Accra, Ghana. 8220 miles
So this is it. This is the last blog entry from Africa as we fly back to London tonight.
For the first time since Fez, we are gan Capall/sans cheval/without horse.
On Monday the bike was emptied of fuel and oil, strapped to a pallet and put in the hold of a London-bound cargo plane.
We hope!
From there we take the final road trip back across the UK to the boat for Ireland.
Is there any point in us hoping for 35 degrees when we get there?
It has been an amazing experience and we both love that our understanding of this massive continent has been marginally improved.
We've had some challenges, some adventures and plenty of fun but overall we have to say that the trip was easy.
The people here made it so.
Thank you to everyone who followed our trip and to everyone who gave comments and encouragement. We appreciated everything and had many a laugh at various comments and e-mails you sent.
We'll do a wrap-up e-mail when we get back home.
Bye.
Wednesday 28 April 2010
Saturday 24 April 2010
Water
Elmina, Ghana. 8036 miles
Every day or two, we have to remove the map from its transparent pocket in front of me on the petrol tank. We look for our intended destination and try to refold the map so that the day's route is visible.
Some days, we need to refold the map mid-way through the journey.
Each time we refold, there is a small sense of achievement at having covered the few inches in front of us.
Every few weeks, we changed the map for a new country. It was always exciting to fold the old worn country and pack it away while taking out a new fresh country ready to be moulded as we would require.
Towns, rivers and even map symbols that we'd become familiar with would disappear and we would have to learn again how to decipher the new colours and markings.
Rarely however, would we take stock of how far we'd travelled in Africa overall.
That full distance was clearly brought home to us last week when we rolled over a hill and the grand expanse of the Atlantic Ocean opened out in front of us once more.
The maps are good but when the view in front of you lets you know that you have driven across a section of a continent, it really comes home.
We last saw the Atlantic Ocean in Mauritania. We were heading south and it was then to our right as we rode down the coastline. Four countries later and as we still ride south it appeared directly in front of us.
Tropical Africa is entering its rainy season. As I mentioned, we escaped a heavy shower in Kumasi. On the ride to the coast we were not so lucky.
We had decided to find a remote part of Kakum National Park. The directions from the locals were progressively confusing; they couldn't understand our request and we couldn't understand their replies.
We found ourselves 10 miles from tarmac on an increasingly narrow dirt track which cut its way through dense vegetation. The route became more steep and rock-strewn while water gulleys cut deep ravines across the road.
At the top of one particularly rough hill, our baggage broke loose. While adjusting it, some locals arrived. We chatted and one woman gave us clear directions for our destination. Not surprisingly, we were on the wrong track.
As we started to retrace our steps, a pregnant cloud darkened the sky accompanied by rolls of thunder. The heavens opened. Within minutes we were soaked through with warm water. The track which had been dirt, turned to mud and the water gulleys filled and overfilled with fast running rivulets. We considered waiting for the rains to pass but the puddles we'd passed on the way were turning into flood lakes. We carried on. The bike squirmed about in the slop so I tried to follow the rivulets where the gravel had been washed. We waded through floods preceded by a bow wave that our pinasse couldn't create on the sand-banked Niger last month.
Finally we made it back to dry tarmac and got off the bike to wring out our clothes.
We arrived in Cape Coast that night and too much water was replaced with no water in the guesthouse.
We needed have worried though, we discovered later that our sleeping bags had soaked up plenty!
Every day or two, we have to remove the map from its transparent pocket in front of me on the petrol tank. We look for our intended destination and try to refold the map so that the day's route is visible.
Some days, we need to refold the map mid-way through the journey.
Each time we refold, there is a small sense of achievement at having covered the few inches in front of us.
Every few weeks, we changed the map for a new country. It was always exciting to fold the old worn country and pack it away while taking out a new fresh country ready to be moulded as we would require.
Towns, rivers and even map symbols that we'd become familiar with would disappear and we would have to learn again how to decipher the new colours and markings.
Rarely however, would we take stock of how far we'd travelled in Africa overall.
That full distance was clearly brought home to us last week when we rolled over a hill and the grand expanse of the Atlantic Ocean opened out in front of us once more.
The maps are good but when the view in front of you lets you know that you have driven across a section of a continent, it really comes home.
We last saw the Atlantic Ocean in Mauritania. We were heading south and it was then to our right as we rode down the coastline. Four countries later and as we still ride south it appeared directly in front of us.
Tropical Africa is entering its rainy season. As I mentioned, we escaped a heavy shower in Kumasi. On the ride to the coast we were not so lucky.
We had decided to find a remote part of Kakum National Park. The directions from the locals were progressively confusing; they couldn't understand our request and we couldn't understand their replies.
We found ourselves 10 miles from tarmac on an increasingly narrow dirt track which cut its way through dense vegetation. The route became more steep and rock-strewn while water gulleys cut deep ravines across the road.
At the top of one particularly rough hill, our baggage broke loose. While adjusting it, some locals arrived. We chatted and one woman gave us clear directions for our destination. Not surprisingly, we were on the wrong track.
As we started to retrace our steps, a pregnant cloud darkened the sky accompanied by rolls of thunder. The heavens opened. Within minutes we were soaked through with warm water. The track which had been dirt, turned to mud and the water gulleys filled and overfilled with fast running rivulets. We considered waiting for the rains to pass but the puddles we'd passed on the way were turning into flood lakes. We carried on. The bike squirmed about in the slop so I tried to follow the rivulets where the gravel had been washed. We waded through floods preceded by a bow wave that our pinasse couldn't create on the sand-banked Niger last month.
Finally we made it back to dry tarmac and got off the bike to wring out our clothes.
We arrived in Cape Coast that night and too much water was replaced with no water in the guesthouse.
We needed have worried though, we discovered later that our sleeping bags had soaked up plenty!
Monday 19 April 2010
Life as a pillion passenger
"It must be so boring sitting on the back of a bike?" " Is it not really uncomfortable?" "Isn't it tiring being on the back all the time?" These are all questions I've been asked during this trip, and the answer I always give is a resounding NO!!
Motorcycle travel is actually THE best form of travel for a myriad of reasons. The bike affords us amazing freedom; freedom to travel off the beaten track, follow paths that branch off the main routes, get really close to waterfalls and riverbanks - places no bus or 4x4 can reach! Another huge factor is that our schedule is completely our own, which is an amazing feeling. People sometimes ask "Where are you going tomorrow?", and we often reply that we don't know yet. That's a really liberating feeling. I've travelled a lot by bus on other trips. Of course, that has its own appeal and charm, but on a bus you can't ask the driver to stop because you see something really interesting and you want to explore it further, or you want to buy a snack from a street vendor or "use the local facilities".
But why is it so good to be a pillion passenger?
The great thing about the view as a pillion passenger is that you are completely free. Unlike being on a bus, where one only has a piece of a window to look through (if you're lucky), on the Capall, I have 360 degree views of everything. My eyes have been fortunate enough to follow the path of eagles swoop above us. I've waved frantically at passing children until they were no longer in view. I've savoured every second of amazing pink sunsets. And you really can't get the same experience in an air-conditioned car. On the bike, you have the full sensory experience - you feel the intense heat of the sun on your face when you climb aboard, and the satisfying cooling wind that ensues as soon as the bike moves; you smell the street stall food as you drive through towns; you hear the cicadas chatter and the children squeal in excitement at the sight of the strangers passing through! When you stop, you can immediately look a local person in the eyes and shake their hand.
Of course, trusting your driver 100% is what makes this possible. I am completely comfortable in my pillion seat, as I am completely confident in Mike's ability to handle every driving situation. So comfortable, that the only times I hold on to the sides are when we tackle rough pistes. Knowing that Mike will always make the right decision means I can completely relax. I often watch and anticipate traffic with him, as it's a good adrenalin-rush. But, similarly on open roads, I'm often in my own little dream world, opening sweet wrappers with my free hands, drinking from my water bottle, and scratching Mike's back on request!
So, I cannot recommend motorcycle travel highly enough. I'm sure all the bikers reading this will agree, but many of them have never ridden pillion, so just thought I'd give you all a little insight into my persepective for the past 13 and a half weeks. Though that driver's seat does look pretty inviting too....... Maybe next time.......
Motorcycle travel is actually THE best form of travel for a myriad of reasons. The bike affords us amazing freedom; freedom to travel off the beaten track, follow paths that branch off the main routes, get really close to waterfalls and riverbanks - places no bus or 4x4 can reach! Another huge factor is that our schedule is completely our own, which is an amazing feeling. People sometimes ask "Where are you going tomorrow?", and we often reply that we don't know yet. That's a really liberating feeling. I've travelled a lot by bus on other trips. Of course, that has its own appeal and charm, but on a bus you can't ask the driver to stop because you see something really interesting and you want to explore it further, or you want to buy a snack from a street vendor or "use the local facilities".
But why is it so good to be a pillion passenger?
The great thing about the view as a pillion passenger is that you are completely free. Unlike being on a bus, where one only has a piece of a window to look through (if you're lucky), on the Capall, I have 360 degree views of everything. My eyes have been fortunate enough to follow the path of eagles swoop above us. I've waved frantically at passing children until they were no longer in view. I've savoured every second of amazing pink sunsets. And you really can't get the same experience in an air-conditioned car. On the bike, you have the full sensory experience - you feel the intense heat of the sun on your face when you climb aboard, and the satisfying cooling wind that ensues as soon as the bike moves; you smell the street stall food as you drive through towns; you hear the cicadas chatter and the children squeal in excitement at the sight of the strangers passing through! When you stop, you can immediately look a local person in the eyes and shake their hand.
Of course, trusting your driver 100% is what makes this possible. I am completely comfortable in my pillion seat, as I am completely confident in Mike's ability to handle every driving situation. So comfortable, that the only times I hold on to the sides are when we tackle rough pistes. Knowing that Mike will always make the right decision means I can completely relax. I often watch and anticipate traffic with him, as it's a good adrenalin-rush. But, similarly on open roads, I'm often in my own little dream world, opening sweet wrappers with my free hands, drinking from my water bottle, and scratching Mike's back on request!
So, I cannot recommend motorcycle travel highly enough. I'm sure all the bikers reading this will agree, but many of them have never ridden pillion, so just thought I'd give you all a little insight into my persepective for the past 13 and a half weeks. Though that driver's seat does look pretty inviting too....... Maybe next time.......
Friday 16 April 2010
Our final African country
Kumasi, Ghana, 7443 miles from home
Burkina Faso
Burkina Faso means 'Land of honest men'. It's an apt name but it could easily have also been named, 'Land of a million mopeds'. The few cars on the roads, which are invariably taxis are always swamped by mopeds, mobylettes and motorbikes. This gives the streets of the big cities a frenetic feel. Ouagadougou, the capital city with the best name in the world, has road-lanes dedicated to motorbikes. We used this to our advantage many a time but then when we needed to push our way through traffic at junctions and roundabout, the Capall has enough presence to be noticed and can't be bullied.
Burkina is a relaxed country. It doesn't have any of the big name attractions that Mali has but the main attraction is simply the people and their easy-going way of life. Everything is doable with no problem. Nothing is too big, awkward or fragile to be carried on a moped; tray of eggs or PA speaker, it's all easily managed.
Music was a big part of our two weeks in Burkina Faso. In Ouagadougou we saw a live band playing modern African music with vocals and percussion only and in Bobo-Dioulasso we saw an electric band playing African blues. Bobo-Dioulasso seemingly had live music from every bar and cafe and it was where Madou, a good humoured Muslim Rasta gave us two hour djembe drum class.
After travelling for 11 weeks and meeting only one other motorcycle traveller, in Bobo we met three all at once. Kobus was riding his BMW F650 from Holland back home to South Africa. Danish Mick was riding his 1996 Honda VFR750(!) to South Africa and in Senegal, he had joined with Ian from England who was riding his Yamaha Tenere all the way down too. We had a good couple of evenings swapping travel stories and experiences and the bike stories were nicely offset by Yvan and Marie, a French couple who are coercing their yellow and black 1984 Citreon Acadiane (2CV) van around West Africa.
After Bobo, we travelled to Banfora waterfalls and the versatility of the motorbike came into its own as we were able (and allowed) to ride down a narrow dirt footpath and camp right at the base of the falls.
We left Burkina Faso the same manner that we entered; by a long dusty road leading to a solitary border post where a relaxed official stamped and signed us through with no hassle. Honest men indeed.
Ghana
Each country we've visited has its own unique feel and we saw the changes happen gradually.
Ghana on the other hand was a major step-change. All at once the language, the religion, the landscape and the climate all stood out as being quite different.
After 3 months of murdering the French tongue, we are now back to English although the Ghanaian accents are thick enough to cause us to concentrate just as hard.
Ghana is the first country which doesn't have a Muslim majority and noticing this can't be escaped. Each town has an over-abundance of churchs and ministries but even more obvious and very entertaining are the enthusiastic names of shops and businesses. Some of our favourites have been, 'God is One Filling Station', Thy Kingdom Come Beauty Salon' and 'A Deeper Life Genuine Opel Parts Supply'.
We have definitely left the desert behind. The landscape is thick vegetation and lush greenery. The roads scythe through hills covered in thich trunks, vines and expansive leaves.
However, the water that allows this beautiful change generously donates high humidity to the air. I'm sweating so much my sunglasses won't stay put and Linda is considering joining the women here and shaving her head to cool down.
The jungle and greenery allowed us to go on our first safari. After a 2 hour grind along some rough tracks, we spent 2 nights in Mole National Park.
A 6am start saw us go for a 2 hour walking safari. 10 minutes after walking out of the camp-site our guide held up his hand for quiet and three adult elephants walked out of the trees and across a clearing less than 50 metres from us.
After that start, we watched more elephants nervously share water hole space with a horde of crocodiles, while antelope darted through the trees in the background and troops of baboons grunted in the trees.
We spent the last two nights in the city of Kumasi which is home to Africa's biggest market. It was like a colourful shanty town of corrugated sheet stalls and one step into its edge caused us to be dragged slowly with the crowd into its labrythine interior. The market spills onto the streets and the shops spill onto the street. Linda wondered what the shopkeepers and stall holders do when it rains but we were glad to not find out as back at our guesthouse, a gale blew without warning and the heavens opened. Blankets and sheets of rain fell and we hoped that the tent strapped to the bike would be okay.
This morning we woke to a scorching sun in a clear blue sky and the only effect on the bike was that some of our authentic Africa dust was streaked.
Burkina Faso
Burkina Faso means 'Land of honest men'. It's an apt name but it could easily have also been named, 'Land of a million mopeds'. The few cars on the roads, which are invariably taxis are always swamped by mopeds, mobylettes and motorbikes. This gives the streets of the big cities a frenetic feel. Ouagadougou, the capital city with the best name in the world, has road-lanes dedicated to motorbikes. We used this to our advantage many a time but then when we needed to push our way through traffic at junctions and roundabout, the Capall has enough presence to be noticed and can't be bullied.
Burkina is a relaxed country. It doesn't have any of the big name attractions that Mali has but the main attraction is simply the people and their easy-going way of life. Everything is doable with no problem. Nothing is too big, awkward or fragile to be carried on a moped; tray of eggs or PA speaker, it's all easily managed.
Music was a big part of our two weeks in Burkina Faso. In Ouagadougou we saw a live band playing modern African music with vocals and percussion only and in Bobo-Dioulasso we saw an electric band playing African blues. Bobo-Dioulasso seemingly had live music from every bar and cafe and it was where Madou, a good humoured Muslim Rasta gave us two hour djembe drum class.
After travelling for 11 weeks and meeting only one other motorcycle traveller, in Bobo we met three all at once. Kobus was riding his BMW F650 from Holland back home to South Africa. Danish Mick was riding his 1996 Honda VFR750(!) to South Africa and in Senegal, he had joined with Ian from England who was riding his Yamaha Tenere all the way down too. We had a good couple of evenings swapping travel stories and experiences and the bike stories were nicely offset by Yvan and Marie, a French couple who are coercing their yellow and black 1984 Citreon Acadiane (2CV) van around West Africa.
After Bobo, we travelled to Banfora waterfalls and the versatility of the motorbike came into its own as we were able (and allowed) to ride down a narrow dirt footpath and camp right at the base of the falls.
We left Burkina Faso the same manner that we entered; by a long dusty road leading to a solitary border post where a relaxed official stamped and signed us through with no hassle. Honest men indeed.
Ghana
Each country we've visited has its own unique feel and we saw the changes happen gradually.
Ghana on the other hand was a major step-change. All at once the language, the religion, the landscape and the climate all stood out as being quite different.
After 3 months of murdering the French tongue, we are now back to English although the Ghanaian accents are thick enough to cause us to concentrate just as hard.
Ghana is the first country which doesn't have a Muslim majority and noticing this can't be escaped. Each town has an over-abundance of churchs and ministries but even more obvious and very entertaining are the enthusiastic names of shops and businesses. Some of our favourites have been, 'God is One Filling Station', Thy Kingdom Come Beauty Salon' and 'A Deeper Life Genuine Opel Parts Supply'.
We have definitely left the desert behind. The landscape is thick vegetation and lush greenery. The roads scythe through hills covered in thich trunks, vines and expansive leaves.
However, the water that allows this beautiful change generously donates high humidity to the air. I'm sweating so much my sunglasses won't stay put and Linda is considering joining the women here and shaving her head to cool down.
The jungle and greenery allowed us to go on our first safari. After a 2 hour grind along some rough tracks, we spent 2 nights in Mole National Park.
A 6am start saw us go for a 2 hour walking safari. 10 minutes after walking out of the camp-site our guide held up his hand for quiet and three adult elephants walked out of the trees and across a clearing less than 50 metres from us.
After that start, we watched more elephants nervously share water hole space with a horde of crocodiles, while antelope darted through the trees in the background and troops of baboons grunted in the trees.
We spent the last two nights in the city of Kumasi which is home to Africa's biggest market. It was like a colourful shanty town of corrugated sheet stalls and one step into its edge caused us to be dragged slowly with the crowd into its labrythine interior. The market spills onto the streets and the shops spill onto the street. Linda wondered what the shopkeepers and stall holders do when it rains but we were glad to not find out as back at our guesthouse, a gale blew without warning and the heavens opened. Blankets and sheets of rain fell and we hoped that the tent strapped to the bike would be okay.
This morning we woke to a scorching sun in a clear blue sky and the only effect on the bike was that some of our authentic Africa dust was streaked.
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