transportation Archives - Page 6 of 7

Around the World 2022 Asia Bangladesh Saudi Arabia Singapore

Planning for a short ’round the world trip

Trying to decide where to travel next is not a science for me. I don’t have a process or a list of criteria. A place will just start to become interesting to me through something I read or saw, and usually it will be a place that is far away geographically and culturally from the last place I went. So I can’t say why exactly, but I decided I wanted to visit Dhaka, Bangladesh. It had been on my radar for a while. It looked crowded and exciting and intense. I decided to go.

Bangladesh is very far from Vancouver. Multiple stops would be required and when I was doing my flight research, I saw that a number of the flights went through Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, somewhere else I had never been. I also found that several of the flights back to Vancouver took me through east Asia, and many through Singapore, another new-to-me destination.

This is how my ‘round the world’ flight itinerary was built. I decided to spend two full days in Jeddah, four full days in Dhaka, and two full days in Singapore: starting in and returning to Vancouver. (Plus making connections in London, Cairo, and Tokyo.) It seemed like a great opportunity to see three places in one go and circle the globe in one trip. Saying ‘yes’ was an easy decision.

Of course, a trip like that requires a bit of planning. I worked out the flights (all separate; not a ‘round the world’ ticket) and then needed to sort the visas. The visa for Saudi Arabia was easy to get: an expensive and instantaneous e-visa. The visa for Bangladesh was a different story, being one that required an application to be made by mail or in person with loads of supporting documents and a fee. It also required several follow ups by email and several recitations by email of things already provided in the application. It always amazes me when countries that have very low levels of interest from tourists make it exceedingly difficult to visit. Singapore welcomed me without hassle.

I booked my accommodations. A proper hotel in Jeddah, a cute guest house in Dhaka, and a capsule hostel in Singapore.

I devoured guidebooks and blog posts, studied my maps, and tried to memorize some basic phrases (many of which I quickly forgot).

I packed my backpack with two outfits suitable for all three destinations, plus an abaya for Saudi Arabia, and cigars to last the trip.

It came together quickly. I was so excited. All around the world to visit three very different destinations.

I don’t often write planning posts, but this was an ambitious itinerary and I have gotten a lot of questions about how I picked the countries and why I chose them, about the visas and the packing. So there you have it.

Onward to Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.

Europe Germany Riga Long Weekend

Munich Layover Part One

Latvia for a long weekend in May

It was the May long weekend, and I had an extra day off. There was no question that I was going somewhere, but where was the question. For the May four-day weekend in April I went to Malta, which meant that, for variety, I should have gone somewhere other than Europe, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about Latvia. I don’t even know what I was thinking except that 1) the only Baltic country I had been to was Estonia (and that was years ago) and 2) they have incredible art nouveau architecture in Riga. The tipping point in favour of going was when I saw that I could spend a long layover in Munich on either end of the trip, and I hadn’t been to Munich. Flying to Riga for a long weekend from Vancouver isn’t exactly a budget fight for a long weekend, but not terrible and being in Riga is a bargain, so I booked the flight.

Layover in Munich

I was excited to have a layover in Munich – two layovers actually. Six hours each. Long enough to see something of the city. I arrived at about 1:00 pm and power walked my way through the airport, through immigration, where the officer told me, looking through my nearly full passport “you travel too much”, and to the S-Bahn station. (As an aside, this was the final trip that I took with that passport, as it was full – 6 years into its 10-year lifespan. I wear that as a badge of honour.)

The S-1 and the S-8 both go to the city centre of Munich and come every 10 minutes or so. The ride takes about 40 minutes. To save time, I had pre-purchased my train ticket online. (This was not really necessary. I could have bought it from a machine easily, but like I said, it was a 6-hour layover. Every minute counts.)

The Marienplaz Station is the one right in the centre of the old town and coming up the escalator from the station into the sunlight, was a delight. Germany! I was immediately surrounded by beautiful old buildings, street musicians, and throngs of people. It was a hot spring day and even if all I had had time for was a coffee in the square, that would have been satisfying. But I had time for a bit more.

I had done a bit of map review before my flight, so I had a rough plan about where I wanted to walk. I didn’t stray too far from the main square, gawking at the Neues Rathaus (the new town hall) and Alte Rathaus (the old town hall) before walking around the food stalls of the Viktualienmarkt, picking up a perfect sandwich to munch on.

I didn’t linger anywhere too long, but enjoyed wandering around the area, having a coffee, buying a cigar at a little shop, enjoying the architecture, and poking my head into shops and churches.

With a 6-hour layover, I comfortably had 3 hours in the city, so was never totally relaxed. My pace was brisk and I checked the time a lot, but I had a good time and made mental notes (also some actual notes) about what I would do when I returned in 3 days’ time.

I took the train back to the airport where, thankfully, there were no extraordinary queues, and was back in time to duck into a lounge at the airport before boarding my flight to Riga. Next stop: Latvia.

Africa Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021 Senegal

A Day on the Île de Gorée

On my second day in Dakar, I took a day trip to the Île de Gorée, or Goree Island, a tiny island off of the coast of Dakar, just a short ferry ride. (I am going to stick with the English spelling just so I don’t have to keep adding the accents.). Goree Island is small – just over 45 acres – and with a population of less than 2,000 people. It is notable for two things: it’s postcard perfect beauty and its history as a slave trading post. Like the ‘castles’ of Ghana’s Cape Coast, it is another beautiful setting with a grim history. Both are reasons to visit, even if they are uncomfortable bedfellows.

I walked from my hotel to the ferry terminal past some grand buildings from the colonial era.

It is an easy trip to Goree. You might get pressured to take a guide and while that will certainly give you more historical context, it really isn’t necessary. The ferry terminal in Dakar is easy to find and you can buy a ticket there. The ferries leave every 1 -2 hours and the ride back is free.

The harbour of Goree Island

Goree Island was colonized in or about the mid 1400s by the Portuguese, then passed to the Dutch, the Portuguese again, the British, and then the French. It became a trading post for different items, but most notoriously was used as a place to detain enslaved peoples before loading them on to ships and … exporting them. Today there is a ‘slave house’, which contains the cells used to imprison people before leading them out through a door of no return to an uncertain future.

This is similar to the sights I saw in Ghana in 2019. And like the trip to the Cape Coast, I found myself struck by how a place with so much horror in its past can be so beautiful. It seems that places with this history should be forever bleak or barren, but it is the opposite. Lush and green, with all of the buildings painted in bright colors. Flowers spilling over the walls, the sea lapping up on the shore, the sky perfectly blue.

It was a delight to wander around, visiting small art galleries and browsing the crafts for sale at the local market.

It is a real tourist spot. Restaurants full and people splashing in the water. Local women walking around selling pretty fans and jewelry.

As beautiful as it is, there isn’t too much to do there, but enough to keep one occupied for the day. A fort, a few small museums.

As the afternoon wound up I caught a ferry back to the mainland.

Back in Dakar, I walked around a little more before settling back into the restaurant at the Institut Français for a cigar and dinner. (The vegetarian offerings there are dismal, but it is such a pleasant environment, having a cigar with my meal in the garden patio, that I could overlook the ‘vegetarian burger’, which was lettuce, tomato, and onions in a bun.)

An evening wander again proved that the streets of Dakar at night are lively, but I was content to spend a little time on the patio of my room before bed.

Africa Mauritania Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021

Return to Nouakchott

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

It was the morning after my adventure on the Iron Ore Train. I awoke in my hotel in Nouadhibou with no great urgency. I needed to travel to Nouakchott that day and I didn’t know what time the bus left for the ~8 hour journey, but I just couldn’t be bothered to rush. By the time I showered and got downstairs I confirmed the bus had left. Secretly, I was happy. I didn’t feel like crowding into a hot minibus. I wanted comfort, likely as a direct reaction to the rigours of the train and pre train experience (after all, before the ride on the iron ore train I spent one night sleeping rough and two nights sleeping outside without running water or bathing). Desirous of speed and comfort, I inquired as to whether it would be possible to hire a car and driver and by the time I finished my breakfast, there was a car waiting.

The drive was great. My driver took the time to point out the sights. There weren’t many, but we saw the sea and the border crossing to the quasi country of the Western Sahara and a few small towns. Mostly though it was just sand and camels and I had seen a lot of that the day before, so when sleep got the better of me, I let it.

About half way into the journey, the driver asked if we could make a stop at his friend’s house in a small town by the roadside. Of course.

We exited the highway into a small town of newish but modest houses, sandy streets, and herds of free roaming goats. We entered a house and were greeted by four guys about to have lunch. We sat on the mats on the floor in an otherwise empty room and out came the tea. Tiny sugary tea cups were passed around and cigarettes were smoked as we chatted. Two of them spoke English, which was a treat for me as I could take a break from struggling with my very basic French.

A large platter of rice covered with pieces of meat and a smaller platter of rice with potatoes and carrots appeared. The driver had called ahead and told them I was a vegetarian. They also gave me water and a yogurt drink to take with me. Another example of startling hospitality to add to those I have experienced over the years in unlikely places.

After lunch we returned to the road and, about 7 hours after we left, we were in Nouakchott.

My remaining days in Nouakchott

I stayed somewhere different this time: the Maison de Jaloua. It is a lovely bed and breakfast in a white two level house on a sandy residential street just off a main road.

My room was a huge private room with my own bathroom and, gloriously, a big bathtub. This was a real bonus as I was still finding iron ore residue from the train on my body.

The hotel had a pretty garden seating area for meals and, as it turned out, housed one of the better restaurants in the city.

I had it for four nights.

Usually I write about my travel experiences on a day by day basis, but I don’t think this is necessary for my remaining three days in Nouakchott. They were pleasant, but primarily relaxing, days. I had seen ‘the sights’ of Nouakchott on my first visit. This round I just explored nothing in particular by foot and at a leisurely pace.

Each day I went for a long walk in a different direction, seeing what I could find. I had coffee and cigars at local cafés, lingered in air conditioned markets, revisited the main outdoor market, and sought out local artists.

On the art front, that took a bit of digging. There is a gallery/café Gallerie Zeinart, which looks amazing, but it was closed the days I was there. I did find a smaller place, Art Gallé, which was opened and is run by Amy Sow, a local painter and sculptor. It’s small but very cool, with an exhibition space and a café. I chatted for a long time with a young photographer and met Ms Sow. A pleasant respite from the heat and aimless walking.

I had a covid PCR test, which was required not for my next destination, but to leave the country. The process was simple. At a health centre you arrive before it opens and write your name on a piece of paper found under a rock on the sidewalk outside the gate. When they open they administer the tests in the order of names. It was fast, I got my results in 24 hours, and it was free. This is astonishing as in Canada, where I live, these tests start at $200.

That’s basically what I did in those last days. I was really taken with how peaceful Nouakchott is for a capital city. I can’t say that it is overly interesting or beautiful, but it is calm and pleasant; it feels very safe and the people are great. No hassles. no problems.

I loved my time in Mauritania. I can’t say that I would recommend it for a casual traveller or a first time trip to West Africa, but for off the beaten path travels, untouched desert vistas, hospitality, and once in a lifetime train travel, it ranks highly.

I left Mauritania with a flight to Dakar, via a day in Casablanca.

Africa Mauritania Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021

Nouakchott to Atâr

After a very full day in Nouakchott, I was ready to leave the city and head west to Atâr, a small city that is the gateway to the Adrar region of Mauritania and the Sahara. Atâr is about 6 hours from Nouakchott by mini bus, which is the usual way to get there if you are not driving. Sebastian from the Auberge Triskell drove me and two other guests to the bus stops for various regions. These are mini buses that will be full of people and piled high with baggage. They have approximate times that they leave, but nothing is guaranteed. My bus left about an hour and a half late, which was at least a few hours earlier than I expected.

Through a lot of persistent loitering, I secured the passenger seat in the front, so i had a view of the scenery. (The back windows are all blacked out.)

The landscape became increasingly rocky and then sandy as we moved west.

I snapped a few pictures from the moving van’s windows. And a few when we made brief stops for people to pray or pee.

Along the way we had various police stops. Nine, to be precise. Each time the driver handed the police a list of the names and identification card numbers of the locals on board and fiches for any foreigners. I don’t know what ‘fiche’ translates to, but it is a photocopy of your passport with various pertinent details written down (contact info, parents’ names, travel info, etc). If you don’t have this ready, you will have to wait while they copy your passport or photograph it and write down all the info. This will delay the trip a lot, and everyone will hate you, so you want to be prepared. I brought 40 of them with me. (You might actually be fine with just a passport photocopy, but I had all the extra information written down as well.) I did notice that each time the driver handed this over, he included a 50UM note with the paperwork. (That’s about $1.60 CDN.)

Six hours after we left, we arrived in Atâr at a busy intersection, complete with people milling about, mobile fruit carts, food being cooked street side, wheelbarrows full of baguettes, and a camel sitting in the street. I liked it instantly.

To be clear, there is nothing to see in Atâr, though a spin on foot around the city centre in pleasant, but it has a pleasant vibe for a short stay.

I took a taxi to the place I was staying at: Inimi. Inimi is a campsite / collection of cabins around a central open area of dirt and one big tree. It is pretty basic, but has (or is meant to have) the key amenities.

I was greeted by the host, who speaks very good French and a few words of English. He was seated on a mat under the tree and invited me to sit and have a plate of rice and then joined me for some Mauritanian tea. (He soon gave me a nickname: Saddam Hussein. This was on account of my cigar smoking and, apparently, when he thinks cigars, he thinks Saddam Hussein.)

Mauritanian tea is Chinese black tea and sugar in what I would say tastes like equal parts, and a few mint leaves, boiled over a fire in a metal tea pot and then poured from pot to thimble sized cups, and then from cup to cup at a great height, over and over again, until the cups are half foam and half tea. Then it is ready to drink. And for those of you who are imagining cups like you might have had in Jordan or Turkey, think again. These cups are even smaller. Not much bigger than a shot. And often it seems that you take the tiniest sip and pass it to the next person. (Yes, even during covid.)

Over that tea I arranged for a driver to take me to Chinguetti the next day.

My room was a cabin. Just a box with a door and two beds, really, though it did have AC when the electricity worked, which it seldom did. Toilet and shower stalls were in a separate building, with water that ran when there was electricity (ha) to operate the pump.

I walked into town and looked around the streets and stalls before it got dark.

I had dinner at an outdoor eatery that had none of the food pictured on their awning (I admit it was naive/hopeful to believe they would). They didn’t even have water, but they prepared a salad of lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and onion and served it with French fries, mayonnaise, and a baguette. At least it was vegetarian. The other thing on the menu was the same meal but with grilled chicken. I picked up some fruits for breakfast.

I walked back to Inimi (maybe 2 km from the town centre) to find that the power was out. That meant it was pitch black and nothing worked. Not super convenient, but I am adaptable. (And it hardly matters that there is no water to flush the toilets when the toilets are just holes in the ground – How’s that for a positive spin?) I had my headlamp (which I never travel without) and instead of sleeping in my boiling hot (and now airless) cabin, I slept on a hard metal bed outside with a mat and my big scarf to cover me, reading until I fell asleep under the stars, which were incredible.

I had pleasant day of travel and a visit to Chinguetti ahead of me.

Asia Jordan

A few hours in Aqaba

I left Wadi Rum in the morning after saying goodbye to the friends made over the past two days, never to be seen again. My taxi driver was awesome – actually, all the taxi drivers I had in Jordan were awesome. They all went out of their way to be hospitable and helpful, from going shopping with me, to sending follow up WhatsApp messages to see how I was doing, to helping me buy bus tickets.

He drove me to Aqaba, where I was going for the sole purpose of catching the bus to Amman. (There is no bus from Wadi Rum.) I could have just taken a taxi back to Aqaba, but that seemed unnecessary, plus, I thought it was a good opportunity to see something of Aqaba.

Aqaba was not otherwise on my itinerary as it is a beach destination and the beach is not my preferred environment. But a layover sounded perfect.

My taxi driver took me to the Jett bus station so I could buy a ticket. I expected he would drop me off, but he came in and made sure there was a bus for me to get on. The next bus was leaving right away, which I didn’t want, but there was another leaving in about 5 hours, which was perfect. The ticket was 10 dinars (~$17 can) for the 4ish hour journey. I bought the ticket and was going to go on my way, but the driver said he would show me a round a bit. So he did a little loop, so I could get the lay of the land, before dropping me off at the beach.

*First view of Aqaba*. *That’s Isreal in the background*

The beach was very busy with locals. It isn’t too much to look at. A narrow strip of sand along the gulf of Aqaba, with Eilat, Israel in the background. The diving there is known to be excellent, but I was happy to just sit and walk ad take in the views.

What I did not enjoy was the weather. It had been 40+ Celsius in Wadi Rum, but here it was hotter AND there was oppressive humidity. I realized very quickly that my idea of exploring for several hours with my backpack in town was not ideal. It’s not a big backpack, but after only 30 minutes or so I was drenched in sweat.

I sat to have breakfast at a sidewalk café (foul, pita, pickles, hot sauces, and a cigarillo) and through about how I was going to endure this layover, when I had a brilliant idea. There were a lot of dingy hotels around; how much could a room be? So I walked into and side street and went to the Amer Hotel. A room for 1 night was about $15 can. Sold.

I checked in, ditched my bag, modified my clothing, and was free to wander in comfort. Even better, before leaving for the bus, I was able to have a shower. Best. Idea. Ever.

And so I walked around Aqaba. Honestly, it’s not that exciting; unless you are going there for the diving, you could skip it. But I was still happy to look around for a few hours, taking in the street art, the beautiful main mosque, the ‘castle’, and streets. I also stopped at cafés and smoked shisha and watched everything pass me by. By the time came for me to go to the bus station, I was happy to do so.

My bus trip was delightful. A very comfortable ride on the top level of a big coach, complete with a woman offering tea and cake. Masks were meant to be worn for covid reasons, and many people did (including me), but not everyone, and one person towards the back kept smoking cigarettes until the tea and cakes lady told him off for it. even still, a relaxing ride. Not much to look at, but pleasant all the same.

When we got to Amman, I made the small mistake of getting off at the second of the two stops, which was not a formal stop, but just a place on a busy street that seemed to me to be far from everything. Fortunately, I was able to flag a taxi to take me to my hotel, just as art got dark. I had two more nights in Amman ahead of me.

Asia Pakistan Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

More Lahore: the Fort, the Mosque, & the Old City

On my second day in Lahore, My plan was to explore the fort, mosque, and old city. I awoke early at my hostel. There was meant to be breakfast, but no one was up, so I went out for a walk in search of coffee. I walked up to the high street and meandered along until I saw a “food street”. Lahore has one popular and touristy food street, but the reality is that there are multiple food streets, which are basically just streets that are nothing but restaurants and food vendors.

It was a great street for walking. People, well, men actually, were gathering to eat plates filled with meaty offerings, flat breads, rice, and tea. I could not find anything vegetarian and I was later told that coffee is usually had later in the day. I did get a fresh carrot juice and a salty lassi, made by fancily dressed men who beat the thick yogurt into submission with long, wooden poles.

I wandered around a bit more, stopping to peer at the Lahore Museum and the Zamzama Gun (cannon) out front, which features in the opening lines of the Rudyard Kipling novel Kim.

There is a lot of grand architecture up and down The Mall with narrow streets crossing, where the architecture becomes…less grand, but also kind of wonderful. Narrow, colorful, and a bit chaotic.

I went back to my hostel where breakfast was served. Tea and a large, greasy, spicy flatbread with potatoes and carrots served on newspaper and with dishes that felt far from clean, on a table to match.

It was time to go the Badshahi Mosque. I think I could have walked, but it would have taken quite a while, so I jumped in a tuk tuk (which cost next to nothing after only minimal haggling) and was dropped off at the entrance to the mosque.

Head coverings and modest dress were required. I kept my head covered most of the time in Lahore, as it was difficult to know where it was and was not required.

The Badshahi Mosque was stunning. It did look a lot like the grand mosque in Delhi, but was much larger. It was completed in 1773 and is an imposing and delicate structure with graceful minarets and intricate jeweled inlay.

I walked around, watching equal parts of people praying and taking selfies. Clearly, I was in the latter group.

Right next to the mosque is the Lahore Fort, which is a massive citadel spanning 20 hectares and containing multiple buildings. There has been a fort there since at least the 11^th C (there have been settlements there going back to 2000 BC), but the fort that is there now dates back to the 16^th C, with most of it having been rebuilt in the 17^th C.

There is a modest entry fee to the Fort and headscarves were required. I opted not to take a guided tour, and instead just walked around the buildings. Definitely worth visiting, but I got a bit bored after a while and wanted to be back on the streets, so I exited through a gate – not the gate I entered through – and then had no idea where I was. There were decorative tuk tuks waiting and I had one drop me off at a specific to the Old City, where I had the start of a walk planned.

The Old City (aka The Walled City of Lahore) is a walled city within Lahore dating back to the 11^th C, but having been rebuilt since then. Like a medina in a Middle Eastern city, it is a labyrinthine city with appealing, traditional shops and mosques.

The best thing to do is just walk aimlessly, finding what there is to find. Eventually you will find a gate to exit through and if you are lost, there are always tuk tuks to rescue you.

I was delighted. I came across a traditional hookah and tobacco shop run by serious-looking moustachioed men. They used the type of hookahs that have long metal tubes that one smokes through instead of hoses. And the tobacco is not the moist, fruity variety; it is mostly dried and twisted into long thick ropes. The men there did not speak much English, but they understood that I loved their shop and they happily let me take photos.

Just after that, a young man who did speak English called me over to his cart from where he was selling yellow lentil cakes served with spicy sauce. Delicious. He insisted that I have one for free, though I did buy a second one.

I walked to the Wazir Khan Mosque, which I was looking forward to seeing, as it is known for being one of the most ornate mosques of the Mughal period.

After that, I walked around the Old City, browsing and taking pictures and chatting with locals where possible. I bought a new red headscarf.

I feel I should say that at no point did I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I was dressed respectfully, though I did attract a fair bit of attention due to being an obvious tourist.

By late afternoon I made my way back to my hostel, as I had arranged to take a car to the Wagah Border that evening to watch the daily ceremony. I’ll put that in a separate post.

Lahore was just marvelous. I had plans to explore more of the city and different areas, though that was not to be; but the time I did spend there satisfied me thoroughly. The people were so friendly, the city was exciting, and the sights were impressive. It was exactly what I wanted.

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.

Wandering North

Tag: transportation

Planning for a short ’round the world trip

Munich Layover Part One

Latvia for a long weekend in May

Layover in Munich

A Day on the Île de Gorée

Return to Nouakchott

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

My remaining days in Nouakchott

Nouakchott to Atâr

A few hours in Aqaba

More Lahore: the Fort, the Mosque, & the Old City

Ganvié, the floating village

Cotonou, Benin

Ouidah