March 13 :: Faro, Portugal - FINAL POST!!

March 13 :: Faro, Portugal :: 6km / 4356km total

Over to the bike store in the morning to retrieve a bike box, all good, all set for the flights home. A slow, easy day here in Faro, with lots of rest. At 2am I'll leave my hotel, empty bike box strapped to my back, and ride the short 6km to the airport. There, I'll disassemble and pack the bike for my early morning flight to London. I've pegged the British Museum and a late-closing art gallery as my 'things to do' in the short day and night that I have in London, then back to Gatwick airport for my morning return flight to Toronto. I'm not expecting anything interesting to report for my homeward leg, so this is my final post.

Well, its been another great trip. A short summary of the countries I've been to for future reference, and for travellers (and/or cyclists) who come across this blog:

Morocco: The North was greener and hillier than expected, very pleasant. Roads were in great condition and temperatures were moderate in January, when I was there. Beautiful riding. The people were friendly, but there were still attempts to 'rip off the foreigner'. The prices moderate, and the food was good, heavily French-influenced. Fes and Marrakech are very worthwhile places to see. The South, the Western Sahara, was, well, desert with long distances between supply points and accomodation, but my favourite part of Morocco. I crossed the Sahara without a tent or sleeping bag, from North to South, only possible with a flat road and the strong prevailing Harmattan wind from the North (average days around 175km through here). I could not have done it un-tented from South to North.

Mauritania: Poorer and more desolate than the Western Sahara, it was a difficult crossing. There are 'auberges' spaced every 50km or so, on average, but they are of the most basic of conditions, with questionable hygeine. I'm used to basic conditions, but my limits were tested here. The road is dead flat, but the wind is the most vicious here - a headwind day saw me struggle less than 100km, a tailwind sandstorm day blew me 300km in 10 hours. To tell the truth, I was slightly relieved to cross the border into Senegal.

Senegal: This is Sub-Saharan, 'black' Africa, and probably my favourite country in West Africa. Good roads, friendly, laid-back people, and a nice savannah landscape made for great cycling and a great stay. A bit more expensive than Morocco or Mauritania, but with that comes better food options and accomodation. I loathed Dakar, particularly from a cycling standpoint, with its diesel-choking roads, aggressive drivers, slightly dangerous undertone, and strained infrastructure. Some nice beaches in Senegal, and its moderately-well set up for the independent traveller.

Gambia: I was only in the touristed coastal area, and hence saw the worst face of Gambia - demands for money for the slightest of help, outrageous starting prices for haggling, etc. Even though it was English-speaking and hence easier for me to travel around, I didn't really like the high-pressure, lets-get-money-from-this-tourist Gambians. I'm stereotyping, of course, they weren't all like that, but certainly much more so than in Senegal, on average. Gambia had my favourite place to stay, however, the overlanders mecca of Camping Sukuta.

Sierra Leone: The early March heat confined my experience of Sierra Leone to the coastal areas, and about 50km inland. Sierra Leone ranks 2nd last in the UN's human development index, and its evident as to why, when you're here, riding along the roads. Even though tourism is relatively absent the people were the most aggressive of all in pestering me for money, which was understandable, but highly disenchanting. The heat drove me from Sierra Leone earlier than expected, but I can't say I was disappointed to leave.

Portugal: Well, whats there not to say about Portugal. Fantastic, friendly, helpful people; beautifully scenic, winding roads for cycling; respectful drivers; history; fantastic food; and cheap! Portugal was only slightly more expensive than Senegal, but you get SO much more bang for your (cycling) buck in Portugal.

Is it fair to compare Portugal to West Africa? The answer is so complex. At what point do you draw the line between the advantages vs disadvantages of colonialism... how long should a country be self-determining before you hold the locals responsible for their own state of affairs... is foreign aid actually a good thing, and how much of it is enough, or not enough, or too much? Sigh. Impossible answers? No. It just requires a few more countries of cycling... then I'll figure it all out... so until next time... bye!

March 12 :: Faro, Portugal

March 12 :: Faro, Portugal :: 29km / 4350km total

The end of the road. Sigh.

I woke up feeling very lazy, and for good reason, the end of my bike trip was only 29km away in Faro. I fly out of Faro tomorrow night, actually in the wee hours of the 14th, for a 24 hour blast through London, before flying home. The morning was very cold, having dropped down to around 5C last night - don't believe all those Algarve tourist brochures pushing Southern Portugal as a Winter beach destination - its not. Someone should make the travel agents pushing such nonsense jump into the cold Atlantic with a 15C air temp... then see what they think. Having oodles of time I waited until my checkout time of noon, and a pleasant 18C, before hitting the road.

I tried to take it easy, but my body was on a push-push-push cycling autopilot, ingrained in the last 4000km, that I couldn't break out of. Too soon I was in Faro, checked into a guesthouse. I scouted out a bike box from a bike store (pickup tomorrow morning... inshallah). That gives me a night, a day, and a night in Faro to... relax!

March 11 :: Tavira, Portugal

March 11 :: Tavira, Portugal :: 146km / 4321km total

Fully recovered with all that protein (yummy ham and lowfat cheese) and yesterday's shorter ride, I rolled out of Beja confidently aimed for Portugal's sunshine coast, the Algarve. The hills hit almost immediately, and when all was said and done I rank today as my hilliest day in Portugal. For the middle 100km the hills didn't let up and it was a constant struggle to keep the kilometres ticking by at a reasonable pace. Climb, descend, climb, descend. Although since I descend about 5 times faster than I climb, its more like climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, descend, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, descend. The more-than-saving grace was that, as always in Portugal, the landscape and towns I was riding through were beautiful.

To make the day just that bit tougher, it was Sunday in a country thats 95% Roman Catholic. For the first time since Africa I had to struggle to find food and water, almost everything being closed. As it is, half the shops are closed at any given time to begin with, this being the tourist offseason, but with God putting his feet up (and expecting everyone else to, as well), I went through an unplanned 2 hour stretch without drinks, climbing, climbing, climbing... finally I came across a shop of heathens who sold me a sandwich, some Cokes, and some cake. They were very nice and pleasant, as all the Portuguese have been, and I'm sad to know they'll be going to Hell.

Cresting the nth climb I wearily scanned the horizon and saw a level range of dark blue hills in the distance. Checking against my map I realized I was looking at the Atlantic, at last! Still, two major climbs in the way, but with the end of the hills in sight, life was good. Spain was visible to the left, this being the Southeast corner of Portugal, and I made my way to Castro Maxim, a Portuguese fortress built to keep marauding Spaniards on their side of the border. I was able to walk my bike into and around the fortress, after all, if the fort can withstand cannonballs, flaming arrows, battering rams, etc, I can't see how my bicycle is going to hurt it!

From here it was a final 22km along the blessedly-flat coastal road to the picturesque town of Tavira. Now fully into the Algarve its a different Portugal altogether, with rows of hotels, foreign-owned townhouses, etc. Many longstay snowbird Europeans are evident, cycling around, shopping, golfing, and driving terribly. The Portuguese have been excellent drivers, as far as this cyclist is concerned (far better towards cyclists than Canadian drivers!), but the foreign-driving snowbirds gave me a few close calls and reason to shout out some nasty things.

Tavira has the kind of downtown that you see on picture postcards of Europe, or the subject of 750-piece jigsaw puzzles. It self-styles itself as the Venice of Portugal, which is kind of silly since it only has one river flowing through town, with 3 or 4 bridges over it (and no boat taxis). Still, its pleasant, quiet (in March), and scenic. There are some tourists kicking around, but I was the only one in my guesthouse.

March 10 :: Beja, Portugal

March 10 :: Beja, Portugal :: 78km / 4175km total

My late arrival in Evora last night left me no time for sightseeing, so this morning I hit the streets, and a few very old churches. The highlight was a room that had the bones of 5000 people arranged in decorative patterns on the pillars, walls, etc. Quite macabre stuff. Back to my room, packed up, and it was a late 10:30 a.m. that I bumped and skittered along the cobblestone streets (damn cobblestones are getting annoying!!), headed out of town. My legs felt empty, no energy at all after yesterday's massive push, with that and the late start I decided on a 'rest' day of 80km to Beja.

Just out of town I was met with a strong Easterly wind, and it made me change my route from the main, slightly longer Eastward-arcing-loop route to a shorter, more direct, but hillier route on quiet country roads. Hills or wind? I'll take a favourable wind over a flatter road, any day. Another beautiful, scenic ride, and Beja came along soon enough. I hit the supermarket for dinner, and it was ham and cheese sandwiches long into the night!

pics! selected pics from the past month

Enjoy! I have many more...

A shop in Senegal. The red 'cooler' to the left is where the drinks are. Too bad the cooler is never cold.

Street scene in Northern Senegal.

Sunset in Foundiougne, Senegal

My treehouse in Kartong, Gambia.

Night ferry from Hell into Freetown

Freetown, Sierra Leone. It didn't all look this bad...

Lisbon, Portugal

Alcove in a Lisbon church

Gothic cathedral in Portugal

From a switchbacking climb, Portugal

Templar fortress/monastery, Portugal

March 9 :: Evora, Portugal

March 9 :: Evora, Portugal :: 187km / 4097km total

Another rainfree day, the third in a row, I think I've been getting lucky with the weather here in Portugal. I set off early, aiming for Point del Sur with the possibility of striking out for Evora if things were going well. Early in the ride the hills hit, man, so steep and frequent. The Portuguese seem to think that 'up and over' is better than 'around' or 'alongside'. However, I'm climbing strongly now, strongly for me, that is... losing 15-20 pounds and cycling 4000km will do that for you!

I steadily pushed along, at times the gentle North wind nudging me Southwards. Its so beautiful here, nothing dropdead gorgeous, just a constant niceness that doesn't quit. I passed the Point del Sur turnoff early, before noon, and decided that, hills notwithstanding, today would be a big one. The hills did not relent, but neither did I, and we slugged it out, them and me. Stops for drinks were very quick and rushed, for I knew that saddletime would win the day.

Around 4pm I entered the vicinity of Evora and decided I had enough time to take in some archaeological sites in the area before entering town. The first one was an ancient double oval of stones, more or less Portugal's version of Stonehenge, and, honestly, more or less a waste of time for me, especially considering the rough sandy 4.5km out-and-back track that I had to ride to get there. The second was slightly better, six 6m tall stones arranged in a tight circle that originally had a cap rock. Then into Evora, too late (and tired!) to see the sights here, that'll be tomorrow morning. 50 metres from my guesthouse I cut my knee on my front tire, don't ask, not one of my more glorious cycling moments. In Africa an open cut would send me into a hypochondriachal frenzy, but here in Europe I´m not even covering or worrying about it. Just before dinner I added up my mileage for the day, was shocked, recalculated it, then compared it to distances in my guidebook, holy smokes, did not expect it to be an Ironman day (180km) with all those hills. I guess I'm in pretty good shape now... just in time for the trip to end!

March 8 :: Tomar, Portugal

March 8 :: Tomar, Portugal :: 98km / 3910km total

A massive sightseeing day as I took in, or in some cases passed by, four major tourist sites, some of them World Heritage. First stop, yesterday's target of Alcobaca for a 12th-century Cistercian monastery. As I rolled into Alcobaca I wrestled with the one big drawback of solo bike touring - what do you do with your bike when you're seeing a tourist site? In Asia and Africa tourist sites are spread out far enough for this not to be a problem - you simply plan to sleep in tourist towns, which has the double advantage of more choice of restaurants, etc. But compact, history-rich Europe is a different matter, with its density of tourist sites, and standing in front of the Mosterio de Santa Maria de Alcobaca I helplessly scanned around for a place to safely leave my bike. Ticket booths are a good place to leave the bike, but the ticket booth here was inside the monastery... so I was out of luck. I peeked inside, dashed around a bit, then scampered back out to my bike, and rode off.

Then to nearby Batalha, for a stunning 12th century Gothic monastery. Gargoyles, flying buttresses, pinnacles, parapets, the works. Fortunately it was far more dramatic outside than inside, as again I could not venture more than a few metres inside the door. From Batalha I pushed over a steep switchbacking road to Fatima, a Catholic pilgrimage site that draws 4 million pilgrims per year. Some shepherd kids 'talked' to the Virgin Mary here in 1917, and then some gathered crowds saw some sort of crazy sun-spinning thing, hence the big to-do. Fatima is definitely a Catholic tourist town, with wall-to-wall shops selling the tacky bric-a-brac that Catholics do best. I picked up a 4-foot high porcelain Virgin Mary, strapped it to the back of my bike, and rode off.

More climbing brought me to my final, and most-anticipated destination, Tomar, and its Templar fortress / church / monastery. Being a stopover town I grabbed a room, locked the bike inside, and was now free to explore, unencumbered. The fortress was fun, but a bit of a letdown being without any kind of self-guided tour or routing, like many buildings of this type that I've been to.

Cycling in Portugal has been a pleasure, albeit tough with the hills and the wind. Drivers here are fantastic, very respectful and careful of me on the road... my guidebook talks about the 'crazy Portuguese driving habits'... listen, I know where to find crazy drivers, and they ain't in Portugal. The roads are smooth, often with a paved shoulder, twisty, and rolling. Often what I'm seeing reminds me of the countless hours of Tour de France footage I've watched, the roads passing through little towns built RIGHT on the road, corners everywhere, cobblestones, stunning scenery, and of course this IS Europe. I'm looking forward to the next 5 days of cycling South towards Faro, my final destination in Portugal.

March 7 :: Caldas da Rainha, Portugal

March 7 :: Caldas da Rainha, Portugal :: 99km / 3812km total

After last night's rushed planning I woke ready to go, excited to get out into Portugal. Lisbon had a few sights within walking distance of my hotel that I wanted to see, so I strode out into the early morning air, unashamedly touristic, camera in one hand, guidebook in the other. A few churches, squares, and monuments later I was back at the hotel, gathering my wet clothes, and over to a laundromat for drying. By the time I loaded the bike and left, around noon, my legs were jumpy with excitement for the open road.

I took the slow, scenic harbour route out of Lisbon, cycling along the port, through the Expo 98 grounds, etc. I was headed North, aiming for Alcobaca, and as the road swung in that direction the wind told me it was not going to be easy. But now I feel in control, with power over things I haven´t had all trip: I can moderate my temperature as I please, and I can eat whatever I want wherever I want. So I pedalled aggressively, unworried about things like bonking, protein, finding drinks, the Sun... only rain would ´dampen´ things.

I followed the flat road along the Rio Tejo for as long as possible, but eventually I had to turn inland, up into the hills, still into the wind. Portugal is hilly! Not dramatic, Alps-like multipitch switchback hilly, but constant, rolling, steep hilly. Around 4:30 pm I realized that making Alcobaca wasn´t going to happen, so I diverted towards nearby Caldas da Rainha, with its multitude of pensados (guesthouses). At the first guesthouse I came to, I asked to see the room (15 euros), and laughed - twin beds, clean sheets, TV, bathtub, hot water, just too much! Portugal is the cheapest country in Western Europe, and on top of that this is the off-season, which makes it even cheaper and there is guaranteed availability everywhere. Weatherwise its like Toronto in late April or May... a great time to be here.

March 6 :: where am I?

March 6 :: where am I? :: 11km / 3713km total

A 6 a.m. arrival in London´s charter-centric Gatwick airport set me up well for scoping out flights. England would´ve been just a bit too cold and wet, I think, and I´m content to save it for another time. Really, I had already decided where I wanted to go, and I found a cheap 11 a.m. flight, perfect. I picked up a road map of the country at Gatwick, yum, the roads look SO enticing! I´ll be there for 8 days, enough time to ride much of the country, then fly back to London for a mad 22 hour sightseeing blast, before flying home on March 15.

The flight was not long, of course, but I was greeted with rain on arrival, such is life. At 14C rain is perfectly manageable, though, and after a quick meal I donned my riding clothes, assembled the bike, and rolled out of the airport. Surprisingly neither Gatwick nor this airport had a Lonely Planet or Rough Guides for the country, and I refuse to buy a guide that bottoms out its hotel listings at 75 Euros per night, so I rolled relatively blindly towards downtown. Being an old, historic city (as you well know that it is), I reasoned that the old ancient downtown core should have cheap guesthouses, empty at this time of the year. The rain was steady, and I even got a bit chilled, but it was a magical, longed-for feeling and I revelled in the goosebumps and lack of insect life. I had to ask for directions multiple times, and very few locals here speak English, so I offer a choice with a quick 'hello bonjour', now confident enough in French to get around on it, if they respond in French, which also is not their first language...

The culture shock began on the bike, as I was pulling the normal jackass road driving tactics that everyone does in the 3rd world... you know, blowing through reds (safely, but illegally!), that kind of thing. Everyone was obeying all the rules, though, and sheepishly I toned it down and remembered that, relatively, I´m back in Kansas now. Then, how beautiful the city is. My God. Clean. Old. Artisitic. Dramatic. Cobblestones. Then, the guesthouse. 15 Euros for a place clean enough for... most of you, even! Then, lots of tourists, even though we´re in the depths of low season. Then, the food. Oh Lord the food. Anything. Everything. I can't take it.

Walking around, head befuddled, trying to reconcile life, Africa, Europe, World, I found a guidebook, and will be able to hide myself away for several hours tonight, plotting the next 8 days. I fly out of a different city, so can do a point to point ride, always my favourite approach to travel. This is easily one of the most beautiful cities I've seen, definitely outclassing fellow European Athens, although it lacks the punch of something like the Parthenon. I just can't get over how clean it is, and, consequently, how clean I am. In the morning I will zip through the sights, then probably ride out of...

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Lisbon!

March 5 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone

March 5 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone :: 25km / 3702km total

An early morning trip over to the airline office, happily to find out there was space that night for me. Yee-hawwww! Then began a mad rushing around to buy some cheap clothing (for cooler, wetter climes), change back my Sierra Leonean money (not easy, since moneychangers hoard foreign currency here), briefly update internet, and check out of my hotel. It was 1pm as I rode slowly through Freetown, towards the ferry, with plenty of time in hand before my flight. I expected problems of some sort, but the ferry ride was quick and I was at the airport 6 hours early. I bought some cardboard from the cargo handlers, taped together a box for my bike, and began a long, long wait for my flight.

Lungi International Airport (Freetown) is not a pleasant place... no seats, no carpet, just the basics, a hot steaming sweaty smelly lineup with occasional people yelling at each other. After two hours of standing in line (there was already a long line when I lined up, 5 hours pre-flight) I was starting to bend from the strain of a long day... week... month. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I come to the second-poorest country on Earth, alone, among the others that I´ve been through, and go through the daily hassles, overattention, food scares, crazy drivers, etc etc etc, many things I don´t have time to mention in my blog...? Ya, time to pull out the iPod and lose myself to another happier world. I put the ´Pilot Guides´theme on repeat, and eventually a smile nudged its way across my face, as purpose peeked from within my self-imposed trials and tribulations.

March 4 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone

March 4 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone :: 115km / 3677km total

Out very early, desparate to sneak in kilometres before the heat and, now, humidity, killed me. It was only at 8:30 a.m., only an hour into the ride, when sweat was dripping off of my face, and I could see the writing on the wall... not only for today's ride, but for my attempt to ride upcountry into Sierra Leone. 40km in I came to a junction town, at 9:30, and had to admit to myself that this was the end of my push into West Africa. The season has advanced beyond what my Northern-raised body can take, and I stopped, looking past the junction, down the road to where I had wanted to go. Well, I gave it my best shot, but I can't keep forcing myself to suffer through the heat.

I zipped back to Waterloo in a pickup truck, and hopped back on the bike. Freetown sits at one end of a long, T-shaped peninsula, and I reasoned that I could at least ride the circumference of the peninsula given the cooling shore breeze. I rode South from Waterloo, and soon I could feel it, a beautiful breeze that kept the temperature down around 30C. I meandered very slowly along the coast, it was only 65km back to Freetown, and I checked out the various beach resorts and restaurants scattered along the coast. None really piqued my interest, so eventually, late in the day, I re-entered Freetown from the SW, and checked into a nice little guesthouse on the West side of the city.

Now what? My scheduled flight back to London is March 12... but its an open ticket... meaning I can change the date... I'll be at the airline office at 9 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning to see what's possible. Hmmmm. Brighton? Dover? Stonehenge? Possibly Land's End? Its gonna be wet and chilly, but at this point I'm looking forward to such a change!

March 3 :: Waterloo, Sierra Leone

March 3 :: Waterloo, Sierra Leone :: 40km / 3562km total

Up far earlier than expected after yesterday's madness, I pulled my bike out of the box, looked through all my bags, and counted my money. Somehow I made it here in one piece, will all items and money intact. Don't ask me how. Given the less-than-spectacular hotel that I was in I quickly assembled my bike and readied myself to leave. I paid a hotel attendant $1.50 (5000 leones) to hold into my bike box for me until I return, promising another 5000 leones during retreival. He couldn't have been happier, and I have a cheap backup if I can't find a better box in Freetown when I leave.

I checked in with my Freetown-London airline, changed money, grabbed some food, and pedalled through Freetown, bound for the countryside. It was 10 a.m. and it was depressingly hot... and humid for the first time this trip. The scenery was incredible - tropical, lush, beautiful, and a smooth paved road to boot. But soon I was melting, all the usual bodily warning signs of impending heatstroke (headache, nausea, fatigue), and had to settle for the junction town of Waterloo. I pulled into the only hotel for a long hot afternoon. Safe food was hard to find, even the bottled water was suspect, but I ate a pineapple and it was great!

All through West Africa I've seen signs for international development projects for this and that, like Qatar building a mosque, Belgians building a bridge, etc etc. War-recovering Sierra Leone is crammed with these type of projects, its hard to go more than a few kilometres without seeing a sign for this country sponsoring this building, or that school, etc. I'm sure many of these projects are completely altruistic, but there is certainly political maneuvering being done, and hearts to be won. A good example that made me laugh was a rice development project in one town sponsored by Taiwan, then 10km later, in the next town, a rice development project sponsored by China! The thing is, no one can touch England here, when it comes to hearts, minds, and everyday talk. No, nothing to do with colonial history, current politics, etc. England has one thing that outshines all other countries. The Premiership. On MANY cars and buses here are painted Manchester United, Arsenal, Chelsea, etc. One guy I met had a large Liverpool tattoo, although I'd bet large sums of money that he's never been to England. The recent surge in skill of West African footballers on the international scene is certainly a factor - consider that West African countries dominate Africa's world cup qualifying, and do relatively well considering their meagre resources.

Of course, being Saturday, all the men were gathered in large viewing halls watching Premiership games, and to a lesser extent games of the Spanish League. Being a moderately-versed soccer fan I watched along, game after game, nothing else to do. I wandered outside for a drink around 9pm during one game, and noticed something funny about the moon. I pay lots of attention to the phase of the moon, because sometimes a full moon allows for a very early start to a day, and I knew the moon was full at the moment... but it wasn't. It was a half-moon all of a sudden. What the hell!!! It could only be one thing, and a re-viewing 20 minutes later confirmed that I was witnessing a lunar eclipse. Cool! I told all the men inside the viewing hall, and they couldn't have cared less, since Sevilla was making a comeback against Barca. Sigh. It was a full, beautiful, lunar eclipse, undimished by city lights, for in the Sierra Leone countryside there is no power after dark. Oh ya, Sevilla won, 2-1.

March 2 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone

March 2 :: Freetown, Sierra Leone :: 30km / 3522km total

After breakfast I said goodbye to my fellow overlanders and pedalled away from Sukuta Camping. I had to get some backup money from the tourist strip, in the opposite direction from the airport, but I had lots of time. Or so I thought. To my great dismay there was a huge lineup in front of the ATM, full of rocket scientists (all tourists) who had great difficulties with punching in 4 digits and hitting "OK". Nervously I glanced at my watch as I crept agonizingly slowly towards the machine. Operating an ATM... is... just... not... that... hard. Finally the magic moment, and I raced over to a change bureau to get Euros for the local currency. Then, a hard one hour ride to the airport.

Of course, my promised bike box did not exist, and I was handed a large cubic box for my bike. I had half expected this, not being new to Africa, the 3rd world, etc, pulled out my knife, and got to work. With the eager help of about 7 baggage handlers the box was reshaped, with tape and strategic cuts, into something totally unresembling a bike box, but something that did contain my bike and wheels. I handed out lots of cash, about $6 in total, and all were happy as I entered the airport.

Slok Air is a Gambian run airline, and my particular flight down the coast to Freetown was part of a larger Dakar-Banjul(Gambia)-Freetown-Monrovia(Liberia) milkrun. Some passengers get on at Dakar, and stay on all the way through to Monrovia. Brutal, for such a short distance, as flights go. Anyways, as expected we left late, just late enough to ensure problems catching a ferry to the mainland in Freetown... but I'm getting ahead of myself. In Banjul airport I met a Liberian expat who was returning to Liberia, with her Dutch husband, after being away for over 20 years (due to civil war). She was going to see her mother and the rest of her family for the first time since she had left in the 1980's. Understandably she was terribly ancy with the flight delays, on her way, as she was, to one of the most significant moments of her life. I wished her all the best as I disembarked in Sierra Leone, hardly able to imagine her experience and what was about to be.

Lungi Airport in Sierra Leone is separated from Freetown by a large channel of water, one that requires a ferry crossing. I knew the schedules, I knew the time we landed, and I knew things were going to be really, really dicey in the dark on this boat. At Lungi a local Sierra Leonean, Alpha, who had been on the flight with me, had gathered two other Sierra Leoneans and invited me to be the 4th in a small group to make things easier, cheaper, and safer. Normally wary and fiercely independent, I figured that an 8km bike ride in the dark to a night ferry crossing, to an 8km dark ride into Freetown was not something I wanted to do, so I joined in, leaving the bike in its box. The 4 of us commandeered a taxi and down at the port Alpha seemed to know everyone, smoothing our way to the front of the queue, waiting for the ferry. All of us sat on our bags, watching other 'passengers' weave their way through the waiting crowd. Finally around 10pm the ferry from Freetown arrived, and onto the boat we went. God it was horrible, even worse than the Banjul ferry, if thats possible, and tired though I was I paid scrupulous attention to the goings on around me on this crowded, almost overloaded boat. Alpha was paying for everything, he knew everyone, and he told me he was a pharmacist with one 'location' in Freetown's crime-ridden East end, and one in the tourist area of Aberdeen. Hmmm. I think I know what kind of pharmacist he was, and grew even more paranoid about events around me.

The ferry unloading was utter madness, particularly as I was carrying my 2 cycling saddlebags, one of the Sierra Leonean's suitcases, trying to keep track of my bike box, and wondering just what the hell I was doing following this guy towards his waiting car. The fact that the other 2 were female and seemingly calm helped to reassure me that I wasn't in over my head, and I gave Alpha, now driving, directions to my Lonely Planet-referenced hotel. Of course LP West Africa screwed up again, and I found myself in front of what could only be described as a shithole. But I had all my stuff, apparently, and I was thankful to be shown into a room, any room, in which I could collapse on the bed, and bed, and take tomorrow as it comes.