant and then used the Internet. Bad news - Green Turtle Bay were completely booked over Christmas. Change of plan. On the way out, some kids were running a scam. On the way in they asked your name and got chatting. Once you left they handed you a big shell, painted with "To my friend _____" and then the name filled in with fresh pen. They wanted you to keep the shell as a gift, but give a donation to their football team. We'd been warned about it in the book, but I would be very dubious anyway about giving money for nothing; with no idea who it would go to.
In the afternoon, we took a walk up the hill behind the castle to Fort Jago and had a look around. There was an old guy inside that showed us around for a small fee, and we had a really good view of the quayside, castle and salt flats. The fort was quite compact, but had a really cool room with low windows that was something to do with carpentry. Out of the windows we were shown the Dutch cemetery and old church. Up in the lookout tower we had another go at the notorious pictures with us all in, using Barneys camera and the stand. It worked well but unfortunately didn't have the castle in the background.
We got back to our hotel just as dusk fell to discover we didn't have any light in our room. I stayed in the room and wrote all of my Christmas postcards (date was the 17th...) by torchlight. We took a shower in Dree's room, dodging the mini cockroaches, before getting a great takeaway dinner of jollof rice and chicken from a lady on the street. We eventually had a light bulb brought up to the room, but were eaten alive by the mozzie parade.
Tomorrow: to the beach!
As we arrived quite early in the morning we had breakfast by the lagoon that separates the castle from the rest of the town. The bridge (as we were in Ghana, it was a bright red Vodaphone bridge) that crosses this small stretch of water had hundreds of men and boys sitting anywhere they could. As we sat watching, the guys would cheer any boats or pirogues coming back in from a nights fishing - the bigger the applause, the bigger the haul. Such a good atmosphere! The boats carried onto the dock, where women with huge silver bowls on their heads collected full bowls to be sold in the market or taken by car to other towns. Also as in we were in Ghana, the bowls and boats were all emblazoned with religious sayings such as "Creator" and "God sees All"!
We dumped our gear at our accommodation and headed to the castle for our second slave fort tour in two days. Pretty hardcore. We got another English guide who began talking about the church in the middle of the courtyard. he asked us what religion we were and we all answered "None". Luckily we were the only ones in the group at that moment as he went off on a rant about religion and God being real. We weren't arguing but he made it his mission to try and convert us. Kez also tried (gallantly) to explain about evolution and science being our main beliefs, and that it is okay to believe anything you want to, but our guide started off again. he seemed truly shocked that we weren't religious. Thankfully some more people turned up and the tour started again, but he kept saying "I'll talk to you later"!
As I mentioned before the site of the castle was sold to the Portuguese to aid commerce, but the local chief was cautious, but the gifts of booze and tobacco helped calm his nerves somewhat! The castle grew year on year, and was even able to stop two attacks by the Dutch from the sea. Unperturbed the Dutch bribed a tribe to show them an inland way. They started another false attack from the sea, and then fired cannons from a grassy hill behind the castle, where there were no cannons, and so no protection. The Dutch took over the castle and then built a lookout known as Fort Jago on the grassy hill, to stop this happening to them.
Gold and ivory were the main things traded, but later on the Dutch also became involved in the lucrative slave trade. Elmina Castle was also very impressive, standing on the rocks right on the shoreline. As in Cape Coast Castle, we were shown the dungeons and holding cells for slaves, as well as the Point of No Return. The slaves were put through a very narrow gap in the outer wall before walking down an old jetty straight into the cramped ships. Unfortunately, even if over half the slaves died en route during the months at sea, it would still be a worthwhile exercise financially speaking from the traders point of view.
The tour was still very good, and the guide was full of useful information saying that the castle was the oldest European building in Africa (sub-Saharan), but it was all interjected with questions about where do we think we come from and who created all the animals etc. Kez did a stirling job trying to talk to him, but he wouldn't even listen to anything that wasn't about God or the world created in six days!
We were shown the store room and a magazine for keeping ammunition (full of bats) before being shown two cells that were next to each other. One was for drunk soldiers, or those who disobeyed orders, and although it was definitely a cell, it was far bigger, with more ventilation and lighter than the cell next door; which was where disobedient or unruly slaves were kept before being executed or just left to die over a week.
We had a bite to eat in the Castle's restaurant and then used the Internet. Bad news - Green Turtle Bay were completely booked over Christmas. Change of plan. On the way out, some kids were running a scam. On the way in they asked your name and got chatting. Once you left they handed you a big shell, painted with "To my friend _____" and then the name filled in with fresh pen. They wanted you to keep the shell as a gift, but give a donation to their football team. We'd been warned about it in the book, but I would be very dubious anyway about giving money for nothing; with no idea who it would go to.
In the afternoon, we took a walk up the hill behind the castle to Fort Jago and had a look around. There was an old guy inside that showed us around for a small fee, and we had a really good view of the quayside, castle and salt flats. The fort was quite compact, but had a really cool room with low windows that was something to do with carpentry. Out of the windows we were shown the Dutch cemetery and old church. Up in the lookout tower we had another go at the notorious pictures with us all in, using Barneys camera and the stand. It worked well but unfortunately didn't have the castle in the background.
We got back to our hotel just as dusk fell to discover we didn't have any light in our room. I stayed in the room and wrote all of my Christmas postcards (date was the 17th...) by torchlight. We took a shower in Dree's room, dodging the mini cockroaches, before getting a great takeaway dinner of jollof rice and chicken from a lady on the street. We eventually had a light bulb brought up to the room, but were eaten alive by the mozzie parade.
Tomorrow: to the beach!
Cape Coast Castle
Cape Coast Castle is a huge white former slave fort right on the rocks overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, and is the most popular tourist destination in Cape. The castle is a UNESCO World Heritage Site (tick, Kez) and although it cost nine cedis each to get in with a camera each, the guide English and it was a really good tour.
Barrack Obama had visited the same spot only a few months earlier, and this was commemorated by a plaque. Coming to think about it, there were huge posters and billboards all over town saying "Akwaaba" (welcome in Twi, local Ghanaian language) with a giant picture of Barrack and his wife Michelle. Another had a picture of the Ghanaian President with Obama saying "A new future together". Other things we'd seen across the trip included Obama t-shirts, restaurants and bars taking his name, bumper stickers, even Obama biscuits! They love him over here!
Anyway; back to the Castle. We started off in the museum because there weren't enough people for a guide quite yet. The museum was really informative and had displays on all sorts of things from the history of Ghana when it was the Gold Coast, to European contacts and the transatlantic slave trade, right through to famous and influential black people including Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jnr. The castle itself was a Portuguese building in the 15th Century, specialising in gold, ivory and spices as well as slaves, before being taken over in 1665 by the British who concentrated on the Transatlantic slave trade. Saying that though, I found it very interesting that a part of the museum concentrated on the slave trade by tribes before Europeans arrived, and who acted as middle men during the awful period.
The tour began in the main courtyard where Obama gave his speech, and we saw piles of cannon balls and a few graves of some VIPs from years ago. Interestingly one of them was the first black Christian minister who returned to Ghana after being abroad and gave sermons in a small chapel that was above the male slave dungeon. So he was praying with the Europeans whilst he could hear the groans and screams of his countrymen a few feet below...
Continuing on, the male dungeon was very dark, with only a small hole high in the roof to let in light. About 1000 slaves were kept in a room (each just over half the size a tennis court), and had to sleep, eat and go to the toilet over each other. There wasn't enough room for the waste to flow out and so it blocked up and they all had to sleep on top of it. Pretty horrific, but even worse when you hear that they had to stay in there for two months at a time, and any dead bodies weren't removed for days at a time. they would then be thrown over the side of the fort with weights attached. The guide at one point turned off the lights and we were in pitch black; you could really feel the heat and lack of ventilation as well.
We then took a walk above ground where we could wee the passage that the men took to the Door of No Return; from there they were herded onto ships bound for the Europe, America, Brazil or the Caribbean, that sometimes took many, many weeks. The women were kept separate, in equally revolting conditions, before also being forced into cramped conditions on the ships, where about 15 million Africans were transported across the Atlantic! The scale of the operation was shocking. Men, women and children were dragged away from their families, separated from everyone they knew and put through hell before mainly ending up for sale to work in plantations in the Americas.
We then saw the market room, where 'businessmen' bidded on them, and then looked inside a few tiny dungeons where those who tried to escape were tortured and left to die. The guide was truly excellent and explained everything very clearly, even about the Ashanti's, who lived in Ghana, and were one of the main facilitators of the slave trade, selling captives from battles and raids for guns and alcohol - what else eh?!
The place was very grim and sobering, but incrediblely informative. The guide really made the tour and I am pleased that I came to see it. The scratches on the walls of the dungeons where slaves had tried to climb out and the darkness of the dungeons were both sad but had an eerie feeling that the walls were talking to you.
After the trip we had a Fan Milk to cheer us up and went for a wander through town to two other places that were on the map. The Crab statue was purely that and London Bridge was barely a bridge over a small waste channel - maybe 6 feet across. After picking up some diced plantain (a bigger cousin of the banana) that had been fried in chilli powder - absolutely amazing, could have eaten five times the amount - we headed back to Sammos, our minds wandering quite a lot, and we sent a quick email to Green Turtle Bay, right on the coast, about Christmas reservations. That night we ate next to the Castle, and all had some kind of seafood. Got to by the coast haven't you!
Barrack Obama had visited the same spot only a few months earlier, and this was commemorated by a plaque. Coming to think about it, there were huge posters and billboards all over town saying "Akwaaba" (welcome in Twi, local Ghanaian language) with a giant picture of Barrack and his wife Michelle. Another had a picture of the Ghanaian President with Obama saying "A new future together". Other things we'd seen across the trip included Obama t-shirts, restaurants and bars taking his name, bumper stickers, even Obama biscuits! They love him over here!
Anyway; back to the Castle. We started off in the museum because there weren't enough people for a guide quite yet. The museum was really informative and had displays on all sorts of things from the history of Ghana when it was the Gold Coast, to European contacts and the transatlantic slave trade, right through to famous and influential black people including Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jnr. The castle itself was a Portuguese building in the 15th Century, specialising in gold, ivory and spices as well as slaves, before being taken over in 1665 by the British who concentrated on the Transatlantic slave trade. Saying that though, I found it very interesting that a part of the museum concentrated on the slave trade by tribes before Europeans arrived, and who acted as middle men during the awful period.
The tour began in the main courtyard where Obama gave his speech, and we saw piles of cannon balls and a few graves of some VIPs from years ago. Interestingly one of them was the first black Christian minister who returned to Ghana after being abroad and gave sermons in a small chapel that was above the male slave dungeon. So he was praying with the Europeans whilst he could hear the groans and screams of his countrymen a few feet below...
Continuing on, the male dungeon was very dark, with only a small hole high in the roof to let in light. About 1000 slaves were kept in a room (each just over half the size a tennis court), and had to sleep, eat and go to the toilet over each other. There wasn't enough room for the waste to flow out and so it blocked up and they all had to sleep on top of it. Pretty horrific, but even worse when you hear that they had to stay in there for two months at a time, and any dead bodies weren't removed for days at a time. they would then be thrown over the side of the fort with weights attached. The guide at one point turned off the lights and we were in pitch black; you could really feel the heat and lack of ventilation as well.
We then took a walk above ground where we could wee the passage that the men took to the Door of No Return; from there they were herded onto ships bound for the Europe, America, Brazil or the Caribbean, that sometimes took many, many weeks. The women were kept separate, in equally revolting conditions, before also being forced into cramped conditions on the ships, where about 15 million Africans were transported across the Atlantic! The scale of the operation was shocking. Men, women and children were dragged away from their families, separated from everyone they knew and put through hell before mainly ending up for sale to work in plantations in the Americas.
We then saw the market room, where 'businessmen' bidded on them, and then looked inside a few tiny dungeons where those who tried to escape were tortured and left to die. The guide was truly excellent and explained everything very clearly, even about the Ashanti's, who lived in Ghana, and were one of the main facilitators of the slave trade, selling captives from battles and raids for guns and alcohol - what else eh?!
The place was very grim and sobering, but incrediblely informative. The guide really made the tour and I am pleased that I came to see it. The scratches on the walls of the dungeons where slaves had tried to climb out and the darkness of the dungeons were both sad but had an eerie feeling that the walls were talking to you.
After the trip we had a Fan Milk to cheer us up and went for a wander through town to two other places that were on the map. The Crab statue was purely that and London Bridge was barely a bridge over a small waste channel - maybe 6 feet across. After picking up some diced plantain (a bigger cousin of the banana) that had been fried in chilli powder - absolutely amazing, could have eaten five times the amount - we headed back to Sammos, our minds wandering quite a lot, and we sent a quick email to Green Turtle Bay, right on the coast, about Christmas reservations. That night we ate next to the Castle, and all had some kind of seafood. Got to by the coast haven't you!
Morning in Cape Coast
On the way into the centre of Cape Coast, we stopped off at a omlette stand and got the same old Ghanaian smile from the lady, nonexistent, before carrying on to have a look at some forts from days gone by. Hundreds of years ago Cape Coast was at the forefront of the transatlantic slave trade, although it was very important many years before to the Portuguese and then Dutch who were first in control of the Gold Coast (original name for Ghana because of all the gold that came from the area). The Europeans heard legends about the gold mines on the West coast of Africa from the Arabs that brought it across the Sahara. As gold became used for currencies, the Europeans set off in ships in search of the source of the precious metal; so they could get it themselves rather than paying more via the Arabs. History lesson over!
We first visited Fort Victoria, and paid one cedi for the silent guide to 'show us the way', of which there was only one! The fort was a small lookout, whitewashed with cannons looking out in all directions. You could see why it was used though - the views were fantastic, all the way down the coast to Elmina and across all of the nearby coastline.
The next one we visited was up an even steeper hill in the middle of town, and was called Fort William. This one was free to get to, and while me and Kez explored inside (shouting hello etc), a woman and her young son came down from the three storey watchtower and offered to show us around. The lads were dying from the heat underneath the bigger building, that turned out to double as a lighthouse for the port. There were about 40 soldiers stationed in this fort; which again gave excellent views for miles around. The lady had apparently lived there for 25 years, so we joked that she knew all of the gossip in Cape Coast, and we tipped her after the brief tour.
To get out of the heat for a little while we went to change up the rest of our travellers cheques, which took a fair old while queueing up, but we weren't complaining as there were seats and air con in the Barclay's. This took about an hour for all of us, but I wanted to get rid of mine as the Euro rate had gone down since I'd bought them. After that we stopped off in an English book shop (at last!) and had some dubious shakes and banana cakes from a healthy-eating NGO by the castle.
We then explored down the small beach, next to the giant white castle, right on the coast. Walking barefoot in the sand, we saw men pulling huge pirogues (big wooden fishing boats) into the palm tree shade up the beach; children fishing with small lines right on the shore, most of which I tripped over; and even some men carving a pirogue out of a massive piece of tree! Man points! The beach went a bit sour towards the end, with deserted buildings and huge piles of black and rotting litter being the only things you could see. We even saw a couple of pigs rooting about and having a wash in the river of waste that flowed down.
So we decided to turn back and see Cape Coast Castle.
We first visited Fort Victoria, and paid one cedi for the silent guide to 'show us the way', of which there was only one! The fort was a small lookout, whitewashed with cannons looking out in all directions. You could see why it was used though - the views were fantastic, all the way down the coast to Elmina and across all of the nearby coastline.
The next one we visited was up an even steeper hill in the middle of town, and was called Fort William. This one was free to get to, and while me and Kez explored inside (shouting hello etc), a woman and her young son came down from the three storey watchtower and offered to show us around. The lads were dying from the heat underneath the bigger building, that turned out to double as a lighthouse for the port. There were about 40 soldiers stationed in this fort; which again gave excellent views for miles around. The lady had apparently lived there for 25 years, so we joked that she knew all of the gossip in Cape Coast, and we tipped her after the brief tour.
To get out of the heat for a little while we went to change up the rest of our travellers cheques, which took a fair old while queueing up, but we weren't complaining as there were seats and air con in the Barclay's. This took about an hour for all of us, but I wanted to get rid of mine as the Euro rate had gone down since I'd bought them. After that we stopped off in an English book shop (at last!) and had some dubious shakes and banana cakes from a healthy-eating NGO by the castle.
We then explored down the small beach, next to the giant white castle, right on the coast. Walking barefoot in the sand, we saw men pulling huge pirogues (big wooden fishing boats) into the palm tree shade up the beach; children fishing with small lines right on the shore, most of which I tripped over; and even some men carving a pirogue out of a massive piece of tree! Man points! The beach went a bit sour towards the end, with deserted buildings and huge piles of black and rotting litter being the only things you could see. We even saw a couple of pigs rooting about and having a wash in the river of waste that flowed down.
So we decided to turn back and see Cape Coast Castle.
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