chrisleongeorge's latest blog entries

Here Endeth The Lesson

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 13:50:13 EDT

HERE ENDETH THE LESSON

We knew the trip through Spain, Portugal and then Spain again would be relatively uneventful compared to the rest of our journey , and so we devoted much of our time to a review of the whole trip.

The journey through the Algarve and the West Coast of Portugal though revealed the best and the worst aspects of our travel. The best is of course the people we met, and   going through the tourist spots enabled us to quickly seize the moral and behavioural high ground since the proliferation of Country Stickers on our rear made us look pretty cool.

The worst was that we realized how pathetically small our van is in comparison with the 40 footers that frequent the sites of Portugal. So the very thing that made us stand apart from the typical overlanders…that we had a luxurious home, also made us stand apart from the travelers in Portugal for the opposite reason.

That apart we did enjoy it even though the 2 years in Africa made Portugal look horribly expensive.

We were able to keep eating well at EU prices though simply because we tended to camp rough most nights. The Portuguese are very relaxed regarding mobile homes camping overnight at their beauty spots. High spot for both of us was the Douro Valley just East of Porto. Heart of the winelands and impressive scenery.

After travelling all the way up the coast from the Algarve to the border in the North we saw and drank most of which Portugal had to offer, and then moved into Spain for some religious education. For a couple that do not profess to have found or even got close to Jesus we seem to have had a number of religious experiences which enable us to hold our own with the most ardent of Jehovah’s Witnesses, but the most moving was at Santiago De Compostella, which is the goal of literally hundreds of Pilgrims…all of whom walk there…sometimes hundreds of miles, and always to worship at the Tomb of St James.

The fact that the Church has a dubious record of authenticating bones of the Saints and wood from the Cross and the fact that it is almost impossible to authenticate that St James was ever in Spain let alone buried there seems to be a matter of little significance to these people who undertake great privations to be able to throw themselves with great gnashing of teeth on the alleged burial place. Good for them we both say but the crass commercialism which surrounds this site is led by the Church itself. These days you can’t light a candle in memory…all you can do is place 2 Euros in a slot and in a glass box which looks like it came from an amusement arcade, a tiny electric candle lights up for 5 minutes.

Our final destination was Santander and the ferry but we had a day and a half to explore the town which we both thought stood up as a holiday destination on its own. Good restaurants and lovely beaches, and luckily good weather.

So what did we learn over the 2 years of our trip….difficult to express without being excessively sanctimonious, but if nothing else we learned that people are not accurately represented by their Governments, but more importantly although inherently passive, kind and generous people can be moved to incredible stupidity and violence by media manipulation.

Janet and I found it most expressive to represent what we learned by an Oscar style awards ceremony. The awards were as follows.

Most fantastic hospitality… Iran followed by Sudan.

Most irritating people   Ethiopians followed by more Ethiopians.

Best food…..Mozambique sea food

Worst Food…..Ethiopia…followed by Benin

Most fantastic Scenery   The Simeon Mountains in Ethiopia.

Worst Roads   Angola (but getting better)

Most Corrupt Police   Russia joint first with Cameroon.

Least Corrupt Police…No award the phrase is an oxymoron.

Hottest Country…..Nigeria

Incidents most likely to cause divorce…. Janets Navigation.

Most Valuable Piece of Equipment carried….A Porta Potti

Least valuable…A satellite phone.

What would we do differently

1 A car with a high ground clearance

2 .A Porta Potti that holds more than 5 litres

3 Learn some basics of car maintenance

So that’s it until we can afford another trip…… this time Tierra Del Fuego to Alaska and home via Vladivostok….we’ll see !!!!!!!

Morocco And The High Atlas

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 06:57:37 EDT

After crossing the mined border without mishap we had to really plan so as to ensure our trip through Morocco was not just a repeat of 4 years ago. We have always found when you revisit a place that you really enjoyed it never lives up to its memories.

Also we had learned from the Brazilians that you wild camp anywhere even though you regularly get moved on by the Police as vagrants.

So we began Morocco by camping in a Service station which did admittedly have a restaurant, and since we had completed the border formalities first of a long line of French, German and English Campervans, we found every 5 minutes or so one of them would catch up and park next to us. In the end there were 5 vans so we had a bit of a multi racial party, and I thanked the Frenchman who had crossed the minefield in front of us. He was a hoot though he could hardly speak any English he kept referring to me as My Lord. He was a retired Gendarme and anyone less likely you couldn’t have imagined.

From here it was on to Dakhla which has changed greatly with lots of investment, but now the Paris Dakar Rally doesn’t pass through Dakhla (or Paris or Dakar as it happens) it is not the same Overlander’s scene, so having got our Fridge mended (it was full and I mean full of Sahara sand) we got on our way.

Two brushes with the police ensued, as first I failed to stop at a road junction which had stop written in Arabic. This one we managed to brush off with a smile but then Janet was captured on Radar as doing 71 in a 60 zone. The fat greasy gendarme demanded 400 Dirham fine (30 quid) but reckoned without Janet’s expertise in dealing with the fuzz.

First we claimed it was not a 60 zone, and we walked up and down with the cop to establish exactly where it started. Next we claimed we weren’t doing 71 anyway and finally called his equipment into question. As he showed us his machine Janet said that could have been anyone’s 71kph, and where is the picture of our car, and how do we know your machine is accurate, and we are not paying so you had better called the Black Maria. He simply gave up …and said would we please go….we did, and as we drove away we realized that the Moroccan Gendarmerie are quite efficient, and certainly not corrupt, so we really shouldn’t have treated him like he was from Cameroon…still it worked.

We had to revisit Sidi Ifni as 4 years ago the Camp was in a major state of renovation and we wanted to see the new renovations. We found it in exactly the same state as 4 years ago with the same holes and the same dilapidated buildings. It had literally been frozen in time, except the prices had gone up.

On to Agadir and Essaouria which hadn’t changed much except the numbers of beggars had tripled. It’s strange that the number of beggars varies with the tourist figures, and I am convinced these people are as astute as any financier…they really do their economic homework. Janet very kindly saw a bedraggled girl sleeping on the pavement having 10

minutes before been begging like a good un, and left her a loaf of bead and a bottle of water to wake up to. She woke up took one look at them and left them untouched as she continued her routine of rubbing her stomach and pointing to her mouth….bloody cheek

Anyway we had really come back to Morocco to do the Atlas Mountains and because we are real overlanders to traverse some of the higher passes just to show the Frenchies that they may have 56 feet luxury motor homes, but we have cojones.

There is a mountain pass just up from the Dades Gorge (which by the way is lovely) and after 50 kilometers of rough piste you get to the Todhra Gorge (which is even better). Most folk take the road which is about twice as far but not us. We did however check the status of the route as all the good books tell you. “C’est un bonne route” we cried to any local who would listen, and fortunately the one person who understood our French said in perfect English…”not even a Centurion tank could get across to the Todhra Gorge there have been major landslides and floods and you have no chance”…… we took the main road just like the Frenchies.

At Todhra we met a very nice English couple just embarking on their journey (Sue and Paul) and we spent a very pleasant evening drinking Pails cider and exchanging stories. I’ve decided that a major downside of our van is that you can only keep one beer and one coke cold at a time so you can’t reciprocate the hospitality of a man who drives an 80 foot camper van with a 12 cubic foot freezer. In addition Paul and Sue told us of our next camp which should be in a field with dozens of wild cherry trees just ready for picking. We found it and the owner said if you can reach em you can have em (a loose Arabic translation)..We could, and we did, although an excess of cherries can have an amazing purgative effect on the alimentary canal…and it did. (This passage has been passed as fit for reading by the J George censorship bureau)

The mountains were truly beautiful especially in early summer as the plants were in bloom, and if we were walkers it would be a wonderful few weeks of solitude.

Still this was about the end of exploration and from here it was a one day drive to Asilah

by the coast and near to Tangier.

Next day we bought our ferry tickets and sailed to Spain. An interesting corollary to the sailing was that by mistake we quoted the wrong measurements of our van and we got a ticket (very cheap) for a family car. Nobody checked or spotted this unfortunate error so we saved ourselves 50 quid which was promptly spent on souvenirs.

In At Last

Mon, 25 May 2009 13:08:56 EDT

After three days in the broiling heat and dust of Bamako the Mauritanian authorities finally gave us our visa to enter the country. So we set off again and bush camped in virtually the same places, and met up with our old friends the Mauritanian Border Guards, who told us they have to send quite a few tourists back to Bamako for their visas.

Obviously since the military coup security is perceived to be a bit of a problem and although stops by the police or Gendarmerie are nowhere near as frequent as in Cameroon or Nigeria, they still get pretty irksome especially as in Mauritania they demand copies of what they call “your fiche”, which is basically all your details including religion, mothers maiden name, fathers Christian name, passport details etcetera etbloodycetera.

We had had 25 photocopies of these made in Namibia having been warned by other travelers but they ran out in 2 days. We then played a silly game as to who (Janet or me) could get away with handing the most stupid photocopy of anything to the police.

I won as my Yellow Fever vaccination certificate was gratefully accepted by the police as evidence that I was not a security threat.

Mauritania is not a country which comes oft recommended for a long weekend but its desert formations are actually quite stunning, and there are loads of places to camp all of which are safe, quiet, and ideal for star gazing. We usually pull up for camp at around 4.30pm as this gives plenty of time for the statutory visit from the local headman. It doesn’t matter how far you think you are away from civilisation you always get a visit and once pleasantries have been exchanged you know you are under the personal care of the Headman and no one else will bother you.

Food is a bit of a problem as the concept of restaurants is not well understood outside the major cities, and shops selling basic comestibles are not well advertised. Occasionally you can find bread, but this is made with sand rather than flour so although filling it is not really nutritious or appetizing.

Nouakchott (the Capital) is however a different kettle of fish and the cuisine is haute. Strangely however although the waters around Mauritania are teeming with fish, all the catch goes to canneries in the Canary Islands who then sell it back to the Mauritanians. I am not sure who set this system up but it really does defy any economic logic, and it means any hope you may have of obtaining fresh produce is sumararily dashed.

Visas for Mauritania now cost 45 pounds for a 10 day transit and in the heat of the summer it is difficult to spend more than a few days in the country. The nights are severely uncomfortable since mosquitoes abound, so windows are shut, and the external temperature even at midnight is an amazing 28 degrees C. Even though we have a fan it is like being in a fan assisted oven.
From Nouakchott it was on to Noudibou right in the top corner and close to the Moroccan border. Mauritania and Morocco are old enemies and there is still some lingering animosity caused by Mauritanian support of rebels against the annexation of South West Sahara by Morocco some years ago. Anyway the border has about 3 kilometres of no-mans land across a really rough and rocky piste. It is reputed to be mined on either side of the track so it is not recommended either to seek a better line, or to seek a comfort break away from the immediate roadside.

Luckily we were right behind a French Camping Car so we followed his tracks to the inch, although there were literally dozens of Camels wandering freely all over the terrain, and none of them appeared to be uni-dexters, so maybe as ever the stories are apocryphal..

Once in to Morocco, our epic journey has all but ended, as the place is simply full of huge French Mobile homes, and there is really very little sense of adventure.

We are still looking forward however to the High Atlas region as we missed it last time round and Spring is supposed to be stunning…we will see.

temperature even at midnight is an amazing 28 degrees C. Even though we have a fan it is like being in a fan assisted oven.

From Nouakchott it was on to Noudibou right in the top corner and close to the Moroccan border. Mauritania and Morocco are old enemies and there is still some lingering animosity caused by Mauritanian support of rebels against the annexation of South West Sahara by Morocco some years ago. Anyway the border has about 3 kilometres of no-mans land across a really rough and rocky piste. It is reputed to be mined on either side of the track so it is not recommended either to seek a better line, or to seek a comfort break away from the immediate roadside.

Luckily we were right behind a French Camping Car so we followed his tracks to the inch, although there were literally dozens of Camels wandering freely all over the terrain, and none of them appeared to be uni-dexters, so maybe as ever the stories are apocryphal..

Once in to Morocco, our epic journey has all but ended, as the place is simply full of huge French Mobile homes, and there is really very little sense of adventure.

We are still looking forward however to the High Atlas region as we missed it last time round and Spring is supposed to be stunning…we will see.

Mauritania Says No To The Georges

Sat, 16 May 2009 10:13:25 EDT

We didn't want to spend any time in Bamako so we drove straight through and up to the border with Mauritania at Nioro. As experienced travellers we knew that visas could easily be obtained at the border, but sadly a recent military coup has rendered this too dangerous for the Peoples Islamic Republic and so all entrants to the country have to get a visa from the Mauritanian Embassy in their country of exit, and NO EXCEPTIONS even with a sweetener.

Janet cried, cajoled pleaded, and begged but the Border police were having none of it, so it was 500k back to Bamako, and the Mauritanian Embassy. We have visited 33 countries and the very last in which we needed a visa was Mauritania, so the law of sod strikes again. Travelling with Roy and Michelle had made us expert bush campers and on the way to the border, and on the way back we had some magical evenings with only goats for company, and the occasional herdsman (who only want to nose around the van)

In Bamako we decided it was just too hot to sleep in the van again so we took a decent hotel right in the middle of Bamako's night club scene. Guildford it was not although we spent a very happy 2 hours in the Blah Blah Bar after registering our visa requirements with the Mauritanian Embassy.

Visas will be ready in 3 days, but really Bamako is not the place for a long weekend if any one is thinking about it, and as soon as we get our visas we are going to do the long haul to Mauritania in one day.

Incidentally the night before we were due in Mauritania I had emptied the van of alcohol so with a pretty bad head I was not best pleased that they wouldn't even let us in let alone bother to search us for contraband.

Dogon Country

Tue, 12 May 2009 04:10:20 EDT

It was a shame and a wrench to leave Ougadougou, but onwards we had to go, and our visas for Mali were burning a hole in our pockets after burning a biggger hole when we paid for them. We were coming to the end of our travels with Roy and Michelle, since they really wanted to spend time in Timbuktu, and hike in the Dogon country whereas we wanted to pass through more quickly. We had had some good bush camps with them, and our cuisine was a good mixture of Brazilian flare and British stodge.

The Dogon Country (sounds like a Wild West film title) is a pretty barren escarpment running South of Mopti almost across to Gao, and the interesting thing for travellers is the scenery, yes, but primarily the inhabitants who are supposedly untouched by modern civilisation, and still live trogolodyte style in strange shaped mud huts and caves.

After we had driven 4k on a andy track we came to the first village, a beautiful village (so the book said) right at the foot of the escarpment. Within 10 seconds we were surrouned by potential guides and bric a brac sellers, and advised not to go into the village without a guide as the inhabitants didn't like it. I failed to see the logic of this pathetic attempt to get cash from us and the whole experience reminded us a little of the encounter with the Facawi pygmies of Uganda. So we simply drove off feeling that tourism has indeed inexorably changed these gentle, simple people into sharp exploiters akin to the bazaars of Cairo, and my personal favourites the villages of the Masai in Kenya and Tanzania.

Janet tells me the blogs have become increasingly depressing and cynical over the last few entries, and I think she may be right. It may be a reflection on the fact that West Africa does not for us, have the charm of the South and the East...the food is nowhere near as good, there is no real infrastructure in the towns, and things are unreasonably expensive.

One thing however that is relatively new, is the kind of things people here make into alcohol. I draw the line at some of the food here since monkey and other bush meat is always on sale, but I am always prepared to try the local alcohol. This does not necessarily mean beer brewed at the local brewery but the stuff you have to search out for. Fermented palm sap for example, once you filter out all the dead insects could be described at best as disgusting. Beer made from Sorgum however is even worse, and since sorgum is only grown here as cattle food quite who had the idea to make it into alcohol I'll never know. Still the crown for the alcohol whch will cure alcoholism must go to Millet beer. I thought it would be a bit like those French and Belgian brews made by Trappist Monks, and that Millet Beer may be the next big thing in the trendy bars of Guildford. Sadly I think not unless Guildford suffers a massive and collective bout of constipation, when Millet beer will find its unique selling point (as the marketeers say). It reminded me a little of my first attempts at home brew when the liquor just goes sour. Instead of throwing it away it becomes Millet Beer. I am convinced that Millet beer is the reason that North and West Africa converted so easily to Islam. If Millet beer is the epitome of alcohol here then I am with Mohammed.

Anyway on to the journey. One of the places that really impressed us on our last trip was Djenne, where the only access to the town is via a 3 feet deep ford across the river, and the town contains the largest mud built mosque in the world. We decided to spend the night here, and as it turned out because there was a wholesale power cut we slept on the roof of the hotel as it was simply too hot to sleep inside. It was a magical evening under a full moon which might sound good but it actually hides the stars.

From Djenne it is a shortish drive to Segou and from here only 2 days to the Mauritanian border. This is an important milestone as I have to have drunk all the alcohol in the van by this date since after a recent coup Mauritania has become even more strict, and apparently if you are caught with any alcohol it is a night in jail. If you are caught with Millet beer however they are somewhat more lenient.