Eurotripping.

So if I put everything that happens on here, I really won't have any stories to tell when I get back, if I come back.



In short:
Always fly British Airways whenever possible.
London is amazing.
Amsterdam is great, and I didn't get into any trouble, except that middle-aged European men find me a good conversationalist.
Go to Oktoberfest, cruise the Autobahn - maybe not in that order.

Mole Mole

“Back! Back! Back!” Our guide insisted as he waved us back, his rifle cocked and ready. Though in all honestly, I doubt it had much stopping power regarding the massive elephant we finally found in the forest. He didn’t have to tell us twice as we dashed backwards a few meters. The elephant had taken a few quick steps in our direction after seeing us, at exactly the same time we saw it. After realizing we were not a threat, it changed direction away from us, not minding anything it was trampling in its path. A creature so large should not be able to move so quickly and gracefully. We had been tracking the massive beast for over an hour, following uprooted trees, broken grass, sunken footprints and the occasional pile of dung. It was somewhat of a surprise to come across the elephant, as it seemed like we would not see one that day. There it was, about 50 feet in front of us. As it escaped us, our guide pleaded earnestly, “Please I beg you, stay and let us watch you.” We managed to track the elephant again, much more easily as the trail was fresh. After a half hour march we watched it as it was hiding in the forest about 100 meters away from us.

Mole National Park is a 475,000 km2 area of natural preserve, without fences keeping things in or out. This should be the main tourist attraction of Ghana, and a huge source of revenue, but the problem lies in getting there. To and fro we spent roughly 30 hours traveling over land. The stretch nearest the park is more fit for rally racing than mass transit. Two and a half hours by crowded taxi there, and four hours back by bus was spent on a dusty rutted dirt road. I spent much of the taxi journey laughing as I was in disbelief and expecting to be erased with every maneuver the driver made to avoid a much worse tussling.

The night before entering the park we stayed in the Muslim community of Larabanga. Being the set-off point for the park, we had expected somewhat of a tourist development. It was far from it. We were greeted in the dark by a mess of people, all wanting to see the new white people emerging from the cab. We entered the hotel readily recommended by the guide book, and being dark, we couldn’t really complain. Before resting we stopped for a cool drink, and befriended a group of the locals, as they followed us everywhere.

Back at the hotel, instead of the stuffy rooms we rested on the roof, as sleep was an impossible task. It is the month of Ramadan, and though I don’t pretend to know much about the culture, they stay up most of the night partying, singing and beating drums. The mosque, which is the oldest in West Africa (1431) played prayer recordings all night long. There was also the loud goats roaming the streets and the insane canine below us that kept us up. As it approached 3:30 AM, a parade of drumming and yelling began. We later learned this was to wake the women up to start cooking before daybreak.

At 5:30 we hired rickety bicycles and biked the 4.5 kilometers to the park accompanied by morning heat, biting flies, and the house dog, which was apparently trained to accompany tourists until the park entrance. This dog was loyal to a fault, and growled and attacked any other passerby as we traveled.

In the park we took a three hour walking tour that allowed us to be within mere feet of countless warthogs, many deer-like kob, bushback, patas monkeys and olive baboons. Though the animals seemed tame, it was no zoo. We had been expecting a 4x4 safari adventure, but were pleasantly surprised by the intimate experience. Leaving the park for our belongings had us biking through a herd of baboons carrying younglings. They scattered as we passed through, but one did pounce in our direction, reminding us of their ability to tear us limb from limb if we felt like a tango.

Staying in the Mole Motel offered us a swimming pool and view of the watering hole were we observed another elephant in the distance. A patas monkey passed within a foot of me as I was at the table next to the pool. It’s amazing the adoration everyone has for primates, even those such as the staff who see them on a regular basis.

This is my last post from Africa, as I’m leaving on Sunday to see how much debt I can accrue bytraveling Europe without any set destinations.

Kakummy

Sleep in a rainforest. Check. Walk in the canopy. Check. See a castle. Check. Find live music. Check. Though not in that order, things are starting to stack up on this trip. Once again transportation was an adventure in itself, but I wound up on an air conditioned minivan, for far too much money, on the journey from Accra to Cape Coast. That 2.5 hours of travel made me completely forget where I was, minus for the dodging traffic and police stops with AK47s.

This weekend was rather busy, and we found ourselves, three limeys and a yankee, stranded in Cape Coast without a room in the dark in an unknown city. Turns out there was a yearly festival going on that week, and we arrived the night before the finale. Arriving earlier in the day would have let us witness a bull sacrifice, darn. We didn’t think to book a room, poor planning and miscommunications running amuck. Luckily we ran into a bus of UC students studying in Ghana, and after hearing our predicament offered us one of their rooms. I take back most of what I said about coasties. We actually had running water too, the first I’d seen in at least two weeks. After some live reggae on the beach I retired.

What better way to start your day than with a tour of the Cape Coast castle. It was quite the experience, bringing history to life if you will. I can’t say the right things to do this topic justice, so I won’t try.

The highlight of the weekend, and one of the standouts of this trip was Kakum National Park. We slept in the forest, with only a roofed platform and mosquito net. The term sleep is used loosely, the level of noise in the middle of the night was amazing. Birds, insects, galagos (pretty sure) kept the night interesting, as did the rodent in our bed and the footsteps breaking branches all around us.

In the morning our guide called for us at 06:00 and we hiked to the canopy walk, a 350 metre set of planks suspended by a hammock like weaving 35 meters above the ground, putting you at eye-level with the tree tops. It was rather gimmicky, and over far too quick, but we spotted a spot-nosed monkey as well as some birds. We left soon after, realizing we had yet to journey back home. After two days in the sun, sea salt in the air, a rainforest, and countless hours on tros, I’ve never been more filthy in my life.

At da beach

After a hectic Friday evening in Accra, I spent Saturday through Tuesday along the Atlantic shoreline of Ghana. With Paul (UK) and Lauren I travelled to Ada Foah, a location I really knew nothing about, but Paul had suggested it after hearing from other volunteers. It took just under two hours by tro to reach Ada Foah, a seemingly desolate area with no beach in site. After walking for about five minutes, a young man offered us transport to the beach by boat. It sounded good enough, and just another tale for the storybook. As we walked to the beach along the Volta River, we passed large boats with motors, some with sails, and finally found a small canoe, covered in palm leaves, with a deal of water already in the bottom, though it was on land. After getting the three of us situated in the canoe, with two men paddling with oars that looked more like wooden tennis rackets than paddles, we set off. The water came within inches of flowing in over the top of the canoe, and thankfully we never were too far from shore.

The water was calm except for when the wake of another boat gave us quite a rocking. We saw quite a few expensive tourist homes along the beach as we headed for destination unknown. After about a 45 minute canoe trip, myself not enjoying the ride, unable to relax, we saw an oasis. After going through hell, there was paradise. There was a beach with thatched huts, each painted with a different flag on the door, the Maranatha Beach Club. This place was utterly relaxing. On one side was the coast of the Volta River estuary, and about 150 meters in the other direction was the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean. There was a slew of other volunteers who made the journey from Accra earlier in the day, but the beach was quiet, and it was not difficult to find a place to yourself.

I was about as weary as I had ever been that afternoon from the travels as well as some other issues I’ve been having here. This destination was perfect, but I needed more than one night to unwind. I decided to stay another day, and doing so left me as the single tourist at the resort on Sunday. A full day, with a full beach, a book to read, and time to myself. I would have stayed longer but I spent too much at the bar Friday night, and needed to get to Accra and use an ATM.

Leaving Ada Foah left me with a 45 minute walk along the Atlantic shoreline into town, as I couldn’t justify spending money on the boat ride back. Here I was accosted by many children, yelling “Stop, give me money.” There were also fisherman laying out the lines along the coast, doing this journey alone really forced me to take in the culture of daily life.

After my stop in Accra, I hired a dropping taxi to take me to Kokrobite, another beach town. This town came with warnings of crime, but it also was supposedly the best place to learn about Ghanian music, something that interested me greatly.

I lodged at the Academy of African Music and Arts, once again the only person at the resort. The encampment was beautiful, and hosts live performances on Sundays. I was a day too late. There was no beach here, but rather a rocky shoreline which was just fine with me. I was able to pay for an hour of drum lessons, and played a palago drum. My instructor also gave me a good deal of background information on the drumming. He wishes to teach music in America, and asked me to pass along his website www.samueltagoe.com.

After a good meal of chicken and rice, I walked to another resort, where I had heard was Rastafarian community. There was. I befriended two, and played some drums with them before venturing home as it was getting dark.

The next day I left to see the Solo Forest Monkey Sanctuary, AKA Solo Forest Foundation. I came because I saw it mentioned in my guide book, but had no idea what to expect. After finding a road leading nowhere, I walked alone for about 10 minutes, no forest in sight. All of a sudden I was at a clearing and crossing a small pond, entered a community of about 10 people, true rastas. I came for a chance to see monkeys, though I expected to have come to late in the morning to do so. I payed my fee, and after seeing a spot-nosed monkey hop above my head for a while, learned about the area from the leader, Kokomete (I fear I’ve misspelled that).

The land belonged to his great grandfather (chief of the area many moons ago), and 10 years ago, it was being cut down, animals extinguished by gunfire. Five years ago Kokomete moved in, and began protecting the land, trying to preserve the last bit of natural beauty in the area. He told me he has 130 acres, most of which being out on islands where he offers boat tours through a mangrove swamp. I saw about 3 acres of land where I was. It truly was a Solo Forest amongst a growing population.

I was asked how I heard of the location, as there were no indications along the road. I showed the small paragraph in my guide book, to their amazement. I tore out the page and gave it to them.

The area I was at was at an in-progress stage. About 10 people reside in the community, with a village of mainly children very near. Kokomete has the children work to clean the land, and gives them money for food and cares for them as they do not have many adults in their lives. There is a site for a restaurant area, as well as areas designated for guest houses so that they can build revenue from tourists in the future. However there is not much in terms of resources, financial or manpower. The project is years from completion, as reforestation is their primary goal, with a need for a fence to surround and preserve what is left. They said they have a website in the works, but a developer has run off with their money as of late. Despite the problems, they will persevere and I expect within 20 years the forest to be in a state of repair. There is already an heir apparent for the land, and I wish them only the best. Already they have established a cleaner source of water, forbidding bathing in it. It is an educational process that is taking place, but this is not something that happens overnight.

This last weekend, traveling alone allowed me to really gain a cultural insight that most tourists probably miss. As I was alone, I was forced to interact with locals, and see their perspective. I found the people in Kokrobite to be the most friendly as well as most laid back in Ghana thus far. However, there is much left to see on my journey.

In this country there is problem, and that problem is transport.

That’s actually an understatement. Getting around in Ghana can swing between the ease of use line taxis, that take you along local routes, but then also leave you stranded in a town without any idea how to get back. Generally all you need to do is find a station, where taxis and tros wait for passengers. At times it is difficult to find the proper station, and once you get there, you must depend on the kindness of strangers to point you to the right area. To find a tro, there are sometimes signs posted on the roof of the tro, but the most reliable method is to listen for someone to be yelling loudly and rapidly the name of the destination.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me clarify the types of transport. When I say taxi, I refer to the taxis most people are used to. Sometimes they are on a fixed route, for a very cheap price. In this case you wait by the road and jump in when a car with an empty seat comes about. These taxis get crammed fast, and there have been multiple occasions I’ve been part of a cab with 8 or 9 people in a vehicle with 5 seats. A metro bus system would serve the same purpose, but there are only one or two public busses that I’ve seen thus far. Taxis take up the majority of the auto fleet in Ghana. You can also hire a dropping taxi to take you to a specific destination, like you would in the Western world. However, there is no meter, and you must negotiate a price before you sit down. I learned this the hard way, and was overcharged for a cab in Accra that took left me on the wrong side of town. The drivers don’t usually understand where you want to go, but will drive and leave you somewhere regardless.

A tro-tro refers to a conversion/cargo van that is anywhere from 20 to a few years old. Most of the time I’ve noticed there is not a functioning speedometer, gas gauge or any other functioning dial. These tros are quite uncomfortable, and usually seat 15 - 25 people, when there could comfortably be 10 or 15.

Now to the actual driving. Koforidua has about 4 functioning stoplights, this is not true everywhere. It is not uncommon to see officials in a white coat and hat directing traffic. Drivers here do not necessarily use turn signals, but honk (frequently) to let cars and people know they are coming their way. Speeds are usually far too fast for conditions, and I doubt anyone here could define hydroplaning. On my last trip out of Koforidua, we hit a bicyclist not more than 5 minutes out of town. We were almost pushed off the road by a large tanker carrying inflammable liquid as it dodged one of the many large potholes. This trip occurred during a rainstorm while traversing the Akaupem hills, and I was sitting in the front row, between the driver and another passenger, on top of a makeshift seat that covered the engine. Due to this, as we drove, the seat was continuously warmer and warmer.

Overtaking a vehicle and simply rounding corners (most of which are blind) can cause one to cross your fingers and pray that you make it through each stretch of road alive. Here honking is actually useful to inform oncoming vehicles, but I have seen quite a few cars on the side of the road from head on collisions. Because of this, we try to sit near the back of the vehicle, so that in case of accident you face a little better chance of survival.

When you travel to Accra, there is road construction for the miles leading to the city, so you are on an unpaved, rough road for up to an hour. Afterwards you are thankful for any sort of paved surface on which to drive.

Drivers here do not have any concern for bystanders. Unlike many cityscapes of America, this is not a pedestrian friendly area. I’ve been nearly hit on several occasions, and have been met with laughter each time.

I could go into detail of each trip, but that wouldn’t leave me much to tell when I get back. In short, after this expedition I should feel confident traveling just about anywhere in the world.

Maintain the Status Quo

For thousands of years life has existed in Africa. Chances are, after Western civilization comes to an end, life will still continue here. Life here is simple, the key is survival. There is not a real desire to flourish, or become more than you already are. This is why it is hard for an outsider to adapt. In Western society, there is a belief that you can improve yourself, learn more, do more, and become something more. There is a want, a need for self-improvement and to increase the standard of living. Here this is not the case. Granted the number of open doors elsewhere greatly outnumbers those here.

There are shoemakers, cloth makers, farmers, and sellers, but each has found their own niche. Once this niche is occupied, that is it. Attaining a station in life is enough to continue living. Really the biggest changes to society here over the years have been through the introduction of things from the west. Automobiles, mass produced good, processed foods, these things are imported and integrated to life here.

Why is there such a difference? My personal opinion focuses on education. This seems to be the biggest difference between here and home. Don't get me wrong, there are professionals here who have spent years educating themselves, and their station in life shows this. At the same time, there are children that will never attend school. These children are found in the streets selling gum, fried plantains, and other goods for pennies each. In 20 years they will be doing the same thing, but may have moved up to soaps or cloths.

Am I here to change the way of life that has been in place for ages? No, but I am attempting to understand it. Nor am I saying there are not any problems at home that need repair. Each location is not without its faults. There is progression here, but it is on behalf of the few who are trying to do so. This has been a liberated country for just 50 years, perhaps the bicentennial anniversary will show vast changes, but I won't be around to see it. For the most part, people here are generally pleased to continue living as they have, seeing each sunrise after the next.

Rainy day, internet cafe.

Today is one of the day's that inspired Toto's one hit wonder. It is the rainy season here, and today let on a downpour of rain for about two hours. Being such a day, I was able to find a decent enough connection to post a few pictures.






Here's Boti Falls.










This is a view from on top of Umbrella Rock. Climbing the rickity bamboo ladder, and paying 50 pesewas (<$0.50 US) was definitely worth it.









Waterfalls again, proof that I was there, also reppin Sconnie pride. By the way, I've seen about 3 secondhand UW shirts around, one woman with about 4 boxes on her head wearing a Favre jersey (GB not NY), and a rather large man wearing an All-American Mom t-shirt with pride.









Just a shot of the Thursday bead market. Think farmers market, but with beads, and no set prices.









There's really not much else to report, things here are moving along slowly, the Ghanian way. I think it's about time I head out and find my way to a spot bar for a 23 oz Star.