December 13, 1999 R100GS 46547 B, Ivory Coast - Hotel de l'Air Entering the Ivory Coast... We pulled up to the gated crossing. Two men came up to us. One in uniform asking for our passport and documents for the bike, and he other a plain clothed well dressed young guy asking to see our vaccination cards. We agreed to handle passport and bike papers first. Jim and I handed over our passport, and a xerox copy of our title. The officer walked off with our documents. Not wanting our documents to leave my sight, I followed them, while Jim watched the bikes. The officer took them to the big boss who was eating his lunch at a picnic table in the shade. I gave him a friendly greeting which he was receptive. I asked where he got his lunch and commented on how good it looked. It was well past lunch time, and I was hungry. We spoke lightly of Chicago and (of course) Chicago Bulls and Michael Jordan. The big boss was jovial, and didn't want to make a deal of the fact that offered up a xerox copy of my title for papers for the bike. The reaction I read on his face was that another day this might not have been acceptable. I came back to the bike, and told Jim the news that they accepted the xerox title. He was as surprised as I was. We had wanted to avoid use of the carnet since we were planning to ship the bikes by air to Nairobi, and wanted to avoid any unnecessary steps such as getting our carnet stamped out. The plain clothe young guy who was requesting our vaccination cards was back. He looked at Jim's. He said he was immunizing for meningitis, and Jim would have to get a shot. As I heard this I quickly looked in mine, and saw that I was covered. This was the first time Jim and I had encountered a border immunization. While we had both contemplated it, we were caught off guard. I could see he was thinking the same thing I was, and so I didn't say anything. The medic standing next to the officer didn't allow an out. Jim submitted and walked off with the medic over to a structure that appeared to have 80 people (locals) lined up waiting to get their shot and then hop back on their bus. The medic took him past the line and into the office. Meanwhile I watched over the bikes. Jim told me that as they were walking, the medic said, "Yeah, Yeah, I know, you're worried about the needles... don't worry". The medic pulled the serum out of a medical cooler, and then opened a sterile wrapped needle. The serum bottle was empty, so he tossed it and the needle. He got out a new serum bottle, and a new wrapped sterile needle and mixed the serum preparing it. Then he got got out a third new wrapped sterile needle, loaded it up and then administered the injection. Jim was charged a 1000CFA (US$1.66), and got his vaccination card stamped. He was very happy about the whole deal. We hopped on the motorcycle, and drove about 100 meters to where there was a gate across the road. An officer flagged us over to a stick hut where two officers were sitting with a crowd of people around. One of the officer asked where we were from. Then in English, he said, "I want to see your passport, vaccination card, papers for the bike, and insurance..." He spoke as if he was making these things up as he said them. I went back over to Jim who was watching the bike, and collected his passport and insurance. I decided to selectively not hear the last two requests. He didn't seem serious anyway. I handed over the passports and vaccination card. I suppose he had already forgotten what he asked me for. He told me to wait over by the bike. The officer got up, leaving the crowd of locals to be dealt with by the other officer, and then approached us. He introduced himself as Michael. He wanted to look through the bikes. As border searches typically go, he went through the top of my top box, but very nonchalantly, and then my tank bag. Then he looked in Jim's pannier. While he looked over our bikes he was making small chat... The kind that an insecure person in power might do when as he's sizing you up. He spoke slowly pausing on incomplete clauses as though he were deep in thought. Afterwards, He says, "I want to ask a question..." He turns looking at Jim, "I want to ask you a question..." Jim, feeling singled out says while pointing at me,"What about him?? Do you want to ask him a question?" Michael hesitates quickly recovering says, "Yes, I want to ask him the same question." pause. Michael says, "I want you to give me something... something to remember you by a picture or whatever.... and I want you to give me your home address. I'll give you a moment." Michael walked away. A picture??? I didn't know whether to be more or less contemptuous than if he asked for money. I thought, fine I'll give him one of my 20 passport photos I'm carrying... no loss there. A moment later, Michael came back. I handed him my passport photo, with a personal friendly touch of my autograph on the back. Michael started looking at Jim's Nikon sunglasses and was contemplating a swap. Jim took a look at his, and basically said, not with out some additional money. They were haggling, and in the end Jim gave him nothing. Of course we both gave the slime ball a fake home address. We drove on another 100 meters, to another gate in the road, Their were some overweight older officers that said they wanted to see our passport and vehicle documents. They looked at them, didn't stamp them and we were off. I have no idea what the purpose of the last two stops were. The landscape changed to rolling hills, but still the red, iron rich soil... The flora became more dense.. like a dry jungle. The temperature noticeably dropped, and my nose once again detected a little humidity, something it's been craving for a while. We ended up staying at the highest recommended place in our book, in their nicest room, the four room suite. Two bedrooms, living room and bathroom with a/c, phone, and TV that had only four choices of the same French speaking channel. Cost was 15,000CFA ($25) which we split. We checked in around dusk, so we didn't see much of the town. After getting cleaned up, we had dinner at the hotel restaurant. Jim ordered what was called Agouti, and by the time I write this, I forgot what I ordered. Obviously it was memorable. I do remember ordering an overpriced unlabeled bottle of red table wine, that tasted like a Beaujelais Noveau. Agouti is considered a delicacy in the Ivory Coast. While I haven't seen one, I've heard it describe by non-english speakers unfamiliar with subtle connotations as a "jungle rat". I tried some of Jim's "Agouti", and it was delicious tasting just like beef. However, a week later, Jim and I ate at what looked like a much more reputable place where I ordered agouti. It was cut up more like I expect a rat to be cut up in that it had small bones and clearly came from a small creature. While still red meat, it tasted nothing like beef, and in-line with what I would expect a rat to taste like, and had the strongest gaminess that I've every tasted. December 14, 1999 Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Hotel Pousada I slept great with the A/C on all night. In the morning, we had breakfast in the outdoor eating area off the elevated veranda. Checked out of our suite, and were on the road heading South by 9:30am. In Yamoussoukro, we stopped at the Basilica of Notre Dame de la Paix. It's impossible to miss. As we drove South on the road to Abidjan, the not very frequented two lane paved highway turned into a paved six lanes loaded with street lamps that would light up an empty street. The area was practically deserted. Apparently this town of population 100,000 has 10,000 street lights. 1km down this empty wide road is the presidential palace, which is surrounded by an intimidating high wall with large gates. About 1-2km from the palace is the Basilica of Notre Dame do la Paix. Apparently it is the tallest church in all Christiandome and was modeled after St Peter's cathedral in Rome. All of the 7,000 seats are air-conditioned, and there are four elevators inside the stone columns that will take one up to the cupola. All of the walls are stain glass. It cost half the national deficit to build ($300 million), and way built in three years with a labor force of 1500 working 24 hours a day. Upkeep cost is apparently US$1.5 million. It has an amazingly empty and unused feeling. Located far away from town, it's not for people on foot, however it also doesn't have sufficient parking space for vehicles of those that would fill the church. It does however have a helipad, which I was told I could use next time I flew in. I was asked to phone first though. The secure gated church complex contains the pope's house, the priests house, a souvenir boutique, guard house and garden. In 1983, this town had 500 inhabitants. Since the president was born here, it was redesignated as the countries capital. The presidential palace and the basilica was built here and the current population now stands at 100,000. However, all the embassies and commerce still takes place in Abidjan, population 3.5 million. We arrived in the area of Abidjan we had planned, through some excellent navigating that Jim did. I sat down at an outdoor bar while Jim went off to check out the three hotels we had in mind listed in our guide book. Jim came back a half hour later dejected. He said all the hotels were dumps, only one was available, but with no parking. This didn't look like the kind of city anyone would contemplate for a second leaving their motorcycle out at night. He was contemplating the campground 17km out of town. However since we were in Abidjan to do business, I had a preference to be located in town. This left two places in the area of Abidjan. The first one our guide book said was expensive and of terrible value, and the second it said, "The friendly Hotel Pousada is a cheery and particularly active whore house. It has been warmly recommended - as a hotel." Jim said the first one was out of his budget. So we checked out the later. Given the other choices, he was content, especially since we had a safe safe place to store the motorcycles. Jim, who doesn't have a mosquito net, asked if one was provided. I would suspect one of the last things the hotel owner is concerned about is that their inhabitants contract malaria. The local inhabitants of our hotel are all very friendly. Grace introduced herself to me, and made biblical references to my name and to Jim's. Later, when we came back from dinner, she commented on how we had been gone for so long... three hours... December 15, 1999 Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Hotel Pousada We spent the day discovering our options for getting the motorcycles to Nairobi. There are several air freight shipping companies at the airport, however no crate builders. One commercial packaging company which we spent 2.5 hour following up. Estimates were given by Monsieur blabla, who I assumed must maintain a tight control on his company as he is the only one who can quote prices. We left the airport to go to their main facility. At the main facility, we were told he was at a secondary facility, so again we took a taxi there. At the third place, we were told he isn't there, but a call to his cell phone confirmed he would be their shortly to meet us. A half hour later he arrived. We gave him the size and weight estimates of the bikes. He did a few calculations, and looked up some figures in his books. His figures said that to make a crate for the two motorcycles, he would need 400kg of wood (840 lbs), The crates would cost about $600. After two phone calls to check airline rates, he came up with a price. He said 4,442,000. Never having seen a 7 digit price tag, I had a hard time understanding the value... What currency, how many 0's is that? After checking the currency to be in CFA, I rechecked the value with him in French Francs, and an approximate in US dollars to make sure I understood. He was asking 44,420 French Francs, or approximately US$7,300. Jim had been openly snickering continuously for the past 10 minutes since the 400kg of wood was written down. I who had sat calm quiet and attentive, got up to leave. With a starting price like this, it had been a waste of everyone's time. I felt insulted and got up to leave. Bille felt a need to not burn bridges, so he did the minimal courteous wrap up as we walked out. Our guide Bille (Allouan Bile Anet, Transitaire) was a former English teacher in Ghana. He hung out around the airport and was one of the only people around who spoke English. He had a stutter that made Jim very uncomfortable. It wasn't a normal speech impediment stutter, but rather one that is formed when someone is unsure of what they're going to say. He was polite to the point of being formal with his courtesies. I think we were his first ever customer. He arranged a carpenter who build the sturdiest crates for the motorcycles that I've ever seen. The carpenter charged us approximately $55 each, including wood, nails and labor. However, I think the master carpenter and his assistant took a loss on the deal attempting to establish a future business relationship with Bille. Bille arranged for someone to watch our bikes at night while that sat at the airport loading dock in their crates. He arranged to get them forklifted over to the scales, and he led us arround to all of the offices. He made life quite a bit easier. December 16, 1999 Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Hotel Pousada Before leaving to do our daily business, Jim informed and encouraged me to drop off my laundry to have done by the hotel washing boy which only charges 500CFA. While it certainly was a bargain, I declined... I feel squeamish having my clothes washed with the bed sheets at a West African whore house. We checked shipping prices at one firm. For some reason hey got stuck on whether our bikes fall under personal affects or commercial property. The manager of the Ethiopian air office was making the call. We took a taxi downtown to talk to him in person. Despite the fact the bikes were not for sale, he thought they should be priced as a commercial shipment, which was substantially more. Visiting that office was an experience... described later... Our business with Bille was finished for the day, and Jim was zonked, so they left. I stayed behind to explore the commercial district and find a restaurant. The area I was staying in, where my happy whore-house hotel was located, was limited in cuisine to street food. Rice with sauce, or dough mashed root with sauce or spaghetti, was the cuisine eaten at a bar stool on the street. While I enjoyed the experience, the novelty of sauce and rice wore off by the third time several weeks ago. Walking down the street, I passed by a church were through the window louvers , I could hear a choir group practicing African Christmas music. It was good... They were singing in a Western 12-note tonal system, however, the chord progression was African, and with a sound that I associate with Africa or South America... it reminded me of music from the mission, but with an African slant, and more personally moving. I sat on the waste high wall, and just listened in the dark. The slight buzz of the two beers I had earlier with Jim and Bille I'm sure helped in my appreciation. After walking around, I decided to eat at what in Abidjan would be considered a very upper class pizza joint. I was looking a bit rough. I had been sweating all day in my t-shirt, my hair hadn't been cut in 10 weeks, and I was wearing my pants with a tear near my calf from a fall in Mauritania. I was wearing my gaiters since they held on the sole of my right shoe, keeping it from flapping as I walk. The left gaiter was just for aesthetic balance. I walked in, and was greeted by a well dressed local wearing a white shirt and black vest. While the restaurant was empty, he directed me where to sit. Many of the tables that I was interested in had reserve signs on them, of which this person was strongly directing me away from. Roughly enough, that just in time, a French man wearing a t-shirt and casual khakis introduced himself just as I was contemplating blowing off this place. His familiarities with Western culture and polite subtle communication saved this customer. contemplating rant here... Whether it has any ties in to the above, I thought about the importance of dress in a society where there are great economic or class disparities. In such a society, dress distinction is much more important. In a middle class only society if such a thing truly existed, by definition, the question is moot and so not a determining factor. In these large disparity societies, projecting one's class distinction often determines the level of respect one initially recieves from strangers, whether it be deserved or not. ---- end of rant.. As with other third world countries (Latin America, West Africa, SE Asia), cell-phones are a class distinction apparel, and are worn as such in Abidjan. Appropriately worn, the ringer volume should be set on high and be distinctive.. Friends should be encouraged to call especially during social cruising hours. Regardless of how diminutive it is, the phone should be kept on one's facade in a prominent location. December 18, 1999 Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Hotel Pousada Jim and I met at 7:30, and went to our regular breakfast place called "The Vatican" which was a street food vending boutique. The owners know us now, and don't even bother asking us what we want before making it. A three egg omelet made with onions and tomato, bread and a cup of Nescafe. I get my O.J/sweet fix by having an orange Fanta. *Relatively speaking*, it's a good breakfast. After breakfast, we went to the banks to get money. Our next step in shipping the bikes was going to require cash. Also, I needed to buy a plane ticket to Nairobi. We arrived at our designated bank at just after 8:00am. We were asked to sit and wait. The bank guards take their job very seriously and maintain control in the lobby, among all of the suit wearing business people who tend to ignore them. While waiting, I caught up on the financial state of world, as it was a month ago, with the mid-November issues of financial news papers left out in the lobby for patiently waiting customers. At shortly after 9:00am, the clerk who handled visa card cash advances was ready for us. I told her that I wanted 2,100,000 CFA. She said they had a limit of 200,000-300,000, and asked me what I needed the money for, as if that might make a difference in the bank policy. I told her I had some business to take care of. The ATM's have a similar limit with likely less commission, so we left and visited an ATM while we contemplated out next move. My MasterCard didn't work, however my two Visa cards did work in the ATM, but 150k was the max I could withdraw. At this rate, it would take me a week before I could get the amount of money I needed. We decided to try another bank. We tried IBIC bank. Although they would not take MasterCard, and my Visa-debit card was refused, I was able to extract the bank imposed limit of 950,000 CFA on the other of my two Visa cards. While not as much as I wanted, I had what I figured would be enough using my French currency reserves I was carrying, to ship my motorcycle. Jim's bike which was slightly smaller, and weighed less was not as costly to ship. We took a taxi to the airport. Bile, our assistant, was there waiting for us. We walked into the shipping office which supposedly had the best price, ready to pay. While the price per kilo remained the same, it was now brought up that the volume exceeded the weight density ratio, and so we would be paying for a weight about 20% heavier. This information was the straw that broke the camels back. Already raw from all of the little payments dished out for various services, and now having acquired as much money as we could before the weekend, and finding out that it was not enough, we left. We hopped in a taxi, and went to the grand port for cargo sea-freight to look into sailing options. It was a change of pace. Unfortunately, it was lunch hour, and most of the port agencies were closed at this time. We were walking around a seedy port loaded with the equivalent of US$5,000 in US$16 bills stuffed in our pockets looking as inconspicuous as possible. Through some luck however, we came across one agency, where the guard attempting to find some one to help us led us through the lunch-time deserted building. He found the general secretary who agreed to help us. A French man, polite, well educated, fluent in English, and seemingly very important in the company let it be known that his time now was short as he was preparing some statistics for a meeting after lunch. He informed us of a boat arriving tonight that would take our motorcycles to Cape Town. It would be sailing out again on Monday, and would take up to month. He gave us contact info and sent us on our way. His competence, and knowledge, and straight forward way of doing business was what we were sorely wanting to see. Over lunch, we thought it over. Shipping to cape town would really change plans significantly and we might encounter shipping problems at the other end of our trip. I had decided to pay the extra, and Jim, who's trip with his time limit was much more severely impacted was undecided. While waiting for KLM/Kenya airways office to open at the plateau, we saw the main DHL office, and decided on a whim to go in and check it out. Both of us were thinking, hearing an outrageously high price would add some humor to the situation, and might help us accept what we thought was already a high price. I told the DHL clerk we had two 400kg packages, and asked how much it would cost to ship. The clerk handed us over to a well dressed stylish woman who seemed in charge. I later found out this was Marie-Pierre, the district manager for Abidjan. She made some calculations, and gave me a figure that was 980k. The figure was so low, that I calmly brought out all the information. The first box is 455kg with dimensions of 2.5x1.28x1.08 meters, and the second is 355kg with dimension of 2.3x1.28x.90 meters. I told them they were motorcycles and items of personal affects. She calculated the volume weight ratio to be listed at 576kg and 442kg, which was the same that other agencies had calculated. For my motorcycle alone, the price came in at 1,382,000 CFA (US$2,100), which was nearly US$1,000 less, than the cost I had intended to pay this morning. I was ecstatic. and so was Jim. His bike came in at a little over a million CFA. Marie-Pierre said she wanted to handle this shipment personally. Unfortunately, she had a meeting with the general manager of Citi Bank just then and asked if we could pick this up again in an hour. We were happy to oblige. Later, we pulled out our great wads of cash from our pockets, and solidified the deal. The crates would be picked up at the airport, and be delivered to Nairobi airport DHL office. The monetary savings, the time stress, and the relief from being nit-picked for money gave us great cause to celebrate. We had been doing business the African way, and getting very frustrated. Going to DHL was simple, straight forward, and cheap. I asked Marrie-Pierre for a recommendation on a very good African restaurant. With no hesitation, she said the 331 restaurant. In the mood to celebrate, Jim and I went back to our hotel, cleaned up, and then went out to dine. It was a good recommendation. Great for African food. I decided that this is probably as good as it's going to get to try some Agouti. What was brought out was quite different from what Jim had ordered a week before. The agouti was cut up into four pieces. I tried one, Jim tried one, and the rest went back. I have never tasted meat so gammey. The translated name of "Jungle rat" didn't help. The rest of the meal as well as the sauce on my jungle rat was quite good. December 20, 1999 Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Hotel Pousada My visit to the Ethiopian Air office in Abidjan, where I purchased my ticket today left me in awe. I couldn't imagine that people of that caliber would just happen by chance. I hypothesized that Ethiopian Air makes their flights more attractive by keeping them minimally booked, thus allowing more space for the passengers to spread out. I witnessed several of their methods to achieve this at the Ethiopian Air ticket office in Abidjan. Two agents sat at a counter. One of them clearly new, was not capable of doing anything other than holding paper for the other one and forwarding calls. Both agents had a slowness that I have never seen before and can only imagine was drug induced. I imagine that they must see the world as being on hyper-stimulants. They are trained to multi-task such that they service three clients at once; Client in office, client on telephone, and client that someone in the back office is suppose to be dealing with are all handled simultaneously. Of course this taxes organizational skills and short term memory beyond it's limits, thus is achieved a minimally booked flight. Some clients tired of waiting, or frustrated with having to repeat their requests walk out the door. My first 20 minutes in this office was spent waiting for their computer to come back up. Nothing could be done during this time. I paid for my ticket with CFA and French Francs. All banks in CFA countries take French Francs as direct deposits and exchanges. The currency is locked in at 100 CFA = 1 FF. As a result, merchants, hotels and even the hair salon I went to yesterday, accept French Francs. Receiving French Francs was an opportunity to delay, so ofcourse they took advantage of it. They called in a boy to run to the bank and exchange it. A local customer in the crowd irate at the delay and the silliness of their need for the exchange offered to do the exchange out of his pocket in the office. The exchange was for several hundred dollars worth. Later when it was revealed they didn't have any change what-so-ever in local currency, and would have to send someone out get some, another customer fronted the change. 5000 CFA note ($8.50) in 1000CFA notes. The difficulties in paying cash set me back 25 minutes, and of those who were patient enough not to walk away, successfully delayed other potential customers, thus preventing the plane from being fully booked. I enjoyed flying on a sparsely filled flight. --- Jim and I hung out at a cyber cafe in the afternoon. I received some e-mail from Appie saying that he, Markus and Wolfgang were in Abidjan. The note was date 5 minutes ago. I quickly fired back an e-mail and we managed to meet up for lunch. We hadn't seen them since Nouakchott, Mauritania. They had taken the coastal route. They had some tough travel through Guinea road wise. --- After receiving some kidding from Jim and Appie about my choice of an Ethiopian air carrier. Jim suggested I take some food, as it might be scarce. Appi suggested, that for my personal benefit, I "demand" to be seated next to the Emergency Exit. I was only crossing middle Africa, but yet the take off time is 9:40pm, and I didn't arrive at my destination until 1:45pm the next day. 3 stops (Accra, Lagos, Addis Ababa) and a plane change. 3 hours time difference. The plane was a 757 in as good condition as a typical TWA. We were only 45 minutes late taking off. 30 minutes later, we were in Accra with 45 minutes of predicted ground time. Other than a broken pneumatic headphone jack which was blasting marching tunes at me from across the isle, the flight was uneventful and pleasant. Regarding fears that only a few grains of rice would be served, the meal was a standard western airline meal with choice of beef, chicken or fish accompanied by a 187ml of red B&G Medoc wine. The only caucasian foreigners on this flight seemed to be American, which given then number of American tourists in third worlds seemed disproportionate. I started to think about my travel "uniform", and how much my clothes brand me as an American. The first elderly couple were easily identifiable by the fact he was wearing Thorlo hiking socks with Tevas, and the fact she was wearing Ex-officio pants. Two girls came on, one of them totally nondescript to me in clothes, however the other was wearing Vasque Sun-downer hiking boots which was a dead give away to being American. All of the above is or has been used in my travel wardrobe, and I often see other Americans wearing these, but never any from another country. I see it as an example of how much marketing influences American styles and way of thinking. Or another way to view it is that the finest travel clothes have limited distribution and may only be found in the US :-) I later found out that the older couple turned out to be American's living in Ghana to study birds. The two girls turned out to be American PCV's now on leave. Later Note: On the evening of December 23, 1999 the military shutdown Abidjan's airport. It was the start of a military coup which toppled the President. Jim made it out, as he said, and hour before it happened on his scheduled flight that was booked months ahead. The motorcycles were delayed two days from their initial departure date, but still left Abidjan one day before the coup. We got lucky. Appie, Markus and Wolfgang, fortunately had plans to be in Ghana for Christmas, and so had also made it out unknowingly just in time. I heard a dawn to dusk curfew was imposed. While we were there, the word from the locals, was that their had been a lot of racial tension (black-black i.e.amongst West Africans). Abidjan is half made up of immigrant worker. The president was contemplating shipping the immigrants back. Apparently their had been a lot of discontent. Elections were coming up in October, and the opposition favorite was looking like he was sure to win. So much so that through presidential influence, the constitution was amended to say that presidential candidates must have both parents born in Ivory Coast. The opposition's mother was from Burkina Faso. Regardless, the people seemed to be at ease thinking that everything would be much better after the election in October, 2000. The military had other plans. I think Ivory Coast was my least favorite countries... this due to the experience I had at trying to do business while shipping... the incompetent and corrupt weenies at the border crossing, seeing an isolated St. Peters Cathedral, in a town with 10,000 street lights and car-less 6 lane highways, that was designated as the countries capital because the president was born there, despite that the town only had 500 citizens. ---- Dave Thompson http://www.roadkill.com/~davet/worldtrip ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com