tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13704245726020523742024-02-07T06:39:09.731+01:00Thoughts & Travels in West AfricaTravels in West Africa over several years, snippets of life, travelling information and the political climate. Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-40702387948385693212020-10-20T23:14:00.007+02:002020-10-21T02:14:47.852+02:00Info or Intox?<span style="background-color: #48431b;">In a previous post I talked about the <a href="https://west-african-views.blogspot.com/2018/11/" target="_blank">elections for 2020 in the region</a> ... However we never realised the world would see a pandemic in the meantime, COVID-19 has brought bitter hardship to many.</span><div><span style="background-color: #48431b;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b;">Guinea went to their polls on Sunday, it got a little heated but nothing too bad. However today there has now been a video circulating and according to the <a href="www.bbc.com/news/world/africa">BBC</a> <span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><b><span>Minister of Foreign Affairs Mamadi Touré denounced</span><span> as "completely false" a video </span><span>circulating online claiming to be a recording of a phone call made by President Alpha Condé conceding defeat to his rival Cellou Dalein Diallo.</span></b></i></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-small;"><i><b><span style="background-color: #48431b; color: #404040;"><br /></span></b></i></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b;"><span style="font-family: times;">This weekend on Sunday 25th October, the small archipelago</span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">state of Cabo Verde off the west coast of Senegal will go to the polls. With a population of 600,000 or so, it would be hoped that the information coming from there is correct! However they have suffered due to the pandemic as most of their income is from tourism and finally managed to open their airspace on 12th October,a day they reported the highest number of COVID-19 cases since the outbreak of the pandemic.</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;">At the end of the month, Sunday 31st October Cote d'Ivoire will go to the vote. This election has become a conflictual debate due to the running of the third term of President Outtara. However, it appears the population forgot that he had put in his former Prime Minister, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amadou_Gon_Coulibaly" target="_blank">Gon Coulibaly</a> to replace him. Sadly Gon Coulibaly died on 8th July 2020 so the President found himself standing again. There have already been demonstrations in pockets of the country against the 3rd term, intox is spreading and a small minority of the population seem to have forgotten the events of 2010-2011. Most of the population would like to continue in peace!</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;">Just three weeks later, it's Burkina Faso's turn on 22nd November, like Cote d'Ivoire it can go to a second round. Burkina has had a few years of terrorism now with the jihadists trying to take over this beautiful country.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;">December 7th is the day the hotly contested seat of President in Ghana is up for grabs. 12 candidates have just been accepted by the electoral commission. Word is that on the ground things are tense with people ready to go to the polls. Ghana seems to be very much a two party nation between the NDC & NPP but a third party 'PPP' with a female candidate Brigitte Dzogbenuku is rallying voters around her. After Ellen Sirleaf-Johnson of Liberia, it would be a positive move to have a fresh female face leading a country in the sub-region!</span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #48431b; font-family: times;">With the Nigerian #EndSARS movement taking an awful twist today with several shot and killed at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos, the region is getting somewhat edgy!</span></div>Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-8571201955966643702020-10-09T22:48:00.016+02:002020-10-11T14:00:35.590+02:00Free! <p>Last night I was minding my own business driving through town after having taken some cash from the ATM machine, my phone was bleeping as usual with WhatsApp messages. I stopped briefly to buy a few bits from a Mauritanian corner shop and noticed my Swedish journalist friend had sent me some photos (of documents) with a message <b>'Is this your Italian?'</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIaB8ony6RSFlz7jAuXzbUxm6E6lLQ52RUntelLNuhaqCJCK76XgJtMxfSxC9Rx2EEMBQDVOzA0TRa9u51k0lJTS8TEv6runikUZJr433EgwgMtMMvtxujoWdwLWFxPIrVYmVShk_sAax/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIaB8ony6RSFlz7jAuXzbUxm6E6lLQ52RUntelLNuhaqCJCK76XgJtMxfSxC9Rx2EEMBQDVOzA0TRa9u51k0lJTS8TEv6runikUZJr433EgwgMtMMvtxujoWdwLWFxPIrVYmVShk_sAax/" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p>I glanced at the document whilst getting back into the car, tired and wondering about which Italian friend in the cryptic message. Then the name 'Nicola' jumped out at me, I pulled the car over admist angry taxi drivers hooting and read it a bit more closely. I also saw Sophie Petronin's name, a name I remember well, she was kidnapped from Gao whilst I was in Nouakchott, 24th December 2016 about to take the <a href="https://west-african-views.blogspot.com/2017/04/southerly-or-easterly-decisions.html">Route d'Espoir to Mali in a previous blog</a></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEuMpdmsGgU4BGtQBl1kBGonym-PGpeohO1wpHFUVO8YZ0u4S7XZnPDi6gz1DGV0W2Av3lbUqIaeBp8hgKXI-Gdc3gYIHrZB9XPrP5-DfwcPIuJ3UxrzKsW5G2YHbfi_M2wfduKYQ7uQk/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEuMpdmsGgU4BGtQBl1kBGonym-PGpeohO1wpHFUVO8YZ0u4S7XZnPDi6gz1DGV0W2Av3lbUqIaeBp8hgKXI-Gdc3gYIHrZB9XPrP5-DfwcPIuJ3UxrzKsW5G2YHbfi_M2wfduKYQ7uQk/w300-h400/image.png" width="300" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3u9S__NXU9cu1QMEQg153dvttNhvsz6tqSaC3h9gEYq5N-1PEtX5FgA-q9vg2UpAjF-QVaT4MdjREZnvxplvdVVoN0BkWHGMNRICi712sX6w9MeYeV279LzrcqjKro9ej4Y1n8ndmprL/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3u9S__NXU9cu1QMEQg153dvttNhvsz6tqSaC3h9gEYq5N-1PEtX5FgA-q9vg2UpAjF-QVaT4MdjREZnvxplvdVVoN0BkWHGMNRICi712sX6w9MeYeV279LzrcqjKro9ej4Y1n8ndmprL/" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEuMpdmsGgU4BGtQBl1kBGonym-PGpeohO1wpHFUVO8YZ0u4S7XZnPDi6gz1DGV0W2Av3lbUqIaeBp8hgKXI-Gdc3gYIHrZB9XPrP5-DfwcPIuJ3UxrzKsW5G2YHbfi_M2wfduKYQ7uQk/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Going back to February 2019 someone contacted me as the founder of the social media group '<a href="www.facebook.com/WATravellers" target="_blank">West Africa Travellers</a>' to ask if I had an Italian cyclist in the group or in our WhatsApp group. Not to my knowledge but I asked in the group to check. I was then told this tricycle riding Italian had gone AWOL a day or so before. Not of great concern, when travelling that slowly you can find yourself out of mobile phone range, until I was informed he had been last heard of in Douentza, Mali. This started ringing alarm bells being in a jihadi area and on a tricycle as a European he would stick out like a sore thumb.</p><p>I started making enquiries via various friends and contacts in Mali and with security people in the sub-region to ask what had been heard. In most cases no one realised he was missing! Nothing! I then asked a friend to call Douentza, we knew that the Gendarmerie had picked him up and given him a cell on the night of 2/3rd February but then bizarrely let him loose when a month or two before a Japanese tourist found on a barge at Mopti heading for Timbuktu had been hastily taken back to Bamako! The night of 3rd February I had it confirmed by friends he had stayed at the campsite in Douentza. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLcy6rq0ANJpc86DSBChaoyprIHjzVLzBvo0IXy1mvB57OTbGQ8PlBGpQ95SEW7wPBg3Nh9QhXOKRIoGU_RIJp_n4VY6Seu_DTfPMKcWpyjLD-BwIuGDv5-HyfDd8SXTYpG7KdN74jiui/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="1080" height="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLcy6rq0ANJpc86DSBChaoyprIHjzVLzBvo0IXy1mvB57OTbGQ8PlBGpQ95SEW7wPBg3Nh9QhXOKRIoGU_RIJp_n4VY6Seu_DTfPMKcWpyjLD-BwIuGDv5-HyfDd8SXTYpG7KdN74jiui/w400-h99/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Last known online time was at 0906 local on 4th February, other travellers started sending me screenshots of their conversations with him. No one had a time after that. I was spending hours translating Italian so I could understand some of his conversations with his Italian childhood friend who made contact with me, I'll call the friend 'P' for now. Nicola had taken a screenshot of a map and said he was going up the road to Timbuktu, a road so dangerous not even my Malian friend in telecoms will attempt. There was also a message to another traveller that he was possibly looking to go to Timbuktu via the main road at Konna. It looked bleak for him either way. P had no knowledge of West Africa but was in touch with Nicola's wife and son in South America as well as his mother in Italy. We worked through many theories which the family were told about. The Italian government wanted his disappearance to be kept quiet, the family wanted this respected, hence my journalist friend knew only that I knew of a missing Italian when some of the story broke this year!<p></p><p>I called an aviation friend in the UN who put me in touch with the then Italian commander in Timbuktu who know of Nicola's case but was as lost as the rest of us as to his whereabouts. No one had heard on the grapevine if he'd been kidnapped, which at that time was his best option. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.</p><p>The months dragged on and on, P was occasionally in touch asking if I'd heard more, he would find things online and share them with me, but never a sighting of Nicola. April 2020, P was suddenly in touch with this one day, I was elated as I'm sure he was! But this was the only update we had, <a href="https://airinfoagadez.com/2020/04/06/urgent-sahel-deux-otages-italiens-detenus-au-nord-mali-donnent-signe-de-vie/?fbclid=IwAR3lgYUNR1oJ3xCnCHK6RTsMDaZGsDHl26-r7puRqMRquTkO4Wzb8AuE80w">6th April 2020 Info Air Agadez</a> with video footage taken around Kidal.</p><p>We presume these photos were taken near Kidal around the same time, where we can see some of the other hostages including Sophie Petronin.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7giyUNlk7gtP1lqFNKAmw9DTlgZtjRzAcZkBkjIdCYGUmhJxjchXqArLF3mxOI6Y0F2qwpfnYOKDM7wx2tNIhM85pk67AcXi57YTAiLdES6KPkePPAlESM9Tfw2PzY3H05hG8mpKDWg8K/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7giyUNlk7gtP1lqFNKAmw9DTlgZtjRzAcZkBkjIdCYGUmhJxjchXqArLF3mxOI6Y0F2qwpfnYOKDM7wx2tNIhM85pk67AcXi57YTAiLdES6KPkePPAlESM9Tfw2PzY3H05hG8mpKDWg8K/w400-h400/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />So after hurriedly looking at documents last night I called P in Italy, forgetting his written English is incredible but he finds it difficult to speak. He answered and I was screaming down the phone to him 'Do you have the documents of Nicola's release?' he didn't understand but could hear how excited I was. We hung up, I drove like a mad woman another kilometre up the road urgently wanting to send the documents from the Malian government in French to him. We were then both confused, it was 8th October 2020 last night, the document was giving the order for Nicola and Padre Luigi to be released on 6th October, so where were they?! More calls to an EU security advisor who's attached to an Embassy in the sub-region. He knew about the Franco-Swiss lady Sophie Petronin's release but was surprised when I told him Nicola was being released too in the deal. Even more surprising, P broke the news to Nicola's wife who also had no idea of the news!<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWT-BRDV_AzeZfBzrdM6JRwiWzCNhBQlhWlr4ZPtL6Trl5JHRAfImZeSiMjmeK_VfZLssLnyOpKI3bAtLdZ8GakuS9Y3a6yOnqAci5X4rYsdt-4ERyUXMGro7LJOMaZiIJcNT2In63scw5/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="680" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWT-BRDV_AzeZfBzrdM6JRwiWzCNhBQlhWlr4ZPtL6Trl5JHRAfImZeSiMjmeK_VfZLssLnyOpKI3bAtLdZ8GakuS9Y3a6yOnqAci5X4rYsdt-4ERyUXMGro7LJOMaZiIJcNT2In63scw5/" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">From <a href="http://www.menastream.com">@menastream on Twitter</a></div><br />After an hour of making a variety of calls to check if this was really true, we got word that an aircraft had landed in Bamako with the 4 hostages on board. Absolutely elated I received video of Petronin, Cissé and one other disembarking, both P and I believed this 3rd one was indeed Nicola. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw47AN9h035qXJ2yphs9O-1JS3kboZvjOB6VGs52fnUTB7f3qbDcgDv-z-TVef0bGrEBunWa9dBGd44vKBOrQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p>This morning I received a photo from P, probably taken last night of Nicola in Bamako.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4g2vq9VSskOBCQ3TzGO1gxvkqu6NEUJX8iRGiGPAzqrVFzua4GXi4eT4UPZpmHxunI38jUPgcthVIPXF6xhQXRFtAkj5QMlYetKYKbHBSCeeBKXP8W73uE9nXEhn9PaMHWhvJbdl-j7Iw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="460" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4g2vq9VSskOBCQ3TzGO1gxvkqu6NEUJX8iRGiGPAzqrVFzua4GXi4eT4UPZpmHxunI38jUPgcthVIPXF6xhQXRFtAkj5QMlYetKYKbHBSCeeBKXP8W73uE9nXEhn9PaMHWhvJbdl-j7Iw/" width="320" /></a></div>Unsure of the time he left Bamako on Friday 9th October 2020 but with Padre Luigi, they landed safely in Rome's Ciampino Airport around 1400h to be greeted by the Prime Minister and Foreign Minister of Italy. Awful to have come out of captivity for so long and find they must wear masks now ... the world has changed!<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0Xal1gjzaysKImB62aZ6PqYf8CTQ4Bvgeu9hLA_mQw-H45xITs8smn2jS5sNv_MPulcFfDf205oZMDC4fJN9f-mP_nYQWBZY3t9r0rwNWJwpKRrxA388g-D6HVspfvexFCR4bjmsEIru/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="685" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0Xal1gjzaysKImB62aZ6PqYf8CTQ4Bvgeu9hLA_mQw-H45xITs8smn2jS5sNv_MPulcFfDf205oZMDC4fJN9f-mP_nYQWBZY3t9r0rwNWJwpKRrxA388g-D6HVspfvexFCR4bjmsEIru/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-83016266080623281002019-08-02T14:39:00.000+02:002019-08-02T14:39:27.001+02:00An Ivorian dream becoming realityFor years I've wanted to set up an Overlanders & Backpackers place in the region ... but it needed capital and rent isn't cheap in Cote d'Ivoire.<br />
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Finally I changed jobs in May, but found a suitable house in Grand Bassam in April, signed the contract for it in June and have set up '<a href="http://www.facebook.com/elephantsnests">The Elephants Nests</a>' which is still to have a dedicated website. <br />
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It's a wonderful house with private rooms, dormitories, space for big rigs and tents near the lagoon, 300metres away from the autoroute to the airport and Abidjan (15minute drive away) as well as the bridge to Ghana. Calm, peaceful and relaxing ... it's difficult to work here as it's so chilled.<br />
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I've had a few helpers through the gates already helping to get it started, it's starting to look like a nest for guests. Meanwhile I've been busy working with my new job which involves a lot of travelling in the sub-region which also enables me to keep the group I founded, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/watravellers">West Africa Travellers</a> updated with advice on visas, road and security conditionsKirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-12236150592039725572018-11-27T23:30:00.001+01:002020-10-21T02:05:26.706+02:002020 a year to watch2020<br />
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The beginning of a third decade in the new millennium<br />
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The elections are due to be held across Africa during 2020 in:<br />
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Burkina Faso<br />
Burundi<div>Cabo Verde<br />
Cote d'Ivoire<br />
Ghana<br />
Guinea<br />
Togo<br />
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That's a lot across West Africa<br />
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I've been talking to Ivorian friends about the situation locally for the next elections as that is where I'm most concerned. After the municipal elections in early October 2018 that caused chaos in some regions of the country, as there was one declared death (Lakota) and a lot of post-election dramas.<br />
I asked the question; as I usually do!<br />
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The last Presidential elections in Cote d'Ivoire passed peacefully in general but that's because the Gbagboists refused to vote.<br />
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So where does that leave 2020 in the sub-region of West Africa, particularly Cote d'Ivoire?<br />
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A lot of friends are already talking about leaving the country to watch the elections pass from afar. Personally this worries me as it hints at something more ominous. Currently there's no clear leader to take over from Alassane Ouattara.<br />
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Having said this, over the last few years, Burkina Faso has had an de-facto government when Compaore was exiled, Burundi has seen a lot of turmoil, another country I love and was shocked to hear a hand grenade go off within an hour of my arrival a few years ago. Burundi is in chaos and I hope it stops soon! Ghana has a President that wants to leave his religious mark with a building resembling the Yamoussoukro Basilica despite not having schools nor regular electrical supplies, so dumsor makes today's headlines. Guinea's fortunes change daily, I'm not going to comment on that or Togo's possible perilous future ...<br />
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2020 is a year to watch ... I hope I'll be more optimistic soon!</div>Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-27322138378167042462018-11-17T16:01:00.001+01:002018-11-17T16:31:50.864+01:00When you unexpectedly and unfortunately meet new friendsIt was over several months I was moderating a WhatsApp group for people heading south down through the West African coast for a Facebook group. Totally in my own time, using my knowledge and obviously unpaid I tried to assist other travellers through the minefield of red tape through West Africa.<br />
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What evolved I couldn't have made up, had nightmares about or lived through.<br />
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In early October, a world-travelled German couple settled down for the night in their pick-up camper on the outskirts of Boma, DRC, unfortunately next to a cemetary. They were rudely disturbed by 4 masked men brandishing machetes and rudimentary flaming torches, banging on the side of the vehicle and apparently threatening to set the fuel tank alight! The owner went out and used pepper spray which caught two of them and a 3rd apparently ran away, sadly the owner was murdered that night.<br />
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The aftermath was horrendous, despite not being on the ground but trying to support and coordinate the situation from home, it chilled me to the bone. However, it created a friendship with people I've never met who were instrumental in helping the widow of the murdered traveller. They had already met the couple several years ago in Venezuela and managed to catch up with them in West Africa. The night the murder took place in Boma, they were in a nearby town, fortunately.<br />
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The body was taken to the morgue but the situation with the perpetrators had escalated. A woman had been raped the same day, under the alleged threat of 'the same treatment as the white man' if she didn't concede. Meanwhile the widow and friends, none of whom spoke fluent French were waiting in a hotel in Boma for consular assistance, opposite the police station where the main suspect was being held. See more in this French blog post: <a href="http://congoaujourlejour.blogspot.com/2018/10/les-presumes-assasins-des-tpuristes.html" target="_blank">Assassins du touriste allemand aux arrêts</a><br />
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The German Embassy in Kinshasa were in contact but German public holidays were obviously of more importance as 'Unity Day' celebrations meant that they couldn't make it to Boma. They had said they were going to travel to Boma but late in the afternoon of that day, they announced they weren't coming. Luckily the widow and friends weren't aware that there was an Embassy party going on in Kinshasa where rumours ruled; the murderer was a soldier, the Embassy was going to organise the shipment of the vehicle back to Europe (I'd already contacted shipping companies in Matadi and the couple had organised it all on the ground). When the widow called the Embassy to ask about progress getting herself home the answer was 'We are not a travel agency' it was all nonsense!<br />
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After almost a week, these wonderful new friends who had organised everything, dispatched the widow on a flight from Boma to Kinshasa to connect onto a flight home to her family in Germany. The vehicle was ready to be shipped to Belgium (although due to German import tax it's now somewhere in the Atlantic heading for the USA) and the body was finally released by the Mayor who didn't want any trouble and was probably trying to cover things up. A lot of this was also thanks to a wonderful Dutch man in South Africa with Congolese contacts, so a lot of noise was made in the higher echelons of the DRC government. Luckily the widow left DRC with an expired visa but yet again this gentleman stepped in and sent a lawyer to the airport in case she had more dramas to live through!<br />
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Just over a month later, his widow is back in Germany trying to put her life back together after over 30 years of marriage but is determined to continue travelling, she's a brave lady! The couple that helped her I'm dying to meet, amazing people who sent me a birthday video last month which had me in tears; we keep in regular contact via WhatsApp! Although I'm rather jealous, they met up with the Dutch man in South Africa for a coffee earlier this week and will be flying home tomorrow ...<br />
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Nothing ever prepares you for travel in Africa! However, this was a very unfortunate one-off incident in the western part of DRC which is generally safe ... It's often better to be surrounded by walls at night in regions like this, but so many others who have driven through have camped similarly!<br />
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I wish my new friends bon voyage on their flight home tomorrow and hope one day we can meet!!!<br />
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<br />Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-51804978908933782232018-06-23T16:20:00.003+02:002018-12-09T18:31:36.015+01:00Answering endless requests about the regionIt's been a while now that I've been online on various travel forums under my pseudonym 'Kira' ... the name came from Kira-cho, a town in Aichi-ken, Japan where I spent 15 months living and working there for my degree.<br />
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I digress ... but on several occasions I've met people and talked to them over the years of travelling around the sub-region and then been asked 'Are you Kira?' ...<br />
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So I've set up a group on Facebook to cover all things West African related to travelling, without any touts hopefully! The group can help and advise others who are in the region. It's open to all heading that way or who are already there!<br />
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Join us by clicking here: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/WATravellers" target="_blank">West Africa Travellers on Facebook</a>Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-62488705820642649532018-03-23T20:45:00.001+01:002018-03-23T20:47:00.664+01:00Occitanie Attacks<p dir="ltr">Currently at Lisbon Airport having a melt down.  </p>
<p dir="ltr">Why is it that madmen need to prove themselves to the world, the only result is a bullet in the head ...</p>
<p dir="ltr">I've been in some nasty situations over too many decades across Africa, of course I've been upset after when the shock has set in ...</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm not in Africa, I'm on my way there ...</p>
<p dir="ltr">This attack happened in a supermarket I know well ... Super U, <u>Trebes</u></p>
<p dir="ltr">A 'county' town that I shop in ... Carcassonne</p>
<p dir="ltr">Tomorrow morning the press will be clamouring over themselves to blame the 'immigrant' (it's believed he's originally from Morocco), the religion and continuing to bang on the anti-immigration drum</p>
<p dir="ltr">I shall be far away, with friends of different nationalities, different religions, all chatting and sharing a meal together</p>
<p dir="ltr">Where did the West go so wrong???</p>
<p dir="ltr">When I've dried my eyes, I might see more clearly!</p>
Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-78603756474014495782018-03-21T21:20:00.002+01:002018-03-22T08:43:02.779+01:00There's nowt so queer as folk ...Part of my student life was in Sheffield in Yorkshire, UK the other part was in Japan; both cultures were full of expressions and I believe this old Yorkshire one sums my feelings up totally!<br>
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I've come across so many fantastic people travelling in the sub-region or indeed settled here on a more permanent basis. We all exchange information, encourage each other, share food and drink and part on terms that feel like you've known the person for years. This is so true of quite a few friends of mine including some who were in Nigeria, arrived in Cote d'Ivoire for a holiday back in 2009; gave their daughter a beautiful name from a memory whilst in CI. I've since been to stay with them when they were posted to Bujumbura, Burundi.</div>
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THEN, there are the 'others', generally the minority but they do come past and leave impressionable memories; I've already mentioned a few in this earlier blog about <a href="http://west-african-views.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/long-road-south.html" target="_blank">backpackers and volunteers in Ghana</a>. However, the situation when I reflect back on it has become farcical in some respects, chatting to a friends online who also live in the region we've been exchanging notes. There are a few people involved in the tourism business in the sub-region who all know or know-of each other through another connection.</div>
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There were the Nordic overlanders who turned up unannounced, as usual I knew they were somewhere en-route, maybe a few days away, but they suddenly called and told me they were outside the gate!!! I, meanwhile, was at a birthday lunch with a few friends, I asked them to wait a few minutes and I'd return. No quicker than we said hello, one of them made a dash for our only 'throne' and proceeded to spend 30 minutes in there. It turned out that some sort of virus had joined the expedition, so a hotel was sought and with genuine hospitality I made sure they weren't short of anything. They left 2 or 3 days later without a word since our initial meeting and introduction at the hotel; I received a text after they'd left town to say goodbye ... and a very odd mention of their stopover on their blog!</div>
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The Europeans who were helped every kilometre of the way via WhatsApp (something I happily do for others regularly!) with any little query or getting past customs posts without paying. They arrived and made rather snide comments about the operation in Cote d'Ivoire via WhatsApp; they had no knowledge of the situation at that time apart from one of our members of staff giving their version. They left without explaining themselves, refusing to answer WhatsApp but creating their own unfounded opinion about the circumstances! </div>
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In New Zealand/Australia, you call them bludgers; I remember the word well and was proud to hear that I was as hard-working as an Kiwi and 'no bloody bludger' ...<br>
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In West Africa we could possibly re-name them "parasites". These parasites move from place to place, gathering information, using other people's names to get favours (mine in one instance after a 5minute chat in Casablanca airport when I suggested somewhere to stay in Accra, Ghana)! They lean on others to organise their onward trip, pleading poverty to avoid paying meals, internet, phone credit or a night's stay and in true parasitical fashion have other travellers pay their drinks!!! They don't bother to try to learn about the culture or local languages. However they don't think twice about splashing out for sports lessons or food shopping in a western supermarket under the noses of those who have helped them that have to shop in the local market as they can't afford to spend so extravagantly! </div>
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Travelling is all about community, in the sub-region the majority of travellers that pass through are open, friendly, keen to learn about the area AND it's genuine and reciprocal. Unfortunately the parasites that upset others, are talked about via messaging services and the word spreads prior to their arrival ...</div>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-22513636941110681312017-07-26T02:01:00.002+02:002017-07-26T11:52:30.571+02:00Ode to an Irishman!I've been lax of late, still not finished the whole Franki debacle but this weekend knocked me for six. This isn't an ode, it's not a poem, but this is my blog and it's saying goodbye to a great Irishman.<br />
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Stephen Keenan died on Saturday in the Blue Hole, in Dahab, Egypt. Steve was an amazing guy, we've kept in contact for 10 years after travelling together after a chance meeting. He was open, honest, laid back and loyal to his friends. He had a heart of gold, always looked for the positives, didn't take any stick from anyone and he loved the Dubs! <br />
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He had a wanderlust, like so many of us, it took him to South America then onto Africa which is where we met. People have been asking me where we met, I nicknamed him BBB, short for Bissau Brothel Boy, we met in a brothel in the Caracol district of Bissau. A pretty horrendous area of town, we later discovered that it was a hive of activity for crack cocaine and the evening wasn't the most calm I've had in my travels! As described <a href="http://deeper-in2-west-africa.blogspot.fr/2007/01/bissau-brothels.html" target="_blank">in my 2006/2007 trip to the region</a> it wasn't as though we had much choice in Bissau but to sleep here and by pure chance Steve also decided to find a room at the same place, considering we'd not seen another European since Senegal, it was a surprise to meet him. Steve took a photo of one of the rooms the following morning, it was awful and always said to me, his mother should never find out that he was forced to stay in this lousy hellhole, he also described it as a 'Gentleman's Club' hmmm!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_xAA_u-G2rYVKbrRogyLgm58WhV0A9T-VGNrA1oEcDtej4mT1CDUHkQNPOy0UKNekFG0dIZQarP_1cknamjiSKEzImOPmGM3-eungYv4rhIk97xiuNJq3ZBOS9TEmpn1VYPqDtfdBcx9/s1600/FB_IMG_1501023413108_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="338" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_xAA_u-G2rYVKbrRogyLgm58WhV0A9T-VGNrA1oEcDtej4mT1CDUHkQNPOy0UKNekFG0dIZQarP_1cknamjiSKEzImOPmGM3-eungYv4rhIk97xiuNJq3ZBOS9TEmpn1VYPqDtfdBcx9/s320/FB_IMG_1501023413108_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Commandering a boat to the Bijagos with the Bubaque Chief of Police</td></tr>
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I'm telling this story now because I don't want to forget some fun memories, often dangerous but Steve took the brunt of the danger. We crossed the border into Guinea separately, we'd separated in the UNESCO protected Bijagos Islands, I headed back to Bissau, he went onto another island, Orango famous for it's saltwater hippos where he wanted to swim with them. From Bissau I went onto the Guinea Conakry border with my Italian friend Gianni who also thought the world of Steve. He was a few days behind us but we were in contact. When we got to the Fouta Djalon region of Guinea there were strikes against President Conte, the Guinean President of that time. The country had a major fuel crisis and things were getting desperate, I decided to head into Senegal as my flight left from Dakar, Gianni went south to Conakry to carry on eastbound, Steve was still somewhere in the west of Guinea.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve Keenan RIP - on Bubaque, he loved water, died doing what he loved</td></tr>
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On arriving home in France I got frantic messages from Steve, he was near Donka Bridge area of Conakry and there was gunfire all around. Power outages were getting worse and his mobile phone battery was getting lower but could I help him? I rang the Irish Embassy in Paris, declaring his situation but it was a weekend, the consular official on duty was a saint, he rang the Foreign Affairs office in Dublin who subsequently called Steve to check on his safety and make arrangements for him. Sunday morning, Steve was calmly having a cup of tea with the British Consul having made it across town in the chaos with the Consul waiting at his front door for him. He made it across into Sierra Leone the next morning, from memory. An excerpt of an e-mail:<br />
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<i>"<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">In Freetown myself - got here last night after aother fucking shocker of a trip. Should of been 6 hours but due to a wreck of a car took 13! Left Conakry at 9 nd arrived here around 10 a broken man, covered in dust and smelling of diesel..</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Sent you a text, not sure if you got it. Anyway I should be overjoyed and happy to be here but truthfully I'm not - I'm sad to have left Guinea behind and my heart aches thinking about all my friends I became so attached to while stuck in Conakry. That's one reason I hate staying in places for more that a few days - you can create relationships that become so hard to walk away from. Just hope things work out for them.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Anyway the reality is that I got out of there with my life and all my stuff, which might well of not been the case - so that, and all your help, I'm extremely grateful for. Thanks"</span></i><br />
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I got regular texts and e-mails from him telling me about his journey and experiences in Sierra Leone and horrendous journey down the coastal road in Liberia. Then he got to Cote d'Ivoire, describing Abidjan as somewhere like Europe, reminded him of a few South American cities he had been to. He was due to meet his father and brother in Bamako, they were flying in from Dublin and it was clear he was very excited about having some of his family with him. He sent an e-mail to me protesting at the cost of a bus to Bamako at 40,000CFA (price has dropped considerably since then!) and was off to find other options. He obviously went back to the bus company as I was getting text messages telling me how he had bought a seat but there was a big argument between the driver and the bus station chief that he couldn't understand and he kept being told to get off the bus. Finally I got a text telling me he was en route for Bamako, but had to get through the northern part of Cote d'Ivoire which at that point was controlled by the Forces Nouvelles, the 'rebel' army. His texts went dead for over 48hours, I was concerned but had no way of contacting him. This an e-mail arrived a few days later explaining the silence after the few texts I'd received when he was free:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>"I have just reached Mali, having made my way from Abidjan in Ivory coast to Bamako, Mali's capital. In doing so I had to cross the rebel controlled north of Ivory coast - this trip was without doubt my most perilous, taking 3 days and included 15 hours locked up in a cell with 14 other Ivorians and, thank God, one Dutchman.... The rebels imprisoned me.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>Ivory coast has been in the grips of civil war since 2002. The south of the country is controlled by the government and the north by the rebels or "New Forces" as they call themselves. However in recent months things have calmed somewhat. I crossed into the south from Liberia about 2 weeks ago. Lots of military checkpoints and a few bribes but other than that it was alright. I asked a few people about crossing the rebel controlled north - almost all said it was fine that the war was almost over and I had nothing to worry about. So I decided to risk it and get the direct bus Abidjan - Bamako. We pulled out of Abidjan Saturday morning and headed north accompanied by military vehicle. We reached the Gov/rebel divide at about 7. There was an army checkpoint, then UN checkpoint, then about 20k of no man's land, another UN checkpoint after which we entered Bouake, Ivory Coast's second largest city and headquarters of the rebels. We were all told to descend the bus and hand our Identity papers over. I was the only white guy. The rebels brought us into a large room where one of them stood up and addressed us all. He said who they were, their purpose and that there would be some payment necessary depending on the length of each passengers trip. I felt reasonably relaxed but then as he was speaking another rebel went through the ID papers, found mine, and put it aside indicated to someone that I was to be kept or something like that - I was standing too far away to hear. They began to give back the ID cards and the hall emptied till it was just myself standing in front of 6 seated rebels.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>They asked me the purpose of my voyage, what I did, etc. One guy was quite aggressive and asked me how long I had been in the army - I said I was never in the army and that in Ireland it was not obligatory. he shrugged this off as if I was lying. They then summoned the bus driver and told him to carry on as I was to be held for more questioning. My heart sank, I so just wanted to get back on that bus. I pleaded with them and one of them said that the questioning wouldn't last long and that as the bus was stopping anyway for something to eat I will be back on it no worries. I had to get my bag off the bus. A pick up arrived with armed rebels in the back and PCO written on the side (Not sure what it stands for but it's seems to be their title). So I was driven off to the rebel headquarters, a large compound with big iron gate, and brought into an office where sat a slight man wearing a traditional Muslim robe. Behind him on the wall were photographs of various rebels and pictures of some guy called Bele Bele. Beside him was a chart with various lapel tags attached and their corresponding rank written alongside.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>He began asking me similar questions as before, all was going well and I was hopeful I'd be back on the bus. I was devastated when he put my passport in his pocket and said I was to be kept there until he got clearance I could pass from "Le Chef". I had to leave all my belongings in the office for inspection. I also had to count all my money and hand it over. He wrote down the quantity and gave me a receipt assuring me I would get it all back. I was allowed keep some small change. I was then marched out into the main yard where a traditional style hut stood - it had a TV inside being watched by 3 dozing rebels and a white man! - I couldn't believe it, I hadn't seen a white person since Abidjan. Also he was a young and looked like a traveller. He was told to come out and then the 2 of us were brought to the back of the compound to a building with an iron gate and people lying around inside, it was a small prison. The rebel brought us inside and over to a vacant corner and told us we were to sleep there, and that he would come for us in the morning. I couldn't believe it - it was Paddy's day, and there I was lying in a cell...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>My white companion was a guy called Ernest from Rotterdam, he had made his way to Bouake from Bamako hoping to visit the Medicin Sans Frontiers group stationed there. He was a nurse and was interested in working for them. I was so happy he was there, we kept to ourselves and were generally left alone. The cell was a large L shaped room with 3 smaller cells attached. These small cells were packed - about 15 people in each. In our own big cell I counted 14. Ernest luckily had taken his sleeping bag out of his bag. So we lay on that and I actually managed to get some sleep.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i> At sunrise all were up including myself staring out through the bars waiting for someone to come take me out and tell me all is well. Across the far end of the compound I spotted the guy who had takin us into the cell, but I never saw him again. Time rolled on, every hour feeling like 10. We weren't fed, nobody was - they had people come, relatives and friends, with food. Eventually around 11 we decided to ask for a coffee and some bread. One of the guys, a prisoner from Guinea, was allowed leave the compound to purchase food. He came back with 2 bread rolls and 2 cups of coffee, the jailer accompanied he him and said we could eat outside. We were out!, it felt so good to be out of that cell. We sat under a tree for about an hour, then someone from across the compound beckoned us. Great I thought, but my heart sank when he indicated they only wanted to talk to Ernest. So I was alone, but they left me under the tree and thankfully not back into the cell. Ernest was walked to an office building about 500 meters away. He went in the door with 2 men in front and 3 behind him. He must of been in for about 40 minutes, I was getting worried. He came back out looking drained. He told me they asked the same questions over and over. They seemed sure he had a military purpose or something. They were more suspicious of him than I as he had a GPS with him and had a Dutch Army issued backpack. My questioning wasn't so bad, after a while they did believe that all I wanted to do was go to Mali. Ernest got some more hassle until he eventually agreed to leave along with myself. We were free. They put us in a bus along with another rebel to accompany us to the border.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>I got off the bus at a town near the border as the bus was going to Burkina. I bid my cell mate goodbye and waited for a bus to Mali - I was still in rebel country and so wanted to leave - about 2 hours later, 11pm a bus came. It drove for about an hour then stopped at a checkpoint. The rebels left me alone but we were told we were to stay there for the night. We slept on the side of the road and at about 6am we headed off again. Soon in the distance, through the morning Harmattan haze I spotted a Malian flag, the border. I never saw any more rebels. Phew."</i></span></div>
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Just over a year later, I went to Bouake as an Irishwoman, it was still controlled by the Forces Nouvelles but they weren't too worried about my presence. I asked around about an Irishman that had been imprisoned a year earlier, they all knew about him, referred to him as my 'comrade' and were confused as to why he'd been imprisoned. Steve had told me at the time they believed he was a spy ... for who? The Irish government???!!! The border town he was taken to was Ouanlangoudou, I remember the text message asking me if I could pronounce it ... I can now!!! It was good to be there on 30th December in Franki<br />
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Steve said he'd always like to return to Cote d'Ivoire, I always hoped he would one day ... he sent a good few texts and e-mails as he made his way through West Africa, adored Nigeria, went up the Congo on barges with his backpack, loved Uganda, Kenya then found Dahab, Egypt where he's been living for the past 8 years and very sadly lost his life on Saturday. He's had tributes pouring in on an international basis. Some <a href="https://www.deeperblue.com/pictures-stephen-keenan-remembered/" target="_blank">lovely photos</a> here of the guy who always went home to see the Dubs play at Croke Park where on 5th August there will be a round of applause in his memory during a match at the 39th minute, he died too young at 39 but doing something he loved, a small consolation! Steve, <a href="http://www.thejournal.ie/stephen-keenan-rip-3510904-Jul2017/?utm_source=facebook_short" target="_blank">a true hero</a> in various press reports<br />
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RIP Steve, you're missed by so so many of us who had the pleasure to meet you!<br />
<br />Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-17097031209437965172017-05-14T13:41:00.002+02:002017-05-16T21:43:16.955+02:00The Capital Goal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Another good night's sleep in a bed for a change, excited to be setting off with the hope that I'd reach my goal of arriving in Yamoussoukro, Cote d'Ivoire's capital city to spend that evening, New Years Eve, with my friends. I was concerned that the road would be problematic all the way south as I'd heard that it hadn't been upgraded since my last time on this stretch in 2009. I had 387km to complete today, venturing out of Ouangolodougou the south side of town was a mess with trucks all over. I soon discovered why, the road to Ferkessedougou was being re-done and had just been completely resurfaced. Lovely smooth road for 45km to Ferke where I stopped to withdraw some cash and have some breakfast whilst receiving a call from a Moroccan friend Hamza who works in Abengourou and wanted an update on my progress!</div>
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Things never change, I'm always too optimistic whilst travelling around Africa in regards to the time it takes to get from one place to the next or the state of the road. Of course, I left Ferke at 930am with the dream that this smooth road would continue southbound, of course it didn't! It was a crazy, tiring, zigzag drive all the way to Katiola, 186km of pothole slalom with police and gendarmes stopping me every 15km or so, asking for a chicken to eat, my hand in marriage or just plain paperwork!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bus from Niamey, Niger - a long tiring drive!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor old sheep, sun, exhaust fumes and staying upright with the bumps</td></tr>
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Finally I pulled into the southern edge of Katiola, it was about 1pm and I decided I deserved some lunch. I found a small shaded maquis and parked Franki under a tree. A young guy was serving a few bits and pieces on the side of the road, ordering some spaghetti with liver I sat in the shade under a mango tree with a drink.<br />
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Setting off again, I reached Bouake with a few less potholes, this is where the north/south divide used to be prior to the 2010/2011 crisis. Initially I came to Bouake in 2008 when the Forces Nouvelles (now the united FRCI) were in charge, getting through 'la corridor' to enter the north on the southern edge of Bouake was always interesting as being white they usually assumed I was French. Luckily, having an Irish passport made things somewhat easier! Bouake had grown since my last visit, I was surprised by the change in town and development that had gone on, I drove through fairly quickly, almost able to smell my Yamoussoukro goal now!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bouake</td></tr>
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The road from Bouake was in a similar condition to the Katiola - Bouake road, in relatively good condition until finding a sizeable pothole that could cause serious damage. I certainly decided I preferred the roads that really slowed you down with gaping potholes. Driving along this one was hair-raising as it gave drivers confidence to speed along, and then dodge the potholes. It wasn't much fun at all. I pulled up in Tiebissou, a small town I've stopped in before, it's the centre of Baoule cloth weaving where there are many stands with cloth for sale. The cotton is hand loomed on extremely long looms found throughout the village and surrounding area. It comes in strips, like Kente cloth in Ghana but then sewn together to make one large piece about a metre wide and 1m70 long. After a bit of negotiation I bought some more and set off south again.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ridiculous place to take a photo whilst driving! Should be ashamed of myself!!!</td></tr>
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41 kilometres later I finally entered Yamoussoukro, so happy to be back, I was in very slow moving traffic due to the police stopping vehicles ahead of me. I got my phone out and took a photo of the 'Orange' telecom sign welcoming me to Yakro! A bit of a stupid move, doing this in full view of the police who of course watched me take it. I was STOPPED! </div>
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Police: "Madame, where have you come from?"</div>
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Me: giggling "ummmm" more giggling ... "today or originally"</div>
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Police: Scratching his head trying to work out what drugs this 'blanche' had been taking</div>
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Me: "From The Netherlands"</div>
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Police: "Alone? You can't take photos whilst driving in Cote d'Ivoire"</div>
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Me: Still giggling, "sorry but I'm so happy to be here in time for New Years Eve with friends"</div>
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Police: "I should fine you, just go, but Happy New Year Madame"</div>
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My welcome into Yakro, I was so elated!!!</div>
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I pulled up a few hundred metres later and called PC to ask where he lived. I was told to wait exactly where I was and he came to find me in his car. He was in front of Franki less than 2minutes later, massive smiles, screams of joy to see him again, I followed him back to the house. I caught up with his three children, the smallest of which I hadn't met before, she's a real little character. His son who was born just after the 2010/2011 crisis, I welcomed in the early hours of the morning when we were part of a group on Twitter and then his older daughter. Both his son and older daughter I'd met before, but his son was about 3 years old last time and petrified of me, he hadn't met a 'blanche' before and we had all had a good giggle in their old apartment in Abidjan in 2013!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Ivorian beer, made from rice, brewed by Heineken</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PC - to who I owe a lot over the years, a true friend!</td></tr>
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After a decent shower, some clean clothes and my sandals a little cleaner, PC took me out to a maquis nearby. He bought me an Ivoire, a new beer on the market that seems to be doing remarkably well. We sat and talked for ages whilst Irene, his wife, was on her way back from shopping. I was so happy to be back with them all. Returning to the house, they got ready to go to church, I was left in charge of the house, with the keys. I curled up on their sofa watching TV, the air conditioning on feeling thoroughly spoilt and promising to be awake when they got back ... I fell asleep. They returned from church and spent quite some time trying to wake me up, finally PC managed to wake me with a phone call, I was a very embarassed house guest!!!</div>
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By 1am we were out again, at PC's maquis Restaurant Alie-Fe near the centre of town with his business partner and other friends. A long night with too many bottles on the table by 4am, I had a very sound sleep for the rest of the night!<br />
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-64921750426381614132017-05-12T19:25:00.001+02:002017-05-14T14:31:39.647+02:00Final border<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki at The Sleeping Camel<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">A restful night at <a href="http://www.thesleepingcamel.com/" target="_blank">The Sleeping Camel</a> I got up to have a warm shower and coffee. <a href="http://www.philintheblank.net/" target="_blank">Phil</a> was already working and hoping to finally introduce me to his wife and new son. Sitting, sipping endless cups of coffee with him and Jeff, a UN aviation consultant, we chatted for what seemed like hours. I was getting more than aware that time was marching on and I should be hitting the road south.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The aim was to get into Cote d'Ivoire today, it was Friday 30th December 2016 and I could see my goal of spending New Years Eve in Yamoussoukro with friends being accomplished! I had to unfortunately bid goodbye though, but not before Phil refused to let me pay my bill, too kind of him! I had missed meeting Bintou and Andre who I hope I'll meet in the near future. I drove back out onto the main road to find someone to check the tyre pressure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Getting out of Bamako was straightforward, I knew the road well as far south as Ouelessebougou and once out of the chaos of Bamako and nearby dormitory towns, the road was smooth sailing.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">In Ouelessebougou it was obviously market day, driving through teems of people along the road selling their wares. After Bougouni the road was quieter until </span><span style="font-size: small;">eventually I pulled into Sikasso without stopping, covering 368km by around 1.30pm, I was happy with our progress.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">I had ideally wanted to go to the bus station and talk to people there about children being trafficked southbound, but as Sikasso had witnessed a fairly recent AQIM attack,</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">I needed to find a bed tonight during daylight hours so dropped the idea. Found a lovely service station in Sikasso, bought a few bits to eat, had a coffee and refuelled Franki.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The road from Sikasso to the border was in relatively good shape but the relentless re-surfacing caused a few problems and it had to be treated with a little more respect than the one from Bougouni. I sent a text to my friend PC in Yamoussoukro to ask him for some Ivorian phone credit on one of my Ivorian numbers just to be ready. Reaching the border at about 4pm, it was a painless and straightforward process to exit Mali apart from dodging around trucks to find the correct offices. I was out of Mali, I was finally heading into Cote d'Ivoire, I surprised myself by finding tears running down my face. I was back in the most beautiful country </span><span style="font-size: small;">after 4 months away</span><span style="font-size: small;">, a country I seem to have adopted over the years!!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Ivorian border started with the police. I had a grumpy officer who sent me back to Franki to get her documents too; desperate to find something out of place he finally grunted and stamped my passport! The rope barrier was raised as the passenger door was suddenly opened, another officer jumped into the passenger seat, I asked him what he was doing and was told that he was coming to Abengourou with me! I managed to extract myself from that situation and drove onto customs at Pogo which was a kilometre or so ahead, which is where the trouble started. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Heading into the customs office they told me I could have a 'vignette touristique' as I didn't have a carnet but this would cost 32,000CFA or 50€. I laughed at him and told him that I knew they were free, he wasn't laughing, I knew I had a battle on my hands. I flatly refused to pay, told him it was just a corrupt way of getting cash out of 'la blanche' and a real shame for tourism for Cote d'Ivoire. He still wasn't budging, so I offered to call a senior police officer and friend ... he thought I was bluffing, I wasn't! Slightly bemused he took the phone from me and my friend told him that he wanted to speak to his chief, he disappeared into the chief's office for a few minutes, returned and handed me the phone. I thanked my friend profusely and watched my vignette touristique being typed up! Grinning from ear to ear, I jumped back into Franki and headed as quickly as possible at about 5.45pm towards Ouangolodougou, known as just Ouangolo (/wangolo/)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The road for the first 86km in Cote d'Ivoire was horrendous. Pot-holed and difficult; I wasn't happy about being near the border in the dark and know that this road is often ambushed by 'coupeurs de route' at night. I pressed on as fast as was safe to do so before finally reaching Ouangolo about 2hours after leaving Pogo. Getting into town 557km after leaving Bamako, there wasn't anywhere obvious to sleep, I found a young couple getting on a <a href="http://philintheblank.net/2017/03/28/the-great-jakarta-tour-of-far-west-africa-part-2-dakar-to-casamance/" target="_blank">jakarta</a> and stopped to ask for ideas of where to stay. Stephane told me to follow him, he took me to what seemed to be a nice hotel but I wouldn't be able to park Franki inside and the rooms were out of my budget, I asked him if he knew of another. He told me he would drop his girlfriend who ran a fish stall at a maquis then take me across town. We finally ended up at a great little place with rooms at 4,000CFA, I then asked him about a nearby maquis to go and eat at; there wasn't anything but he offered to go and get me some fish from his girlfriend. Very happily esconced near the hotel with a drink, he came back with the fish which is when I got the news that my friend's father had died, someone I held in very high esteem. Tears poured down my face, poor Stephane really didn't understand what had gone wrong ... I managed to explain, apologise and pull myself together, we finished the fish together, he headed home to his gendarme father and I had a sound night's sleep!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouangolodougou - Arrived from Bamako, destination: Yamoussoukro </td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-50089528526513555372017-05-08T02:01:00.001+02:002017-05-08T13:44:51.342+02:00Bamako boundI didn't sleep well, at around 2am someone was crawling around Franki. I woke up and realised there was a shadow in the dark in this supposedly guarded car park at Relais de Kedougou. I crept into the front seat, started her up and made a few manoeuvres, eventually parking in front of the main gate to the hotel in the hope that the sleeping watchman would wake up and move me. It never happened, I went back to sleep waking at around 0630. I got dressed and went out to carry out the morning checks, the oil and water were ok, but the passenger side front tyre looked a little flat. I drove into town to a petrol station to get air into the tyre and to refuel. A few minutes later a minibus driver arrived and had a look for me, declaring I had a puncture. He jumped in with me and we drove across town to someone he used to get the puncture fixed. About 15minutes later, 1,000CFA of work I was able to set off east. Bamako was my goal today!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First flat tyre</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The culprit</td></tr>
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I drove east for 112km to the border just east of Saraya, the majority of the road was in good shape. The Senegalese immigration post was very interested by my passport with an array of old West African entry and exit stamps, they were very friendly and one asked if he could continue the journey to Cote d'Ivoire with me. I continued on initially to Senegalese customs solo, then to the Malian border at Moussala. The Malian border post was very friendly and sent me up the road to customs, no money had exchanged hands. I got to customs and the officer declared I was his third wife ... then went into a meeting with his boss leaving me in his office waiting, when I would have rather been on the road to Bamako.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brilliant synopsis of mileage at the Seneglese border post!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki at the Malian border post</td></tr>
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After waiting 30 minutes I went off to find my new 'husband' with his boss. They both apologised and he came back with me to finish off my paperwork and the official 5,000CFA transit payment with a receipt. I was free to go BUT I had to return to the border post 5km away to get this paperwork stamped by the police who had stamped my passport. I set off from the border for a second time without any dramas and started to look for a coffee stop! After several kilometres I reached Kenieba and pulled up outside a big sign proclaiming to be an 'Orange' shop. I jumped out ready to find a SIM card for Mali and ordered a coffee with <a href="http://philintheblank.net/2017/03/16/the-great-jakarta-tour-of-far-west-africa-part-1-bamako-to-dakar/" target="_blank">Amadou, the coffee barista</a> that my friend in Bamako Phil had met a few weeks later. The Orange shop hadn't yet been completely furnished so I sent some boys into the market to find me a SIM card whilst I looked for change to buy Amadou's coffee. <br />
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I didn't have any small change ...</div>
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This was a disaster ...</div>
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I couldn't buy coffee ...</div>
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The man next to me on the bench was selling jewellery, he realised my predicament and told Amadou in Bambara, a local language, to serve me a coffee. Suddenly there was a cup in front of me, I looked at Amadou in amazement, my new friend next to me said 'on est ensemble' an expression I heard 18 months earlier when in Bamako; essentially meaning 'we're all in this together' against AQIM. It cost next to nothing in western terms but meant so much to me, plus this new friend's friendliness wanting to help a complete stranger who was desperate for coffee. I will be forever grateful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around Kenieba</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9_wTAKaw_HvJ7eqGY2LNUKvcBYxEgabvJO8B6QEdyRs2xdFETOVRx8Y3JO_duwXdUGUkoQgemGh1K3chw4wpYznkjGZYqY6lAriw3b0tmfGKoPXdpc0IiSt6stPix8vxFxWhmuIZ7niB/s1600/P_20161229_121446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9_wTAKaw_HvJ7eqGY2LNUKvcBYxEgabvJO8B6QEdyRs2xdFETOVRx8Y3JO_duwXdUGUkoQgemGh1K3chw4wpYznkjGZYqY6lAriw3b0tmfGKoPXdpc0IiSt6stPix8vxFxWhmuIZ7niB/s640/P_20161229_121446.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere a few kilometres outside Kenieba</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenery before Kita</td></tr>
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Somewhere along this route I'd called a friend, Cheik and then Phil, my American friend who runs the <a href="http://www.thesleepingcamel.com/" target="_blank">Sleeping Camel in Bamako</a> I'd asked him if he'd seen Oleg, the Russian biker, he wasn't sure if Oleg had arrived. By the time I got to Kita, I was hungry and exhausted it had been a long but relatively straightforward road. Unfortunately it was after 2pm when I reached Kita so after stopping at a maquis, I discovered there wasn't anything left to eat. I had a drink and got back on the road. By the time we reached Kati on the edge of Bamako, Franki's radio speakers seemed to be exhausted; suddenly only one speaker was working. Kati was also an area the Malian branch of AQIM had carried out an attack a few weeks earlier. I wanted to get on into Bamako so carried on regardless getting fuzzy sounds out of the remaining one!</div>
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Driving down the hairpin bends from Kati into Bamako I went past a police post. Suddenly I heard a whistle and had to pull up. The young police officer wasn't amused he had to chase after me down the hill but I refused to reverse Franki in the onslaught of traffic that was descending. He realised that I'd just crossed the border earlier that day so let me go, I wasn't amused, I needed to be at Phil's by nightfall.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kita outside the maquis</td></tr>
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Finally I got into central Bamako 567km completed but I had to contend with the jakartas (49cc scooters) which were abundant in the traffic and it was dangerous negotiating a path around them. Whilst in the midst of all this traffic at dusk, Phil called me to find out where I was, I couldn't exactly tell him but he was happy I was somewhere in town. I managed to find my way to the bridge based on old knowledge of the city and drove over it unsure where exactly the Sleeping Camel was, but knowing it was close to the River Niger. At the lights I turned left into a road that was heavily guarded. Eventually I found myself outside the unmarked gates and called Phil declaring that I thought I was on his doorstep. Sure enough I was, I drove in, Franki took out one of his young trees with her roofrack but I parked squarely against the wall. Jumping out I got a massive welcome from Phil and Oleg, the Russian biker who indeed had made it to Bamako for his Nigerian visa! I was imagining that Christophe would have been annoyed that I'd made it so quickly, he could have come with me and flown home from Bamako!</div>
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It was a long night, between catching up with Phil, Oleg's travels and Jeff, an aviation consultant from the Netherlands before I finally found my bed in the back of Franki again!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mugshot of the famous Phil, aka Sleeping Camel partner!</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-65988821419177179522017-05-07T14:21:00.000+02:002017-05-08T11:08:26.103+02:00Bumping east!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was quick and easy to pack up after a night on the banks of the River Saloum on the eastern edge of Kaolack. We got back on the main road heading east, Christophe was still coming with me but unsure where he would turn back, but this was sadly his final day. I had heard from Oleg, the Russian biker who was sending google map locations via WhatsApp as to where he had been camping, he was probably 250km ahead of us! I had 511km to complete to enable me to stop in Kedougou for the evening, we stopped a few kilometres down the road in Birkelane for breakfast next to the Mairie (town hall). Continuing on, we came across a bus that had recently crashed, it was on it's side, burnt out and still smouldering, another reason I don't travel at night! The following village two large trucks had crashed head on, we both thought of Pietr and Marius who were reliant on truck drivers to give them a lift, luckily they weren't in this smash! The road was in a good state of repair, the vehicles were often not so safe! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another coffee break</td></tr>
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We continued on, Christophe was debating whether to stay in Tambacounda, which is a large town and gateway to the Niokolo Koba National Park. A small minibus full of toubab tourists kept overtaking us, we were surprised they didn't seem to stop to show the tourists the sights en route. Eventually we got to Tambacounda and refuelled on the eastern edge of town having tried to find somewhere for lunch. Christophe still wanted to continue, so I suggested we get to Wassadougou and have lunch, about 60km further on, I'd stayed here years ago on my way back from Guinea and the Fongolimbi border crossing with a Spanish man who owned a campement. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really into baobab country</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOGFkbUbRNFTHSDUuVeBzh1T8LZ98ntzBIjK_m1xa_fO49sGCzfioFzBURpBiB1LfuGnccv47sgjnsRzh7mBRDDyiTxI70iQ2ZWehvI04E_jWE3x67SFsbt-PzHiJFzZj7Ftb4rPJVmcs/s1600/P_20161228_113711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOGFkbUbRNFTHSDUuVeBzh1T8LZ98ntzBIjK_m1xa_fO49sGCzfioFzBURpBiB1LfuGnccv47sgjnsRzh7mBRDDyiTxI70iQ2ZWehvI04E_jWE3x67SFsbt-PzHiJFzZj7Ftb4rPJVmcs/s640/P_20161228_113711.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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We entered Wassadougou at speed and almost had a nasty meeting with the bridge which shocked us both with Christophe at the wheel. Having crossed the bridge I knew we'd gone too far, so we turned around to find Francisco's campement just off the main road. We spoke to a man walking out of the road that led to Francisco's place, he confirmed that it had been closed for a few years. We drove back into the village and followed the signs to Campement Hotel Wassadou which was a few kilometres through the bush, to the most stunning site on the banks of the Gambia River.</div>
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A group of German tourists had just arrived and were settling in. We went into the restaurant to be told there wasn't anything to eat, they had only catered for this group! We ordered a drink and were given a bowl full of nuts, this was the end of the road for Christophe, he had decided to get transport back towards Dakar from the village. It was a sombre half hour talking about my drive to Kedougou and his accommodation options in Tambacounda where he finally spent the night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views from Campement Hotel Wassadou</td></tr>
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We got back to the village and I noticed a minibus loading, calling out to the driver to ask if there was a spare seat, Christophe was suddenly dispatched. It was a quick, brutal and difficult goodbye but probably better that way, wished each other luck, gave each other a big hug whilst they loaded his bag and he got on. I'll admit to having a few tears to see him go, he had truly been the most amazing traveller and we had completed thousands of kilometres together on brilliant terms. We're still in touch by phone and both wanting to do the trip again!</div>
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Solo ... I started Franki, pulled myself together and started to drive out of Wassadougou. I got 300m and was stopped by a young police officer, I couldn't believe it. He was rather unfriendly and kept insisting I get out of Franki which I refused to do, the doors were locked and I asked him what he wanted. Eventually it transpired that the man we had asked about Francisco and his campement was owed money by Francisco, the two of them decided I was bound to pay the man. I was obviously a friend of Francisco and should settle the financial matter. I wasn't having any of it, I made it clear I had met Francisco whilst hitchhiking from Kedougou towards Dakar, he had offered me a lift then a room at his campement years ago. I had no other contact with him, the argument continued for 30 minutes or so, I was hoping Christophe had maybe seen me parked on the side of the road with the policeman but he had long gone! Eventually I was allowed to continue onto Kedougou 173km away. It was already after 2pm and I wanted to be there by dark, little did I know what I was about to encounter!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christophe's transport west</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nids d'Elephants ... the most horrendous piece of road for 90km, this was a relatively good stretch!</td></tr>
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Only 8km from Wassadougou I found roadworks, red dust found its way into everything, this continued for 30km. It was gruelling and I could help but thinking that Christophe had done the right thing to leave me at Wassadougou. I turned the music up, sang along (Christophe used to whistle badly but he hadn't heard my singing which is always badly out of tune) and got on with the job of driving. I entered the Niokolo Koba National Park which is split by this main road, and hoped to see the end soon. Coming across a small two door car that had stopped in the opposite direction with a French lady in her fifties or so and I presume her elderly mother I asked when it would end. She grunted at me and said, it's horrendous, it gets worse. I hoped she was just in a bad mood and this wouldn't be the case. The roadworks finished, I was on tarmac again for all of maybe a kilometre then the potholes started, in French they're called 'nids de poules' or chicken nests. These weren't chicken nests but elephant sized nests and horrendous, I was averaging 10kph it was taking all my concentration to drive Franki through the best bits of the road. The worrying part was that there was very little traffic, for an hour or so I didn't come across any traffic at all. The only signs of life I saw were a few warthogs and some policemen happily asleep under a tree midway through the park. Putting a possible breakdown situation to the back of my head, I slowly crept forward to Kedougou wondering if I'd make it by dusk. I later told my friend Phil in Bamako about this stretch of road, he took it a few weeks later <a href="http://philintheblank.net/2017/03/16/the-great-jakarta-tour-of-far-west-africa-part-1-bamako-to-dakar/" target="_blank">on a jakarta scooter and also suffered!</a><br />
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120km later, I made it to Mako and tarmac. I was so happy, so filthy, thirsty and very hungry. I decided to press onto Kedougou anyway as it was only 43km away and I was worried the road would change again. It didn't, it was a smooth ride! On the edge of Mako I noticed a lot of small boys, between maybe 8 and 15 years old all covered in mud. I'd heard that this region has now turned into a mining goldfield with a lot of illegal and dangerous mines, the boys were obviously being exploited in the mines. Walking along the side of the road, ragged clothes, barefoot and very muddy, life can't have been easy for them. I crossed the Gambia River and pushed Franki eastbound.</div>
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Pulling into Kedougou, 512km from leaving Kaolack that morning I was elated to have made it. I drove around looking for somewhere to stay, I couldn't find the auberge I'd stayed in years ago. Due to the mining activity, hotels were pricey, so I drove off to the 5* hotel in town, Relais de Kedougou and had a chat with the manager. Negotiating him down from 5,000CFA, he agreed I could use a shower and stay in Franki in their car park for 2,000CFA or 3€. The shower was pure bliss, the red earth was washed out of my hair, my ears and I scrubbed my very red face ... I felt normal once more. I discovered the minibus that Christophe and I had seen earlier that day, it had been full of Spanish tourists who were staying at the hotel. Keeping to my agreement with the manager, I entered their restaurant, chose a table overlooking the river and thoroughly enjoyed a good meal.</div>
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It was Thursday 28th December, I was still on target to keep my promise to friends in Yamoussoukro, to spend New Years Eve with them ... but would I make it?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gambia River crossing at Mako</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River Gambia at Kedougou, from Relais de Kedougou</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-10861697898170452062017-05-03T00:01:00.000+02:002017-05-03T00:02:26.597+02:00Picking up Poles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around Ouakam, Dakar</td></tr>
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We left our auberge, ViaVia, by 8am wanting to beat the rush hour traffic along the Corniche, it was surprisingly quiet but then it was 27th December and Dakar hadn't got back to work yet! Headed directly to the Malian Embassy in Fann just a few kilometres away and waited for the gate to open. On arrival at the Embassy we came across Marius and Pietr, two young Poles who had slept on the pavement outside the Embassy. They spoke broken English and absolutely no French and had been hitchhiking south after spending a few months in France earning cash for the trip. The two of them had a school sized backpack each and we entered the Embassy together, I translated the form for them. I was promised my visa for 2pm so I headed off in search of Christophe outside whilst hearing the Poles might have to wait 48h!</div>
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As usual we went off in search of coffee, drove into the back streets of Ouakam and sat under a tree demolishing a few cups of coffee. We then went up to the airport, so I could go and catch up with my 'Batswanan sister' who works at an aviation organisation next to it & Christophe could go and buy a ticket home. The mere sight of Franki arriving into the aviation organisation's car park sent one of their guards running to me explaining that 'toubabs' couldn't just park here to visit the airport. He then realised I had many friends in the offices and calmed down somewhat! A wonderful but short catch-up, Christophe took a little longer being sent around in circles by airport security to be able to buy a ticket ... eventually we headed back to Ouakam for a light lunch in another Lebanese restaurant.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marius and Pietr, Poles found camping outside the Malian Embassy</td></tr>
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It transpired that Marius and Pietr had managed to persuade the consular officials to issue them visas that day. They then asked me for a lift to Bamako, Christophe wasn't sure about them, neither was I, but we offered to get them out of Dakar so they could find transport further east. Once on the road just after 2pm we heard their story. It was more than a little shocking, having met someone in France from Mopti, Mali; they decided to go and visit his town, on a whim it seems! They hitchhiked south and at Nouakchott headed east along the Route de l'Espoir, without visas for Mali. They exited Mauritania and headed towards the Malian border near Nema. The Malians refused entry, apparently they tried all they could but were refused, which meant returning to Nouakchott. <br />
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Arriving back at the Mauritanian border, the Mauritanians refused to let them back in as their single entry visa had now expired. They were stuck in no-mans-land! Eventually someone in the military gave them a lift back to Nouakchott and on arrival asked them to pay for the fuel, they offered 10€ each (2.5 day journey!), which apparently didn't go down too well! They were put on a bus for Rosso, the border with Senegal and told not to return but to leave Mauritania as quickly as possible. </div>
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After hearing this story we asked a few questions, it appears they hadn't got any vaccination, no malarial treatment as they didn't realise mosquitoes can kill! They were very worried about AQIM asking countless times if Mali was in fact safe?! I explained the basics to them saying that the south 'should' be safe but you never know, their reply was 'we don't have any money so they won't want us', unfortunately a little more than naive. Their request to join me as far as Bamako I shelved, they were going to become a risk to me possibly and the worry of one of them getting sick and feeling responsible was too much! I was going to Bamako alone!<br />
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I would be very keen to hear if anyone other travellers have come across these two ... hoping they got home safely!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another shot of the expensive new Dakar autoroute out to the new airport</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">En route for Fatick after the end of the autoroute at Saly, a haven for French package holidays</td></tr>
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We all jumped out at Saly, a town I loathe, it used to be full of French tourists on package holidays, not so much these days. Again we wanted coffee and the boys who were living on milk and bread three times a day wanted bananas. They wandered off to find some then raced back to ask me to help, the 10 or so bananas were pricey. The lady had seen them coming and asked for 5€, I talked to her but she wasn't budging, she was going to get money out of these 3 toubabs ... we politely declined and walked away. I could see these two were going to have a hard time of it, they had no idea how to negotiate and in Senegal like much of West Africa, negotiation is key to survival!</div>
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A few kilometres further on we decided to drop them in Fatick, we knew that they were far enough east to find a lift and it was a small enough town to probably find some safe accommodation. We pressed on hoping to find somewhere to stay at Kaolack 195km from Dakar, it was Christophe's final night with Franki and I.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel Adjana, Kaolack - a little out of our budget</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Stunning hotel but lacked atmosphere!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We pulled into Hotel Adjana, following the signs. The driveway was very smart and as we got closer (and told to park correctly, not at an angle) we realised we were way out of our league. We had a look around, checked out the pool area and ordered a drink, however they weren't keen to serve us, were we looking a little tatty for them? They didn't seem to have many, if any, clients, the atmosphere was very sombre so we were surprised that we couldn't sit an enjoy a drink by the pool. We headed back into town at dusk to find a small Lebanese owned bar on the main street, sat down to have a good look over the menu, it unfortunately wasn't up to much. Christophe decided to go and have a look around town, after 30minutes or so he returned with a bag of goods as well as Pietr and Marius who had found Franki parked on the pavement outside. They had decided to keep going despite our warnings about travelling when it's dark!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually we left the bar and headed for the bus station, Christophe had found some great street food there. A lovely lady served us some rice and beef in mafe (peanut) sauce. We were surrounded by Talibes, young boys who are at a Madrasa, a Koranic school run by a Marabout who are religious teachers. These boys are sent into the streets to beg for sugar, rice and money, I've seen them on every trip to Senegal, their situation seems to get worse, not better! The youngest one was quite friendly, we tried to talk to him about his situation at the Madrasa. Although he spoke mainly Wolof with bits of French we had help from our lady at the food stall who helped out with translating. The older boys soon arrived and got angry with him for talking about his life to toubabs. This exploitation is a phenomenon that is found across a lot of Senegal in particular, including Dakar; and the abuse can be extreme with a lot of young boys suffering in silence away from their families whilst at the Madrasa.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supper at the bus station in Kaolack</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A young Talibe</td></tr>
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Finishing supper, Christophe had already spotted somewhere to sleep. The Saloum river had wide flat banks, we drove about 2km out of town and about 200m from the main road there were quite a few houses that had the exterior walls built. We backed Franki up to about 5metres from a wall and Christophe hung his hammock attaching it to the steel reinforcement of the wall and Franki's ladder at the other end. We went foraging for wood, found an enormous branch of thorns which we dragged across and lit it. This soon attracted attention as a car from the neighbouring village probably just over a kilometre away decided to come and investigate. It got to within 500m of us and turned around, obviously deciding we weren't causing too much trouble; again we entered this great bushcamp location on <a href="http://www.ioverlander.com/" target="_blank">iOverlander</a>! Whilst he had gone shopping in town, Christophe had found a wine shop of some description with a lovely bottle of red, a French Merlot. We sat talking for hours drinking wine, absolute silence around us and the sky ablazen with stars, eventually I retired to my bed inside Franki and Christophe to his hammock. It had been an amazing trip with a complete stranger who had been a star; tomorrow I would be driving solo!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best camp site ever, bushcamping on the banks of the River Saloum</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-64201456853303460602017-05-02T17:38:00.001+02:002017-05-02T17:38:03.984+02:00President's Public Holiday<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Whilst I spent a comfortable night sleeping in Franki, Christophe decided he wanted to use his hammock. We both had a good night's sleep after the trials of getting over the border. Zebrabar had good clean shower facilities but with cold water, the outside temperature wasn't all at warm at 0630 it made for a very chilly shower!</div>
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Coffee made and drunk, we were ready to depart. Christophe got behind the wheel but Franki had managed to get her front tyres in some deep sand, probably due to parking in the dark! Oleg the Russian biker, a Czech overlander and some others came to our rescue and pushed her out of the sand, we were off. Aiming to be in Dakar as quickly as possible so that I could apply for a Malian visa hopefully in the same day. Sadly Christophe had decided that we wouldn't make Bamako in time, he needed to return to France for his business in the early New Year and started looking for flights from Dakar to Marseille.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a quick coffee to start the day off at Zebrabar, then en route for Dakar if we can get out of the sand!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zebrabar's restaurant and bar area</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dmTClMPTcEnYhKbUIyIlT2rlvazp-s4xVmHNWcETmcEtdBUUrAzlDFY8Hr27N83awkPHh3nt9r_UBpYeoSuBNx-JUr_yT8ydM6bMAVzspLuR7ZyyTCIriSO5UEe3vV-UuE4Nd2kSU4nL/s640/P_20161226_082952.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we're off, Dakar bound!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mouit</td></tr>
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We rejoined the main road a few kilometres from Mouit, a good surfaced road that was reasonably fast apart from the sleeping policemen on the edge of towns. After an hour we stopped again to have another coffee from a roadside table. The traffic was heavy the whole way to Dakar until we got on the new autoroute. We were shocked by the price of the tolls on the autoroute of which there were many, every few kilometres!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duck transport!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Senegal's expensive new autoroute for the new airport</td></tr>
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Finally we got into central Dakar, 243km later, I messed up on directing Christophe to Fann, a suburb on the Corniche where the Malian Embassy was located, we got off the autoroute too far into town. We ended up in Plateau, the CBD and had to get out of some crazy traffic to join the Corniche and head up the other side of the peninsula, it was lunchtime so the Embassy would be closed. Ending up in Mamelles another suburb, where I knew of a few places for lunch, we found a Lebanese restaurant with a very friendly Lebanese owner who changed money for us. Unfortunately he was also the bearer of bad news, today, 26th December 2016 was a public holiday! The President had decreed the night before that it should be a holiday as the Christians in Senegal didn't get a holiday for Christmas as it fell on a Sunday. We were NOT impressed with this. Finishing lunch we decided to return to Fann and the Embassy to see if they were closed; they were! Our only option was to chill out for the rest of the day and unfortunately find accomodation for the night, it gave me a chance to show Christophe some of the sights of Dakar too. Over the last 12 years or so that I've known the city, each time I return it has grown, been modernised and upgraded it's roads, not to mention the outrageously expensive statue that sits on a hill near Ouakam.<br />
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I decided that we should go and try ViaVia Auberge in Yoff, somewhere I had stayed before several years ago on my return from Guinea Conakry. Christophe went in to see if they had room, luckily they did, we could also park Franki down a side street. This meant taking the bikes and wheelchair off the roof and finding room in Franki to store them or they would vanish overnight despite a sturdy chain and padlock. Christophe was amazing at reorganising the little space we had in the back and we got it all in. Our work for the day now over, we decided to head down to the beach and chill out at a little bar. On our way back to ViaVia we found some wonderful street food and sat enjoying the meal watching the world and his wife wander past us, before heading back to the auberge to sleep.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoff, Dakar</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ViaVia Auberge, Yoff</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach at Yoff</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-92203654904969669842017-05-01T11:48:00.001+02:002017-05-01T14:24:33.346+02:00Long Christmas Day with border troubles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Pulling out of Nouakchott in the early hours, we got a good start. Hardly any traffic on the roads, we took a while to get out of the sprawling southern suburbs of the city with a quick stop for a coffee and omlette. The N2 heading south wasn't in good shape, there were potholes all over and parts of the road vanished leaving us to drive along the side, our first bad road since leaving home. We continued on with crazy minibus drivers racing down to the Senegalese border at Rosso, overtaking us at the most inopportune moments! Apart from that there were sand dunes, camels and the odd beat up car to contend with; we had both forgotten it was Christmas day until about midday!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National road N2 in the centre of Tiguent heading south towards Rosso & Senegal, first real settlement after Nouakchott</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small Nomadic settlements dotted all over</td></tr>
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We finally found our turning to the right, we knew it existed and would take us to Keur Macene but every small right road we found we wondered whether to take it. Finally there was a fairly major turning with a concrete post (presumably for the police) with quite a few touts around who flagged us down. They wanted to sell us ECOWAS insurance, the 'brown card' for Senegal and the rest of West Africa, we politely declined and headed west on an impeccably surfaced road. Very straight, smooth just a few donkeys to contend with. Franki's fuel gauge was getting rather low, so we tried to find somewhere to pull up and refuel her from the barrel in the back. The landscape was so barren, there wasn't any shelter or windbreak to get behind the wind that was blowing the fuel out of the funnel. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desert refuelling stop</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christophe emptying the barrel, Franki was full again!</td></tr>
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Finally we got to Keur Macene, Christophe went off to find lunchtime food and returned with a few bananas and bread. We continued on, heading west on rough roads that had been graded, either at 15kph or 60kph it was fine, certainly better at 60kph as we entered the Parc National de Diawling where suddenly wildlife was abound in the form of birds and warthogs. We were on the grated road that ran through the park but noticed Chinese involvement in the park. We came across warthogs that seemingly weren't too scared of a vehicle then we were flagged down by Jah. He was a park ranger and wanted a lift 12km away to the headquarters of the park. He gave us a brilliant explanation of the park, the seasons and what could be found in the park. We had already seen flamingoes and all matter of wildlife, but it was a birdwatchers paradise.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jah, a park ranger we picked up</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrObxOp47HYcQKdnG_AgKk1Y5KwT-fpvg2LHO5Q9QBqsKvJSaDwkwi3Pm5hC846rdq3WSSWb3LVxDk3NXWvsJy25jMzv5Xxf97qjgSABYKdQeEXSelTac0r1jwMg3r0nHjs-pkNUrqOFaN/s640/P_20161225_135654.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charged 2,000 UM, but tried to get 3,000UM for taking Jah to the HQ of the park! But we were glad he had been with us!<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having dropped off Jah we only had a few kilometres or so to get to the border at Diama. We went through Mauritanian immigration and customs fairly simply, however we found that we had to pay to park Franki at the border which intensely annoyed us! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Getting to the Senegalese border was easy, across the bridge and we were there! Passports stamped with a suggestion of money which we totally ignored. Next was customs ... </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Customs was another matter, we knew we could get a 48h transit that could be renewed for up to two weeks in Dakar, we only needed 4 days or so to transit Senegal. But immediately they wanted 250€ which we weren't prepared to pass over. Over 5 hours, we even invited the head of customs to join us for coffee. He came to the back of Franki, sniffed at our camping gas and kettle and walked off again, I'm someone that NEVER pays any official without an official receipt. It was Christmas Day but there was a guy in St Louis that would get us over the border with an official receipt, it was for 250€. Having explored all avenues to get out of paying this knowing we weren't keen on parting with the cash, I've never paid before and I certainly wasn't keen paying now, but apparently the NGO donations were also susceptible and customs were getting sniffy about those too having inspected the back of Franki, we were at a dead end alley! I managed to get a Senegalese SIM card and rang a few aviation friends in Dakar and just south of St Louis, all disappointed that we were stuck!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We waited a few hours for this man to show up, we were wondering if he would show up at all, St Louis is under an hour away. Watching a lot of foot passengers passing us to board a boat that apparently was going to Bamako and trying to help out an American-Mauritanian family who spoke very little French. Eventually he arrived, just as Charlie arrived from Mauritania with his family, yet again we were amazed he was risking this trip. However, he wasn't impressed there was more to pay, his van was also over the 8 year age limit. Having paid we were free to go, we left Charlie in the hands of the 'monster' customs official and hit the road, 5 hours after arriving at the border!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Again we ended up driving in the dark, amazingly I managed to remember the way to Mouit, where the overlanders campsite, Zebrabar, is located on the coast near my friend's house. I'm not sure if Christophe was convinced by my directions but when we got to the village we were thrilled. Finally pulling into Zebrabar, we parked Franki under the first tree and got out all our food, chorizo, ham and chocolate from Spain, avocadoes and tangerines from Morocco, bread and 'vache qui rit' cheese from Mauritania ... ordering a beer, we toasted ourselves on Christmas Day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We also met Oleg, the Russian biker who was very interested in our border troubles! He hadn't had any bother! Charlie and family were nowhere to be seen, we wondered what had happened to them!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5fTmoKujjJ22fuJ_hEkAbE1ZXQb9R1tGHsYeEZGG57qIksSHJsx3sYfrivwYgJf5s_r4A-g2oLNbom4NVBHUCJhjLVMbb2hkn5crkmw9QJwePfQW7TC7qvkgU5-DoSfPfhi6wY_eQ-TM/s1600/P_20161225_224026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5fTmoKujjJ22fuJ_hEkAbE1ZXQb9R1tGHsYeEZGG57qIksSHJsx3sYfrivwYgJf5s_r4A-g2oLNbom4NVBHUCJhjLVMbb2hkn5crkmw9QJwePfQW7TC7qvkgU5-DoSfPfhi6wY_eQ-TM/s640/P_20161225_224026.jpg" /></span> </a> </div>
Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-83872828125778409152017-04-29T12:55:00.000+02:002017-04-29T13:14:13.349+02:00Southerly or Easterly Decisions<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqN6RBIolVcXTBTEoFX_yRzQgK_IWsQt-CCGD1q5Vb2luqbHwPVbW1iWszE3z1D4j24aQ8uPR9oH7q-dZ3oxBCNwVF47j93uFPbvFz91D9Wkf4Bl0Jov5NPHqGWSHdodqHKjwvS54Bblzl/s640/P_20161224_085622.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cold but comfortable, in a bungalow with views to the sea at Camping Terjit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqN6RBIolVcXTBTEoFX_yRzQgK_IWsQt-CCGD1q5Vb2luqbHwPVbW1iWszE3z1D4j24aQ8uPR9oH7q-dZ3oxBCNwVF47j93uFPbvFz91D9Wkf4Bl0Jov5NPHqGWSHdodqHKjwvS54Bblzl/s1600/P_20161224_085622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlEIsNrA3_WofXsQeGbuwGVD_HbZFSHrZNI5BskV7bMCuB98grCacjEYubzHBm3CW2ZjP0FgqRqtT6lUeqH-2UhqeUXwkusvb_ibUxAa8pfBovGaZfoMEYq6fKfky3gBhY9RzlLf6DWHB/s640/P_20161224_092601.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beside the Atlantic ocean at Camping Terjit, just north of the Port de Peche with all the fishing boats back</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlEIsNrA3_WofXsQeGbuwGVD_HbZFSHrZNI5BskV7bMCuB98grCacjEYubzHBm3CW2ZjP0FgqRqtT6lUeqH-2UhqeUXwkusvb_ibUxAa8pfBovGaZfoMEYq6fKfky3gBhY9RzlLf6DWHB/s1600/P_20161224_092601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtSt21CnBihU43bgwibxkS2FUstEeUcbJDvn_H32zJbBNkkqRY2nBgBBK77izySlSqRP4Lk-2Z08GKEun0HUSspJb2am_utnnQYdR7_k4Pf6MSJOWk2MY21pStG8DSXIlQxpDQXaOm7CD/s640/P_20161224_092610.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping Terjit, excellent food prepared by Ivorians<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We woke up deciding to have a day off from driving so I could catch up with my former bosses from Civil Aviation and we could decide what to do next. Christophe had already made up his mind to continue with me, as far as Bamako hopefully. We had slept reasonably well in a bungalow at Camping Terjit but it was cold outside. The shower fortunately had hot water but the plumbing was something else, the base of the shower was almost two feet above floor level so getting into it was interesting, getting out whilst wet on tiles was just dangerous!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Setting off into town, we headed for Auberge Sahara knowing we could probably get advice from people there about the Route de l'Espoir. It's the road that heads east out of Nouakchott, a road I'd never been on but heard lots about, essentially it was the quickest way to Bamako; we knew Ahmed our Ivorian friend from the border was heading that way too. We also needed to get Malian visas but it was 24th December and therefore the embassy was closed despite several phone calls to consular officials. However everyone at Auberge Sahara told us that crossing into Mali via Ayoun al Atrous/Nema and this route was off limits in reality, it could be done but could also be dangerous with AQIM in the region. Christophe was still keen to go, I wasn't keen on dealing with Senegalese officials which was our other choice, to head south. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">My former colleagues joined us at Auberge Sahara, we all sat around the table for a while drinking mint tea and chatting with a French guy staying there. Both of my colleagues were vehemently against the idea of us going east. We were then invited for lunch at a colleagues house and drove off in their two cars whilst leaving Franki on the side of the road, the first time we had been parted from Franki!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suburbian street view</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLt1hxUrJxVFMZcmHzGmxYAiwfLU1q7NVAYsgGygvDSjhZlhbg8mXFg2sAH2QBEpCyP-d3LujudQcdRripRgzOvO0Ivc3wsxBvR0dSnTvXn-5KX8YbCH5vqrFQTc49qri_V3T7qjzwI7tb/s1600/P_20161224_100309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUvLBD-TFHWCwX6RyYHsSjkvxE31LHVnIKmtMhGmU5npWLSUVJCFaGKiXIlMD4iHf-c4RPsE54XEjsNB3ML_trT_1tUnObO1rCUssf4Sp408lf1Jp20kL5oYY_0FgLvw6VnOqEl38I8p7/s640/P_20161224_101220.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derby NHS screening outside Auberge Sahara?!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We drove across town separately in the two cars, my more senior colleague relayed recent updates of the aviation industry in Mauritania. Finally we arrived at an extended family member's home and I was taken up the street to have my hands and feet henna'd, a present from him. Christophe went off with my other colleague whilst I spent over an hour just getting my hands done, wondering if this will vanish by the time I return to work!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Arriving at my former boss's own home, the four of us sat chatting for some time then served a fantastic lunch of lamb, bread and various side dishes, Mauritanian style. They were also unhappy we had spent the night at Camping Terjit saying it wasn't the ideal place to stay due to security. We hadn't been at all worried about staying there but I was used to this hospitality of being safe in their country; it was agreed that they would pay for us to stay elsewhere for the night.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDJ4-b2Pcds3VxVB0A-Gqnyi8ZNFCwubpZWrl-rTlulZ_7l655UsBkdh7f94XciebuCbYp84in2hA_QshUJxlyl3BaFLoif_NpeC_nECRUls_MCzOIn7raJB0NHLXGILb7YUnPw1hLZHo/s1600/P_20161224_134433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDJ4-b2Pcds3VxVB0A-Gqnyi8ZNFCwubpZWrl-rTlulZ_7l655UsBkdh7f94XciebuCbYp84in2hA_QshUJxlyl3BaFLoif_NpeC_nECRUls_MCzOIn7raJB0NHLXGILb7YUnPw1hLZHo/s640/P_20161224_134433.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR85JoXgzVeDNzp8MSuEv_WwoHTYpeKS3rIeX6XHt4EeCGud14Y2xGKhu-jaV22tkl1cJ-qkNB1kp6-00X7VBU642CIM1dMkUNKHJUeiCU-8GRb9GQXhE_GHSMYsdluMPHC_150l3ay79f/s640/P_20161224_182750.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful henna with scruffy nails</td></tr>
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<br />
We were taken back to Franki outside Auberge Sahara and told to wait for a call. We noticed a Chinese registered vehicle, we presumed overlanders judging by the stickers all over it, but never saw it again. Opposite Auberge Sahara was a cafe where we went and had some more coffee and waited ... for hours, to hear of where we would be staying for the night. As it was getting dark, with cars screeching up and down the busy road in front of us, mostly boy racers; Christophe suddenly exclaimed 'there's Charlie' ... sure enough their little UK registered van had just driven past us. So they had decided to continue south, we were shocked! Expecting them to turn around as Franki was clear for everyone to see on the side of the road, we waited but they had obviously continued on into town.<br />
<div>
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<div>
Eventually my former boss arrived and called me to his car. He had booked us an apartment next to Auberge Sahara, we were forever grateful, it was perfect for us and in retrospect similarly priced to Camping Terjit. Christophe took the sumptious sofa in the sitting room, I got the bedroom. We had a massive bathroom with hot water and a small kitchen, all we needed for our final night in Nouakchott. We were still undecided as to which route to take, it had been the only topic of conversation between us all day.</div>
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<div>
Just before midnight, I was asleep but got a phone call, to be told that a Franco-Swiss woman had been kidnapped in Gao, Mali. If we went via Route de l'Espoir, he would ensure the military turn us around ... the decision had been made for us, Christophe was particularly unhappy as he had no real desire to ever visit Senegal! Tomorrow was Christmas Day ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR85JoXgzVeDNzp8MSuEv_WwoHTYpeKS3rIeX6XHt4EeCGud14Y2xGKhu-jaV22tkl1cJ-qkNB1kp6-00X7VBU642CIM1dMkUNKHJUeiCU-8GRb9GQXhE_GHSMYsdluMPHC_150l3ay79f/s1600/P_20161224_182750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35hzrBUMztbJRvcsebnaHgoXGrLMg9T-BiI9yfbV47vQeIpkYhknAoMebN84UcHRHQ5aCb82EoFJPHPIPwXefHBY9l0rPwaT8Stp4XNlCtj2fFjTcWv44FkOcApv4q5JLJnpKCri4VzT9/s640/P_20161224_201548.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chinese overlanders?</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35hzrBUMztbJRvcsebnaHgoXGrLMg9T-BiI9yfbV47vQeIpkYhknAoMebN84UcHRHQ5aCb82EoFJPHPIPwXefHBY9l0rPwaT8Stp4XNlCtj2fFjTcWv44FkOcApv4q5JLJnpKCri4VzT9/s1600/P_20161224_201548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning apartment next to Auberge Sahara for the night</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-80757641232448958242017-04-28T23:03:00.001+02:002017-04-29T12:20:17.365+02:00Border Business<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="widows: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;">Setting
off around 730am, we headed for the border, refreshed after a good
night's sleep and lukewarm shower in Bir Gandouz. Our remaining
stale bread was thrown to the faithful guard dogs as we pulled out.
We got to the border at around 8.20am in time for the 9am
opening on the Moroccan side, enough time to refuel Franki and fill
the 209L barrel I'd brought along for cheap fuel (totally illegal but
it wasn't totally full by any means, we just used the last of our
dirhams). Whilst at the pumps, we had a guy behind us who
mentioned he had seen us at Tanger Med Port, listening to him I
immediately asked if he was Ivorian. Christophe's mouth was
gaping that I'd picked up on his accent, Ahmed was from Odienne and
immediately took to us. We all went off in search of a coffee
whilst leaving the vehicles in the queue to cross into Mauritania. </span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Secondary queue for trucks that we had to get past before getting to the service station</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oAkmtMFN3LYuzKSOhiQRXA3C7vmDjr_RRqVGT1PslqKTjKfHnCvY-iJfX1JAKG5qwLm2b33OzkmVJd0INtgF4qZB-e0VQNIFqQvcZBpDKEMcQzjc-fKXXB3tVk9eyJwmO46r2pS96Npo/s1600/P_20161223_083402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki ready waiting to go to Mauritania</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqjW5Kz8S7YXJ956st-sPVmYQyI49bbaFrplsHeXAnbPQdUDS_CXkLUjt4BAlYOzZG3p3aA9fx4dOmAqwzrNOvhhz68728868qFflklHpSjfHBW5OE1fqqxi3uljqeApT4x27qf3L9P7M/s1600/P_20161223_091454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTgGx2miCv4-4BiP6WMXE3b3QteaRbaX2gTi3mIl3FerMVTSRuFCHrauMPweXK0X8k67Jt8rObDSvCLS_Bwjd2al25ic4A4AAKcbIgLx8Smo3_enSxGwyNa4m48w-rLSziAKJvIq0Lnrp/s640/P_20161223_091901.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the gates to open at 9am when there was a massive onslaught of everyone trying to drive through first!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="widows: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;">The
Moroccan side of the border was a pain. We were again singled
out for the scanner, so it took longer as we waited for a truck to go
through it in front of us. The customs guys were very polite
and friendly but it didn't make our wait or paperwork any shorter.
Going from one office to another, the scanner cleared us for
any dodgy material on board, we were allowed to leave, or so we
thought. Suddenly there was yet another office to go and get
paperwork stamped, some German Swiss guys were in front of me and
then some Senegalese yet again tried to jump in front. It was
the first rain we had had since arriving on the continent and I took
shelter in a doorway. The customs officials in the final office
soon sorted out the Senegalese and said I should have gone to the
front of the queue anyway as I'm a woman! All very sweet, but
still didn't stop me being soaked through!</span></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;">Finally
we headed south! The border has changed, the 3kms or so of
'No-mans land' was clean, no more wrecked vehicles. This is
also where the land mines are, the first kilometre or so was brand
new tarmac, I was amazed by the change and upgrade since last
crossing. Then we went onto rock, the sand had virtually
vanished, it was bare rock but the buzzing of a helicopter we heard
earlier became very significant. As the only vehicle passing
through at the time (others were ahead of us & behind us by
several minutes) we discovered that the Polisario were 200m from the
Moroccan army, all with guns raised, a few UN vehicles were on a hill
and their helicopter overhead. We had to drive between the
front lines ... all a little spooky, Christophe wanted a photo; I
decided it wasn't the best idea in the circumstances!</span></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;">Mauritania
in sight, we got to the border control, immediately a gendarme tried
to palm me off with a fixer. I told the fixer I really didn't
need him and I'd do it myself. I had my paperwork from the
Mauritanian government department that I used to consult for, which
suddenly turned me into someone the gendarme wanted to look after.
He took Christophe and I through all the stages, told the
customs agent not too look too deeply into the back of Franki (he
tapped my fuel barrel but grinned!). We were through in under
10minutes, including sorting out the expensive biometric visa,
complete with photos and fingerprints. Just a SIM card to buy and the Mauritanian
vehicle insurance to negotiate, we were able to continue on our
way! </span></div>
<div class="western">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="widows: 1;">
<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;">The
rain continued anew and unabated, we drove on south to the crossroads
for Nouabidhou and Nouakchott just seeing the last wagons of iron ore
train from Zouerat. I'd ridden on this train, believed to be
the longest in the world at about 3km, over ten years ago as far as
Choum.</span>
</span></div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="widows: 1;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTgGx2miCv4-4BiP6WMXE3b3QteaRbaX2gTi3mIl3FerMVTSRuFCHrauMPweXK0X8k67Jt8rObDSvCLS_Bwjd2al25ic4A4AAKcbIgLx8Smo3_enSxGwyNa4m48w-rLSziAKJvIq0Lnrp/s1600/P_20161223_091901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8XpLb5To_hLNjjCyAEN78kgD78wQU517VpqiWWQC8ETFsbVvr2sOQ3zg8zk1ansN4W3Zozh4otcbUQJDGd6gL7hLEFtQjKQf4yt2zdejjpqod8l_TnyTr-XjnjpeXGaOtQeak6WKNsjk/s640/P_20161223_122026.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last wagons of the iron ore train from Zouerat to Kosando, the longest in the world at 3km</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8XpLb5To_hLNjjCyAEN78kgD78wQU517VpqiWWQC8ETFsbVvr2sOQ3zg8zk1ansN4W3Zozh4otcbUQJDGd6gL7hLEFtQjKQf4yt2zdejjpqod8l_TnyTr-XjnjpeXGaOtQeak6WKNsjk/s1600/P_20161223_122026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ifnTS2r_r5cOhsOp1gDStRu08ZHh-uEmpppQpUu8UKobnKYSe0UVzYUzTftSBMVdx5lLi31PPhkmXAze0BUMbAYf0ZRdA__PUuScHfjqj1mEu8RgavK8r9aetw6iZEJU5w3IdiH0ayhF/s640/P_20161223_130902.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road south, luckily we had moderate crosswinds, so not too much sand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ifnTS2r_r5cOhsOp1gDStRu08ZHh-uEmpppQpUu8UKobnKYSe0UVzYUzTftSBMVdx5lLi31PPhkmXAze0BUMbAYf0ZRdA__PUuScHfjqj1mEu8RgavK8r9aetw6iZEJU5w3IdiH0ayhF/s1600/P_20161223_130902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVh7Sl-fMY2ZgfATgjCwgdzJrD0spURc90_cBTtEH2hu90EZLO0Lb9kT9vg7-bfXLfLS0vAk4S0kz5tFbiNaX5xqwCGE9MPChBENSMbl2R6dwSPLj2bxzTlExIBAqhtbwPpBmB1aZ_Vo2h/s640/P_20161223_142457.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More sand ...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVh7Sl-fMY2ZgfATgjCwgdzJrD0spURc90_cBTtEH2hu90EZLO0Lb9kT9vg7-bfXLfLS0vAk4S0kz5tFbiNaX5xqwCGE9MPChBENSMbl2R6dwSPLj2bxzTlExIBAqhtbwPpBmB1aZ_Vo2h/s1600/P_20161223_142457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQASLLhBJCVjKjcdGknMtc9V0xOYXk-494mih8SuZT0Ki3IgazKo5CRjRS_nkG0gwmmc1ovpncZ8AwfG0UAmnR5tIyvRy59cjfsc1ZdW4EhhWaGc-k2sElVNdgs02QdCtayWxXMR9tVof4/s640/P_20161223_143457.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impressive military town just north of Nouakchott complete with solar panels for town lightning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQASLLhBJCVjKjcdGknMtc9V0xOYXk-494mih8SuZT0Ki3IgazKo5CRjRS_nkG0gwmmc1ovpncZ8AwfG0UAmnR5tIyvRy59cjfsc1ZdW4EhhWaGc-k2sElVNdgs02QdCtayWxXMR9tVof4/s1600/P_20161223_143457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ2UeL476OoLomtGCqQaQx7bgVdF6_EQlXvDKwLFCLGtV8O7EUhrbGRNwgq3EnBrevtbubfemhzH0FKKgi_AKq54zghrzekyNFrZ7gV2o-Jj7jhvdW12pmcyDQy6ROZ2P_YyRof56bRjA/s640/P_20161223_145035.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dunes had diminshed a lot since my last visit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ2UeL476OoLomtGCqQaQx7bgVdF6_EQlXvDKwLFCLGtV8O7EUhrbGRNwgq3EnBrevtbubfemhzH0FKKgi_AKq54zghrzekyNFrZ7gV2o-Jj7jhvdW12pmcyDQy6ROZ2P_YyRof56bRjA/s1600/P_20161223_145035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE79VXCSOk4F1P5ApiJVBr3EfNU3VA67umc7KPW_CDc8j4wXePh-hDZVCpyVKNIPtFxd1fBfAXAT7XQg9C-J-wAL1TnxY56h1J-rrdOi4ejyuKPk54SNqEV4aO8MaPxxHikkOe3ZkNl_UM/s1600/P_20161223_145038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE79VXCSOk4F1P5ApiJVBr3EfNU3VA67umc7KPW_CDc8j4wXePh-hDZVCpyVKNIPtFxd1fBfAXAT7XQg9C-J-wAL1TnxY56h1J-rrdOi4ejyuKPk54SNqEV4aO8MaPxxHikkOe3ZkNl_UM/s640/P_20161223_145038.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="widows: 1;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "utopia" , "palatino linotype" , "palatino" , serif;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">We
stopped not far south of the border for something to eat and drink at
a small filling station. The road was peaceful, hardly any
traffic, the occasional stop for 'fiches' to hand to the police. It
was an easy day's driving of 535km since Bir Gandouz. On
arrival into Nouakchott we started looking for money, changing on the
black market and somewhere to stay. We initially looked for
Auberge des Nomades, of which I had fond memories but it had been
knocked down and was now a building site. Then we headed off to
Auberge Menata, the price was outrageous, I decided to sleep in
Franki but on inspection Christophe refused to stay there too. He'd
previously stayed at this auberge and wasn't impressed by the new
management. I called my
former bosses to inform them I was back in town, whilst we continued
to look for somewhere to stay. Eventually we went to Camping
Terjit, a great place on the beach with two lovely Ivorian ladies
running the restaurant, yet again their accents gave them away and we
chatted for quite some time! Tomorrow I would know if
Christophe was going to stay with me, he had booked as far as
Nouakchott & I would be sad to see him go!</span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vAlFDJxaRGrnWK5V8ptEc44vIH2iZMvymrXGozkOSwH-FjiZtCasUAQQw24hV1ZTbwx6tcR1KbTGVJS8LZhzKL0wTgzHvCMLyShJW26BmEsB37ZqhEw3YBPm6qGqStwG5mqleXi_MrSp/s1600/P_20161223_143652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vAlFDJxaRGrnWK5V8ptEc44vIH2iZMvymrXGozkOSwH-FjiZtCasUAQQw24hV1ZTbwx6tcR1KbTGVJS8LZhzKL0wTgzHvCMLyShJW26BmEsB37ZqhEw3YBPm6qGqStwG5mqleXi_MrSp/s640/P_20161223_143652.jpg" /> </a> </div>
Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-24836216270265502072017-04-27T20:38:00.000+02:002017-04-27T20:38:20.877+02:00Old mutton tajines <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAznqhw8s7LPqTf-XAjqyU2xF-vsGhbkupV52uar-N6oFJ70_rrzJVUyS617y2KqsR84uQCkHKw6bqTA7zzvkD2ouVbqUmFfeTdwsOu3Sn0MhmwKLVl0nBRno4dbI2hxXYKbPFpt6Q9GA/s400/P_20161222_075328.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camel</td></tr>
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<br />
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We left the service station and adjoining cafe in Foum el-Oued at dawn, the poor man that checked tyre pressures got a rude awakening with Franki parked outside his shed. Once our checks were done, we were good to go. Aiming for Boujdour for breakfast we promptly set off again along the road that could be mistaken for Mars, apart from the odd camel. It seems the monotony of the endless road played tricks in my mind when I started comparing Franki's early morning shadow to a camel!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3xUJ14ctZkKkeV7gYy8rdhS4AtLYuMGC7_9J7hEIcJJ8e2pe9v6XzBYFAW9CscswXKPv5YETyz6R-AIlNW43OrGxHdUGU3G3wn0jZMVjFSiNYTAniVozOzOXcvMHe7W9vCpoy9MWfuml/s1600/P_20161222_075749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3xUJ14ctZkKkeV7gYy8rdhS4AtLYuMGC7_9J7hEIcJJ8e2pe9v6XzBYFAW9CscswXKPv5YETyz6R-AIlNW43OrGxHdUGU3G3wn0jZMVjFSiNYTAniVozOzOXcvMHe7W9vCpoy9MWfuml/s400/P_20161222_075749.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki Camel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLUfJPHFf00c_Hz6Bocqt7WopCAryRWVCb23dt8qdw93vgVSYYH7O7tjZDxfuq7n_uYWYCNdbVZKBYdyt0FZrD9GrNJ7DU0NwuJsRoAl0ZdyASU3dpRFoxY5CjTcc_WmjdLBgwzljzZH_/s640/P_20161222_085323.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to Boujdour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLUfJPHFf00c_Hz6Bocqt7WopCAryRWVCb23dt8qdw93vgVSYYH7O7tjZDxfuq7n_uYWYCNdbVZKBYdyt0FZrD9GrNJ7DU0NwuJsRoAl0ZdyASU3dpRFoxY5CjTcc_WmjdLBgwzljzZH_/s1600/P_20161222_085323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyUA9HQ5kZu1woAIcq7PCVqLuPBRSY1ksuEivjwDxoNFn-8cILUW09lo8GAbZJmHnJQqvFRiNS85m5fxcjaeNefAnI2quXaG_37dlY8xA74O-oU_oeTDKgitJj9wpYHwaBaHx61R4B2bim/s640/P_20161222_091028.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunning breakfast at Boujdour<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We had an excellent stop in the early morning sun in Boujdour, wonderful breakfast and then hit the road again, which quickly became a U-turn as we missed the petrol station to fill Franki up with 0.70€ per litre diesel. The aim was to have lunch in Dakhla then to make it to Bir Gandouz for the night, just over 80km from the Mauritanian border as it was going to be too late to cross today. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Quite a few kilometres further on, it wasn't quite midday but we pulled into a service station I remembered from previous trips. Astonished to find that it was deserted, I remember lots of grand taxis, long distance buses and other travellers always pulling in here. Still mystified as to why they've lost their trade, memories of the most wonderful mutton tajines; all we could sadly find was a sheep's head! Two very funny guys keen to serve us coffee and muster up some chairs to sit outside and enjoy the barren 'view'!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgAIxqLLAUzrzly5tRRZP-Bxf2eJqojyBTTlEKfP-jMICWTh1xNN2-ewMs9OdAu74YHFKEZKz4c5VnB8J23XOCkL5cWrmfkz3YGdV5T_tA9Cd10M7-yhMOHMEw9O5GchiEVzQVhFb_qsa/s1600/P_20161222_114407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <br /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgAIxqLLAUzrzly5tRRZP-Bxf2eJqojyBTTlEKfP-jMICWTh1xNN2-ewMs9OdAu74YHFKEZKz4c5VnB8J23XOCkL5cWrmfkz3YGdV5T_tA9Cd10M7-yhMOHMEw9O5GchiEVzQVhFb_qsa/s640/P_20161222_114407.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqFcJEGxbPXcI-s4taZQ2e55BPR_oVIwQ4BGez9yLKaB96dyUYzdQxI13NFZA64RJ_5vGgcwBFbwOCYf-y2Idry1zd_Ugbd4WksuJ2yERbAhqFjG3EFlH9c8fxTf-LEIO0L6slkzjpQB-/s640/P_20161222_114817.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What was a thriving kitchen is sadly now becoming part of the desert</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqFcJEGxbPXcI-s4taZQ2e55BPR_oVIwQ4BGez9yLKaB96dyUYzdQxI13NFZA64RJ_5vGgcwBFbwOCYf-y2Idry1zd_Ugbd4WksuJ2yERbAhqFjG3EFlH9c8fxTf-LEIO0L6slkzjpQB-/s1600/P_20161222_114817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwNVkp0U15pYHy7eLierRVckAYsmktIx2doMjFFIccRS3NpzNM6kuffP977W1_CaeVzE6uITjGVZ6FmxYloIjn3O6-VRTj0gWL9pPZlPK8jLRp6y1OzNxg69JIwvkk3BxErypvFtJz_84/s640/P_20161222_115748.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's all gone, nothing to show of it's former busy past!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dakhla had changed also, grown massively, a lot more Europeans there for the winter to kitesurf and enjoy the warmer climate. We found a Greek/Lebanese cafe in town to have some hoummous stuffed salad buns, strange mix but we enjoyed it. Christophe went off to find a pharmacy, unfortunately they all had handwritten signs on the door in Arabic declaring something but seemed to be promising to be open at 1pm, it was already past 1pm and it was all deserted! We presumed there must have been a pharmaceutical convention on, no one could tell us why they were closed so we continued south with Christophe's toothache.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Finally we rolled into Bir Gandouz before dusk 786km covered on our fifth day since leaving France; fourth day of driving. It seems many overlanders like to stop at Hotel Barbas a few hundred metres into town which was probably out of our price range. We found the most wonderful place just on the edge of town, Hotel Etoilhm Lamhiriz with fuel directly outside and lots of parking. Christophe used the barbers downstairs (loosing his stubble seemed to help his toothache!) and I found the cafe/restaurant. The 150Dh rooms were clean and newly finished, the shower was luke warm but it was welcome after last night! An added bonus it had great wi-fi! We were all set to cross into Mauritania in the morning!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whilst having a mint tea after supper before the last of the red wine had to be finished for the border in the morning; a UK registered van turned up. A French/English couple got out with 2 very small children, one was a 8 month old baby. This was Charlie and his family, having left Spain they were heading for Dakar but he wasn't happy with the 140€ visa cost per person to enter Mauritania with the family nor did he realise he was taking his children into a malarial zone with other nasties such as typhoid ... We talked at length with him whilst his wife put the children to bed, he decided to return north (or so we thought!)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpXsKjyga-AfNtplgL16m4egpUKeynldzhk8vQylc5H7UpNeKX4gImdxRH24vHw_brDVhyphenhyphenzmLIQRhq9Ca7MpXRfSQ8MYiFo9FR9fzzbV3JYAYoMoOsUdEOTBPkjFcUwlstELPfqmfKk3Et/s1600/P_20161222_121530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpXsKjyga-AfNtplgL16m4egpUKeynldzhk8vQylc5H7UpNeKX4gImdxRH24vHw_brDVhyphenhyphenzmLIQRhq9Ca7MpXRfSQ8MYiFo9FR9fzzbV3JYAYoMoOsUdEOTBPkjFcUwlstELPfqmfKk3Et/s640/P_20161222_121530.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A change of scenery finally, about 50kms after Dahkla</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwNVkp0U15pYHy7eLierRVckAYsmktIx2doMjFFIccRS3NpzNM6kuffP977W1_CaeVzE6uITjGVZ6FmxYloIjn3O6-VRTj0gWL9pPZlPK8jLRp6y1OzNxg69JIwvkk3BxErypvFtJz_84/s1600/P_20161222_115748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWt8N4n8r2HVxF2OdZExu3Hw3n1hkeOqP0Pd0IzlIXsciRiDFeHgHRQht_D2YwM8RBcwDf1xgSwkEy5wfG3lOi1c8uIFT5kanlt50mKKN5BZiWtgz6FHdLUWhaokNZeDq1gxMsUMvVAj7/s640/P_20161222_133311.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road does get very monotonous!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuI-eyR6mjfmVeoG78_Z_AMaQ4toP-nIRkwFL-qWL84eC-f9Sow8M7a-Bk7oqNRtwlLqi-hDP1-EAEHSXQ2bc_YkcdhSmYZj8lYivVt-_s7JdHWjSQHHG0T1w-J0GUJLfVCKkL_VwIntJ/s640/P_20161222_162927.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely on the right road, beware of the sand ... and the ferocious dogs in the compound next to this roadsign!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuI-eyR6mjfmVeoG78_Z_AMaQ4toP-nIRkwFL-qWL84eC-f9Sow8M7a-Bk7oqNRtwlLqi-hDP1-EAEHSXQ2bc_YkcdhSmYZj8lYivVt-_s7JdHWjSQHHG0T1w-J0GUJLfVCKkL_VwIntJ/s1600/P_20161222_162927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuI-eyR6mjfmVeoG78_Z_AMaQ4toP-nIRkwFL-qWL84eC-f9Sow8M7a-Bk7oqNRtwlLqi-hDP1-EAEHSXQ2bc_YkcdhSmYZj8lYivVt-_s7JdHWjSQHHG0T1w-J0GUJLfVCKkL_VwIntJ/s1600/P_20161222_162927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-60117726488209444852017-04-26T00:45:00.000+02:002017-04-26T20:15:01.180+02:00The desert coast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuxfnPmpS7_6_KkcjL2xb8QG6rAYNreO5HzNZ8Xc34dHTkB-gOnjdxN-VH8o8sJOU9FQTHnwHQn38qmxE0ChypQS4lIpDZPf4A1v_6vxjMXCodgjKrvdzHwL6kYxBA6VfxGSPJtkSeSIS/s640/P_20161221_081306.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast at Hotel Mauritanie, Tiznit</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPlU139FHbIbuFLouM96J7M0A-UOiP9tpI1WH-nS8atNn3eI-nN_W6AS3Ymw9X9RWThvOtU8gGGhr7rwpvE1XjD8qFjdG4PzDaO-zQz5buSQ6DajZdVOujuJJ9VEf7FfqL1Po6Dp5wcm8/s640/P_20161221_092359.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roast chicken tonight perhaps?!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPlU139FHbIbuFLouM96J7M0A-UOiP9tpI1WH-nS8atNn3eI-nN_W6AS3Ymw9X9RWThvOtU8gGGhr7rwpvE1XjD8qFjdG4PzDaO-zQz5buSQ6DajZdVOujuJJ9VEf7FfqL1Po6Dp5wcm8/s1600/P_20161221_092359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_pYMLfjP926KZVpjM8GvygOzSVj2FNJCMlN8Tby6VaoEo0YXu32Y0PahkIw-tIkDW__6SEpH_ciBZPwpDrCMlTuwPYe0VbfpA8rjppiFOexvlZ6sUa8-tczJ1gpyxG7n1BKSKJsX5-3i/s400/P_20161221_092709.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Tiznit southbound</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_pYMLfjP926KZVpjM8GvygOzSVj2FNJCMlN8Tby6VaoEo0YXu32Y0PahkIw-tIkDW__6SEpH_ciBZPwpDrCMlTuwPYe0VbfpA8rjppiFOexvlZ6sUa8-tczJ1gpyxG7n1BKSKJsX5-3i/s1600/P_20161221_092709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6IiQMWv0DobeeLCRC9tXc8aitgMgrXk30zKMu_2pCqk8WSr-KBY0-IQflOteoi8u7Ymx-Uy8zmnQO0slThZJfCi_egAqka0W7bTTd59P1tQqELMEmpMMz-dW1N-3V-Yf5la1SRE4HsAV/s400/P_20161221_092804.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views back towards Tiznit</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDRIZhgkmJcShnTeJCT7Dr8vssDdZlXlaZER3y_1doVeUWAb17HzepIRwqOL4h6ZA4Y8p_zRbvdghJU5Eu87HdBnF4N0Hp7MID2xe63AHaKfVgiAY1DFZhvyaPFkEuuQxagS7lhNRy86b/s640/P_20161221_093043.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incredible changing scenery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKoD44hjYUwHOE-FLPLaxdfZ69SSwqQ8x_qOaTeaaSYDo-A7iXbaLX0Ihc1cqAc7ONpElErhSwYXYYzkwG94I3sPUckshniV6Uwu-cGWcpZoabjZwGPhA9hOVD6pOtfKeDkosSriVhxo1/s640/P_20161221_095304.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Guelmime side of the hill, the vegetation changes again</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPpsaU9ldspQ079IohSIUd8Pgh1_LmWQR2cexwiqeEicocxGk34UpcfM7XvTp5GXYJpjC4mrvD23xTUTRVODt1GFRN6CXbgPWEJGqJrwQuX3_5QMPjt2xv-NPLXb5o6jAIVARotm4ZdTn/s640/P_20161221_102147.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to Guelmim</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another coffee break</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tan Tan</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The desert coast south of Tan Tan</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fond memories of this small town, with incredible fish restaurants, we thoroughly enjoyed the platter</td></tr>
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We left Tiznit after a bit of a drama with the morning manager who had taken over from Karim at Hotel Mauritanie. Maybe a miscommunication between the two of them, but he wanted money for breakfast which we were told was included in the room price. We paid and headed off south towards Guelmim on a mountain road that has incredible scenery but can be extremely dangerous. Sadly on one of the straighter parts of the road, we came across an accident, a mother who had crashed her car, her young daughter had died and there was an awful scene with a lot of Moroccans trying to help. We offered to call for help but they had it in hand! It haunted us for a while, makes you realise how dangerous the roads can really be!</div>
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After Guelmim the road is straight and relatively fast in the open plains, we reached Tan Tan around midday and bought a few bits and pieces to munch en route, including a sack full of tangerines! I remembered staying in this town about 10 years ago and thoroughly enjoyed it! From this point the road hugs the coast, with dramatic sand blown cliffs, a fisherman's paradise and Moroccan built housing for those from the north, the Moroccan claim to Western Sahara. Just after Tan Tan is the imaginary border between the two 'countries' and just over that border is a town that I've stopped at on several occasions before, just to eat it's fish! We ordered the most enormous platter, ate what we could and took the rest with us!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki enjoys the coffee breaks!</td></tr>
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We finally got to Laayoune and looked around for somewhere to stay, knowing it was pricey! Everyone kept stopping us and asking to buy the bicycles from us, including small children, but couldn't tell us of somewhere to stay! We carried on south and got to Foum el-Oued near the port. There was at least one campsite/hotel to stay at but we weren't convinced. Suddenly a police car showed up, lights flashing and made us pull over. Having managed to escape any speeding tickets, we were puzzled as to what we had done wrong. The two policemen were puzzled as to what we were up to, we asked them for somewhere to stay and were told to follow them. They took us to the first campsite/hotel we had seen and disappeared. The two of them returned with two other men, the price started at 200€, it dropped rapidly but not rapidly enough for us!!! We thanked them and said we'd head south overnight, to try to loose the police. <br />
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At a major junction 2km away where there were more police collecting 'fiches' (security measure found throughout Western Sahara for foreigners passing through) we found a basic service station which had a truckers greasy spoon attached. We decided that was the end of the road for the day, the light was failing and we were hungry and tired after 554km of driving in one day. The cafe provided wonderful mint tea and good coffee all night, there were sofas to sleep on and Franki was safe. Even the ladies loo had a key that I was allowed to guard all night ... we ate the remains of the fish that we also shared with a few garage cats, polished off some cheese with a glass of red wine and settled down in our ideal camping location! So happy with this free find, I entered it on <a href="http://www.ioverlander.com/" target="_blank">ioverlander</a>!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 'escort' after not being able to find somewhere to spend the night</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishy supper from lunch, Foum el-Oued, south of Laayoune shared with the garage cats!</td></tr>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0United States49.382372787009551 -131.835937523.860338287009551 -173.1445315 74.904407287009548 -90.5273435tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-733393581530579342017-04-25T18:54:00.001+02:002017-04-26T20:14:08.586+02:00Rocking through Morocco<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Our departure from Motril went relatively smoothly, we found the port in this small town easily enough so decided to find a supermarket to stock up with goodies for the 8h crossing and for the rest of the trip. I had bought a ice box that plugged into the cigarette lighter socket which kept the chocolate and other items magically cool throughout the trip. Christophe was again behind the wheel, so intent on getting into the small supermarket we found, he turned right into the supermarket before the roundabout, we found ourselves on the pavement with horrified Motril shoppers wondering what chaos we were trying to cause!</div>
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Boarding the boat, a new route to Tanger Med port, there were relatively few passengers and it was all incredibly relaxed. Probably no more than 50 of us on the FRS line ferry, predominantly Spanish, Moroccan and two Algerian gentlemen having to do the dog-leg via Spain to enter Morocco. The Moroccan crew almost outnumbered the passengers! Beautiful calm afternoon at sea, we sat back and relaxed with a bottle of red wine, Spanish ham and chorizo for supper out of supermarket bags!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Motril Port</td></tr>
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At about 12.30am Moroccan time (01.30am Spanish time) early morning of 20th December 2016, we finally docked in Tanger Med having been stuck outside the port for about an hour waiting for other ferries to leave. Frustrated and tired, we disembarked and headed through immigration and then customs. This is where the horror began ... I'm never my best when tired! </div>
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Customs decided that Franki needed scanning along with a lot of other vehicles, mostly heading for Sub-Saharan Africa. I didn't bother with a carnet, there was no need as Franki was on a one-way trip; however friends from <a href="http://www.threechairsforafrica.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Dragon Balloon</a> who followed a few weeks later had a carnet and weren't scanned; I do still wonder of the logic in this. We were told to wait by the 'Fat Controller' as I nicknamed him, short, stout guy with bulging belly ... who was infuriating as every 10 minutes or so he would make me move another 20metres to park out of 'his' way. Finally Christophe found the Inspector who came over and told us to be ready to start the drive to the scanner. It was the other end of the port! We were in a civilised convoy of about 12 vehicles, with 2 Senegalese vans behind us. One of the Senegalese decided it was a racetrack, overtook Franki the wrong side of the roundabout thereby cutting us up and made me see RED! When we got to the scanner I gave him a piece of my mind, I got a lot of grief in return and one of the Inspector's men came over to see what it was all about, the Senegalese guy continued to be aggressive whilst being told to keep quiet by the others. The whole event blew over but with the two of us staring daggers!!! Don't mess with a Toubabu at 0230am Moroccan time!!!</div>
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We continued on, aiming to find a service station to collapse in. Finally on the outskirts of Asilah we pulled into one, I slept on the back four seats whilst Christophe had the front three, it was cold, very cold that night and neither of us got much sleep. Christophe abandoned me to sleep upright in the cafe. When I wandered in, it smelt lovely but the tagines were sadly empty, it was far too early. We had a coffee at about 7am and decided to head off to Larache for breakfast which I'd not visited since 2004 with my Kiwi godson Kurt, I also needed a Moroccan SIM card.</div>
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Larache is a lovely seaside town, we found a quiet cafe and ordered breakfast. In the meantime I ran across the road to organise the phone and get some Moroccan dirhams on the black market as we knew the autoroute tolls would start to add up. I'd brought 40€ worth with me that I had left over from previous trips.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Appreciated our Moroccan breakfast</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Larache</td></tr>
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Within an hour we were back on the road. The four seats in the rear part of the cab were incredibly comfortable, we soon got into a system of 2h of driving, 2h of sleep (over the ice box filled with chocolate!). We were both shattered from the early morning antics at the port. First stop after Larache was on the edge of Casablanca, another service station with a Burger King; we just wanted more coffee however.</div>
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A few hours later in sunshine, we had a great impromtu lunch with wonderful Moroccan bread filled with French cheeses, Spanish ham & chorizo in the cab. We were up in the hills somewhere outside Marrakech on the autoroute which was incredibly smooth and easier than I remember, the tolls however were similar to French prices! We thought we might make Agadir region for the night and pressed on!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autoroute west of Marrakech</td></tr>
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We found ourselves in Agadir as dusk was setting in. Immediately we went off to find another supermarket and stock up on further food, but particularly bottles of water as tomorrow would be the start of the isolated part of the journey. We knew if we broke down, it could be a long wait, we had both done the route before, which was the wonderful part of this trip; we knew the 'rules' and worked well in tandem! We found a cash and carry supermarket, not ideal but we managed to get what we needed in small quantities too. Christophe soon found the addition to it, a bottle shop selling all sorts of alcohol, but a bottle of red wine was all that was wanted!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A double or triple decker for cattle?! On the edge of Agadir</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Agadir traffic ... taking a wrong turn in rush hour wasn't ideal!</td></tr>
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We set off again, to get out of town slightly and find somewhere that would cook a good tajine. We got caught in the most awful traffic jam, found what looked to be a few restaurants to only find that only omlette or chips were on offer. However an old guy in his pick-up told us to get out of town to the small town of Sidi Bibi where the tajines were meant to be fantastic. It was a long slow trek to get out of the metropolis of Agadir but we discovered the tajine restaurant, he was right, an mouthwatering meal!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sidi Bibi tajine</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sidi Bibi tajine restaurant<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-align: left;">Whilst eating, we started searching on </span><a href="http://www.ioverlander.com/" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">IOverlander</a><span style="text-align: left;"> for somewhere to stay nearby. A few places including campsites came up but some numbers didn't ring at all, others were a bit hesitant and these were off the main road by a few kilometres ... We weren't prepared to gamble with our tiredness, it had been a very long day and searching for a place to stay in the dark wasn't ideal. We had both originally agreed not to drive in the dark but one thing and another lead us to this situation. Whilst heading south, we kept an eye out for somewhere, but nothing was to be found. Eventually we decided just to head on into Tiznit, another favourite town of mine. Finding a campsite full of French campervans, probably full of retirees who had headed south for the winter, we made a U-turn and decided to go into town. We found the appropriately named 'Hotel Mauritanie' in the centre and got a very clean room, but with a cold shower for under 15€ between us! Franki was safely parked to the side of the hotel behind gates ... finally we could switch off and relax 912km since leaving Tanger Med Port in the early hours!</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QOfOyclnqXL0_ipa-boHDHNbtrdp0T6zmTaBDmRzBCD4y7HdWJ7C98NlXE0WWqZm3UEzSXJDxyH0Zkm2417_iaVzr15I18ZR0_sGvYnKH-6BY2gvwhr0rgy8RIemkwjvs5XR0ZJaNkTG/s1600/P_20161220_200153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-9190229702761607102017-04-24T22:24:00.000+02:002017-04-25T21:05:02.180+02:00 Carreteras españolas con FrankiA little late in posting but I'll attempt to write several posts over the coming weeks about the trip with Franki, the faithful Mercedes Benz Sprinter 211 CDI van. <br />
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Rolling out of the village with 4 bicycles and a wheelchair strapped to the roof, it was Abengourou or bust on 17th December 2016. I really had the jitters, worried about too many things and whether Christophe and I would get on for the next week or so. He had booked as far as Nouakchott via BlaBlaCar, a car pooling website, we'd never met but had chatted on the phone twice, I had a copy of his passport but that was for the ferry booking. I found him in a McDonalds in Perpignan just before the Spanish border, he'd caught the train from Avignon early that morning to be able to meet me. Christophe looked sane and friendly, the manager of the branch offered me a free coffee totally out of the blue; things were starting to come together, I downed the coffee and we hit the road south!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving my small French village</td></tr>
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Finally feeling somewhat more confident, we exited Perpignan and joined the A9, my first concern was Franki being quite heavily loaded and making it up the hill to the border. She whizzed up the hill over the Pyrenees without any problem! We got to Girona and pulled in to find a Decathlon, the bikes on the roof all needed new tyres, inner tubes and a chain. Franki got her first re-fuelling of the trip since leaving home, we were good to go, aiming to be in Utiel that night, an hour inland from Valencia.<br />
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I'd been invited to meet Rosalia & Juancar via the internet. They were looking for information on travelling in Africa & it turns out they had already bought a vehicle but only Juancar had been to Morocco, not any further south. Very kindly both Christophe & I were offered beds for the night in return for information about the road south and how to travel in sub-saharan Africa.<br />
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The road from Barcelona should turn into the AP-7 and the A-7, friends told me it wasn't easy to find the A-7 which is toll free but just follow the signs they said. We did, to no avail! Poor Christophe was doing most of the driving at this point and I kept navigating him onto the N-340, it was getting darker all the time. We rejoined & exited the AP-7 on numerous occasions but finally gave up, bit the bullet and paid the tolls until we turned right at a windy and rainswept Valencia to head into the hills and Utiel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In <b>Utiel</b>: Christophe, Juancar, Rosalia & her mother</td></tr>
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After a great evening chatting, Rosalia's parents gave me a lovely room at their house, Christophe went back to Juancar's place. We waited a while in the morning for the guys to arrive, but nothing, we then discovered Christophe was exhausted and still fast asleep! Unfortunately we had to get back on the road to make Marbella by early evening, a short but wonderful time with lovely new Spanish friends. They left Utiel yesterday (23rd April 2017) so wishing them the best of luck! Hope to catch up with them, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/VerOiryViajar/" target="_blank">Ver, Oir y Viajar</a>, in Abengourou later in the year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An hour or so heading west out of Utiel</td></tr>
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The drive south through central Spain was stunning at times, the weather certainly helped us and we were thrilled when we got to Grenada, the weather was so much warmer. We'd been invited by Jason & Eli of <a href="http://www.mayanmonkey.es/" target="_blank">Mayan Monkey Mijas</a> to talk about chocolate, the situation of child exploitation and trafficking. Jason also offered me the use of his beautiful <a href="https://www.ownersdirect.co.uk/accommodation/p8145614" target="_blank">villa</a> in the hills of Marbella for the night, absolutely stunning! The following morning I picked Christophe up from Don Carlos, a 5* hotel and we set off for Mijas. It's a wonderful small town up in the hills where we were treated to a tour of Mayan Monkey's chocolate factory and spoilt with a big breakfast ... not to mention the endless chocolate Eli gave us for the trip!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fantastic chocolate with excellent ethics!</td></tr>
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That afternoon, we drove out of the Marbella/Malaga region onto Motril to catch the 8h ferry across to Tangiers, the trip was really starting now! We were ready for African soil by midnight!</div>
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-45749928192329279432016-12-08T21:26:00.000+01:002016-12-08T23:02:31.344+01:00Roadtrip preparation for Franki Last weekend, for the third time in six weeks, I returned to Northern Europe to pick up "Franki"<br />
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The whole idea started via a friend of mine, Frankie who offered to sell me his van to take to Cote d'Ivoire. Thankfully Frankie is a very good friend, as he discovered (after I agreed to buy his van) that the chassis was twisted, he backed out of the deal refusing to sell it to me. However, I was left wondering how to return to Cote d'Ivoire.<br />
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My utility room has become a dumping ground for donations going to Cote d'Ivoire. Some of these donations have been around for 5 years or so, despite taking endless luggage on previous trips of things the <a href="http://www.creer-africa.org/" target="_blank">centre </a>needs. Suitcases that take bicycles or fridges haven't yet been invented as far as I am aware!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-QsXDyqt1Gqulfog8S1DWEM2UU89T6pc1be4HcKUl4LwL3dgKPVOEXVHQ9FJ4gs_IVEmO0KNzs6FbtseB5feZHLco405I9xNrMFOUpCKtun13kwALOoNJ1bUZhGlgdwDOi_zxmtpCEVk/s1600/Franki+Van.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-QsXDyqt1Gqulfog8S1DWEM2UU89T6pc1be4HcKUl4LwL3dgKPVOEXVHQ9FJ4gs_IVEmO0KNzs6FbtseB5feZHLco405I9xNrMFOUpCKtun13kwALOoNJ1bUZhGlgdwDOi_zxmtpCEVk/s320/Franki+Van.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Found Franki in Schijndel, NL</td></tr>
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So I found Franki, a Mercedes Sprinter 211CDI van with 7 seats and a big roof rack on top in the Netherlands. Two weeks ago I flew to Brussels, rented a car and made a 5 hour round trip to see Franki and put a deposit down. Luckily, Frankie the friend was there to meet me & help me decide if the van was as good as the dealer said it was, the dealer was called Frank!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bottrop boys helping get Franki ready!</td></tr>
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This weekend, I drove Franki back from the Netherlands via Frankie's in Germany to southern France. She purred all the way south after Ferno, a retired French Mercedes Benz employee and Frankie very kindly got her shipshape prior to leaving Bottrop, Germany. I spent a very short night in freezing Dijon before heading southwards over the Millau bridge to home. The following day my mechanic gave her a once over and declared her fit for purpose whilst doing an oil change.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Franki parked up in Dijon for a night</td></tr>
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The plan is to leave soon by road loaded with bits and pieces (including a much needed fridge that is in great condition) to take to the centre. Whilst heading south, I will be looking at the situation of trafficking in the region. It's a route I know well and have done before but as a passenger in public bush taxis. <br />
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This is going to be a whole new adventure but I probably won't have time to be able to keep posting on here whilst driving south; hence Franki has a Facebook page www.facebook.com/FrankiGoesTo<br />
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Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-71393593767315856042016-11-25T18:21:00.001+01:002016-11-25T18:25:20.117+01:0018,366 Kilometres by RoadIf you're afraid of flying, getting home to see Mum in Nigeria when you live in the UK, can't be easy!<br />
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A year ago I was contacted by Chinedu for help and advice about a trip to Nigeria from the East Midlands, UK. I was a bit confused by the situation, here I was telling a Nigerian how to get home, but he'd never been home or attempted a long overland journey! There were so many questions, particularly in regards to being fearful of completing the trip; however many times I promised him he would love it, he was convinced he was about to travel to hell.<br />
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<img alt="18,366 Kilometres by Road: An Adventure Trip from London to Lagos and Back to London by Land by [Chinedu Vincent Akuta]" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/614s7gW5SaL._SX260_.jpg" width="400" /><br />
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He made the trip, had some wonderful experiences, met a lot of people, travelled many thousands of kilometres and finally made it home, taking scrupulous notes along the way!<br />
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The result is a wonderful book of his experiences, the reality of obtaining visas, dealing with transport and having the time of his life. He didn't just go to Nigeria by road but he returned by road too!<br />
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I've never plugged a product on this blog, but Chinedu deserves as many sales as he can get, it's on Kindle as well as a beautiful paperback copy that's sitting proudly in front of me!<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/18-366-Kilometres-Road-Adventure-ebook/dp/B01M8MB3J9">https://www.amazon.com/18-366-Kilometres-Road-Adventure-ebook/dp/B01M8MB3J9</a><br />
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Proud to have been able to help him, hoping to see him on a trip south soon!<br />
<br />Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1370424572602052374.post-40377301721944440592016-11-22T23:19:00.002+01:002018-05-02T23:45:56.786+02:00Le Monde isn't a propaganda machine it seems!Posted 2 years ago almost to the day, but still holds true!<br />
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Thrilled today to see an article in the French press.<br />
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<a href="http://www.lemonde.fr/afrique/article/2016/04/29/un-vent-de-colere-contre-le-quai-d-orsay-souffle-sur-le-sahel_4910753_3212.html" target="_blank">http://www.lemonde.fr/afrique/article/2016/04/29/un-vent-de-colere-contre-le-quai-d-orsay-souffle-sur-le-sahel_4910753_3212.html</a><br />
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Yes, it's in French but no doubt google will be your friend to translate it.<br />
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It talks about the government's security warnings (this could apply to most Western governments) that they continually shade parts of Africa. Red means the region is extremely dangerous and off limits which then downgrades to grey, yellow then green. This isn't to say that there aren't dangerous areas that you really shouldn't be stepping foot in at the moment with AQIM or Boko Haram in situ, but as I've always said you need to keep an ear to the ground locally. Reading the news, listening to the radio etc isn't going to give you the real lowdown on the local situation, local residents will! <br />
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This was put to the test last week by the company 'Control Risks' who 24h after the event, warned their clients that the Bouna region had flared up with a mail entitled <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"Côte d'Ivoire - Northern border areas: Clashes in Niamoue underline potential for violence, need to avoid non-essential travel</i>".</span> In actual fact this situation was a small affair that I heard about a few hours after it happened and was in touch with UN contacts who were then alerted to it and see if it was a repeat of the situation in March 2016. It wasn't, but two Lobi who refused to stop at a checkpoint in Niamoin (not Niamoue) and were shot, unfortunately there was a revenge attack against the gendarmes involved who also lost their lives. A very local incident that unfortunately sent unnecessary alarm bells ringing elsewhere!<br />
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So back to the article; the African nations implicated Mauritania & Mali are mentioned amongst others, a little annoyed that their nations are ablaze with red and yellow on their maps. Yet Belgium, parts of France remain green and therefore 'safe', as does Turkey. Where's the logic after all the attacks in Europe and Turkey?<br />
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However, it's also widely known that if you do travel to these red zones, many travel insurance policies are invalid should you need assistance. It really doesn't help tourism, nor peoples feelings and fears about this wonderful region of Africa. This has been a pet hate of mine for some time now, it's unnecessary to throw a blanket over a whole country, yes, there are problems that come up from time to time as they do in Europe. Like many of my friends, I feel safer in the West Africa region than I do in many big cities in Europe!Kirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10293944871874663477noreply@blogger.com0