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Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

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.

Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

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.

Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

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.

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Burkina Faso Village Hospitality

My final full day in Banfora started as did the day before: roosters and coffee. I made a little coffee at the house once i got over my fear of the gas stove, and then returned to the local corner cafe for an espresso. Today all of the men were filling out their racing forms. There are gambling kiosks here everywhere painted with pots of gold and horses head. People (men) bet on horse races in France hoping to win big. They din’t get to see the races, not even on TV. It seems to be a popular pastime. I was asked to assist with picking horses. The only one that jumped out at me was La Baguette Magique.

My guide picked me up on the moto and we headed on a dirt road through fields of sugar cane for Domes de Fabridougou. Similar to the Sindou Peaks i saw yesterday, but more round and less pointy. Still, it was nice to go on the hike. It was so serene and beautiful and hot, but dry. We hiked and sat on the top of a dome and took in the view and i had a smoke, trying to be in the moment as much as possible. On a dome, in Western Burkina Faso.

We left and, much to my surprise, made a stop in my guide’s village, near the domes. This is where he grew up until he was 15 and where most of his family lives, including his mother and daughters. About 25 people live in the small collection of tiny huts in the middle of the fields under a huge tree. Some smoke French, but all spoke in a local, tribal language (not Moore, something else).

This was some serious, rural poverty. Not all the kids has clothes and those they had were in very poor repair. No water or electricity. No phone, no lights, no motorcar. But they were very friendly and hospitable. They swept off a place in the dirt, clearing it from debris, and laid out a straw mat for me to sit on. Several of the women and children started making lunch for my guide and i. While they cooked i sat and watched women tend to the children and the women and children doing each other’s hair in braids. I tried to make some small talk, but mostly it was a lot of smiling.

After that my guide took me to two more unexpected stops. First was a visit to a ritual sacrifice area for the animists, of which he is one. Around a beautiful pool ringed with ricks and trees the ground was thickly carpeted in white chicken feathers. It looked like snow. The trunk of one tall palm tree was thickly hung with ropes, which were tied on to skulls, jaw bones, goat legs, and what looked like the skin of a cow’s face and head. From other trees and from the rock wall around the pool were more ropes dangling bones, skulls, and rocks. All for sacrifice and offerings or protection.

It was really interesting but it really looked like something out of a horror movie. Like if Leatherface and the Blairwitch collaborated on a little outdoor decorating.

Near the sacrifice area was the waterfall, which is a ridiculously picturesque series of small waterfalls and green, tropical pools. Had i been prepared i could have gone swimming. It was so beautiful it looked like something created for a film or Disneyland.

I usually don’t want a guide because i prefer to do things myself, but this was a time when i really could not have seen everything i did had i just been alone.

The ride back to Banfora from the village was terrifying. It was dusk to dark. The road was so bumpy that at times i bounced off my seat. We dodged small goats, a large lizard, and regular size pigs. We brushed shoulders with herds of cows. Not only was it dark and treacherous, but it was windy and the dirt road coughed up a haze of orange. I was certain that i would die, but was delivered to my lodging safely, and quite filthy.

I spent the rest of the evening chatting with Marion, the owner of the house at which i stayed and playing with the many kittens and puppies.

Banfora was delightful. Full of outdoorsy retreats and adventures. The next day i would return to Ouagadougou.

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Sindou et Banfora

My second or third day in Banfora began when the roosters started crowing. I showered and headed out in search of coffee. The main, central restaurant here is McDonald’s…that is, a local restaurant with the name but which otherwise bears no similarities to the chain. I went there, as i had had a yummy vegetable couscous the previous day, but it was closed.

So i walked around looking for some place that looked like it served coffee. Success! A little café, typical in that it is basically just a corrugated tin roof, a wooden counter and some chairs. Different in that it had a TV and and espresso machine (most places just boil water for instant coffee). It was a good spot. Men sat around watching boxing and it was on a corner, good for people watching.

After that, Djubrie, my guide, picked me up on the moto and we headed for the country. I’m getting more comfortable with the no helmet thing, but it doesn’t help that the distance markers on the highway are shaped like cemetery headstones.

We had to stop for the police a couple of times to show ID. Apparently this is a recent thing. This area of Burkina Faso is currently in the “orange zone”, meaning that there is some additional threat of violence. A girl i met in Bobo Dioulasso was there working for an NGO and wanted to go to Banfora but was not allowed to go because of the potential for violence. But nothing here seems threatening to me.

We stopped at a village on the way where my guide knew the people. I was shown around. There were women preparing bissap flowers for boiling to make juice, women pounding rice with big wooden poles to separate the husks and then sifting then to get at the rice. Men shelling peanuts. Children chasing chickens and staring at me with curiosity. I learned that the women live in the round huts and men in the square ones. (I don’t know how this plays out for married couples.) Unlike other villages i have been to, there was no electricity. Lots of goats and a few sheep. They were kind enough to let me try my hand at rice pounding and to take some photos and one man filled my bag with fresh peanuts before we left.

We carried on. It was about an hour or so to the peaks, diverting down a dirt road under a canopy of trees. When we arrived we were the only ones there. It was majestic and peaceful, hiking through the wind worn rock towers.

Climbing up we had a terrific view of the green valley.

After that we went to a little camp of huts and a lunch of cucumbers, tomatoes, green peppers, and onions was prepared. We ate and i relaxed in a hammock with a cigar, watching chickens and goats and children playing with sticks and hoops. Very peaceful.

We then rode back to Banfora, stopping at another village where my guide had some family. I sat with some old men, smiling and not able to communicate (they spoke only Moore), while my guide tended to some business. Then we were on our way again.

Back at the house i slept then ventured out into the dark streets in search of dinner. Rice with peanut sauce. The streets were busy with traffic, women still selling fruits and vegetables and every roadside shack had a fire going, with meat and fish set to grill. I spent the rest of the evening at the house, relaxing under the stars with a book.

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Hippos!

I left Bobo Dioulasso at 10:15 am on a Rakeita bus for Banfora. About a 1.5 hour journey. The bus had teeny tiny seats and leg room that made a flight on a budget airline seem luxurious. There was AC, but it wasn’t working. Thankfully i had a seat by an open window and no seatmate. The journey (despite being hot – the temperature on the bus was between 37 and 39) was pleasant. Rural scenery flowed by. Fields tilled by oxen, small villages, cotton fields, women washing clothes and pumping water, children playing with odds and ends. I snapped a few pictures through the window along the way.

We were stopped about 4 times by police road blocks. Police came on the bus and checked everyone’s ID each time, but beyond that it was a smooth journey.

In Bobo, the women who owned the hotel arranged me a guide in Banfora, as the sights here are nature ones and you need a vehicle to visit them. His name was Djubrie and he met me at the bus station. Being the only whole person and only of the only women on the bus, i was easy to find. I had my backpack and i walked with him to his vehicle, which was, as i feared, a motorbike. And of course, no helmets are available. This goes against everything i have been raised to believe. You never ride a two wheeled contraption without a helmet, right? But, there i was and everyone else was doing it, so i hopped on. We zipped through the streets, which were very poor. Only the two main drags were paved. The others were soft, sandy, orange dirt with stones and garbage. More people here walked or rode bicycles than in the previous two cities. More goats and sheep wandering about. But we swerved around it all.

My lodging is a private house from which the owners rent out a couple of rooms.i think i am the only one staying here. The owners are not here now but emailed me a welcome and someone was here to let me in. I have a simple room with a fan and shared bathroom. There is a lovely yard, with seating and a patio, plants, an orange tree, a dog with puppies, a cat with kittens, roosters and chickens.

I settled in and then my guide picked me up (again on the motorbike) and we left Banfora and headed to Tengrela. The countryside was lovely. The corn fields had been harvested, but there were green fields of rice and sesame and the air grew cooler as we zipped along. We left the road and went through the trees, near a village and stopped at a huge baobab tree.

Another man appeared and told me the story of this sacred baobab tree. It was in French, but as best as i could glean the tree is over 500 years old and it has a natural door leading to its hollow interior where a long time ago people from the village hid inside the tree during a war and survived. So now the tree is worshiped and there are sacrifices made there regularly and a festival annually.

Yes, i did go inside the tree and it was very large inside. No cookie making elves spotted.

From there we went to Lake Tengrela. It was late in the day and the lake was golden. A couple of fishermen were out, pulling in their nets.

We walked closer to the edge of the lake and then we hear loud grunting noises and saw a spray of water. Then i saw a hippopotamus leap out of the water. Imagine seeing a dolphin jump out of the water. It was like that, but less graceful and the size of a car. Amazing. There appeared to be three hippos. They mostly stayed underwater, but would poke their noses out of the water periodically and sometimes their whole heads. And periodically two of the hippos would jump out of the water and lunge at each other. From other places in the lake we could hear other hippos grunting and splashing. It was incredible. I didn’t want to stand there staring through my camera and ruin the moment so i just held it up next to my face and snapped pictures every time a hippo popped out of the water. Consequently, i have a lot of photos of water, sky, and blurs. But i did get a few decent pictures. The only thing i can compare it to (because it was totally different from seeing the hyenas in Ethiopia) is: you know the part in Jurassic Park where they first see the dinosaurs? That part always chokes me up. This was like that, but way better.

We then sat at a spot near a house, a bit further back from the lake (there people there have set up tables and chairs and sell water and soda) and watched the lake. Again, we saw a giant hippo jump out of the water. The sun began to set and just before it got dark we set off back for the city.
It was an amazing experience.

In the evening i went with Djubrie for dinner and i had a delicious vegetarian pizza. I didn’t care for riding the motorbike at night with few to no streetlights and off the paved roads, but i figured i would do it that one time. Djubrie does not speak any English at all, but he speaks in French slowly and uses small words so i can understand. I am actually impressed by how much French i am able to recall. I speak slowly and awkwardly, but i know a lot of words and can usually make myself understood. I consider it a success.

A perfect day in Banfora.

Wandering North

Category: Africa

Tunis : Plan B

Carthage & Sidi Bou Said

Arrival in Tunisia

The Bazoule Crocodiles

Tiébélé: the painted village

On the Road in Pô

Bus from Banfora, Burkina Faso

Burkina Faso Village Hospitality

Sindou et Banfora

Hippos!