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!
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