Wandering North

Asia Pakistan Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

Amazing Lahore, Pakistan: Cobra Doctors to Hair Fire

I arrived in Lahore, Pakistan from Muscat, Oman in the morning with some excitement and trepidation. Pakistan is off the established tourist trail – which is a great part of the reason that I chose it, but I still had some apprehension, including: would I have any problems with my e-visa at the airport? I had heard so many stories of visas being denied or difficult to get, but I had gotten mine on the first try online. It seemed too easy. Surely they would flag me at the border for questions and hassles.

The airport’s immigration section was pure chaos. As soon as people arrived in the building they ran towards the immigration desks and pressed in clumps. There didn’t seem to be separate desks for nationals and foreigners, so I queued (or rather, clustered) with everyone else. But soon I was summoned to the desk for diplomats and whatnot. They looked at my e-visa printout (bring your print out!) and stamped my passport without question, and I was off.

I haled a taxi from the airport to my hostel. The driver, who spoke a little English, said he knew the place, but clearly did not, as we drove in circles, before I finally convinced him to call the hostel for directions. His English was ok, but not so good that I could explain to him that I thought the hostel was on the mall, near the museum. He had little interest in my printed maps. He seemed to focus much of his attention on telling me how beautiful I was and leaning in a little too close, patting my leg. I was irritated. Really, this is how my trip starts? With a leering taxi driver? I just started being a bit rude, and he backed off and eventually dropped me off at my hostel.

I had booked the Lahore Backpackers Hostel, which had pretty mixed reviews, but it was a good price, had a good location, and a big rooftop patio, which I figured it where I could enjoy an evening cigar. Both at the moment and in reflection, I had mixed feelings about the place. It looked bad. It may be clean, but is so old and scruffy that it doesn’t look it. My room was like a little cell with a window that looked out onto the desk of the manager. The kitchen and bathrooms were best avoided, but functional. No toilet paper even. That was the bad. The good was exceptional hospitality, a great location, and good wifi.

Upon checking in, I was furnished with tea and a plate of tasty rice and daal. The manager, Sajjad, and assistant manager were great. Super friendly and helpful. They also organized various walking and driving tours for guests, which was handy. But the place was still a bit icky.

On reflection, unless a better budget option opens up in an equally good location, I would recommend the Lahore Backpackers Hostel for the price, location, hospitality, the camaraderie of fellow backpackers, and all the outings they can help organize – but just know what you are getting.

I checked in and then hit the streets. If my initial impressions in the taxi and hostel were not the best, it was all washed away by the delights of walking the city. Lahore is one of those places that just left me exhilarated. It quickened my pulse and piqued my curiosity. It was a riot of color, sound, and bustle. The traffic was congested and loud. People milled about the cars and tuk tuks to and from markets and shops. From the sidewalks, people sold all manner of things, but most notably (to me anyway) fish, vegetables, and bright, wet chains of fresh marigolds and roses.

I visited a street that was well populated by street doctors – not professionally trained doctors, but natural healers and self-taught medicine men. They were lined up in the area between the sidewalk and the row of fish and vegetable sellers who say along the roadside. I met with and observed a couple of dentists, one pulling a tooth from a stoic old man, another fashioning a false tooth. Another was an ear doctor who proudly showed me his home made medical kit. Another was a man at a cart populated with liquids and objects in jars, as well as several fat lizards, some dead and some soon to be dead, waiting to become a potion. The man beckoned me over, lifted up a basket and produced a live cobra, from which he would use the venom in concoctions. I watched as he mixed bits of dead lizard with other odds and ends and boiled it in a small pot for one of his patients. It was all SO interesting. And lest you think I was intruding, the men called me over to show me what their practice was, invited me to watch, and asked me to take pictures.

The willingness, indeed, eagerness, to be photographed was surprising – particularly after being in West Africa recently, where no one wanted to be caught in a picture. I wandered into a labyrinth of fish sellers, who called me over for pictures. One man even posing repeatedly, each time with a new fish.

I took a tuk tuk to a vegetable market area, which was like many others I had seen, but the volume of produce was something extraordinary. Massive cauliflowers and bales of spinach piled high.

A man approached me from I know not where and placed a thick marigold wreath around my neck. It was a lovely gesture, but it was wet and heavy and made me even more conspicuous than my white skin and all black ensemble. I felt very conspicuous and thought “How long do I have to wear this?” The answer: just until I got into my next tuk tuk, where I hung it from the frame, of which the driver seemed to approve.

I walked in to the Old City, which is a walled centre part of Lahore. Old; dating back to about 1000, but still very active today. It is so easy to get lost, but you will find your way to a gate again, and getting lost of part of the fun. Maps of this area are useless.

I climbed to a high mosque for views of the streets.

Upon descending, I was invited to take tea with some men at a bone setter’s clinic. Unlike the street healers, this was in a small storefront, though the medicinal practices seemed equally non-traditional, at least from a western perspective.

I wandered around, delighted by everything I saw.

Everyone was so nice and hospitable. No one was hassling me for cash or aggressively trying to sell me things. They just seemed happy to have me visit (or they ignored me altogether.

One other cool thing was that the manager from my hostel took me to see an area where the commercial trucks are decorated. In Pakistan, the trucks used to transport goods are elaborately painted and decorated with embossed metal panels, flowers, animals, and garlands. They are tall and extraordinary. This area showed where all this tricking out carries on. One man invited me into his truck to see the velvet seat covers and sparkly garlands inside. He did grab my ass as I exited the truck and I scolded him like you would a dog that had peed on the carpet, with a pointed finger and stern “NO”. It irritated me for a moment and then I moved on.

I should say that the ass grabbing truck driver and the leering taxi driver were the only unpleasant issues of that variety that I had; and in neither case did I feel unsafe, just annoyed. Everyone else was exceedingly kind and hospitable.

My final stop that day, with the manager from my hotel was to a tiny hair salon where the specialty is hair cutting…with fire. We entered the salon where two hair dressers and one customer (and a few of his friends) – all young men – were about to start. First, they put some thick goop on his hair and then they LIT IT ON FIRE. While it was burning the stylist combed through the hair quickly as the fire burned off, presumably, the ends of the hair. The whole thing lasted 15-20 seconds. Honestly, I’m not sure it made that much difference to the hair, but it was crazy.

That took me to the evening. I grabbed some dinner from a street vendor who sold rice and curried things for the equivalent of a dollar or two.

I spent the late evening chatting with two other travelers at the hostel. They were both long-term travelers. One a Scottish woman in her 60s on the road for several months. The other a Belgian guy in his 20s cycling from Europe to South East Asia. Pakistan doesn’t attract your typical 19-year-old gap year backpacker.

I slept in my dismal room soundly, satisfied with all I had seen that first day and excited to see more the next day. As it turned out, the next day would be the last good day I would have on that trip. As settled in on that first night I was about 24 hours away from getting very sick.

Asia Oman Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

Sand & Sky in Oman

Day two in Oman I left the city in search of a little desert time. It is possible to rent a car and drive oneself, but as I cannot drive, I hired a driver/guide to show me dunes and oases. It was about a three-hour drive, but was very pleasant, watching the landscapes and chatting with the driver, who was from Egypt but was able to answer all of my questions about Oman.

Desert Dunes

We arrived at a small town on the edge of the desert where the Bedouins live. At some point, the Sultan had all the Bedouins move to the edge of the desert and gave them land to do so, so they are not nomadic as they once were.

In the town were modest houses and pens of goats and camels.

And then there was sand. Glorious, beautiful, rolling dunes of sand ranging from light tan to deep ochre. I could not stop being amazed by the varied contrasts between sand and sky. We drove over the dunes, sometimes doing sharp turns or driving down steep dunes such that it felt like me might topple over.

And whenever I felt like, it I walked (ran, staggered, crawled) up and over the dunes, which is exhausting, but very fun. And then I leaped or rolled back down to the bottom.

That’s about all there was to do, but I loved it. Until the combination of the hot sun combined with the motion of the ‘dune bashing’ made me feel a little ill. No matter, as the next stop would be a swim in a desert oasis.

Wadi Bani Khalid

We drove to Wadi Bani Khalid, a desert oasis popular with locals and tourists alike. It is a long stretch of blue water set between rocky cliffs, fringed with palm trees. It looked like it was out of a movie.

I wanted to go swimming, so I had worn my bathing suit under my clothes, but as it turns out, bathing suits are not allowed. There are strict laws around what can be worn. Men can swim in long shorts and t-shirts. Women must wear the same, or can wear a long skirt or trousers.

So I swam in ankle-length leggings and my bathing suit. My guide said it was ok to have my bare arms. And there was a guy there keeping tabs on the modesty, walking around, observing the attire; clipboard in hand.

The water felt wonderful. I swam from the open pond area, down a narrowing stretch of water to the end. From there it was a short walk over slippery rocks to another pool and small waterfall.

None of it seemed real, it was so lovely.

It was quite busy when we were there, but most people weren’t swimming; they were picnicking or walking by the shore.

After that, we drove back to Muscat.

I had mentioned that I wanted to smoke some shisha, so my driver dropped me off at an Egyptian hookah café for an hour whilst he tended to some business. I had some double apple shisha, falafel and Turkish coffee while watching “Braveheart” on a big screen TV. (Music was still banned due to the Sultan’s recent death.)

I was then returned to my hotel. I went for a walk but otherwise stayed in and packed, and slept early as I had a middle-of-the-night flight to Lahore, Pakistan.

I know there is more to see in Oman, but my two days there left me satisfied. I liked it a lot but I was ready for the comparative noise and activity of big-city Pakistan.

Asia Oman Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

Muscat, Oman

I decided I wanted to go to Lahore, Pakistan, for no particular reason, but for reasons I will deal with in my post on Lahore. The flights from Vancouver to Lahore all required layovers in London, England and Muscat, Oman, so I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to see something of Oman. I booked a round-trip ticket from Vancouver to London, a one-way ticket to Muscat, a one-way ticket to Lahore, and a one-way ticket from Lahore to London. Not the cheapest way to do things, but I was able to maximize my sights in a nine day trip.

Oman was 100% off my radar until a few years ago when I started looking into it and since then I have been seeing more and more of its as a travel destination. It is on the tip of the Arabian peninsula, next to Yemen and sharing borders with Saudi Arabia and the UAE.

It is a rich country (oil), an Islamic monarchy, Arabic speaking nation (though many people in the tourist industries spoke English). It is known mostly for its beautiful deserts and the architecture of Muscat, which has resisted the urge to build space-age skyscrapers and has preserved its traditional styles.

I did need a visa for Oman, but it was an easy process. Online, not too expensive, and no onerous requirements. I was approved almost immediately and given a paper to show to immigration on arrival. Landing at the airport, there was a huge queue of people waiting to go through immigration. The estimate was about 2 hours. This did not work for me, as it was 7 am and I wanted to get to the Grand Mosque before to it closed to non-Muslims at 11am. Wonderfully, there was an express immigration line that was open to anyone who was willing to pay 8 Omani Rial (OMR). This is not cheap, but it was worth every penny in my opinion. Minutes later I was walking to the taxi rank.

Here is the thing that is not great about Muscat: The city and the things a tourist is going to want to see is quite spread out. There is no metro. There are buses, which are pretty cheap and quite good, but the routes are seldom direct, so they are not fast. This means that if you are short on time, taxis are necessary and they are not cheap. My taxi from the airport to my hotel in Muttrah was about $36 CDN.

Muscat has all of the comforts you could want and there are very posh neighbourhoods. There are gorgeous mosques everywhere. Whenever I was in a taxi, I ached to photograph the delicate, colorful mosques that zipped by the window. Many of them built by rich men looking for prestige and religious favour.

I was staying in Muttrah, which was a great choice. I stayed at the Nassem Hotel, which is old and uninspired, but it is in an incredible location and it is cheap (by Muscat standards). I think I paid $40CDN per night for a private room and bathroom. Breakfast extra. Muttrah is right along the water. My hotel was just across the street from the famed Corniche (the long, curved walkway along the water) a one-minute walk from the busy fish market and a few minutes from the Muttrah Souq (the traditional, though now slightly touristy bazaar).

I checked into my hotel and changed into some clothing I felt was suitable for Oman – a long skirt and a long sleeved, high-necked shirt. I will say that I saw a lot of tourists dressed a lot more revealingly, but they were made to rent clothes to cover up with before entering the Grand Mosque, though no one on the streets seemed scandalized. I think it is always best to be more respectful.

*women and men on the streets of Muscat*

As was explained to my by a taxi driver, by law, women and men must each wear long, loose garments. For men it is a long, plain gown called a dishdasha, with a short, dangling braid at the collar that they soak in perfume. Men generally wear embroidered hats shaped a bit like a fez, but without the tassel. Women wear a long dress over loose trousers and a headscarf. For work, men must wear white and women black.

There are a lot of unusual laws in Oman. For example, it is against the law to yell or express anger of any sort in public. You are not permitted to have a dirty car. Sex before marriage is outlawed. I imagine there are many more, judging by how clean and orderly the country seemed.

The first thing I did was hop back in a taxi and head to the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. The Mosque is free, but the taxi was pricey. It was worth it though, as the Mosque is stunning. It is new, being built from 1994-2000 and is an achievement. A huge structure in gleaming white marble, with a labyrinth of courtyards, leading to prayer halls, domes, minarets, and gardens.

The chandelier in the main (men’s) prayer room is the largest in the world, weighing 8.5 tons. The carpet in that room was the largest in the world (it took over 4 years to weave by hand) but now is the 2^nd largest). It is all quite beautiful.

From there, I bused back to Muttrah.

I walked to the fish market and looked around.

I walked along the Corniche, taking pictures of the pretty buildings and people walking. In the distance, forts perched on the cliffs, looking out at the sea. In the harbor, two big cruise shipped were docked, their passengers out to see the city for the day.

I had a juice by the Souq before continuing to walk along the water, past yet more forts, fountains, and rocky cliffs to the area called Old Muscat.

In Old Muscat there is a big museum and other smaller sights, but I wanted to see the Al-Alam palace. You can’t go inside, but it is still a sight to behold, with its curved, colorful columns, flanked with beautiful gardens on the back and facing the sea at the front.

Things were a little subdued in Muscat, as the Sultan (Sultan Qaboos) had died the month before and the country was in an official 40 day mourning period. The Sultan was beloved. He was a leader of peace and he (unlike his father) shared the wealth of the country with the people, such that every person in Oman gets free land, free education, free healthcare. There is a high standard of living. So when the Sultan died, people were sad. During this period of official mourning the theatres and cinemas were dark, no music was allowed in public, including on the radio, and I believe the clubs (such as they are) were closed. None of this affected me too much, but I will say that everything seemed quiet; like a Sunday.

I wandered around Old Muscat, chatting with a few people, hearing about Oman and the Sultan mostly.

Finally, I caught a taxi back to Muttrah, where I looked around the Souq and had dinner. I had wanted to have some shisha, but there are, weirdly, no shisha places in Muttrah. No one was sure why, but they do not seem to be allowed in that area. They are in abundance elsewhere.

So I just walked around a bit more, loving the clusters of all-white, low buildings set against a rocky background. As it got dark, the lights along the Corniche were beautiful.

I had these plans of staying up later or going out for a cigar, but after dinner I went back to my room, flipped through the room service menu (camel burger!) and crashed early. It was just as well, as I had a full schedule the next day with a trip to the desert.

Africa Côte d'Ivoire West Africa Trip 2019

Layover in Côte d’Ivoire

I left Cotonou, Benin to return to Accra, Ghana. The flight took me through C’ôte d’Ivoire. I had an 8 hour layover, I was not going to squander that time at the airport. I had read that technically it is possible in 8 hours to visit something of Abidjan, but the traffic could be unpredictably slow, so I decided to visit Grand-Bassam, which is nearer to the airport and much much smaller.

To leave the airport I needed a visa. I had applied for a visa online ahead of time. At the airport I went to a small room where they processed my visa before going through immigration. The process took about an hour. There is no luggage storage at the airport, so I took my backpack with me and caught a taxi to Grand-Bassam.

The good things about going to Grand-Bassam are that it is not too far from the airport, it is beautiful, it is fairly small, and good for exploring in a short time. The downside is that I do feel like missed out seeing the bustle of the capital.

I went to the centre of what is a narrow peninsula, in front of a museum. I planned to visit the museum but it was closed. There was, however, a dance performance happening. I crowded in with the other people and watched the drummers and scene after scene of dancers, including one which involved what looked like a large pillow that danced around until it was finally tamed. It was a nice, unexpected bonus.

Basically, I spent the rest of my layover walking and taking in the beautiful, sometimes abandoned buildings, surrounded by vines and flowers.

I stopped by some art studios and looked at the sea, but finally I was tired of walking with my backpack so I settled into a beach-side restaurant where I had lunch and a cigar before heading back to the airport.

The layover didn’t leave me feeling like I have seen much of Côte d’Ivoire, so I will have to return, but Grand-Bassam was a wonderful place to spend a layover.

From Grand-Bassam I returned to Accra, Ghana where I spent one final, mellow night and day before flying home.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Porto Novo

For my final day in Cotonou, having seen what I wanted to see of the city, I decided to visit Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin. By comparison to Cotonou, Porto Novo is a small town. It doesn’t really have any attractions or sights, per se, but it is a lovely place for a wander. And that is pretty much all I did. I walked around and so here are the photos I took while I did so.

There are a couple small museums there but I passed on those. I did, however, take a guided tour of the one time royal palace.

After taking in the markets and the beautiful buildings, I walked down to a hotel on the lake and enjoyed a juice before heading back to Cotonou. No mishaps or odd encounters, just a relaxing day.

The next day I would start my journey home – but first, a long layover in Cote d’Ivoire.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Ganvié, the floating village

Ganvié is probably the main sight in or around Cotonou, Benin. A dreamy village entirely over the water, not far from the city. A perfect day trip.

I caught a taxi from the Étoile Rouge (where car taxis congregate) and drove not too far to a nearby town on the edge of Lake Nokoué. From there, you check in at a small office (really more of a small wooden shack) and buy your ticket. You can choose between a wooden rowboat or a larger wooden engine powered boat. I went for the rowboat.

The area around the pier is abustle with activity – local people coming and going.

From there, we (my guide and my boat captain and I) set off for the village. We paddled for a while past fishing boats and collections of green foliage.

Finally we reached Ganvié. A village entirely on stilts or floating, it is only accessible by boat. It was built in about the 1600s after the king of the Tofinu tribe (I think), the legend goes, sought to protect his tribe from another tribe who sought to kidnap people to sell to European slave traders. Knowing that the slave capturers were afraid of water (or water spirits) the king turned into an eagle and looked for a lake. Finding this lake, he turned into a giant crocodile and carried his people to safety. The part about moving there to evade capture is true; the part about the King transforming, Manimal-style, probably not. But who knows? Regardless of the origin story, the village has been there for about 400 years and is…amazing.

It is so colorful and picturesque. Fishermen, women transporting pineapples, children playing, people boating around. Wonderful.

There is a small guesthouse there and, upon reflection, I think it would have been nice to have stayed the night. Regardless, it was one of the most beautiful and unique places I have been. Back at the shore, I caught sight of a voodoo shrine, there to provide protection to the non-water dwellers.

I took a few market pictures on the way back to Cotonou.

Ganvié, along with the voodoo culture, was the thing that sparked my desire to visit Benin. It was worth the journey, though the journey itself was a delight.

The next day I would visit the former capital, Porto Novo.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Cotonou, Benin

Ouidah to Cotonou, Benin was another easy shared car. I just stood by the road, put my hand out and within a minute I had a ride. Again it was a car of five men and me, but this time I got to ride up front.

The thing about Cotonou is that it is big, so when we arrived by car, they dropped me off at a large intersection but I had no idea where I was. I tried to get my bearings, but my paper maps for Cotonou were not detailed enough and there were no landmarks in view. Fortunately – and I am not saying this to boast of my preparation but just because I recommend it in general for traveling in counties where you don’t speak the language and transit infrastructure is lacking – is that at least I knew of two landmarks near my hotel. The moto drivers who approached me all knew the Etoile Rouge, a big traffic circle with a communist tower in the centre. One of the few recognizable landmarks.

I took a moto there, then found my street and started walking toward the hotel. Or so I thought. The smaller streets are named according to some pseudo-dewey decimal system that matched up to neither of google maps nor lonely planet’s. Thankfully (another humble brag) I had taken a screen shot of my hotel, so I just walked until I saw a white 3 storey block-ish building. Success.

I was staying at the Hotel Saint Jean, which is a functional hotel of no particular charm near-ish to the Etoile Rouge and the crafts market. The neighbourhood itself is not full of sights, but it is a terrific transit route and is full of restaurants. I liked it. And, as usual, the people at the hotel were so nice and helpful. I think I was a bit of a curiosity to them as I was the only person staying there who was not in town for an educational conference. I loved that outside the hotel all day and in to the evening women would sit ant cook up various meals over fires at the roadside.

I spent four days in Cotonou. I did day trips (to Ganvié and Porto Novo) on two of those days and spent two just in the city. Cotonou is very spread out so it takes some time to see. The good thing is, you can get around for a pittance on the motos. The bad thing is, if you are averse to riding helmet-less on the back of small motorbikes with strangers, you are kind of screwed. There is no bus system or metro and car taxis are few and far between. Fortunately, I am happy to play fast and loose with my cranial security.

Mostly in Cotonou I picked things and areas that I was interested in and I wandered around. I really liked it there.

I went to the cathedral, which is one of the other main landmarks due to its candy cane exterior. I also had a screen shot of that on my phone that I could show to drivers, which came in handy.

From there there was lots to walk to. Supermarkets and gelato shops, a wonderful riverfront with a breezy patio at the Hotel Le Berlin where I smoked and read, watching fishing boats pass by.

*sitting on the patio at Hotel Le Berlin*

I walked to the Danktopa Market. Passing, along the way numerous inviting cafes and the grand mosque.

The market is a sprawling, crowded chaos of everything a market should have and some thing it shouldn’t, like a smaller but decidedly less touristy fetish market, complete with all the skulls and dried dead things you could desire.

I am glad I went to the market, though it was the one place I could not relax. Upon arrival I attracted a dozen or so rotating shop keeps who followed me trying to convince me to look at their wares. Mostly they kept trying to sell me knock-off designer handbags and clothes, in which I couldn’t be less interested. I might have stayed longer, but I just couldn’t get the anonymity I craved. Maybe I was naive for thinking I could.

I went to the artisanal crafts market, which is a great place to walk around even if you are not shopping. It is leafy and quiet and there are at least 3 good places to sit on a patio and eat and drink. There I smoked cigars and had some good conversations with assorted characters. What I really enjoyed, and never tired of, was watching the women with impossible items stacked on their heads as they walked with fierce confidence, like they were wearing some grand chapeaus from the Paris runway.

From there I walked to the Institute Français, which had a photo exhibit. En route though I walked past the army barracks, where I was invited to some in for a drink at the mess hall with the soldiers. I have to be honest – I declined, and I kind of regret it in hindsight, but at the moment I was confused by the combination of inviting ambiance, a cordial invitation, and the abundance of fatigues and firearms.

Much like in Ouidah, there was a Fondation Zinsou, which had wonderful modern art and a superb cafe / shop.

Aside from just walking around, the only other area I purposely visited was the Cadjehoun neighbourhood, which is where the embassies and bars and eateries for expats and travellers are. It is a nice neighbourhood with fancy white houses surrounded by high walls and armed guards, flowering shrubberies, luxury cars, and some pretty nice patios and restaurants. It was worth it for the nice pizza but it was my least favourite neighbourhood in Cotonou because it both lacked local character and felt kind kind of unsafe. The presence of armed guards means that something bad is expected to go down. In the rest of the city, that was not the case.

Two busy days in Cotonou was enough, but I used my two extra days to visit Ganvié and Porto Novo, each of which were wonderful in their own right.

Benin was the basis for this whole trip and it did not disappoint, even if I did not get to see anything in the way of voodoo magic.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Ouidah

Leaving Grand Popo was something that initially concerned me. There is nothing there. No taxi to call, and when I mentioned it to the hotel they didn’t offer to get me a car to anywhere but they said it would be “no problem” for me to get to Ouidah – my next destination (also in Benin, just a little down the coast). I took a last look at the sea and walked to the small road. Within seconds a moto driver was speeding me to the main street, where he dropped me off in front of a shop? A cafe? I don’t know, but there were two guys out front and I told them I was headed to Ouidah. They flagged a car – their 2nd attempt was successful – they told the driver I was going to Ouidah and the driver offered me a price that was so low I felt no compulsion to haggle. And just like that I was in a random car (not a proper taxi) with 5 guys speeding down the road.

The ride wasn’t exactly comfortable; with a sweaty body pressed into me on one side and the car door on the other. The compression of passengers acting as a de facto seat belt, I suppose. But the drive was an hour at most and for the 50c or so that I was paying I was quite happy. They asked me where I was going and I gave them the name of my hotel, which was right on the main road, so they dropped me off out front. Easy.

The name of my hotel changed twice, I think, between booking and arrival, but ultimately it was called Hotel DK. And it was weird.

Upon arrival I kind of wanted to leave. It is huge and run down and abandoned-looking. I couldn’t find anyone as I walked around reception, the kitchen, the dining room, the creepy, empty murder pool. Just as I was wondering why I booked the place and how I would find another hotel with no wifi, data, guidebook, or human assistance, a young man popped his head out. Seemingly from a nap.

He showed me to my room. My tiny, airless room of questionable plumbing and security, but which weirdly had lovely, ironed and embroidered, monogrammed sheets.

It was a weird place. I can’t recommend it, but it was cheap and the staff were great. They made me meals and ensured I had what I needed. And it was technically walking distance to the town centre, if you like a long walk.

Enough about the weird hotel. I was in Ouidah for voodoo. It is the literal or de facto centre and origin of voodoo in West Africa, which basically means the world. They have a big voodoo festival each year, though I was not there at that time. I wanted to see pythons and…well, that was the draw as i headed down the coast.

I visited a small museum, which had a good, guided tour about slavery and Portuguese influence.

From there I was heading towards the Python temple, but was sidetracked by a parade and festival. It was the festival of the city. I couldn’t find out much information about it, but it amounted to a lot of music and dance performances and much of the people in the city outfitted in clothing made from one common fabric, which had the name of the festival on it.

I then went to the Python Temple. Let’s be clear: there are a lot of voodoo temples with pythons, but this one is open to tourists and curious wanderers. They don’t give a bunch of information about voodoo, but they do explain some things before letting you into the inner python temple.

I was the only person there at the time and so i had a lot of time to play with the snakes….and take photos, of course. It was cool. The pythons are let out into the community periodically to feed and they return, allegedly. And if one shows up in your house, it is good luck.

After I had my fill of snakes, I wandered around a while. Ouidah is a pretty little town. I could have spent an extra day I think, but I was happy with the time I had.

I visited the small but excellent Foundation Zinsou, which is a very stylish modern art museum showcasing African artists and with a great cafe. I hung out there and chatted with a Brazilian girl also traveling solo.

There is a historical slave route in Ouidah that leads to a door or no return on the sea, But I opted to not do that, having seen so much in the way of similar sights in the past days; instead, i wandered around some more.

I rested for a bit at a bar…no, not a bar. A collection of tables and plastic chairs under some trees where beer was sold by ladies walking around with baskets. I don’t drink beer, but it was such an inviting place that i bought a bottle of sugary “juice” and enjoyed my cigar with the buzz of people, the shade, and the hypnotic drum music that loudly played. I tried to blend in, which was impossible.

Checking my map and relying on my internal sense of direction , i decided i would walk back to my hotel along some leafy, rural roads. It was hot and after about a half an hour, red faced, lost, I emerged on the main road from the fields and asked the two women i saw if they knew my hotel. They looked at me like i was nuts and after some initial communication difficulties, they drew to my attention that I was in fact standing in front of my hotel. At least i know my sense of direction is in tact, even if my eyes fail me.

I spent the night ay my weird hotel, where there was one other person staying – a guy, traveling solo, maybe a bit younger than me. He had no interest in chatting, but i filled the evening with dinner outside and a cigar and an intensive map study to prepare to the morning’s journey to Cotonou.

Benin Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Benin border & Grand Popo

Crossing the Border from Togo to Benin

I left Lomé planning to head across the border from Togo to Benin. I wasn’t sure exactly how I would accomplish the transport, but as with everything else on this trip, it turned out to be far easier than I expected. I walked from my hotel (Hôtel Résidence Océane) down the Rue de la Gare until I reached the end (at big street with the beach on the other side). I crossed and turned left and before I had time to fully take in the cluster of people and parked cars, numerous people approached me asking if I needed a shared taxi. I did, and took my place in the front seat of a beat-up station wagon, waiting for it to fill up so we could go.

There are many reasons for traveling light. In this case, I was thankful I could fit my backpack between my feet in the front seat or I might have had to pay for a second place in the car, as the hatchback was filled with boxes and a motorcycle.

As I waited for other passengers to be secured, one of the guys outside helping to fill the car took his t-shirt off and put it on the windshield in front of me to block the sun which was hot and otherwise shining directly in my face. He didn’t make a big deal of it and didn’t ask me for anything, he just did it. Another example of the generosity and kindness of the people I encountered.

After about 20 minutes we had the people we needed and we were off. I forget the exact price, but it was trivial. Maybe about a dollar (cdn) for the hour – hour and half ride to the border. a few pics from the car window…

At the border we got out and went through the border on foot and I had to go through one check on the Togolese side and two on the Beninese side. It was not always clear where I was meant to go, but all throughout the process a woman (traveling with her baby), who had been in the car with me, waited for me to complete each step and then pointed to where I would go next.

I had gotten my visa for Benin on line. I showed the border guard my paper while I was seated at his outdoor desk. He didn’t seem too interested in it. He asked me some basic questions (address in Benin, length of stay, etc.) and stamped my passport. He gave the visa paper back to me. (***Very important: keep that paper. I nearly threw mine away, thinking I no longer needed it, but thankfully did not; I was required to show it again when leaving Benin.)

And I was in Benin.

On the other side of the border I hopped into another shared taxi and said I needed to go to Grand Popo. A short ride later I was dropped off at a fork in the road and the driver pointed to the cluster of motos nearby. I gave one of the moto drivers the name of my hotel (the Auberge de Grand Popo) and I hopped on the back and he drove me the short distance to my hotel.

And that is another reason for traveling light: the ability to hop on and off motorcycles, which are often the only means of transport.

Grand Popo, Benin

There isn’t much to Grand Popo. It is basically just a linear group of small hotels, eateries, and arty places along the beach. I decided it might be nice to spend one night along the sea in between cities. I was right.

The Auberge de Grand Popo was a wonderful oasis. Right along the ocean it had a small, main building with a welcoming outdoor restaurant and bar, a small pool, lots of places to sit and stare at the sea, and rooms both in a large, two-storey building and a few cabins. I stayed in the larger building. It was rustic, but comfortable. A fan, a bed, an ocean breeze. The water wasn’t running, but they gave me a big container of water for bathing.

I spent one night – a little less than 24 hours – there. It was very relaxing, though one night was enough. How much lying in hammocks, reading, and smoking cigars can one person take before becoming restless?

The next morning, after breakfast, I walked back to the main road, snapping a few pictures of the “town” of Grand Popo along the way.

At the main road, I held my hand out and within a couple of minutes a car pulled up, full of men listing to lively percussion music. I told them I wanted to go to Ouidah. I threw my bag in the trunk, squeezed in next to the three men in the backseat, and off we went to my next destination.

Africa Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Togoville

My third day in Togo I went to Togoville. At this point I had been on the road solo over a week and the idea of giving myself over to a driver and guide was appealing. Fortunately, I had run into a guy, a guide, in Lomé the day before. He seemed like a good guy and the price was right, so I made plans with him.

He picked me up in the morning and we drove to Agbodrafo and visited the slave house, which is a small house near the sea that was built in the 1830s, after slavery was made illegal, so that Europeans could continue to kidnap and ‘export’ slaves despite the ban.

*commemorative art outside the slave house*

Weirdly, it looked like a regular house, except that under the floor boards was a space about 2 m high where slaves were kept while waiting for the boat to come for transport. Very interesting and, as with the slave castles in Ghana, troubling.

We walked down to the sea and watched the place where the ocean collides with the lake and the fishing boats unloaded their cargo.

We then drove to the Hotel Le Lac Paradis, which sat on the shores of the lake (Lake Togo), of which Togoville was on the other side. The hotel sells you a ride across the lake and back in a pirogue, so theoretically, if you can get to the hotel on your own, you could hire a boat to Togoville. (I didn’t note the exact price, but I recall that the boat was very cheap; maybe a dollar or two.)

The ride across the lake was very pleasant, past fishermen, crab traps, and boys swimming. I wish I had thought ahead a worn a bathing suit, as it would have been heavenly to have a swim alongside the canoe.

At Togoville, we landed on shore and I paid a fee for a guide and to visit the village. That was a lot more expensive than I expected. I think it was 30,000 cfa and they would not budge on the price. There are no ATMs at the hotel or the village, so take cash. I had enough, but I started to feel worried that I would be out of pocket.

I loved visiting the village. There is a cathedral built in 1910 by the Germans (Togo was once a German colony, before it was a French one) and a shrine to where someone once saw a vision Mary on the lake, but other than that, this is a voodoo village.

We walked around and everywhere there were Legba. Legbas? Not sure of the plural. I am also not sure if Legba is the name of the voodoo shrine or the spirit it represents. Anyway, they were everywhere, providing protection and a place to sacrifice animals, as was evident by the blood and feathers on and around them. They were a bit creepy but very cool.

Also a bit creepy were bouquets of entrails nailed to some of the houses by the door for protection purposes, where they would stay for about three days.

There were also voodoo trees, some acting as courts, where the guilty would be made to walk around the tree 7 times at which point their lies or guilt would be revealed.

The village was pretty quiet, but we did see some people. My guide taught me to say a few greetings in the local language, Ewe, which either caused shock in the recipients of my greetings, or peals of laughter. But they understood me.

*me at the monument to German-Togolese friendship*

There were voodoo houses containing pythons and practitioners of voodoo, but I could not enter those. I had told my guide early in the day that I wanted to have a voodoo experience – whatever that means. I wanted to see something weird or amazing. At the end of my tour, the guide said something was arranged and ready for me. I asked how much it was as I was pretty much out of local money on hand. I did have a stash of Euros, but I was on a budget and relying solely on cash, so I wasn’t keen to break into that. My guide said the price depended on a number of factors but that the middle price was about 200,000 cfa (that’s over $400 cdn). I was unable to contain my shock. I politely declined. This clearly disappointed both my guides and the fixer who had arranged whatever it was that was planned, but I firmly said ‘no merci.’ I would have inquired about the price earlier but I had no idea that anything was actually being arranged.

voodoo house (yes, there are pythons inside)

So I never did have my voodoo experience. I am ok with that, but I can’t help but wonder what they would have done for $400. Maybe a series of cheap magic tricks, or maybe…something truly inexplicable. I’ll never know.

I spent the evening reflecting on the day as I smoked a cigar and drank fruity mocktails in a karaoke bar in Lomé while young Togolese women practiced their dance moves in front of a mirror to, amongst other things, “Jailhouse Rock.” A fittingly odd end to an unusual day. The next day I would travel to Benin.