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Africa Europe France Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

8 hours in Lyon

It makes absolutely no sense. I wanted to fly from Montasir (the airport near Sousse, Tunisia to Djerba, Tunisia. The flight should have taken an hour. Maybe. The buses were too slow and the train doesn’t go to the island of Djerba, so I was set on flying and doing so today. Well, the only flight that came up in multiple searches was a flight from Montasit, to Lyon, France, and to Djerba. It seemed ludicrous…but the flight did offer an 8 hour layover in Lyon. That was appealing. I haven’t been to France in years and never to Lyon. So I booked it.

When I arrived at the airport for my 6:30am flight, the guys at check in thought it was crazy. One even offere

d to put me on a flight that connected in Tunis, but I declined. I was already looking forward to a coffee in the old city.

An 8 hour layover doesn’t mean 8 hours of walking around Lyon. It means 5 hours max. There are a few tricks to these just-long-enough-to-leave-the-airport layovers. I try to check in for both flights at the beginning and check my bag through to the end, so I’m not messing around with bag collection and checking in. That wasn’t possible for this flight, so I took my bag as a carry on and left it in the luggage storage at the train station. I also study ahead of time. If you’ve only got a half day, there isn’t time to figure out when you are there what you want to see or do. So I do my homework and determine what areas I want to visit and what I want to see and how I am going to get around. If I can (as I did in Lyon), I buy my transit tickets online ahead of time and I get foreign currency before landing so I don’t have to waste time in queues. And most importantly, I study maps intently. Like I am planning a bank job. I want to know, as much as possible, what exit to take from the metro and which bridge to walk across and what street to turn left on when I get to the other side. This satisfies both my desire to make good use of my short layover and my fondness for maps.

It all worked well today. I probably could have even spent another hour in the city but I didn’t want to risk missing my plane.

I took the express airport train and then the metro to Vieux Lyon; the old city…and also the most touristy, but it is popular with visitors for a reason. The streets are so charming, with old buildings hung with old signs, narrow lanes lined with cheese shops and quaint cafés, patisseries, and churches.

And overlooking it all is a cathedral on a hill.

I walked up and down the streets, stopping for a coffee and a pink praline tart – apparently Lyonnaise specialty. So good and disgustingly sweet.

I walked down the river for a bit, photographing churches and buildings.

Back on to the Rue Ste Jean, looking for number 53 or 54 and for a plain door, which would lead to one of the many traboules – hidden passages which lead between buildings to other streets and also to private residences. There are apparently 315 of them, but only a few are accessible or known to the public. According to the good book (Lonely Planet) some of them date to Roman times and the rest were in the 19th century. It was indeed a long passage, in some places providing access to apartments. Who doesn’t love secret passages? If only i had to pull a candlestick to gain access.

I then took the funicular up to the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourvière, which is a beautiful 19th century cathedral overlooking the city. There were priests wandering around, as well as worshippers, but they were outnumbered by tourists, so I was able to take pictures.

I then walked to Place Bellecour and took the train to Hotel de Ville to see some of the fancy buildings in that area.

At that point i headed back to the airport. I probably could have spent another hour, but I didn’t want to be rushing to catch my flight. I saw what I wanted to see, had an afternoon in France, and was on my way back to Tunisia.

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El Jem

On my second day in Sousse I decided to visit El Jem, a small city about an hour away, which is notable for its fairly well-preserved amphitheater dating to ~230. I know I just said i was over Roman ruins, but this isn’t ruins per se, it’s a structure, not rubble.

I had a bit of time before the train so I walked around some more and followed a small tour group of Germans into the courtyard of the great mosque.

I took the train, which was cheap and pleasant. The scenery wasn’t much to look at – dry land, cacti, boxy villages, and rows upon rows of olive trees. In El Jem, it was easy to figure out where to go: walk towards the giant amphitheater.

It really was quite impressive. It held about 30,000 spectators in its day, all there to see battle between men and beasts. It was fun to scramble around on the various levels and explore the tunnels underground where the combatants waited for their (presumably final) moments.

It is very much like the Colosseum in Rome, but just a bit smaller, with FAR fewer tourists, and 100% more camels.

While there i ran into a girl I had met in Tunis, from Shanghai and traveling solo. We hung out together for a while, walking the site and having coffee.

Then it was time to return to Sousse. And that is when the misadventure began. The train was not running again until after 6pm, and even then was not going to Sousse, but to a nearby town. The main bus station was missing, as was any information about it. So we decided to take the louage – a shared minivan, lie a marshrutka – very common for locals. The girl I was with had taken it to El Jem and had not had any problems, so we walked to the station. One louage was just leaving for Sousse (full). There was no way to know when another would arrive, but there were at least 39 people waiting. The way they work is the van leaves when full, but each van only holds 8 people, so it looked like we might be there a while. I tried to convince a taxi to drive us (and was prepared to pay handsomely for it) but no one would agree. Back to the louage station and even more people were waiting to go to Sousse. We quickly realized that there was no order to the boarding of the louage. When one arrived for Sousse, people rushed at it, cramming and pushing on. It was mayhem. I realized that if i was going to get to Sousse, I was going to have to take extreme measures.

The next time a louage with the Sousse sign on it drove into the station, I and others, ran towards the vehicle, while it was driving. One guy opened the panel door and jumped in, while the vehicle drove. Then a girl and her friend. Then i grabbed on to the seat back, pulled myself in, and my temporary traveling companion followed. As we did so, other people tried to push us out of the way so they could do the same. By the time the van came to a stop, it was already full. It may not have been driving super fast, but I still felt like a low level action hero.

Once on board, a full on argument broke out between the two women sitting behind us and the driver. There was yelling in Arabic happening for like 5 minutes. The whole time, I was stressed that we were going to be kicked off for some minor infraction. One of the women was lightly slapped in the face by some man. Then things were quiet and we left, my heart beating.

Following that melee, the evening was relaxing. I had some super spicy, Tunisian vegetable dish, followed by shisha at a kind of fancy salon de thé. Then I went to bed, because the next morning I was being picked up at 3:30am for a flight to France..and then back to Tunisia.

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Sousse

I caught a morning bus from Tunis to Sousse. An easy trip, a little more than two hours. About $4. The scenery wasn’t great, but it was relaxing…well, sort of. I surrounded by a school group of children going to some pro-Palestine event. Loud singing and horseplay. Them, not me.

In Sousse, south on the coast from Tunis, I walked from the train station to the medina and found my hotel, the Hotel Medina, just behind the great mosque. Nothing makes me feel as capable and independent than arriving in a new city where I cannot speak the language and finding my way with a map.

The weather was perfect and the city begged to be explored. Sousse dates back to about 9th century BCE and is centred around a walled medina just blocks away from the harbour. The medina is smaller than the one in Tunis but is no less interesting, the souq is bustling with mostly locals and the streets are filled with vendors selling nuts and sweet treats, kids playing ball, and people going about their daily lives.

It is a tourist destination due to the beaches and resort hotels, though they are quiet at the moment. It is warm, but not quite beach weather and tourism is still suffering after the 2015 terrorist attack where about 30 people were killed when gunmen started shooting at one of the beach resorts.

I walked the medina, browsed the souqs, and walked up the beach aways; plenty of locals were enjoying the sun and sand. I did get lost for a while, due to a bird which shit on my map, rending one part of it indiscernible. I went to the ribat (an 8th century fort) and climbed the watchtower, which provided excellent views of the city and into the courtyard of the great mosque.

Aside from the miles of walking, it was a pretty chill day, which I finished with vegetable couscous on a patio and a cigar sitting on a step outside of the mosque. While I could always spend more time, a day in Sousse is sufficient, which is good because the next day I would be going to El Jem.

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Tunis : Plan B

Day three in Tunis started, as they all do, with breakfast. Breakfast at the hostel is bread heavy. Pan au chocolat, baguettes, fig jam, fig sweet rolls, cake, tiny bread doughnuts, and oranges fresh from the tree. The oranges here are excellent, as is the freshly squeezed juice which is available on every corner.

I left right after my carb infusion and caught a (very inexpensive) taxi to the bus station to go to Kaiouran, a very important holy site. About 3 hours by bus, i figured it would make a good day trip and a round trip ticket was about $4. The bus was to leave at 8:00, but it was late. The bus needed repairs. I chatted with a local young man, studying to be an electrician. He told me how he wants to move to Finland or Canada but that it is very difficult. Jobs here, he said, are in short supply. By 9:00 they said the bus would leave at 11:00 and i realized my day trip was sunk. Plan B: the Bardo Museum. I caught another taxi.

The museum, which I was not super keen to visit, was excellent. An extraordinary display of 2000 year old mosaics in an old palace, along with statues and some pottery and other bits and pieces .

The museum, which I was not super keen to visit, was excellent. An extraordinary display of 2000 year old mosaics in an old palace, along with statues and some pottery and other bits and pieces.

I got there right when it opened and it was fairly empty. That soon changed. Bus loads of tourists (Italian & Chinese tourists) arrived. I watched as person after person took pictures of themselves in front of the mosaics, jumping repeatedly to get just the right shot. Comical and confounding.

The museum was the site of a terrorist attack in 2015 and a number of tourists were gunned down. There is now a monument marking the event. Not that one ever expects to be shot, but it seems particularly unexpected in a museum, so quiet and organized.

I left the museum, planning to get a taxi. Tonnes drove by, but none stopped. I walked to the tram and got various, conflicting instructions about which tram to take. I finally figured it out but each tram that stopped was crammed full. Back to to taxi plan. About 20 minutes of watching countless taxis drive by, full. I approached a guy who had a lonely planet and who was also trying for a cab, suggesting that we share, as the odds were so poor and we were both going back to the medina. At it turned out, he was staying at my hostel. It took us close to an hour, but we got a cab.

Back at the medina, I spent the rest of the day walking around, visiting the market, stopping for shisha and coffees, finishing up with a small vegetarian pizza (the easiest to find vegetarian meal).
Nothing quite went as planned, but it was a good day.

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Carthage & Sidi Bou Said

Day two in Tunis i took the train North to Carthage and Sidi Bou Said. Having mastered the medina (well, the middle bit) I walked from my hostel to the train station and bought a 2nd class ticket for Carthage.

A 2nd class ticket for the ~35 minute ride was less than a dollar. First class was 2 or 3 times more. The only difference between classes was the padding on the seats and how crowded 2nd class gets. It was an easy train ride; the stations were marked and the map made sense. I got off at Carthage Hannibal to see the ruins of Carthage.

A word of advice if you are reading this and trip planning, as the site is not at all well marked. To get to Bursa Hill and the museum and surrounding sights, walk up the hill from the train station (with your back to the water). At about the top of the hill is a road on the left heading further uphill. Take that road. If you start going downhill, you’ve gone too far. Do not, as I did, keep walking for another 30+ minutes only to have to turn around and go back.

So, Carthage is an important city – in history, literature, and culture. Founded in around 815 BCE, it is ancient and many ruins remain. There was no way I was not going to go, and I’m glad I did…but I think i enjoyed the train ride and the walk more than the sights. If I had never seen Roman or Greek ruins before I might have found it fascinating, but I have and I’ve seen more impressive ones. I felt like kind of guilty walking around, looking at a few erect columns, the foundations of what were once great structures, and piles of stones, and being underwhelmed. I stood, at times, looking at a partial wall or bit of stone and trying to feel something akin to awe or genuine interest, but I found my mind wandering to the juice stand I had passed earlier or whether I had applied adequate sunscreen.

It just required a bit too much imagination. Certainly it gives the history some context, which I like, but i just can’t get excited about ruins anymore unless they resemble what they were, like the colosseum or Ephesus. After about two hours I was done.

Back on the train, I went to Sidi Bou Said, an impossibly picturesque town atop a hill overlooking the sea. The whole town is whitewashed with blue shutters, doors, and accents. Purple flowering vines creep over walls and orange trees fill the air with the strong scent of their blossoms.

It is definitely a tourist draw, but rightly so. It was a delight to walk the streets, at each turn another perfect sight. Around the edges shops sold pottery, dresses, paintings, and souvenirs. Cafés, ice cream stands, and sidewalk sweets vendors lured in the visitors. I had lunch at a curb side eatery: vegetarian couscous.

I trained back to Tunis, with more than enough time to nap, walk without purpose, and smoke a hookah as the sun set. I love how one day in Tunis one can walk down a street in the medina and it is just an empty passage, and the next day the same street is lined with chairs and tables, filled with people (men mostly) drinking coffee and tea and smoking shisha and cigarettes. Like pop up cafés. Very enjoyable. I had the classic combo of apple tobacco and Turkish coffee and watched people wander by.

The fact that I was able to find my way back to my hostel in the medina in the dark without a map, was a minor victory.

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Arrival in Tunisia

I didn’t have any particular reason for choosing Tunisia, other than that I love Islamic countries and Tunisia is small enough to be manageable in two weeks, but also has a mix of desert, sea, history, and culture.

My flight from Zurich to Tunis was cancelled and the the new flight was delayed, so instead of arriving in the morning, I was arriving late at night. I don’t like getting into a strange city at night. I’m tired, the city seems weird, info booths and money changers are closed, and public transit is not running regularly or at all. So I wasn’t happy about that, but at least I had arrived. I went outside to the taxi stand and haggled them down from 40 to 20 dinars (still too much, but reasonable) and was glad to be en route to my hostel in the medina.

The car drove into the medina until the road became too narrow. The driver called the hostel and someone was going to walk down and fetch me as it is a bit of a maze. I handed the driver two 10 dinar notes and 3 dinar coins. The driver paused, did something with his hands and told me I had only given him one 10 dinar note. I was annoyed. I knew I had given him two because I looked at each of them as I took them out of my wallet as I am not familiar with the currency. I got out of the car. He got out of the car. We argue. He insisted i am trying to stiff him. I insisted he is mistaken (but I am certain he is lying). Finally, as the guy from the hostel arrived, I gave in and gave the driver another 10 – still insisting that the ‘error’ was not mine. I was just tired and wanted to go. I walked off with the guy from the hostel. About 3 minutes later, the driver came running up to us and gave me 10 dinars. He said he found it in the front seat. Faith in taxi drivers restored. Seriously. He didn’t have to come back and give me the money. This bodes well for Tunisia.

After that, it was midnight and I basically went to bed.

The next day, I was able to appreciate my accommodations. The Dar-El Hostel. Tucked away in the maze of the medina on a narrow street, behind one of Tunis’ ubiquitous blue studded doors, the interior is covered in tiles and is about 200 or 300 years old. My room is enormous and cozy at the same time.

I had planned to spend the first day exploring the medina and the colonial section beyond. As i was leaving the hostel, the fellow from the hotel was walking two young chaps to the train station, so i tagged along for the walk and accompanied my guide back to the medina entrance, chatting along the way about life in Tunisia, about how I should be open to having a relationship, and the Fast and Furious movies. A wide ranging conversation.

Then I was on my own. I walked the length of Habib Bouguiba street, which is lined with grand, French architecture in a variety of styles and rows of sidewalk cafes. The street meant to look like Champs Elysees, and it is, except that it is charming.

I had an espresso at a café. The great thing here is that you can order a coffee, for like $1, and sit there for ages. I saw so many people, locals, sitting for an hour or more after they finished their coffee. It was great for people watching.

I then visited the big cathedral, stopped for an obligatory touristy selfie, and headed into the medina. Medinas are basically really old walled cities and are tangled webs of streets, paths, lanes, and alleys in no discernible order. This medina dates back to the 7th century and it shows. It feels ancient. In places the stones are worn down to smooth, rounded slivers, like well-used bars of soap. The walls are high and imposing, to keep enemies out. Today the walled streets hide homes, courtyards, mosques, and restaurants. Some of the passages are quiet and with nothing to see other than doorways (exquisite though they are here); others are lined with market stalls selling touristy items, spices, hookahs, clothing, soap, herbs…et cetera.

It is all fascinating to explore. A map may be of some use, but it is better to just walk and explore without purpose. Eventually you will hit a wall or landmark from which to orientate yourself.

I walked for hours. Eventually i stopped at this super charming cafe (photos do not do it justice) and smoked shisha, watching people walking past.

There are tourists here, but not a lot, which is nice. My basic French is passable, but many people also speak English, as well as Arabic. All of my clothing (both outfits) are appropriate here. Some women dress very conservatively (long, loose dress or coat and veil), but most just wear a headscarf, and some none at all. There is just no exposed arms and legs that I have seen, which suits me just fine. In fact, as long as i have my tattoos covered and my sunglasses on, I don’t even stand out as a tourist, which keeps the market merchants at bay.

I am happy to report that, after Zurich, Tunis seems like a budget paradise. Last night I had a freshly baked mini pizza for $1.50, coffee for 50c, and bought bread, cheese, an orange, and a yogurt drink from the super market for $3.00. (Those who know me know i love wandering foreign supermarkets due to a weird box of cereal I once saw in Tel Aviv. Here, I note that almost all of the boxed breakfast cereals are chocolate and there was an ENTIRE aisle at the market I visited devoted to halva.)

After a bit of a rest, I went for a late night walk in the medina (careful not to get lost this time) and smoked a cigar on the steps of a mosque, watching cats walk the alleys looking for food. Other than that it was quiet.

I think this cheesy photo says it all.

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The Bazoule Crocodiles

After i returned to Ouagadougou from Pô i had two full days left and little on my agenda of things to see and do, having already wandered around downtown on my previous visit, so i committed to doing some serious relaxing at the guesthouse, which has been lovely. But i did take in a couple of worthwhile things.

On my first day back i hired a taxi to take me to Bazoule, which is about 30 km outside of Ouagadougou and is notable for its small lake teeming with sacred crocodiles. I can’t really comment on their sacred nature, but only on their abundance and fondness for poultry.

We arrived after a pleasant drive through the city and then the countryside. I paid a small admission fee and a bit extra for an ill-fated, live chicken. A man walked me to the lake and sure enough, crocodiles could be seen in the water. We walked to the shore and my guide waved the chicken in the air, causing it to cluck in what i can only assume was fear and some crocodiles came out of the water. (Yes, i felt like kind of a dick for putting the chicken through this turmoil, but i don’t think too many chickens here live long and happy lives anyway, their destinies being sacrifice or supper.)

The guide was not satisfied with these crocs, however, saying they were too small, so we went in search of larger ones. We continued walking and i discovered that there are people living in huts around the lake, notwithstanding that visitors attend there for crocodile viewing.

We wandered off to some greener area where there were bits of water here and there and again the guide called for the crocodiles. This was more unsettling as the crocodiles could have appeared from anywhere around us, but none did.

We walked to the other side of the lake where some men were farming and we summoned a large crocodile from the water. It came on shore and sat there. My guide asked if i would like to touch the crocodile. I nervously asked if it was safe and he said casually, “it is no problem.” Well, good enough then. If the man in flip flops carrying a small wooden stick says it is fine, then it must be. And so i stood astride the crocodile and then nearly sat on it, slightly afraid that it would turn on me. But it did not. As i posed though, another crocodile came out of the water behind me, causing me to leap up and seek safety a few meters away.

I then took the chicken by its feet and tossed it to the large crocodile, who deftly caught it in its jaws and gulped it down whole with a few chews and a swallow. Brutal stuff but quite interesting.

Having conquered the crocodiles, i headed back to the city, stopping for celebratory ice cream (“Americain flavour” aka cookies and cream) en route.

Last night was spent at the guesthouse with a cigar and dinner while enjoying a whole conversation in English with a new guest who had arrived from Ireland.

Today has been similarly leisurely, sans les crocodiles. After breakfast i decided to walk to the Village Artisanal for a bit of shopping. It was a long walk in traffic in the oppressive heat (made longer by my having set off confidently, but in the wrong direction), but the space was lovely. A series of open air shops selling art, textiles, and various crafts, with the people making them often right there. I picked up a few gifts, had a coffee in the shady courtyard, and returned to the guesthouse.

And here i now sit. Hours until my flight to Istanbul and no plans except staying cool and relaxing. My time in Burkina Faso has been perfect. I have enjoyed it and am ready to head off for a couple more stops on the way home.

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Tiébélé: the painted village

I awoke in Pô rested and ready for my reason for being there: to visit Tiébélé. I went out for breakfast: Nescafe, yogurt, and bread, which cost about a dollar. I then met my driver at the hotel, a young guy named Patrice, who spoke no English and wore a knitted scarf in the 40 degree heat. He had a motorbike (and as usual helmets are not available) and we set off. We bounced down the dry and dusty orange streets headed south to Tiébélé past donkey carts, kids headed to school, and women washing clothes with washboards and buckets.

After about 15 minutes we spotted one of the common police checkpoints. Patrice said (in French) “Policeman. It is a problem for me.” And we turned around to take a detour. This is one of those times when my rudimentary French was not enough to clarify the situation. Why were the police a problem? Did he not have ID? Was the moto not registered? Was he wanted for murder? I would never know and simply said “ok”.

Our detour was pleasant, past little villages and large baobab trees, many of which were hung with ropes of sorghum to dry.

We stopped at a little lake and looked at the fields of potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers growing in tidy green rows.

After an hour maybe we arrived in the town of Tiébélé, which is small but had a few shops and cafes. There was a small hut with art and the painter showed me his work, which included pictures of Tiébélé, Che Guevara, and Thomas Sankara.

Patrice and i stopped and had a drink with his brother, who spoke a bit of English, and the the three of us headed to the old village.

Patrice’s brother gave me a tour of the village, which is known for its painted huts, which are covered in symbolic designs representing animist tradition. Geometric patterns, lizards, tortoises, and seeds were common.

The village was designed for protection from enemies and is laid out in a twisty maze, with tiny doorways into the houses to thwart invaders. I learned that round huts were for single people, square huts for married couples, and huts shaped like figure eights were for seniors. I was shown (but not allowed to photograph) the place where sacrifices are made for the village.
I got to go into one hut, which had three rooms, including a kitchen, each separated with tiny portals which one had to crawl through. People live there today and were all quite friendly, particularly the children who handed me peanuts while saying bonjour.

It was all very interesting and worth the journey to get there from Ouagadougou. After the village, we had coffee and took a stroll through the market, where i bought some oranges.

We returned to Pô and i killed time until my bus back to Ouagadougou. I watched some tv with the proprietor of my hotel and had a cigar while making some small talk in Franglais.

The bus ride back was mostly in the dark and was a bit nerve-wracking, as the highway was completely dark and the landscape disappeared. The security checkpoints seemed more ominous and for a while machine gun armed soldiers in full combat gear rode with us through an area known for attacks from bandits.

After about three hours we arrived in Ouagadougou and I made my way back to my hotel, where I fell asleep, too tired for dinner. A long but good day.

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On the Road in Pô

I did something i seldom do anymore, which is i arrived in my destination without a hotel/hostel reservation. I stopped doing this after i arrived in Prague during the jazz festival and found every conceivable accommodation booked aside from the worst hotel in Europe, which did not have a shower but did have a host of bedbugs.

Anyway, i arrived in Pô from Ouagadougou after a very pleasant three hour bus journey. Unlike previous bus trips, this one was not oversold, had highly functioning AC, and i had two seats to myself from which to enjoy the view of dry landscapes, villages, and cotton fields.

Pô is a dusty little town in south Burkina Faso, near the border with Ghana. There is no reason to visit it except that it is the jumping off place to view elephants etc in the Nazinga nature reserve and to see a little village called Tiébélé. I was there for the latter.

I left the bus depot, map in hand with three hotels noted. The first no longer existed, the second was full, but i got a room at the third. The Hotel Tiandora Esperance. It looked like it might have been ok once but now looked like a low rent motel that had barely survived a war. Dusty and broken with piles of garbage and junk. No place to eat or sit really. On the plus side, my room was clean and the AC worked well, also the guy working there, a young guy from Cote d’Ivoire with a slight mohawk, was very nice.

Getting to the hotel was a struggle. My map was a bit wrong and left me in circles on the super dusty roads, walking in a perpetual cloud of dust, like Pig Pen. The streets were mostly empty aside from donkeys, loads of pigs and goats, and lizards on every wall. It was blazingly hot and no shade to be found.

After getting my room though i felt a bit better and set off to wander after i arranged for a moto for the next morning. The town has one paved road through and the rest is just bumpy, dusty side streets. This made it easy to find things and there were a few decent places to eat, including one which had four vegetarian dishes on the menu. A miracle in a place where vegetarian usually means meat with vegetables.

As i didn’t have anything else to do, i walked a lot, checking out the businesses (mostly auto repair shops and hair salons) and people watching. In Pô i seemed to attract more attention that elsewhere i have been in the country. People called out “Nasara” constantly, which means “white woman” in one of the tribal languages. I don’t think it is meant in a derogatory way, as it is often accompanied with a friendly “bon arrivé”, but i don’t care for it. A lot of little kids ran out to say “bonjour” and shake my hand, which was always welcome.

I ate and smoked and napped and walked and smoked some more while finishing my book. There is no internet in Pô. I have been rereading “On the Road” on this trip for the first time since high school. I still like it though i found it sadder than i remember. Teenage me was captivated by the freedom and adventure. This still resonates with adult me, but so does Sal’s on going unhappiness in wondering if that is all there is: uncertainty and the pursuit of “kicks”. Anyway, i finished the book sitting in a chair i dragged outside, and slept well. The next day i was headed for Tiébélé.

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Bus from Banfora, Burkina Faso

I left Banfora for Ouagadougou on the bus. I had hoped to bus to Bobo-Dioulasso and fly the rest of the way but there were no flights on Sunday, so i committed to a bus journey of indeterminate length. The buses here seem to leave punctually but the arrival times are vague. This is due mostly to the great number of security checkpoints, which i understand have increased. About every thirty minutes a couple of machine gun bearing soldiers will either board the bus or haul everyone off the bus to check IDs. No questions are asked. I can’t figure out what they are looking for. So this slowed down the journey a lot.

The bus was crammed with people and about half of the women had babies or toddlers on their laps, including the woman next to me. On the whole ride music and videos were played at a volume that was not extreme, but on the loud side. Decent African music in the more traditional or jazzy vein, as well as contemporary African pop music, accompanied by videos that showed women of all sizes shaking their asses, and men dressed as though they were in early 1990s rap music videos. At one point they showed the movie “Taken” in French, which i quite enjoyed; otherwise i listened to podcasts.

Every time the bus stopped women would appear and flock to the windows, selling fruits, bread, hard boiled eggs, chicken, fish, farina beignets, bags of onions, baguettes, and little sesame snacks. People leaned out of the windows, buying the food and before long the smell of body odour on the bus was replaced by a variety of food smells.

At the only stop long enough take a brief break, i dashed off the bus for the toilet, which was a squat thing which became immersed in total darkness once the door was closed. I’m fairly certain i peed on my own foot.

The seats had no legroom and i spent my time with my knees jammed into the back of the seat in front of me. There was AC, but it barely functioned, so i sat sweating the whole way.

If this all sounds like 9 hours of horror, well, while it was not pleasant, it wasn’t that bad. I was able to relax. The child and woman next to me where quiet. I slept a bit. And like i said, they showed Taken.

I arrived in Ouagadougou just before sunset and hailed a taxi to my hotel (the lovely Chez Giuliana). Once there i showered vigorously and had a vegetarian pizza delivered (as there are no restaurants in the immediate vicinity). I ate my pizza and enjoyed two cigars under the stars in courtyard before falling asleep. The next day i would be back on the bus.