Bonjour!
This whole blogging-about-Morocco thing is a lot harder than I anticipated it being, especially as so much has been happening lately in Ghana. So sorry for the absence(s) and here we go:
The night before Elena and I left Meknes we called the Youth Hostel in Fes we planned to stay in to reserve beds. The man I talked with spoke perfect English (yay!) and said no problem to us getting beds (yay again!) and then...told us something like this: "Don't talk to anyone on the train. If anyone asks, you have been in Morocco for 1 month, and you are only staying in Fes for 1 night. Don't let anyone help you with your bags, there are a lot of professional thieves around. Don't trust anyone at all." I got off the phone slightly afraid. Fes here we come! (Oh god.)
Elena and I got to the train station in Meknes on the morning of New Year's Eve ready to FIGHT for seats on the train. We also gave dirty looks to anyone who looked our way. We were gonna get seats and we weren't gonna trust anyone Moroccan in the process, goddammit.We were all tense and ridiculous and told this Russian couple that it would be really crowded and to get ready. When the train arrived I literally pushed an old lady out of the way to get in the door. (A 40 pound backpack can come in handy sometimes...) We got seats! So did everyone else. Because this train, unlike the one we had taken 4 days before was NOT the most crowded train in the whole world. We were then slightly embarrassed about the whole "old lady" incident.
The ride from Meknes to Fes was only about 45 minutes, so we got to the train station around 11 in the morning. Game faces ON. Since we had backpacks, offers to help with our luggage were minimal. That did not stop a million really gross taxi drivers trying to charge us like a million dollars to get to the hostel. Finally we settled on only paying twice as much as we should for the ride, and got to the hostel, where we met the two scariest men in charge of our well-being and lodging ever.
I don't remember either of their names, but they were more-than-likely: Ali, Hassan, Abdul, or Mohammed...they were both in their early 40s (I would guess), and all they liked to do was kick us out of the hostel for hours at a time (out from 10 to 12, out from 2 to 6), make sure we got a good nights sleep (must be back in by 10), and tell us how scary and dangerous Fes was, especially for girls, and that if we wanted to do anything we would have to book an Official Guide through the hostel. Money making scheme anyone???? They kind of sucked.
After hearing the second of what was to become MANY lectures on safety (if you are so worried about my safety, why are you kicking me out of the hostel ALL DAY??), we went to go drop our stuff off in the dorm. There we met a girl from Quebec who was traveling for 6 months with her boyfriend. She told us her name at least 6 times, but it was really hard to pronounce...and I can honestly tell you that I NEVER had any idea what it was. From now on she will be called Mary. So Mary told us about what she had been up to, travelling Europe mainly, with a pop down to Morocco for a week or so. She still had at least 3 months left...but was sadly running out of money, and so would soon start looking for work in France. (Oh to speak FRENCH!) She was very nice and invited us to the New Year's Eve "Party" that would be held at the hostel after we all had to come back in at 10pm. She told us where we could buy some beers (Islamic country= little alcohol) and we left her to go explore Fes. We were a little apprehensive...but then again, we had no choice.
We wandered around the Ville Nouvelle ( where the hostel was located) because the Medina was REALLY far away, and we had already relented to the creepy schemers and had agreed to have an official guide take us around the Medina (which is HUGE and very labyrinth-like) the next morning. So we got lunch in this cute cafe in a park nearby, and wandered around, window shopping, at scarf stores. It makes sense, but I was still surprised and delighted to see entire stores devoted only to scarves! Very fun (and practical too!)
Around 7 that night we were so cold we couldn't feel our hands or feet (Fes is both further inland than Meknes, and also closer to the Atlas Mountains making it the 2nd coldest city we visited), so we went to the "Alcohol Store" and got a few tall cans of Heineken (which turned out to be really bad) and some snacks for the fiesta. No one else was back yet (most likely because they possessed warm coats...) so we got in our beds and tried to get warm until people came back.
Around 9 we had all gathered (outside. sigh.) around this table with our various boozes and had fun drinking and talking about grown up things like foreign policy and the importance of travel to the growing international community (justifying unlimited money used on travel? maybe.) We also talked about the importance of language and why Americans usually don't speak any second languages, and I was kind of relieved when one of our fellow hostelers made the point that America is so big, that there is less need to speak any language other than English. While I think that language should be stressed much more than it is in the States, it was nice not to just have an "Everyone hates America" talk.
Later in the evening, and much closer to midnight, this group of Belgian men came into the hostel after a day out. Most likely the fact that they were all both male and over 60 made the creepy wardens less strict on the "back by 10" policy, oh well. These men were nice...if not a little strange, and also drunk, and very actively rolled a joint in front of me (I declined their offer) but the craziest thing about them was their Ghanaian driver! Yes, a man who had been born and raised in Ghana and had relocated to Belgium, just happened to be in the same youth hostel in Fes, Morocco, as Elena and I. (The world is so freakin' small)
We attempted to speak Twi with him (in a somewhat desperate attempt-on my part at least-to prove to all these multi-lingual European/Canadians that we are at least making the effort to speak a language other than English) but our new Ghanaian friend was not as friendly as those we have met and become friends with in Ghana. After rolling a joint of his own though, he became much nicer.
The next day, New Year's Day, we met Ozdean (this is phonetic spelling, obviously) our OFFICIAL guide who would be taking us around the huge and somewhat intimidating Medina of Fes. This whole tour thing was a scam, seeing as we had to pay for our taxi to the place and then had to go to all these craft shops to see scarves being woven, leather being tanned (not sure that is proper English usage...) jewelry being made, etc. And, of course, after all of these fun displays and free pictures, there was immense pressure to buy. Ozdean always seemed to disappear for long periods of time when we were getting hassled.
Despite the buying pressure, we did learn a lot about how the Medinas in Morocco are set up. For every bakery, hammam and drinking fountain there is a different district of the city. We also got to take some pretty sweet pictures of people doing their thing making various crafts which was nice. After the 3 hour tour, we had to take this really expensive van-thing back to the hostel, because we could not get a taxi to save our lives, and then payed Ozdean too much and a tip because even though we were a little bitter about the whole experience we still have manners.
The next day, we adventured back to the Medina to do shopping of our own without the pressure of a guide. We were a little worried about getting hopelessly lost, but were determined. We might have missed out on a lot of stuff as we decided to stick to two very long and windy paths which us took us through the craft part of the medina (a different and much less touristy part than the day before) but we did not get lost and we were still able to buy some really cool gifts. We then grabbed lunch (vegetarian cous cous and tajine!) and then wandered a little further.
While we were wandering, it occurred to us that our next stop, Chefchaouen, was literally in the Atlas Mountains and would, somehow, be colder than Fes. (We knew if but could not really fathom it...) and it might be in our best interest to purchase some long underwear to wear below our jeans and thin sweatshirts. This would also be a helpful purchase because after around 12 days of not washing any of our clothes and wearing the majority of them every day our jeans especially were starting to sag. Long-johns could be the answer to that problem as well. This is how we had the best retail experience of our lives.
Okay...maybe not best, but funniest.
So, Elena and I spot a booth-like-thing selling many different colors of wool long-johns. I immediately pick out a pair of steel gray ones, because in my head, I will admit, I only ever think of myself wearing steel gray long-johns were I to wear them at all. Elena, surprisingly, also had picked out steel gray in her mind, and was somewhat disappointed to see that I had taken the only pair.
Enter the salesman. He was a short, thin Moroccan man, who I would guess to be in his mid-to-late 50s. He walked with a stoop, and had completely gray hair. He also spoke English, in the way most merchants in Morocco (or at least Fes) did, really only knowing phrases like "good deal", "global price" (what could that possibly mean?), and "make me a good price". Anyway, so this man comes up to us, and we eventually get it across that we both want hideous steel gray wool pants. He finds Elena some with blue and green embroidery on the bottom of the leg before the elastic cuffing. (hot.) We are immediately wary of this development, as he will most likely try and charge us like 100Dh more for embroidery, but when we ask about this he is surprisingly good natured.
Man: "You see? These have decoration!"
Me: "How much for these decorations?"
Man: (looking slightly offended) "Decorations are free! Decorations are free!"
Me and Elena: "Hey! Okay."
Man: "So you will take 2?"
Me: "How much for both?" (buying in bulk is always the smarter option)
Man"Give me 100Dh." (approx. $15)
Elena: "ummmm....how about 70?"
Man: WHOA!!!!!!!!! (I mean he screamed this at us. Elena and I could do nothing but try not to burst into uncontrollable laughter.)
small pause
Man: "Give me 80."
In complete, painful silence, Elena and I bring forth the 80Dh, and take away our pants. When we are about 20 feet from the man and his booth, we burst into the laughter that had been welling up for the last 75 seconds. Then Elena said: "I think that 'whoa!' was worth an extra 10Dh." I had to agree.
The next day, after spending a small fortune on gifts/warm weather clothes, we boarded a bus to go to Chefchaouen, a small hippy-village in the mountains. Absolutely everyone we had talked to thus far insured us that Chef was the best stop in Morocco. After a 5 hour nausea-inducing bus ride I was hoping everyone was right.
I love you.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Ghanamania
Hellohellohello,
Just an update on my current activities in Ghana. I am trying desperately to finish my blogs about Morocco but there are literally 8 to go, and I am starting to wonder how the hell I will ever get there...plus my current adventures are starting to take a backseat...oy vey!
Okay, so a new batch of Californians arrived a month ago and it is strange. They are very nice (for the most part) and are interested in learning and not teaching (which is a big step, seriously) but they are SO young in so many ways. Things like doing their laundry by hand in a bucket, or scrambling for candles and flashlights during a blackout, or hauling buckets of water up 4 flights of stairs is still interesting and fun for them, when in reality, it's not fun, or very interesting, its actually kind of a pain in the ass. I know I was like them in the beginning, and so I am trying to not be judgmental, but it becomes ridiculous when all you want is to bitch for a minute about the lack of water, and some big-hearted new kid is laughing and smiling over the whole thing...it makes you feel like a jerk. But I know I am not a jerk, I am just experienced, and I now understand (after a lot of trial and tribulation, I might add) that just because you are grateful to be in a place and really do like it for many reasons, does not mean you need to like carrying buckets of water up stairs.
Moving on: Elena and I went on a 5 day adventure this week. Our plan was to head North to go back to Mole (Mole-lay) National Park and then head to the Northwest corner of Ghana to go to Wa, to a Hippo Sanctuary where we would be allowed to sleep in a TREEHOUSE above the hippos! So we set out Friday morning and boarded a bus to Tamale, which is about 12 hours away. Unlike the last time we headed north, where our bus broke down 3 times and the 12 hour trip took 27 hours total, after only a short delay we were on our way, making it to Tamale by 9pm, a mere 13 hours after we were scheduled to leave Accra.
We stayed at the Catholic Guest House in Tamale Friday night, where we had called ahead to make a reservation, that they lost, so we were forced to sleep in a single bed, which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that it was easily 95,000 degrees (at 9pm) in Tamale. Ick.
We awoke at 4:00 am so we would get back down to the bus station by 4:30 to buy tickets heading toward Wa, but we would alight in Larabanga, only 5 km from the park. So we make our way through the crowded and putrid-smelling Tamale bus station, where we are informed by several people that the bus heading toward Wa is sold out. This is impossible, and we know it, because the last time we were in the Tamale bus station at 4:30 in the morning, the tickets to Wa did not go on sale until 4:30 in the morning, and as it was actually 4:35 by this time, there seemed to be no possible way, at all, that this bus, that only leaves once a day, and was the cornerstone of our entire trip going the way it was planned, could be sold out. So there.
Sadly, Ghana IS a developing country, and one development made in the city of Tamale, at this stupid bus station, was that of selling advanced tickets. The bus WAS in fact, sold out. Crap.
Just when we were about to get a little frustrated Elena meets this older gentleman, who tells us that the conductor of the bus will usually sell tickets when the bus leaves, and that way we could STAND. Okay. The two of us had done this ride from Tamale to Larabanga in December, and could attest to the fact that it was the absolute bumpiest ride in the entire world...and took nearly 3 hours. I was in serious doubt that my body would like me a whole lot after 3 hours standing on a bus that was literally jumping up and down.
But, that is exactly what we did, body be damned. It was pretty awkward, mainly because I was standing in between seats where two teenage boys sat, and had virtually no control over what they were saying about me/my body while I bounced around...so yeah. That kind of sucked. It was made more tolerable by the fact that the entire aisle of this bus was full of people, so it wasn't just the two oboruni women standing in the middle of the aisle to get laughed at. And everything became more amusing when some young Ghanaian man started trying to sell herbal remedies for all our bodily ailments. (The same cream could cure a sore throat, a runny nose, erectile dysfunction and vaginal discharge!)
After 3 hours of pure ridiculous, we got off the bus at Larabanga. We were the ONLY people to get off the bus, and about 15 more people were trying to get on. This was a problem, because our plan the next day was to catch this SAME bus heading toward Wa, to get to the Hippo Sanctuary, which was about 5 hours ride away. Meaning, if we decided to stay with our plan, we would have to most likely stand in an even more crowded bus for nearly twice as long...no thank you.
Our new plan became to try and go to Kintampo Falls, south of Tamale, and about halfway toward Kumasi, and then the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. Then back to Accra by Tuesday.
After getting off the bus, we then mounted a moto (motorcycle) with some young Ghanaian, who drove us up to the park, and then at the gate, after we paid the entrance fee, the moto took Elena up to the hotel (only one at a time on the back in the park) and I hopped in the back of some Danish family's truck, and hitched my way up to the hotel. Sometimes I am amazed by Ghanaian forms of transportation.
We took beds in the female dorm, where we met this really nice girl from Switzerland who had volunteered in Kumasi 2 years ago. While Elena napped I talked with her about what its like to miss Ghana. She said that she had never been homesick for Switzerland in all the traveling she had done, but that she was so homesick for Ghana when she left it. It was very sad and scary, but good to know that she is fine now, and makes it a priority to come back, and still has strong ties with the community she lived in.
In the afternoon, we went on a Safari walk, where we only saw one elephant, but it was really close, and I got some great pictures! We also saw tons on Bushbuck, Kob, and Crocodiles. We also saw this BEAUTIFUL bird that may have been a Great Blue Herring. This is according to this RIDICULOUS woman on the walk with us...who was completely covered in tarp-like stuff and putting bug repellent all over her socks (which were pulled up over her tarp pants) and who kept talking about wanting to see snakes or something...so who knows about the accuracy of this sighting.
The next morning we left the park (at 4:30) to go back to Tamale. The bus ride was full of all these arguments, that I could not understand, and ended up taking 4 hours. By the time we got to Tamale we were starving and irritated. We also found out that the tro we needed to take to Kintampo Falls had already left, and we were forced to take another one, heading further south to Techiman, and we would drop at Kintampo. This tro took about 40 minutes to leave, and was the biggest tro I have ever seen. In addition to the 6 or so rows of five seats running down the car, there were also two rows of 6-8 in the back that were raised up. No one wanted these seats, so all the seats in the main part of the car, including the fold out ones in the middle were taken first, forcing everyone to get up and move every time anyone needed to get in or out of the back. This problem was made worse by the fact that this tro was so incredibly cramped, for the fold out seat to fold UP the person sitting nearest to the hinge had to somehow move to allow the seat to fold. This was me, fyi. I had to do this squish-into-the-back-of-my-seat thing to let people pass at least 15 times, and on about the 11th time around, I cut myself on the metal part of the seat, making my back bleed all over my shirt, and so I was forced to hold a bandanna over the cut for the duration of the ride. Yep.
We eventually got off at Kintampo, where we found a taxi who would take us to the falls, wait for us, and then take us to Techiman, where we were staying the night, all for 11 Ghana Cedis. Not bad. The falls were nice, and very relaxing, and much needed after that freaking tro tro ride from hell. It was a little awkward because there are 3 different falls, the third only for swimming/bathing, and at all three falls, there were people praying. Kind of a damper on the fun of two oborunis in two-piece swim suits...oh well. We got over it, and presumably so did the pray-ers, and we got in the water and stood in the falls and it was wonderful. (I also got to clean up a little of the blood.)
We then headed to Techiman, but not before picking up 2 more passengers. Two men, one I never met, the other was Kwame. Kwame had to be at least 35, and talked at me for the 40 minutes of our ride about how he wasn't scared of anything and he was very brave, etc, etc. When he asked for my number I told him I didn't have a phone. Que Sara.
We then got into our hotel in Techiman, which for 20 cedis (too much...but who cares) we got running HOT water, toilet paper in the room, soap in the room, and A TELEVISION!!!!!!! The TV only got one station, but we still watched for 3 hours. Sometimes you just need to veg.
The next morning, we set out toward the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. We took a shared taxi to Nkrawnza, then a tro from there to Fiemma. We walked over to the orientation house-thing, where we met our guide, Robert, and off we went on a 2 hour walk to learn about monkeys.
This monkey sanctuary has two kind of monkeys: The Mona monkey, which is very social and a complete pain in the ass to all the people who live in the neighboring villages, and the Black and White Colubus Monkeys who are much more shy. Ironically we mainly saw the black and whites, which was fine, because we had seen the Mona at a different sanctuary in the Volta Region. They are pretty crazy looking with these SUPER long white tails and very wise faces. According to Robert, when these monkeys moan and cry between the hours of 11pm and 2am, it means someone in the village will die in the next 7 days. When this happens all the older people of the village walk around wondering if it will be them or one of their friends. And, if the monkeys moan and cry between 2am and 6am, it means it will rain. The people in the villages were hoping to hear them crying soon. (It was CRAZY hot and dry there).
We also saw the monkey graveyard, where the monkeys found dead must be buried, or bad things will happen to the villagers, and also where the fetish priests who have a special relationship with the monkeys are buried too. One of the priests who was buried was (according to his gravestone) 120 years old when he died. And, according to Robert, a woman in the Boabeng village is currently 160. I'm not sure if I believe it though...
When we left the sanctuary, we were told to wait at the junction down the road and a tro would come by and we could get on there. After an hour and a half, we had been passed by 2 full tros and were beginning to get worried. When it looked like we might have to just start walking, a pick-up truck came around the corner and stopped in front of us.
The driver, William Osu, was on his way to Techiman, to sell corn. We asked if we could hitch with him, and he said yes. So I climbed into the little seat behind William, and Elena in the passenger's seat and we were off. On the way, William stopped and picked up around 10 people from neighboring villages, on their way home after a day working on farms. He also told us all the names of the villages, and which where smaller or bigger, which had schools, etc. He was a complete life-saver. We gave him 5 cedis when he dropped us at the Techiman bus station and he wished us well.
We then got on another tro, this time toward Kumasi, where we planned to stay the night, and then grab an STC bus in the morning to Accra. By the time we got to Kumasi it was around 5pm and we were FILTHY. We dropped from our tro in downtown, and then grabbed a taxi to the STC station so we could buy our tickets in advance. After that we walked to this really cute hotel/hostel place very near the bus station where we promptly took showers, and then went in search of dinner and a much deserved beer.
The next day we got our bus (only left 90 minutes late) and got to Accra around 3pm. All in all not our most successful of trips, and we spent TONS on transportation (relatively...) but it was good, and now we have two more destinations off our lists of stuff to do before we leave...in less than 4 months.
Okay, there is more Ghana news...mainly that I might have a cancerous mole (getting it checked on Friday), I was bitten by a monkey, on campus, it did not draw blood, and I do not have rabies (but now really hate monkeys a lot), and that I still have yet to have an actual class. Oh, Ghana.
I love you.
Just an update on my current activities in Ghana. I am trying desperately to finish my blogs about Morocco but there are literally 8 to go, and I am starting to wonder how the hell I will ever get there...plus my current adventures are starting to take a backseat...oy vey!
Okay, so a new batch of Californians arrived a month ago and it is strange. They are very nice (for the most part) and are interested in learning and not teaching (which is a big step, seriously) but they are SO young in so many ways. Things like doing their laundry by hand in a bucket, or scrambling for candles and flashlights during a blackout, or hauling buckets of water up 4 flights of stairs is still interesting and fun for them, when in reality, it's not fun, or very interesting, its actually kind of a pain in the ass. I know I was like them in the beginning, and so I am trying to not be judgmental, but it becomes ridiculous when all you want is to bitch for a minute about the lack of water, and some big-hearted new kid is laughing and smiling over the whole thing...it makes you feel like a jerk. But I know I am not a jerk, I am just experienced, and I now understand (after a lot of trial and tribulation, I might add) that just because you are grateful to be in a place and really do like it for many reasons, does not mean you need to like carrying buckets of water up stairs.
Moving on: Elena and I went on a 5 day adventure this week. Our plan was to head North to go back to Mole (Mole-lay) National Park and then head to the Northwest corner of Ghana to go to Wa, to a Hippo Sanctuary where we would be allowed to sleep in a TREEHOUSE above the hippos! So we set out Friday morning and boarded a bus to Tamale, which is about 12 hours away. Unlike the last time we headed north, where our bus broke down 3 times and the 12 hour trip took 27 hours total, after only a short delay we were on our way, making it to Tamale by 9pm, a mere 13 hours after we were scheduled to leave Accra.
We stayed at the Catholic Guest House in Tamale Friday night, where we had called ahead to make a reservation, that they lost, so we were forced to sleep in a single bed, which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that it was easily 95,000 degrees (at 9pm) in Tamale. Ick.
We awoke at 4:00 am so we would get back down to the bus station by 4:30 to buy tickets heading toward Wa, but we would alight in Larabanga, only 5 km from the park. So we make our way through the crowded and putrid-smelling Tamale bus station, where we are informed by several people that the bus heading toward Wa is sold out. This is impossible, and we know it, because the last time we were in the Tamale bus station at 4:30 in the morning, the tickets to Wa did not go on sale until 4:30 in the morning, and as it was actually 4:35 by this time, there seemed to be no possible way, at all, that this bus, that only leaves once a day, and was the cornerstone of our entire trip going the way it was planned, could be sold out. So there.
Sadly, Ghana IS a developing country, and one development made in the city of Tamale, at this stupid bus station, was that of selling advanced tickets. The bus WAS in fact, sold out. Crap.
Just when we were about to get a little frustrated Elena meets this older gentleman, who tells us that the conductor of the bus will usually sell tickets when the bus leaves, and that way we could STAND. Okay. The two of us had done this ride from Tamale to Larabanga in December, and could attest to the fact that it was the absolute bumpiest ride in the entire world...and took nearly 3 hours. I was in serious doubt that my body would like me a whole lot after 3 hours standing on a bus that was literally jumping up and down.
But, that is exactly what we did, body be damned. It was pretty awkward, mainly because I was standing in between seats where two teenage boys sat, and had virtually no control over what they were saying about me/my body while I bounced around...so yeah. That kind of sucked. It was made more tolerable by the fact that the entire aisle of this bus was full of people, so it wasn't just the two oboruni women standing in the middle of the aisle to get laughed at. And everything became more amusing when some young Ghanaian man started trying to sell herbal remedies for all our bodily ailments. (The same cream could cure a sore throat, a runny nose, erectile dysfunction and vaginal discharge!)
After 3 hours of pure ridiculous, we got off the bus at Larabanga. We were the ONLY people to get off the bus, and about 15 more people were trying to get on. This was a problem, because our plan the next day was to catch this SAME bus heading toward Wa, to get to the Hippo Sanctuary, which was about 5 hours ride away. Meaning, if we decided to stay with our plan, we would have to most likely stand in an even more crowded bus for nearly twice as long...no thank you.
Our new plan became to try and go to Kintampo Falls, south of Tamale, and about halfway toward Kumasi, and then the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. Then back to Accra by Tuesday.
After getting off the bus, we then mounted a moto (motorcycle) with some young Ghanaian, who drove us up to the park, and then at the gate, after we paid the entrance fee, the moto took Elena up to the hotel (only one at a time on the back in the park) and I hopped in the back of some Danish family's truck, and hitched my way up to the hotel. Sometimes I am amazed by Ghanaian forms of transportation.
We took beds in the female dorm, where we met this really nice girl from Switzerland who had volunteered in Kumasi 2 years ago. While Elena napped I talked with her about what its like to miss Ghana. She said that she had never been homesick for Switzerland in all the traveling she had done, but that she was so homesick for Ghana when she left it. It was very sad and scary, but good to know that she is fine now, and makes it a priority to come back, and still has strong ties with the community she lived in.
In the afternoon, we went on a Safari walk, where we only saw one elephant, but it was really close, and I got some great pictures! We also saw tons on Bushbuck, Kob, and Crocodiles. We also saw this BEAUTIFUL bird that may have been a Great Blue Herring. This is according to this RIDICULOUS woman on the walk with us...who was completely covered in tarp-like stuff and putting bug repellent all over her socks (which were pulled up over her tarp pants) and who kept talking about wanting to see snakes or something...so who knows about the accuracy of this sighting.
The next morning we left the park (at 4:30) to go back to Tamale. The bus ride was full of all these arguments, that I could not understand, and ended up taking 4 hours. By the time we got to Tamale we were starving and irritated. We also found out that the tro we needed to take to Kintampo Falls had already left, and we were forced to take another one, heading further south to Techiman, and we would drop at Kintampo. This tro took about 40 minutes to leave, and was the biggest tro I have ever seen. In addition to the 6 or so rows of five seats running down the car, there were also two rows of 6-8 in the back that were raised up. No one wanted these seats, so all the seats in the main part of the car, including the fold out ones in the middle were taken first, forcing everyone to get up and move every time anyone needed to get in or out of the back. This problem was made worse by the fact that this tro was so incredibly cramped, for the fold out seat to fold UP the person sitting nearest to the hinge had to somehow move to allow the seat to fold. This was me, fyi. I had to do this squish-into-the-back-of-my-seat thing to let people pass at least 15 times, and on about the 11th time around, I cut myself on the metal part of the seat, making my back bleed all over my shirt, and so I was forced to hold a bandanna over the cut for the duration of the ride. Yep.
We eventually got off at Kintampo, where we found a taxi who would take us to the falls, wait for us, and then take us to Techiman, where we were staying the night, all for 11 Ghana Cedis. Not bad. The falls were nice, and very relaxing, and much needed after that freaking tro tro ride from hell. It was a little awkward because there are 3 different falls, the third only for swimming/bathing, and at all three falls, there were people praying. Kind of a damper on the fun of two oborunis in two-piece swim suits...oh well. We got over it, and presumably so did the pray-ers, and we got in the water and stood in the falls and it was wonderful. (I also got to clean up a little of the blood.)
We then headed to Techiman, but not before picking up 2 more passengers. Two men, one I never met, the other was Kwame. Kwame had to be at least 35, and talked at me for the 40 minutes of our ride about how he wasn't scared of anything and he was very brave, etc, etc. When he asked for my number I told him I didn't have a phone. Que Sara.
We then got into our hotel in Techiman, which for 20 cedis (too much...but who cares) we got running HOT water, toilet paper in the room, soap in the room, and A TELEVISION!!!!!!! The TV only got one station, but we still watched for 3 hours. Sometimes you just need to veg.
The next morning, we set out toward the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. We took a shared taxi to Nkrawnza, then a tro from there to Fiemma. We walked over to the orientation house-thing, where we met our guide, Robert, and off we went on a 2 hour walk to learn about monkeys.
This monkey sanctuary has two kind of monkeys: The Mona monkey, which is very social and a complete pain in the ass to all the people who live in the neighboring villages, and the Black and White Colubus Monkeys who are much more shy. Ironically we mainly saw the black and whites, which was fine, because we had seen the Mona at a different sanctuary in the Volta Region. They are pretty crazy looking with these SUPER long white tails and very wise faces. According to Robert, when these monkeys moan and cry between the hours of 11pm and 2am, it means someone in the village will die in the next 7 days. When this happens all the older people of the village walk around wondering if it will be them or one of their friends. And, if the monkeys moan and cry between 2am and 6am, it means it will rain. The people in the villages were hoping to hear them crying soon. (It was CRAZY hot and dry there).
We also saw the monkey graveyard, where the monkeys found dead must be buried, or bad things will happen to the villagers, and also where the fetish priests who have a special relationship with the monkeys are buried too. One of the priests who was buried was (according to his gravestone) 120 years old when he died. And, according to Robert, a woman in the Boabeng village is currently 160. I'm not sure if I believe it though...
When we left the sanctuary, we were told to wait at the junction down the road and a tro would come by and we could get on there. After an hour and a half, we had been passed by 2 full tros and were beginning to get worried. When it looked like we might have to just start walking, a pick-up truck came around the corner and stopped in front of us.
The driver, William Osu, was on his way to Techiman, to sell corn. We asked if we could hitch with him, and he said yes. So I climbed into the little seat behind William, and Elena in the passenger's seat and we were off. On the way, William stopped and picked up around 10 people from neighboring villages, on their way home after a day working on farms. He also told us all the names of the villages, and which where smaller or bigger, which had schools, etc. He was a complete life-saver. We gave him 5 cedis when he dropped us at the Techiman bus station and he wished us well.
We then got on another tro, this time toward Kumasi, where we planned to stay the night, and then grab an STC bus in the morning to Accra. By the time we got to Kumasi it was around 5pm and we were FILTHY. We dropped from our tro in downtown, and then grabbed a taxi to the STC station so we could buy our tickets in advance. After that we walked to this really cute hotel/hostel place very near the bus station where we promptly took showers, and then went in search of dinner and a much deserved beer.
The next day we got our bus (only left 90 minutes late) and got to Accra around 3pm. All in all not our most successful of trips, and we spent TONS on transportation (relatively...) but it was good, and now we have two more destinations off our lists of stuff to do before we leave...in less than 4 months.
Okay, there is more Ghana news...mainly that I might have a cancerous mole (getting it checked on Friday), I was bitten by a monkey, on campus, it did not draw blood, and I do not have rabies (but now really hate monkeys a lot), and that I still have yet to have an actual class. Oh, Ghana.
I love you.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Morocco Chapter 3: Meknes
Chah-laaaay!
The use of the phrase "Chah-lay" (most likely spelled "Charlie") is one that Ghanaians use to express excitement, among other things. With the prominence of the Cup of Nations this phrase has been used like nobodies business and I have decided to take it up, there is no better way to create habit than by repetition...so I'm doing my best to use it often, even though that often results in giggles...and blatantly being made fun of.
Okay, back to the Moroccan Madness. After leaving the youth hostel in Rabat, we walked back to the train station and boarded a train going to Meknes, a city just south of the much more famous Fes and reputed for being much more laid back and much less touristy. The train ride was supposed to be about 3 hours. 3 hours didn't seem like very long, except for the fact that when we boarded the train, so did every other person in Morocco...and the two of us, along with many many Moroccan riders were forced to wander aimlessly throughout the train, car after car, trying in vain to find a seat, and succeeding in hitting everyone me passed in the head, or arm or leg or hand or whatever with our huge backpacks. We are talking 35 lbs of (largely useless) clothes, sleeping bags, bath products, and Luna bars. So...it is pretty likely we were hated on a lot in the first 40 minutes or so of the ride.
Finally we stopped in between cars where we hung out with all the chain smokers who had most likely chosen to stand out the middle of two rocking train cars to insure they could light one cigarette with the other for the duration of their ride. Yum. Eventually, after about an hour of this, Elena found us two seats in this closed off compartment with 6 people in it, and just barely enough room for 2 white idiots and really no room for their bags of crap, but everyone was nice and accommodating and we eventually fit.
In this car was a couple from
So...Elena and I are ridiculous, and having read about recent anti-Western violence (specifically against Americans) we decided to tell everyone we were from
We made ourselves look like complete ass-holes because we kept referring to the US dollar when talking about money (the Canadian dollar is currently worth more now), admitted to spoke more Spanish than French (seriously) and looked for the slightest provocation to talk about
After the incredibly awkward ride, where not only did we practically prove that we were lying about our nationality, but Elena and the MW engaged in this ridiculous "who's-developing country-is better" competition where both just talked about Ghana and Malaysia respectively and pretended to be interested in the other's but really just wanted to hear themselves talk. (I wanted to kill them both after the debate about prominence of indigenous languages.) We got off the train, said bye to the (really cute) Moroccan brothers, and set off in search of our youth hostel.
We took a petit taxi to the hostel, and after the taxi rolled away, we realized that the door to the hostel was firmly locked. The hours on the door gave the impression that the hostel should in fact be open...and this hostel was kind of in the middle of nowhere, so we shrugged and decided we would have to get a taxi to the
About 40 minutes later a man pulled up right in front of us. He looked at us with some puzzlement, and we beamed back at him. He did not exit the car to let us into the hostel, but instead pulled out his cell phone to make a call. After about 2 minutes he got out of the car and approached us, speaking French. (see previous blog entry) After a few minutes of this our blank expressions notified him of our ignorance, and he began to speak to us in English. His name was Hassan, and he was a former employee of the hostel and had just called his former boss to notify him of two American/Canadian girls sitting on the steps of the establishment. Unfortunately, Hassan said, the boss-man was not going to open the hostel today, but would open in the following day (Sunday) at 6pm. Okay...not gonna help.
We thanked Hassan for his kindness, and then asked him where the best place to catch a taxi to the
Hassan was very nice, apologizing repeatedly for smoking in the car (I was practically immune to cigarette smoke by this point) and told us that after leaving the hostel he had moved to Saudi Arabia to do some very scientific sounding work for 7 years. He had just returned to
After 3 hotels where our poorly pronounced "bonjour!" ended nowhere helpful, we were starting to lose our gusto for this little adventure. I should mention that we originally had no intention to visit
Elena: Bonjour!
No response
Elena: Bonjour!
No response
Elena: Bonjour?
Man out of absolutely nowhere who appeared behind the check in desk: Bonjour!!!!!
This man was Lechet. Lechet was a slightly overweight, jolly, Berber man who (thank god) spoke English and became our friend. Mainly because he had one room available. One small-as-a-tool-shed room, with walls decorated completely in mosaic, making it look, somehow, smaller, a clogged sink, and a bed where the middle was completely broken making Elena and I roll into each other no-matter-what, when we slept. All for about $9 a night. Without said room, Lechet might not have been so dear to us.
In
In
So, we located a Hammam by stealthily following a woman who was carrying a duffle-bag, in the area we knew a hammam to be, and voila! There it was. It cost 10Dh ($1.25) and was awkward, because all the women spoke mainly Arabic, and a little French, so figuring out what the hell to do was kind of crazy. We had read that swim suits were customarily worn in the bath houses, but going topless was acceptable. Elena, who is much more comfortable with nakedness than I, who am very, very, maybe embarrassingly, modest, so she was going to go topless, and I was going to wear my bathing suit top. That was until this tiny little woman who was in charge of the lockers in the hammam laughed (somewhat cruelly) at me, and removed my top for me. Okay...I will be naked in public. I can do that. I guess.
And I did. And it wasn't bad. If hammams existed in the States, I think body issues would be much less a problem than they are. It was actually really nice. Being warm, for one thing was incredible, and washing my hair, shaving my legs, and generally being clean was a sensation I was starting to forget about. The glory of the moment was dimmed slightly when we had to put on dirty clothes (still on the hunt for a laundry of some sort) but after we rewarded our cleanliness by buying these big pink frosted cakes and retiring to the hotel.
We really didn't DO that much in Meknes...we visited a Moroccan McDonalds (the McArabia is all the rage...I don't even want to think about that sociological discussion) where we were laughed at, we got lost in the Ville Nouvelle (new city, built by the French) ate strawberries (oh how I miss you!) and literally dozens of chocolate croissants and cups of coffee. We also got lost in the
Our last night in Meknes, after being denied a day trip to see the Roman ruins at Volubilis (a taxi was going to charge us 300 Dh, aka $45) we began to wander the cobble-stone streets of the Medina and got lost. It then got dark, and we began to get a little afraid. Out of the darkness, a man appeared, who tried to help us, but we sadly do not speak French, and upon realizing we spoke only Anglais he knocked on the door in the wall beside him, which was opened by a young woman, who he spoke to briefly, and then left us. We looked around awkwardly, and then the woman surprised the dirty jeans off of us by asking us in English where we were going. We told her where we were staying, and asked us if she could tell us the way. She replied that she would take us herself, but to come in first. We looked at each other, and decided to hope she didn't want to hurt/rob/eat us, and went inside.
Once inside, we met Bouchra's mother and father (who did not speak English) and her brother and sister in law, who served us coffee, and a plate of cookies. It was wonderful. Bouchra, had decided, out of the blue, to learn English at the American Language Institute in Morocco, and we talked with her about our trip thus far, our problems with language, Ghana, and her family for the next hour. She laughed heartily at us when we told her we had gone to the Hammam. Her family invited us to stay the night, but we politely declined, as we had already paid for our hotel. Bouchra then walked us home, where she made mean faces at all the creepy teenagers hanging out wanting to harass the hell out of tourist girls.
I love you.
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