Saving the best until last; Mali, Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Senegal and The Gambia

So where to begin.

Sitting with this little lap top plugged into an inverter amongst Ebu's maize of wires and batteries. There's a generator humming away out side to charge a battery for the party in Kartong later. Baana's brothers are having their circumcision ceremony and there will be a party to celebrate in their family compound afterwards. Living here amongst the palm trees of the forest near the coast in The Gambia I am relaxing at the journey's end. My counter on the bike says over 10000 km and I feel like the job's done, what ever it was in the first place. Perhaps the real meaning is yet to be revealed.

 Cycling from Bamako in Mali back to the Gambia through Guinea, Guinea Bissau and  the Casamance region of Senegal really felt like saving the best till last. Guinea, I remember, felt like my new favourite country until I reached Guinea Bissau that rapidly took its place. The Journey left the noise and stink of the Capital city quickly behind and I was able to abandon my face musk, needed for the dust and pollution, and breath fresh air in the hot dry bush once again. We had had a nice little party on my last night in Bamako and Solo cooked a fantastic stew with the cockerel that had not long before been running around the compound. Some of the crew turned up and we jammed into the evening with the moon full and glowing a peculiar orange through the city air. I have thought of these guys often on my journey of the last 2 weeks as I heard news of the Tuareg continuing their war and taking control of northern towns and then just 10 days or so after I left the Malian military had had enough and lead a coup d'etat capturing the President and taking control of the country. The borders were closed and I think there is still a curfew in Bamako restricting movement. As they say often here “it's not easy in Africa” and it seems Mali is really going through a hard time of it at the moment and the situation feels very unstable. Perhaps this is the opportunity for the Tuareg to finally get what they have been fighting for for so long out in the desert.

Well, I was far from Bamako by the time all this kicked off and felt lucky to be freely drifting the open road exploring the unfolding universe of West Africa. If you can call cycling nearly a 100km every day for 15 days really drifting; it was more of a mission than a drift. There were very few hotels along the way and generally I had no idea where I would sleep each night when I set off in the morning. Most evenings I slept in villages along the way with wonderfully hospitable families. Sometimes I would ask for the chief of the village or more often people I met would invite me to stay with them. They would bring me water to bath, which was always a blessed relief after a hot sweaty and often dusty day of cycling, and we would eat rice together and relax in the evening sometimes drinking green tea or just chatting in the darkness of the African night. People were always amazed by how far I had cycled and the journey I was making alone. And often they would ask how they to could do the same thing. Well, the truth is that they can't. While I am free to wonder  the open roads of West Africa on my bicycle these people take great risks trying to smuggle themselves into Europe on pirogue canoes from  Mauritania. I have heard so many tragic tales from Gambians, Senegalese and now Guineans of them trying to take the 'back route' to Spain. One Man sitting in the shade of a bridge by the Mangroves told me of how a group of them had walked 9 nights into Morocco to Casablanca and then took the boat with the Arabs. It costs them a thousand dollars but generally they seem to get lost at sea or on this occasion made it to Spain only to find the  police waiting for them on beach and were taken to the cells for 25 days. He talked about how they gave them good food and nice beds for their stay and then sent them back but with a bit of money to help them get home. So he did the whole thing again only to be caught once more and sent straight back to Bissau. Others were not so lucky and many die at sea. And so I am left to contemplate one of the many injustices of the African continent; and there are many.

From Mali into Guinea the road follows the magnificent river Niger and during this dry season many of the people in some of the villages that I stayed in were again searching for the precious gold dust that can be found in this earth. It is quite magical when it reveals it's self whilst you wash and sift the sand and there it is just a sprinkling of golden promise in the bottom of the guard.

From the river the road starts to climb and the climate gradually becomes a little cooler until up in the high lands of the famous mountains of the Fouta Djallo there are even forests of pine trees and green lush valleys, thick with jungle or tidy cultivated gardens nearer the villages. I cycled for days through these hills that are renowned for being a home for the Fulani people and enjoyed the calls of "Jaaramaa", "Nalatong", and "Jamtong" greeting folk as I cruised by. One afternoon while a little lost on the back tracks in the hills I happily spent my rest time of the afternoon heat firing a catapult with a young boy and our expert elder who could hit my plastic coke bottle every time with deadly speed and accuracy. These are the little gems of moments that make life on the road so rich. J have met so many folk all with their stories to tell and this journey seems to have become all about these people's stories as they meet my own as a cycling oddity. From the cool of the mountain forests in the high lands of the Fouta Djallo the road descends from Labe north west towards Koundarra on the border between Senegal, Guinea and Guinea Bissau, but the smooth Tarmac doesn't last long and for 3 days the road is a rough track of sand, rock and fine powder dust that winds its way through endless valleys of forest. When I finally did reach the lower lands it was like being catapulted into the roasting heat of an oven. The hot dry wind no longer so refreshing.

I had been warned by some police in Guinea that there had just been an election in Guinea Bissau and things were still very unstable. There were stories of shootings and an attempted coup and this together with the fact that I didn't actually have a visa to get in the country was enough for these guys to suggest that it really wasn't safe for me to go there. I thankfully ignored this advice as being just another occasion of people warning me about their neighbour countries that has happened at nearly every stage of this journey. The Spanish don't trust the Moroccans, the Berber don't trust the Arabs, the Arabs don't trust the black Africans, the Gambians thought it would not be safe in Mali and so on until it seems that no one really trusts their neighbours at all. In fact here it seems some times that no one trusts anyone and yet trust for me has to be the bottom line for any kind of relationship.

In the case of Guinea Bissau it is true; their politics is nuts. It seems to be an endless tale of coups and assassinations, corrupt politicians and army generals making millions from the drug trade. Guinea Bissau turns out to be where all the cocaine arrives from South America on its way to Europe and there is plenty money to be made if you are in control. Meanwhile the people get on with their lives peacefully. The country is very undeveloped with little infrastructure and a wild west feeling of chaos. The national language is a creole mix of Portuguese and local languages and the country has this exotic Latin feel with cultural connections with Cape Verde and Brazil having been a Portuguese colony. Their history is certainly wobbly to say the least and their war for independence during the sixties and seventies was apparently one of the bloodiest and Portuguese colonies were not given independence until the own fascist regime crumbled in 1974.

I loved Guinea Bissau and wished I had more time to explore. The climate is milder and the vegetation so much greener with subtropical forests and endless Cachu plantations that forms the countries biggest export. The coast line has hundreds of small islands that must be a kind of paradise and the land is divided by many large meandering rivers and mangrove swamps. I have promised my self that I'll return some day again soon. I stayed for a few days in St Domingo with some Portuguese and Spanish friends who are trying to run a small restaurant there but struggling to run a business as the reality of the system here doesn't make things easy for anyone. Having cycled through Spain and Portugal on my way here it seemed like my journey had gone full circle and my languages had become utterly mixed up and confused after weeks of speaking French. Unlike most of Islamic West Africa they do love to drink in Bissau, and have a reputation that they like to party hard and breakfast may well involve continuing the cartons of wine from the night before.

 “Every day is party in Bissau” they tell me back here in The Gambia and that is where I am now, winding down at my journey's end and preparing myself for the shock of returning home. And I know it will be a  shock for its been over 7 months now and I could happily stay. Maybe I'll be back very soon.

So as the counter touches 10,000 kilometres my final words of thanks is to my bike. My Thorne Sherper has never let me down and always seems eager to get back on the road. In all this time I have had just one puncture and every day people here try to get me to sell them or give them my bike. I haven't the heart to tell them how much it actually cost in the UK but it was definitely an investment well worth the expense and I look forward to the next 10,000 km of adventure where ever it may be.

Thank you so much for reading my blogs over the last few months and for all you support in many ways on this journey. I look forward to seeing some of you very soon back home in a week or so.
Much love to one and all.
Ed

Run to The Hills

Well it seems like an age ago since i last wrote in Rabat.
So much has happened, I have met so many different people, in many many places and there has even been some exciting drama to keep the reader entertained.



Agrandir le plan

I am currently close to Tafraoute in a stunning valley in the Anti Atlas mountains and enchanted by the glorious natural beauty of the place and dramatic scenery that just blows me away on every corner or over each new high mountain pass. The hills are arid rocky pinky red coloured formations while in the valley, where surely sometimes a river flows, there are dates palms and argon trees from which they harvest their cherished Argon oils.

It's great to be riding in these more remote places and this time of year there are very few tourists about. However even when you think you are absolutrly alone miles from any where there will allways be shepherd about like the dude above looking after his flocks even on the highest peeks he'll be there to greet you.

So i.m jumping ahead, what has happened on the road since Rabat...... , ohps, I can't find the question mark key on this arabic stylee keyboard.
Well the first few days were pleasent enough cycling through farmland south from Rabat through Rommani, Oud Zem and passed Beni-Mellal. Here I found myself on some busy roads with loads of trucks and busses so the cycling was not much fun some of the time and the weather was pretty dull as well. Just passed Beni-Mellal on the main road to Marrakesh a car pulled out in front of me and sent me flying over the bonnet into some kind of ninja role on the tarmac and I landed on my feat only slightly bruized but well shaken. Yes capoeira saved my life! The bike also was miraculously unharmed but my guitar took the brunt of the collision with the road and saddly was this time beyond repair. Now at this stage I would ensure all my family members that i'm absolutely fine and there is nothing to worry about!
The guy driving the car was totaly unhelpful and seemed unconcerned as to my well being but instaed only how he was going to weasel out of the situation, but the police were great.

Yes, thats the guy above......ggrrrrrrrhhhhhh.....

In the end i had to let go of any idea of getting any compensation out of him and set off just very glad to be alive. This was deffinitly a low point on the road and came just when i was already a bit fed up with everything anyway. But funny how things work out, for just after the accident i set off to look for a room for the night but the hotel in the nearby town was way to expensive; and then came along Hamid. As if he really was a manifestatioin of my guartdian angel, he invited me to stay with his family out in the sticks. So just a few hours later here i was in the bosom of a Morroan family being completely spoilt with endless tea, biscuits, tajhines and couscous and here they are, Hamid with his lovely Ma and Pa.

I ended up staying for three days taking it easy and relaxing into the rural life of a village in the olive grooves in the shadow of the Atlas mountains that loomed way above us. It was hard to leave but the calling of the mountains was ever present, however the weather turned and the rain fell forcing me to rest up and be spoilt for a little while longer. The family didn't want me to go at all and the thought of me on my own in the snowy mountains worried them as if i was their own son.When i finally did make my move Hamid's mother had tears in her eyes and the love of a family home touched me deeply but i felt revitalised ready for the road once again.

I made a slight detour to go into Marakesh to se if i could find a new guitar to keep me company upon the road. As you may know Marakesh is a fairly bonkers Morrocan city with its fair share of hassle so i didn't stick around to long. I ended up buying a guitar from a dude who had photos of himself with Jimi Page back in the day so i also felt happy that my trusted guitar found a good resting place in Marakesh as he took it as part payment.

 

And so to the mountains i did peddle. It had been raining for the last  four days in Marrakesh but up in the mountains it had been snowing heavily and so on the clear blue sky morning that i left town the fantastic snow capped peaks could be seen even from the city. I took it nice and easy and spent 3 days cycling up the hills towards the pass of Tizi-n-Test which at 2100 meters was the highest point of the my whole journey south and beyond. there was also another day of rains that slowed things down but the day I crossed over the pass was wonderful mix of spectacular sunshine and snow storms on the pass its self.

Crossing the Atlas felt like a significant moment in the journey. As is often the case the southern side of the mountain range was very different and much dryer than the north and from here on through the Anti Atlas and towards the great Sahara desert its just going to get dryer and dryer. For thats where i'm heading next; to the coast and then south to the desert.

This part of Morroco is home to the Berber people who are the original inhabitants of this region befor the Arabs moved in to the more northern parts of the country. They are the indiginous and are very keen to point out how they are different from their Arab neighbours. Having got further south the general vibe has become much more friendly and laid back and the Berber music has a great rootsy Afro feel well worth checking out. 

Here's a couple folk i met along the way keeping me entertained.

Much Love to ya all and see ya for the next exciting instalment of my bycicle wonders.

Ed

Rabat and beyond

This place is such a meeting of the new and old Morroco.


Agrandir le plan

I'm in Rabat, the capital of the country, apparently where the king lives and thankfully it's a very mellow city with very little hassle, but plenty of lively street life. I'm staying in a little hotel literally in the walls of the old madina. My room looks out over the wall of the old city to the modern part with wide streets, cafes, banks and further out all the embassies uncluding one for Mauratania where i have just picked up a VISA for 3 months. I had to explain that I was on a bike and it would take more than a month to get there and cross the desert to Senegal. Whilst sorting the bla bla at the embassy i met all sorts of other people heading that way. They did all think i was mas to be cuycling but it's good to know there's plenty of folk traveling that road.... After all the foriegn office does tel you not to. But if you followed all their advice you would be scared to leave the house at all:

Since i'd arrived in Morroco i had spotted the odd cyclist in our traditional spandex uniforms speeding about the roads and wondered if they were actually local lads..... And they are. It seems like Its getting quiet popular here and these two i met on the way into Rabat were so friendly chatting together as we cruized into town. I learnt alot about how you ride in Morrocon cities with these two aswell. It's all about the flow man ~ and not so much about traffic lights and junctions but we already knew that hey...

The ride from Checfchaouen took me out of some beautiful mountains to roling farmlands and then for a day of absolute flatness through fertile fields with rich black soil. Every where people were plowing with tractors or horses, while endless streams of donkey carts collected the veg and grasses returning to the towns loaded up. I'm sure in the region where they grow all the beatroot the donkey po on the road was a radient purple red colour; funny, the things you notice while peddling along.

evening game of football

Oh yeah, and you can buy anything here on the road side......

I may not get round to writing for a little while now as i'm going to be heading inland over the atlas mountains, then the Anti Atlas and south towards the desert.... at least thats the plan, so who knows whan i'll get round to sitting at a computer again.

Now the journey really begins.....

AFRICA.......

Yes Yes Yes,
Africa at last, and everything changes.


Agrandir le plan

So much has happened since my last post its hard to know where to start. Sitting here in this little internet cafe in the old madina in Chefchaouen. and on all the other computers teenage boys are on face book or watching music videos or football on you tube. Out side the tiny streets are painted blue and I'll try to recount the last few days.

After Jerez i took to the Atlantic coast south of Cadiz and braved gale force winds and wild storms that blew off the sea. First to Puerto Real through some marsh land, farms, and sad looking waist land.

I had wondered if it was actually wise to travel on that day but the weather turned out to be so dramatic it was great entertainment the whole way passed Chiclana de la Frontera, Conil de la Frontera and to Canos de Meca where it turned out Nelson Defeated the French and Spanish at the battle of Trafalga. As Nelson was a Norfolk lad i had an extra feeling of pride as i gazed out across the stormy seas untill the wind became so strong that my bike which was lent against the light house railings was blown over on top of the guitar strapped on the side. The whole thing happened in horrible slow motion yet there was nothing i could i do. I knew it was risky carrying the guitar on the bike like this and that this could happen at any moment but why now just as we reached the final days in Europe....... Well this all sounds very dramatic and it was for a while, however the next day i bought some super glue and glued up the cracks once again and there's plenty of life in her yet.
The next couple of nights were spent camped out with other characters of the road:  A Belguim couple driving an old merceedes camper to Mali...... That's funny, that's where i'm going on my bike; so we shared stories and eat wholsome food in their van sheltering from the rains.

The next night i camped just north of Tarifa with these crazy cats in the Casa de Porros. These guys really are living their dreams in vans on a kite surfing beach in the south of Spain. Their dilapidated caravan looks out across the straights to Morroco, Africa and beyond. There are van dwellers from all over hiding out on this little piece of land by the beach on the edge of Europe, and that's definitly how it felt. I sat and gazed across to Africa with just a little fear of what may lie ahead but eager to cross the waters and start the next chapter of the journey. As it turned out, i spent the following few days in Tarifa awaiting a package of the new video camera at the post office before i could catch the boat so i had plenty of time to gaze and wonder, and enjoy some stunning sun sets.

And then my boat came and suddenly the journey stepped up to the next level. I landed in Tangers at midday and decided to head up into the hills as I now had a few days free before i could get a Mauratania visa in Rabat. So I ended up cycling the110 km up the Riff mountains almost a 1000m to arrive in Chechaouen and arrived on the edge of darkness. In My first day cycling in Africa i was greeted with waves, thumbs up, cheers and beeping of horns probably more times than the entire cycle across France, Spain and Portugal. This is going to be something quiet different. The day was quiet full-on though, so i am just acclimatising here for a couple of days getting used to a new way of life before the 3 day ride to Rabat. This is a beautiful laid back town with a stunning old blue medina and plenty of guys calling out; hey my friend.... let me sell you something...
I guess I'll get used to that as i am now a white man in Africa once again, with all it's pros and cons.

Many, many other tales to tell.
Many more yet to unfold
To Africa and beyond.

The Camino de Santiago

It has been quite a while since I have written a post and I feel like I have been in another world traveling the Camino de Santiago west from the French Pyrenees in the Basque Country to Galicia in the North West of Spain. Obviously this is not on the way South to Africa but it has been a journey that I have wanted to do for a very long time and a part of the world that I have been intrigued to visit.

The Camino is a pilgrimage route that began in the 9^th century after the apparent discovery of the tomb of Saint Jaque, or Tiago, or Jacob depending on where you from. He was an apostle of Christ who during his life time came to preach in the Galician peninsula and after being beheaded by the baddies of Rome his body returned to this part of the world on a boat with some of his disciples and friends. It’s a pretty wild tale that seems a little unlikely yet the faith and compassion that is born from the experience of the journey for so many leaves me with little interest in really questioning the truth of the myth itself. The journey became really popular in the middle ages and a whole series of stunning old churches, monasteries, hospitals and rest places have grown up along the route that takes you through all kinds of landscapes from stunning wild mountains, wide open dry plains, valleys and also now quite a lot of urban areas to. The route has become really popular again in recent years and feels very much alive with travellers from all over the world walking hundreds of miles to pay their respects to the tomb in the fantastic cathedral in Santiago itself.

I began the Camino proper in St Jean de Pied de Port at sunrise on a stunning misty morning. The road takes you up through beautifully wooded valleys high in to the mountains, over a pass and into Spain. It was so great to arrive here and leave France after so long of feeling quiet culturally starved and ripped off by expensive campsites full of old folks in ridiculously large camper vans. At last things are more affordable and there are plenty of other great folk travelling the road to hang out with. The journey of 777 km normally takes walkers about 35 days but on a bike it took 9 days on roads, tracks and footpaths, sleeping in pilgrim´s hostels and feasting on fine Spanish food and plenty cheap wine. Indeed a bottle of wine can cost the same as a bottle of mineral water, which incidentally is generally the same price as petrol which I have always thought was pretty bonkers.

Any way I soon hooked up with other cyclists along the way and by the time we arrived in Santiago we were a crew of 5 all kitted out in the full spandex cycling gear…. We love it! After days of riding the high ways, or rough tracks up and down mountains or through hundreds of miles of flat grain fields we would meet up and feast on the local foods and wine. Que Vida Rica! The rest of the crew were all Spanish lads so I´ve been getting into the lingo and having a whale of a time.

Arriving in the fantastic city of Santiago was an extremely powerful experience. We pulled into the square outside the epic cathedral as the bells struck midday to announce the daily Mass attended by thousands of devoted Christians and arriving Pilgrims. The service was incredibly emotional for so many people who have travelled hundreds or even thousands of miles to be there in the footsteps of so many before them for a thousand years. The Mass happens at this time every day and includes prayers,  readings and blessings with a full power climax involving the swinging of a huge incense burner billowing the sweet smoke of frankincense the full length of the Isle. This is accompanied by full-on dramatic organ music and the gasps and amazement of the congregation. The whole experience, empowered by such strong intentions and faith, leaves the entire congregation in a much heightened state. The cathedral itself is also full of magnificent imagery and ancient artworks that adds to the whole experience.  Together with the relief of completing such a journey that for many would have been pretty demanding, this makes for a very magical moment that I will always remember. The journey of pilgrimage offers deep insights into our own spiritual worlds and I am very grateful for the learning of this time on the Camino and for the companionship of my fellow Pilgrims. Of course the whole thing ended with more feasting and drinking in true Spanish style until some crazy hour of the morning

I hit 2000km on the road to Santiago which felt like quite an achievement but many more to go. 

It is time to head south again now, but this time through Portugal and then back into Spain to Seville and Andalucía to seek out some Flamenco in its true homelands down South.

Run To The Hills!

Well I've made it St Jean de Pied de Port which i like to think of meaning St Jean with his foot in the door, but probably doesn't.

It is here that people flock to begin the Pilgrimage of St Jacque west to Galicia to Santiago. Apparently nearly 200 folk every day sign up and head off with walking stick in hand for the 35 day trek. I'll be on my bike so it shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks and I’m very much looking forward to the journey.

I slept in a bed last night for the first time as there are plenty of cheap hostels along the route so this is a whole new phase to look forward to.

Since my last post I’ve been up in the mountains in the Pyrenees discovering the joys of cycling a heavily laden bike on mountain roads. After arriving in Lourdes i headed south into the hills and decided on a route that looked pretty scenic on the map. As ever i never quite know what lies ahead but this time in turned out to be an infamous route on the tour de France involving an epic 1709 meter pass way up in the mountains. The views were stunning, the shepherds were charming and the sense of achievement was almost overwhelming but i certainly nearly died in the process and think perhaps i have taken this extreme bike touring a step too far. Although the ride down the hill on the other side was pretty ecstatic, speeding through beautiful mountain scapes and fantastic woodland with the ever-present sounds of sheep herds dinngling there bells across the valleys. ( current down hill top speed is 62 km an hour)

I have so many beautiful pictures of the mountains and misty valleys but here´s just a little taster:

 

The following morning was misty and damp so i decided to take a lower road westwards and came across another English lad on a bike. His name was Charlie and i realised that it was the first time for quite a while that i was able to natter away in my mother tongue. We spent the day riding through beautiful woodland and rolling hills and camped out in the wilds of the Basque country.

This is what it was meant to be like; wild camping and open fires with fellow adventurers of the open road. I had been getting a bit down for the last few days and feeling that this was actually a ridiculous idea and far harder than my crazy idealistic dreaming mind had realised so a bit of companionship and nature's wilderness has set me right back on track and i can't wait to hit Spain tomorrow and continue this journey into the next chapter.

To south and Beyond!. . . . well west a bit actually!