Trains, trains, and more trains

The train from Bar, Montenegro to Belgrade, Serbia was run down, empty, and smelled of urine.  I tried to find my seat about a half hour before we left; the car I was in was all 6 seat sections with sliding glass doors.  My reserved cabin was without light as it had been smashed to pieces and the door wouldn’t close, so I moved next door.  I waited for the train to fill but few people came.  As the train moved away from Bar, I was joined by a man in his late twenties who could speak some English.  He was polite and quiet, but was getting off in the capital only 40 minutes away.  I quickly realized that this train was far from express, we were stopping every 15 minutes.  The seats can be reclined to create a rounded bed with the chair across.  So, I made a bed and turned the light off trying to get some sleep after the English speaking guy left.

I soon had 4 visitors in my cabin.  They came in and turned on the lights and started a typical discussion (sounds like yelling) in a Slavic language.  They had a friend on the platform, so they leaned over where I was sleeping, and opened the window above me.  It wouldn’t stay open on it’s own, so one of the men kept his arm there to keep it open while they yelled over top of me and the pouring rain came in landing all over my face.  I sat up frustrated as ever, and made a loud ‘ugh’ noise giving each of them a slight death glare.  One of the men that spoke some english quickly approached me and began shaking my hand aggressively with a huge grin on his face.  He started talking about how he has a cousin in Edmonton, blah, blah, blah.  The man removed his hand from the window momentarily and I quickly slammed it shut.  They continued to yell through the glass to their friend, until I could hear one of them yelling from the end of the hallway–they must have found an empty cabin.  Within seconds they were gone, leaving the door open and light on.

For the next 4 hours, I had a visitor every 15 minutes or so.  Six visits about my passport, around the same number about my ticket and the rest was random passengers turning on lights and asking me something in another language.  I found that saying nein and shaking my head aggressively scared most of them away quite quickly.  At around 2 am, I was finally done with checkpoints and was hoping to get some sleep when three kids in their early twenties barged in and turned on the lights.  They asked me something, realizing I was English speaking, they threw their bags on the shelves and sat down.  I rolled over to try to sleep, while the three of them loudly chatted and lit up three cigarrettes in my cabin.  An hour later they finally went to sleep and I only awoke a few times before 6 am.

We were supposed to get in at 6:30 am, but when we still hadn’t arrived by 7:30, I figured I should suck it up and use the toilet.  I was trying to wait until Belgrade considering the entire train smelled of urine, I could just imagine the state of the washrooms.  Sure enough, both the washrooms for second class were disgusting, one had feces all over the floor.  I kept walking up the train until I hit a locked door, and resorted to the last possible washroom.  It was pretty foul; I was gagging.  In Belgrade now though, so time to go explore…

The Road to Montenegro

Today was one of those days that seem almost impossible to describe.  Mostly because most people wouldn’t understand the humour in the stories that that really give the clearest picture of travel, but also because most of the details would sound pretty odd to most people.  I will give it my best shot though.  The day started regularly…

 

I was given a ride by Mr. Begovic to the bus station to catch my bus to Budva, Montenegro this morning.  Unfortunately, I only had 50 Kuna (about $10 US) and the ticket was 129 Kuna.  There was an exchange office right there, and I had some US on me; however, as I was walking over, Mr.Begovic refused to let me trade 100 USD for Croatian Kunas when I was leaving in an hour.  So, he traded me 5 Euro for 79 Kuna ($18 USD) then gave me a bit of change in case I needed to use the toilet or buy a snack.  I tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t allow it.  After purchasing my ticket, he picked up my bag—which weighs in the 20 kilo range and provides quite a struggle for a man nearing 75—and started walking across the street.  I decided to follow my bag, and wound up in the coffee shop we had stopped in when I first arrived.  He bought me a cappuccino and introduced me to the woman who was serving and left me there with a hug and a huge smile, making sure that I understood I had to leave for the bus in 15 minutes.

 

The bus from Dubrovnik to Budva was gorgeous.  The bus ride was along the coastline, following an extremely windy road as the Adriatic Coast between Croatia and Montenegro is full of small inlets and bays.  I would say it may be one of the most windy roads I’ve been on before (and that’s after living on Arbutus Avenue…).  When you combine the road with a huge bus, pouring rain, and puddles of water all along the road—you get the worst possible hydroplaning you can imagine.  Our driver chuckled every time the back end of the bus fishtailed a bit, and would follow it by hitting the gas a little harder.  I’m fairly sure we spent the majority of the ride going over 80 km, but it may have been faster.  No one else on the bus seemed too concerned, so, I decided to lean back and enjoy the scenery.

 

Once in Budva, I enquired about buses to Bar, where the main train station in Montenegro is located.  There were lots of minibuses waiting, and I was quickly ushered onto one for only 3.50 Euro.  I boarded the bus with a some bread and cheese to hold me over—my first meal of the day.  Once the bus was around half full, the driver hopped on smacking his head against the ceiling,  He quickly recovered giving a loud laugh and punching me in the shoulder as if to say “can you believe that?”.  I laughed with him somewhat awkwardly, realizing this journey was to be no safer than the last.  He offered me a cigarette as he turned the bus on, to which I politely declined.  As the bus tore out of the station, he lit his cigarette, holding the wheel with his knees and turned the radio volume up as high as it would go.  I laughed, remembering so many other bus rides in non English speaking countries, with awkward music.  I think my ride in Cameroon may win though, as most people were dancing and singing for an 8 hour bus ride with only 7 or so songs playing on repeat.  I did think about jumping out of the window at some points, but it was fun.  It is such a wonderful way to see a country and to put yourself into so many potentially awkward situations.

 

Arriving in Bar safely was a miracle.  I purchased my reservation for the night train to Belgrade.  I was too cheap to go for the full bed, so I opted for just a seat…knowing I will be regretting that 5 euro decision in the morning.  I asked about lockers and maps at the information desk, but was told the lockers and tourist info are closed between 9 am and 7 pm.  Right.  Ok.  And the bus doesn’t come in the afternoon.  Ok.  So, I decided I would catch up on some emails and sit in the sun and enjoy a sprite.  There are a line of small cafes and a restaurant leading into the train station.  After having a sprite and finishing my postcards, I asked about wifi…no response really.  People in Montenegro understand English the least of anywhere I’ve been so far.  So, I wandered into the restaurant with my query.  The host/waiter had no clue what I was asking about, and my charade skills didn’t seem to help me here, pretending to type and saying every word for internet I could concoct.

 

A man sitting with his friend at a nearby table interrupted my wonderful acting and began speaking in French.  He explained that no one understood any English, but if I spoke any Slavic languages or French, then they could help me.  Well, my French is rusty, but I could hold my own in a light conversation.  The two men were in their late 60s, had big beer bellies and were drinking red wine.  When offered a seat, I thought this was the best thing that could happen today.  So, I pulled up a chair and we all began talking in three different languages about professions and where I had been.  They were very proud of their country and disappointed to hear I was only in Bar for one day, so I promised to return to really see the country.  The French Croatian also asked me about where I was going after Montenegro.  He was very upset to hear I was going to Belgrade and Sofia.  He began to explain, in French, how the Mafia there was out of control and the government was doing nothing to stop them.  Then he explained their biggest source of income was young girls travelling through.  All I could think of was that stupid movie Taken.  He made me promise I would have nothing to drink in either country, be back to the train station before dark, and to keep my eyes open all day and watch everyone.  I agreed.  I am sure it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be, but at the same time, there is a lot of news that we just don’t hear about in North America…so…I figured it might be solid advice coming from someone that lives in the region.  He told me Croatia and Montenegro are extremely safe and trying very hard to get their tourism going, but Serbia and Bulgaria have too much corruption.  I have read a lot about corruption in Croatia too, but I kept nodding along. After an hour or so, one of the men called a friend who has an internet cafe and the owner agreed to keep it open for me if I wanted to go there.  The waiter picked up the bill for my beer, because I was ‘the prettiest girl to come into the restaurant…ever’.  Alright…free beer….thanks…and we left the restaurant.

 

I was somewhat hesitant to get in the car, but they were genuinely very kind, and gave a good vibe.  So I hopped in the car and we went to the internet place, just around the corner.  I sent out a couple emails and Begot was back to pick me up to drive me back.  He gave me a tour of the city, showing me the harbour and the main squares…the language barrier was pretty strong as he spoke no French or English.  After what he considered a decent tour, he bought me a cappuccino and dropped me back off at the train station with a handful of complementary postcards of Bar.  He gave me his business card for next time I was in Bar, so I could come to his home with my friends and his wife would make us a delicious Montenegrin meal.  I agreed.  And that was it.  I expected to at least pay something for the coffee or the ride…I continued to offer, but they would both reply that it doesn’t work like that in Montenegro.  Travellers are guests, and should be treated as such.  A very odd day indeed, but a wonderful example of the Balkan hospitality.  People here always look so stern and speak aggressively, always sounding angry…but when you actually talk to them, they are overly welcoming and friendly.  And always very excited to hear that you are travelling through their country.  Some people can seem pretty dry and cold on the outside, but wonderful, interesting and caring people in general.

Walking the Walls

Dubrovnik is a beautiful city on the Adriatic at the south of Croatia. It is one of the largest tourist destinations in Croatia, and unlike many of the other ports in Croatia, has enough space to dock cruise ships. The Old City is a UNESCO heritage site and is enclosed by the historic walls that once protected the city. Although the city was attacked by heavy artillery after the fall of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, most of the repairs have been made now and it is difficult to find any remnants the war.

Recent excavations and findings have greatly altered what was thought to be the history of Dubrovnik. It now seems that the city has been around since the B.C. era. Between the 14th century and 17th century, Dubrovnik (known then as Ragusa) developed itself into a free state. The Republic of Ragusa received its own Statutes as early as 1272, statutes which included prescriptions for town planning and the regulation of quarantine (for hygienic reasons). The Republic was very inventive regarding laws and institutions that were developed very early on: medical service was introduced in 1301; the first pharmacy (still working) was opened in 1317; a refuge for the elderly was opened in 1347; the first quarantine hospital (Lazarete) was opened in 1377; slave trading was abolished in 1418; the orphanage was opened in 1432; the water supply system (20 kilometers) was constructed in 1436.

When I arrived in Dubrovnik, Mr. Begovic picked me up to take me to his private accommodations. Most of the accommodations for budget travellers in Dubrovnik comes in the form of private rooms. He quickly led me over to a coffee shop and asked if I drank coffee. We sat down as he continued his conversation with his friend. I was happy to wait if it meant a free coffee, so I listened to them argue away in Croatian for ten minutes or so.

The guesthouse is clean and roomy. I have my own room and my own bathroom…haven’t had that in a while! The next morning I decided to walk to the Old Town. It was about a 40 minute walk from the guesthouse. When I got down to the Old Town the sun was trying to shine through the clouds, so I decided I had better walk the walls now before it started to rain. There was only a couple other people up there that I saw during my walk, it made the experience that much better. There were tons of stairs around the walls and lots of little enclosed stair cases. Some of the higher points gave wonderful scenic views of the city and the Adriatic.

I spent the day hanging out in the Old City before walking back to the hostel. It was great to have a kitchen and be able to make my own food again. I think breakfast was the best though, just to have cereal…that made my week.

On the second day, it poured. And not just rain, there was thunder, lightning and wind gusts all day long. At one point my patio table and chair went flying across the backyard, along with my umbrella; so, I went chasing after it and by the time I got back to my room it looked like I had jumped in the bath with my clothes on. I had asked the day before at tourist information about what else I should do in the city after finding out the ferries no longer run daily in the winter. The response from both tourist desks was to find a spa or hot tub. So, I decided I would try that. Unfortunately, the owner informed me that having computers and internet on make the lighting and weather worse (who knew?) so he turned it all off. By the time I figured out where the spa was, I realized I could either walk 15 min to a bus, or walk 20 min there, and neither really sounded that appealing considering the weather conditions. I opted for a hot shower and some poorly written television. After doing zero all day, I took myself out for dinner to a cute little restaurant just down the road. There were only two other people in the place. It was a nice end to a relaxing, although somewhat frustrating day.

Today, the rain had stopped. Phew. I walked into town this morning and headed straight for the mountain that overlooks all of the Old Town and Lapad Bay (where I am staying). The hike took me…a while…mainly because I couldn’t find the entrance to the trail for a half an hour or so. But it was a great hike up and the views were spectacular. I took my photos and walked down at a pretty brisk pace. I was still somewhat out of breath and had to look sweaty and run down by the time I found a cheap restaurant. They had a lunch special on that came with soup, salad, chicken, and desert. I ate my lunch, walked around Old Town for a while longer, then headed back to the hostel. On my first night, I had found the perfect location for a sunset. Just behind our hostel there is a hill (they call it a mountain). Everywhere in town the streets are perpendicular to the slope of the hill and instead of zig zagging your way up the steep hillsides, there are stairs. Just to get from the bus stop up to the Boarding house puts even the fittest out of breath. The stairs to the top of the mountain behind were about double that. I had tried to take photos on my first night, but the clouds covered most of the light, and the second night the streets were full of water. I decided even if it rained I would go tonight.

Of course, as soon as I closed the door behind me to make the trek up there, it started raining. By the time I was half way up the stairs my pants were soaked and my shoes were full of water. My cheap umbrella kept flipping inside out, so I had to put my Nikon inside my jacket, giving me quite the belly. At the top of the stairs, I rolled my pants up to my thighs and kept trudging. I had three cars stop to ask if I was alright. I didn’t want to admit that I was just going to take a photo of the sunset, so I pretended I had intended to walk in the rain and get this wet, nodding happily. I finally got to the top and set up a little photo station with my umbrella above and my jacket on the grass…and I got a photo.

After my massive lunch, I didn’t really need dinner. So, tonight has been a hang out and organize night. I’m all packed for my bus ride tomorrow morning to Budva, Montenegro. From there I will go to Bar where I can get back on my favourite part of travel–overnight trains! Three nights of overnight trains will hopefully get me back to Athens in time for my flight to Jordan.

Split, Croatia!

My next stop, Split, on the coast of Croatia, south of Rijeka. The city was first settled in around the third century AD, when Diocletian, a Roman Emperor built his palace there. The palace, at over 30,000 square meters, lies in the heart of the city and much of modern Split operates within the palace walls still. The alleyways are packed with restaurants, bars, cafes, shoe stores, jewelry stores and everything in between; all of this amongst well preserved Roman ruins and residents clothing hanging out to dry above. There are around 220 buildings within the palace walls and approximately 3,000 residents.

I arrived into Split on the train at around 6:30 am and stepped onto the platform to find torrential showers. I had my rain coat on, but my umbrella was packed at the bottom of my big backpack and the hostel was said to be only a 400 m walk from the station. I figured we get rain in BC, this is nothing. Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I began to trudge through the puddles and attempt to find my way to my hostel. The hostel was located just outside the palace walls; the map showed it somewhere within the mix of winding alleyways. The description also said that because the hostel was located in UNESCO site, they couldn’t have a sign up. Somehow, I was at the door in no time. Relieved, I went to push the door open, only to find a sign informing me it would be closed until 8 am.

I turned around and went in search of a cafe that might be open at this hour. Seeing the lights on, I opened the door to a small tavern like cafe/bar in a square not far from the hostel. There were about 8 people inside, all with lit cigarettes; the air above the four foot mark was foggy from the smoke. But it definitely beat being outside, so I dropped my backpack near the door and plunked down at a table to unpack my soaked backpack. A few Kuna later, I had maxed out on caffeine and second hand smoke and killed two hours. I went back into the rain and made my way back to find one of the owners unlocking the door for the morning.

After checking in and finding my 8 bed dorm room empty, I had a quick shower and went back into the rain to explore the town. I walked up to the highest peak just outside town to catch a view of the city. Even in the rain, it was a beautiful walk. I then walked around the city with my trusty guide book and my cheap umbrella reading up on all the sights. The city was so neat, how the alley ways twist around the old palace. I think getting lost in those little streets was the best part of the day for me.

I went back to change my socks and warm up a bit at around 4 and met some of the people in the room next door. They were two Australian guys and two Norwegian guys who had been in Split for four days or so and still not seen anything other than the main bar, the corner store, and their beds. They were just getting up at 4 when I decided to head out for some tea. Back at the hostel, I met two others who had come to Split travelling and decided to help out doing administrative and handy man stuff in return for a free room. I have met a lot of people, mostly Australians, who find side jobs like that for themselves to keep travelling. Not a bad life in general, I’d say.

I spent the night in Split watching bad music videos and hanging out with other travellers. The next morning, the sun was shining as I walked to the bus station, so, I decided to take a few more photos while it was nice out. The outdoor cafes were full and people were everywhere. I wish my day there could have been sunny so I could have seen more of that side of Split, but I was happy to get on the bus and head out to Dubrovnik. Finally a place to unpack for a few days and maybe even try and get a full night’s sleep!

Surfing in Rijeka!

Well well well…I am now sitting in a coffee shop, back in Zagreb, waiting for yet another train. I will have to add up the number of hours spent on trains during my few weeks here in South Eastern Europe, pretty sure it will be somewhat shocking (especially if I add in the time spent in the stations waiting!)

I just arrived to Zagreb after an amazing two days in Rijeka, on the north coast of Croatia. I had my first couch surfing experience there, and though I went into the situation somewhat skeptical, it turned out to be one of the best travel experiences I have had yet! When I arrived to the train station on Saturday afternoon, Zoran picked me up in his car. He drove me around the city and showed me the old city, the fortress, the church, and then took me down to the center of town and we walked around. He was great. We chatted the whole time about everything aspect of life. It was great to chat to someone from here that knew so much about Croatia’s history and culture. Not to mention, made me much more comfortable with the idea of couchsurfing with complete strangers when they are so open and friendly.

We went back to his apartment, where his girlfriend Mirela was waiting to meet me. We all chatted and they showed me my room (yes, my own room–not even a couch). I put my stuff down and we sat around in the living room talking. They made me dinner and gave me a beer while we argued over various international topics. We then watched a bit of football (soccer) while Mirela played with my translator. It was so relaxing. The next day, Sunday, was the day of the dead in Croatia. It is a national holiday (which unfortunately for Croatians fell on a Sunday this year), where everyone visits the graves of their deceased family and mourns the dead. This explains why Mirogoj (the cemetery I visited in Zagreb) was so busy and full of flowers and candles. People apparently were preparing for the day of the dead.

After hearing that I like hiking and the outdoors, Zoran offered to take me to a nearby moutain, Učka, to hike. It was 1400 meters high and had the most amazing 360 view. It took us over an hour to get to the top at a fairly good pace, and a bit longer to come down as we took the road for a good deal of the time. He brought us packed lunches and we ate them at the top. It was a great hike, and such a beautiful day! It made my time in Rijeka. That is something I would not have been able to do on my own as there is no public transport to the park. It was just fabulous to see the views of the Adriatic on one side and Croatian countryside on the other.

We were both exhausted on the way home, but stopped to see a few more places of interest. We saw the beach that they usually go to in the summer. Croatia is a beautiful country. Then we came back and relaxed, had some dinner, and they had a friend come over and play some games. It was such a great two days there…I feel so relaxed and renewed!

This morning, I went to catch the train from Rijeka back to Zagreb, and then planned on catching the connecting train to Split from Zagreb. The train to Zagreb was for some unknown reason, not running. So, I had to take the bus instead. The bus took an extra hour and a half, so, I missed the connection. Leaving me instead with nine hours in Zagreb before another lovely overnight train. All my Rijeka photos have been added to my Smugmug; click here to see the photos. I have yet to add descriptions and all that fun stuff, but I am hoping to do that soon for both Zagreb and Rijeka photos. Well, onto Split!

Zagreb, Croatia!

Zagreb was such a beautiful city. On my first night I didn’t see much of the city. The aussies and I walked from the train station to the hostel, about a ten or fifteen minute walk and were pretty exhausted and starving. We decided to go for food at a place the owner of the hostel recommended. It was super cheap and decent food. That night we got to know the other people who were staying at the hostel and all had a bit of a drinking party in the common room.

The next morning I got up early and packed up my stuff for the day. The owner was downstairs and lent me a walking tour book of Zagreb…way more helpful than my Lonely Planet Croatia. So I did both of the walking tours and saw the most magnificent churches, cute side streets, a huge fruit market, and all kinds of historically interesting statues around the town. The city was just full of stories and interesting facts—I just love fun facts. One of the streets, Krvavi Most, translated as Bloody Bridge, used to be the bridge that divided the Catholics from the non religious in Zagreb. They would meet on the bridge to discuss things like water usage and sharing of land etc.; not all of these discussions ended peacefully. The Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (or just Cathedral) sits above most of Zagreb with massive walls around it to protect it. It was built in the at the beginning of 1200 and is just breathtaking. Although dark and depressing with turrets everywhere and wire, the gold and stain glass windows brighten the atmosphere. Of course, the people also add life to the church, with hundreds of tea lights lit, the pews filled with penitent Catholics, and the line up for the confession booth winding its way out the door. I then wandered over to Dolac where there is a large fruit, vegetable and flower market. Thankfully I made it there for the morning bustle; later in the afternoon most of the items had been sold. I bought myself a massive apple and wandered around for a bit. I saw some pumpkin seeds and foolishly assumed that they would be baked and salted…so I bought a huge bag of them off one of the vendors. She gave me a bit of an odd look to begin with, but after I put a few in my mouth I could tell she was extremely confused. As soon as I realized they were raw, I made a disgusted face then started laughing out loud. Her and her friend started laughing harder and pointing at me. Ahhh, not the first time people have pointed and laughed.

I walked from town up to the cemetery outside of town called Mirogoj. It took me about twice as long to get there as it should have, mostly because I kept stopping to look at little churches and cute streets, but also because I would then go up one of the small ones and get myself completely turned around. My map didn’t show any of the streets this far out of town, so I just kept trying to go the general right direction, and all of a sudden, saw the sign…I had made it back to the right street—with only a half hour side track. The cemetery was huge; there were hundreds of people there bringing extravagant arrangements and large glass candles to their loved ones’ graves. The majority of the grave stones were over 8 feet high and marble. They were all clean and I saw maybe two that were without burning candles or fresh flowers. I imagine that Friday must be a day to visit, because I can’t imagine it is always like that. But it was interesting to see these people mourning, or celebrating the dead, so many years after they had passed. It was extremely peaceful there, I walked around for about an hour before making my way back down to town. (size of the cemetery and the walls)

I continued to walk around for a while longer in town and read some more fun facts on all the monuments I was seeing, then made my way back to the hostel. Our hostel was just off of Trg Josipa Jelacica Square, the main square in town. It was a great location, near everything. The Aussies and I went for an earlyish dinner and walked around for a while. We then came back and hung out in the common room again. There was this seedy Croatian guy there earlier who had been hitting on a Brazilian girl. When we had left for dinner at 5 ish he was just loaded. When we came back the owner said he had passed out in someone else’s bed and then moved to the floor. The owner had “taken care” of him and moved him away. Said we wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. Unfortunately, around 2 am he burst into our room wearing only whitey tighties, socks, and a wife beater shining a flashlight at all of us demanding to know where his clothing had gone. None of us could even hold a straight face…we were all giggling and then laughing hysterically. This only pissed him off more, he got more frustrated and stood there groaning…”I can’t explain…My clothes…where are they?” Yes, staying in hostels can be interesting at times.

I am now on the train to Rijeka to meet my first couch surfing friends. I think when I get to Rijeka I will have to send some things home, the owner estimated that my bag plus backpack was over 40 kilos this morning, and my back would agree with that estimate right now. Clean clothes are overrated anyway. This train is a great deal nicer than any I’ve seen yet, I thought for sure I was in the wrong class. And I didn’t have a pen to fill in my travel day on my pass (on Eurail passes, you write the date of your travel in yourself, and mine has 6 days of travel, so today should count as one). But I don’t think she had ever seen a pass before because she just stared at it for about 4 minutes before passing it back to me and walking away. Extra day of travel for free for me! Bonus! The country side from Zagreb to Rijeka has been filled with rivers, valleys, quaint towns, and endless neon orange and yellow trees. It is one of the more beautiful rides I’ve been on—so far anyway.

Sofia, Bulgaria

The train to Sofia began in Athens. It was a dumpy old train and I was in a 6 person cabin that allowed smoking. with a narrow area between the bunk beds, it seemed impossible that all the luggage was going to fit. Somehow the chubby man in his 70s that had a cigarette in his mouth for the majority of our 14 hour ride packed it all in. Getting out was not easy, but I made my way out to change and brush my teeth before a nice, smokey, sleep. The older gentleman opted for a more simpler option of changing right there in the room–bending over with his rear in my bunk bed. It was a pleasant start to my journey. Escaping to the washroom, I found a disgusting, urine smelling toilet and a sink that hadn’t drained in days. I quickly peed and decided to change in the next room of just a sink. After using a decent amount of hand sanitizer, I felt good enough to sleep. Thank god I had been up since mom left me that morning at 3 am; I was exhausted and fell asleep easily to the rocking and bumping of the train.

I woke up about 3 hours from Sofia to the smell and sound of farts coming from the guy above me. Although gross, I would have preferred it to the smoke that quickly filled our room half an hour later. I decided to get up and wash up. I was not very interested in returning to that lovely washroom I had seen the night before–knowing that it would be that much worse this morning. So, I wandered up to some of the other classes. Our cabin was the very last one on the train, so I had a long way to go before any of the rooms improved. But improve they did! Suddenly the ripped bunks and smokey halls ways turned into pristine white rooms with sturdier beds and enough room for luggage. I found the first toilet and it was much better. Still a little smelly and no paper towel or anything, it was just perfect.

When we arrived in Sofia, I booked my next reservation to Belgrade, Serbia. You couldn’t book all the way through to Zagreb, Croatia. But the woman assured me that making the 30 minute layover onto the next train would be no problem without a reservation. I spent the day wandering in Sofia, Bulgaria. I had read some tips and things to do in Sofia prior to arriving; however, mostly the travel sites said that Sofia was an ugly, dirty town that was in need of a massive renovation. There were however, some beautiful churches, mosques and banks to see. Unfortunately, the reviews were mostly right. Amid sex shops, abandoned buildings, cell phone stores, and random casinos you could find some beautiful, historic buildings. For the most part, Sofia was fairly ugly and seedy. Greasy and sketchy people wandered the streets leering at you as you aimlessly wander by. After about 4 hours of this I decided to find a cafe, have some food and water and catch up on a few emails.

The train from Sofia to Belgrade was much nicer. I shared it with just one other woman and it was non smoking. The customs control and passport control came to our room about five times. It was pretty unnecessary. One of them wanted to search my bag, but had trouble lifting in and I told him it was just clothes. He decided that was good enough and gave me a stern look before wandering down the hallway leaving our door open, yet again. The paper thin walls introduced us to some rowdy aussies that were heading to Zagreb at 5 am the next morning on the same train I intended to catch. After a decent sleep, we were waiting to get off the train and chatted about how we were getting to Zagreb and if we needed a reservation. We decided to head to the reservation desk in the station and check it out.

The woman at the desk informed us that we had to go to another station for the train, but the bus outside would take us. With 3 minutes until the departure time of our train, we got off the bus in the middle of nowhere and climbed the stairs to the track. Below the stairs was endless amounts of garbage and clothing. There were a couple homeless searching through the trash. The next train wasn’t till 10:30 and I did not want to spend 4 hours in this neighbourhood. We got to the top and found the train that goes to Munich…with a stop in Zagreb. Phew. And we were off. It has been a very long journey to Croatia and I cannot wait to finally get there, have a shower, and eat some food. The next two weeks should be filled with picturesque buildings, beautiful scenery, great hiking, and some history–I hope. We will see what happens.

A Weekend in Foumban

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to put this update up, but as my time with GHAPE is coming to a close, we are working really hard to get everything done. This week has been another exhausting and fulfilling week. But you’ll have to wait till the next post to hear about all that.

Last weekend, a bunch of us went to Foumban, a town about 3 hours from Bamenda in the Francophone West Province. As soon as we got to Bafoussam, a larger town near Foumban where we were staying, there were bakeries, croissants and baguettes everywhere. Even if they weren’t speaking French you would know you had crossed into a new province. I will not get into all the details about the difficulties I faced getting a bus, or the lovely new American friends we met who really seemed to be trying to make a difference here, as those negative stories detract from the excitement and interesting cultural festival we experienced in Foumban.

Here is a short history of Foumban and the surrounding area of Bamoun (stolen from Wikipedia)

History of Foumban and Bamoun:

During the 18th century, the kingdom faced the threat of invasion from the north by Fulani and Chamba warriors. By the end of the century, Bamum had perhaps 10,000-12,000 within its domain. The History and Customs of the Bamum list ten kings between the founder and Kuotu. The nine kings that followed Nchare are not remembered for anything special. They were not conquerors, and territorial expansion did not occur until the reign of the tenth Mbum in the early 19th century. Mbum Mbuembue. King Mbuembue was the first ruler to expand the Bamun Kingdom. He was also famous for repelling an attack by the Fulani in the early 19th century. Mfon Mbuembue also took steps to fortify the capital with the construction of a trench. He was the founder of the amblem of the Bamun people, characteristic of their capabilities to fight in two fronts and win both at the same time. He represented the Bamun people by a snake with two heads also known as “Ngnwe peh tu”.

German Colonization

The Bamun kingdom voluntarily became part of German Kamerun in 1884 during the reign of Mfon Nsangou. During his reign, Bamum fought a war with the Nso. By the end of the conflict, the king was killed, and his head was carried off by the Nso. Immediately after, one of the king’s wives, Njapdunke, took over the kingdom’s government with her lover Gbetnkom Ndo`mbue. We have to remember that this Gbetnkom above was not the Mfon as there was another Gbetnkom who was the son of Mfon Mbuembue the great conqueror. In fact after the death of Mfon Mbuembue, there was no male heir to inherit his trone; so Njapdunke took over for sometime, but fail to represent the king. She was then removed and it was thought that one of the king’s son Mbetnkom was at a village called “Massagham” for treatment. he was then brought back and became Mfon Mbetnkom. Mbetnkom was a short man, a dictator and use to order to shop off the legs of those who were taller than him. A practice that finally cost his life during a hunting training session. After his death, his little son, Mbienkuo succeded him yet was too young to rule. It became a habit for him to wanting to know who was his father amongst the people who were taking guards behind him. His court led by Ngouoh became doubful and thought the boy may eventually learn that they are the people who killed his father. Mfon Mbienkuo was carried away and killed in a place called nowadays “Mfe shut Mfon mbwere”. Now the trone remained vacant for sometime and Ngouoh, the leader of the court ultimately became Mfon, but unfortunately was not a decendant of king Mbuembue. He was a Bamileke slave. Ngouoh was not welcome by his subjects and decided to move the palace to his own location. Mfon Ngouoh was later chased away after a fierce fight between him and the followers of Mbuembue. Nsangou, a grand son of Mbuembue became king.

Njoya the Great

Eventually King Njoya, son of the slain king, came to power. He was one of Bamum’s most prolific rulers and ruled from approximately 1883 to 1931. He voluntarily put his kingdom under the protection of German colonial power and was responsible for modernizing certain elements of Mbum society. In 1897, Njoya and his court converted to Islam, a decision that would affect Bamun culture long after Njoyua’s death. He invented the Shumom script so that his people would be able to record Bamum’s history. In 1910, Njoya had a school constructed where the script was taught. Germans were allowed to set up the Basel Mission at the capital of and construction was undertaken to build a temple. A school was also built, staffed by missionaries whom taught in German and the native language. The Germans also introduced new housing construction techniques while settling among the kingdom’s inhabitants as farmers, traders and educators. King Njoya remained loyal to his German overlords who in turn respected his rights as king and consulted him on colonial business. Another important element in the kingdom’s history during the period under German protection was the introduction of sweet potatoes, macabo and other new foods, which helped the kingdom become more prosperous than ever. The Mbum were able to trade outside their traditional borders, and the income greatly improved the standard of living. King Njoya was greatly influenced by the missionaries who denounced idols, human sacrifice and polygamy. In response, Njoya cut back on royal excesses. Nobles were allowed to marry slaves and those of the non-landed servile class. The king, however, remained unconverted to Christianity. In fact, he merged some of the tenents of Christianity and Islam with traditional beliefs to create an altogether new religion more palatable to his subjects. In 1906, Germany sent an expeditionary force against the Nso backed up by King Njoya’s warriors. After the victory, the force was able to reclaim the head of Njoya’s father, which was crucial for legitimizing the king. From then on, the bond between Bamum and Germany was unbreakable. When Germany was besieged on all sides during the first World War, Bamun steadfastly supported them until the bitter end when they came under the more repressive rule of the French.

French Colonization

In 1918, Germany’s colonial possessions were divided up between France and Great Britain. The kingdom of Bamoun thus fell under repressive French rule. In 1923, Njoya was deposed, and his script was banned by the French

My blog continues here:

After arriving in Foumban, we were unsure where to go exactly, so we followed the crowds of hundreds of people walking up and down the main street. Along the side of the main road were small craft shops and meeting huts for different tribes and groups. Once we arrived at the top of the road, we saw the stadium was off to the right of us; there was a walkway blocked off—presumably for the sultan (which apparently is different from the Fon), and the parade of people to come through. We tried to make our way to the front on one side of the blocked off walkway. As we pushed further up we began to realize we weren’t going to get too far. People around us started telling us to go around and seemed to be pointing to the other side of the walkway. We decided to walk around, but when we went to cross the walkway, we were ushered through the blocked off area.

They must have thought we were important for some reason, because we were gradually ushered towards the front and finally reached the entrance into the stadium where guards and security blocked the gates and held people back. After a great deal of confusion, we realised the security was ushering us into the stadium to sit on the ground in front to watch the ceremony. There were five of us and we tried to casually and quietly sneak in while the sultan/fon was speaking without too much disturbance. As soon as we sat down, the group behind us started yelling at us in French and other languages. So we got up and began to move further into the stadium center, attempting again to sit in front of a group that this time was much further back. I am quite sure that we were not blocking their view; however, within seconds we were being chased by a tribal wacko that had a whip and a stick. He was whipping Kat and hitting me with his stick. At first I was scared and was on my feet rushing Heather and everyone away, but as soon as I realized what was going on, I couldn’t stop laughing. Kat and I were giggling so hard when we sat down in front of some German tourist looking group. They yelled at us too, but they didn’t have whips or sticks, so we decided to just stay low there.

The Sultan was giving his speech on what he had done in the last two years and what people could expect to see in the next two. None of us were really listening or following, but we did catch the Obama reference as he shouted “Yes We Can!” haha. After his speech we were able to see some of the performances. I will try to get the videos up soon. Some of the tribes, like one with large baskets on their backs, just walked and sang solemnly through the crowd. Others were a bit more vibrant. One such tribe put on a short fight with machetes followed by guns. After seeing the small lead bullets they use for Cry Dies, I was somewhat worried being twenty feet away from all these shots going off. I started getting a little worried about the bullets coming down just as a man right in front of us fell to the ground and began rolling while still shooting his gun. I jumped, through my hands over my head and even closed my eyes I think. The video I was making at the time is quite funny, it really looks like a BBC correspondent film from some war zone—no, just a cultural celebration where some white girl freaked out. It was pretty funny though.

We spent the remainder of the day searching for deals on masks and other handicrafts. At one point we were in this handicraft center with all these small little shops. There was a boy standing in the center of the courtyard and whenever someone came out and couldn’t find the others we would just ask him “ou est les blanches?” and he would point to a shop where the whitemen were attempting to strike a deal. As Marcy and I were waiting for Kat and Heather, we started talking to a couple of the shop workers. One of them was willing to trade his sweet hat with random little beaded braids coming out of it for Marcy’s sunglasses—would have been a great trade in my eyes. Haha. For Marcy of course. Another guy was trying to buy my glasses off of me and using all the whitemen tactics to lower prices as I used all his phrases to keep them up—telling him I had to travel, myself, to the village to get these items. He thought it was pretty funny.

We came back to Bafoussam that night and had a cosy sleep with 4 of us in one bed (again, pictures and videos to come soon). Even though we were all exhausted, Marcy and I didn’t sleep too well. It may have had something to do with the fact that there was a nightclub across the street playing music till past 5 am. The trip back from Bafoussam was quite quick and we stopped at a waterfall on the way to take some photos.

Once we arrived back in Bamenda, Kat, Heather and I went to their place to hang out and eat some lunch. We went with their professor Lynn to visit the home of a woman whose mother had just suffered a stroke. Kat and Heather work as Occupational Therapists at the hospital in Bafut. After that, we went to a “Born House”—essentially a baby shower. The father was blind, as were many of the guests. We tried to leave early so we could meet Loveline, who was preparing achu for dinner for us. Unfortunately, the wife would not allow us to leave without eating. She literally shook her finger at us and gave us a guilt/death stare. So we asked if we could share a plate (which as expected was enough food for a family of 5). We attempted to eat as much as we could while drinking our orange fantas. After finishing eating and presenting our gift to the household (a weird little pack of plastic bottles and bib—Heather is to blame for that one…), we rushed to catch a bike to get to my house to meet Loveline.

We were late for dinner, but food was about the last thing I wanted. We three hopped on a bike, receiving more attention than usual. There were bikes lined up along the road at the junction, and we randomly chose one guy who seemed overly eager and ready to go. He cleaned his bike for us and we all hopped on with me on the back. After I was on, one of his friends decided he should clean my feet and legs for some reason as well. So, I had a nice brush down on my legs and we were off.

He was driving ridiculously fast and we were all doing the nervous giggle you do when you just aren’t sure what to say. So Kat started asking him to slow down, but since she was laughing at the time, I think he thought she was joking. Then she started asking him if he has any children, and how old they are. Turns out he has a six year old daughter. So Kat asked if he ever drives with her on the bike, the response was of course, yes. So she then asked while all of continued to laugh, if he drives this fast with her on the bike. “Of course”, he responded and sped up down my dirt road. I was hanging on for dear life on the metal grate at the back of the bike. We were all quite out of it when we got off the bike and ran down the path to my house.

Loveline was already waiting with her achu and yellow soup. Achu is made from pounded cocoyams (taro root), and other fun things like limestone and ash. The soup is made from oil, spices, and limestone. About half way through eating your mouth starts to go a bit numb and water from the limestone in it; it’s quite strange. Definitely not my favourite Cameroonian dish, but everyone here loves it.

After the three of us ate as much as we could without offending Loveline—we were all still so full, we chatted for a bit about the weekend and showed her some videos. After she left, Heather and I started talking about how ill we felt. I was sick all night and Monday, and they were both sick till Tuesday. Couldn’t bring myself to tell Loveline, I told her they had drank my water and gotten sick and pretended I was fine. The worst was she kept asking me how much we liked her achu and I had to keep telling her it was the best achu I had ever had. Ah well, made her happy to hear it.

Ok, will add photos and videos soon.

Wednesday saves the week

Wednesday morning was a blast. I had to get up at 5 and get ready to go into the field alone. It was my first time to go alone, but I had set up a meeting with some of the clients from one of the centers in town so I could do a few extra interviews. I had never been to the center, so when I reached the junction the center was at I had to start asking for directions. The first woman I asked was carrying a bucket of popoffs (fried dough balls) and was on her way to the market. She grabbed my hand (holding hands is very common here), and led me to the bottom of a hill. She spoke to a friend of hers who apparently agreed to show me up the next leg of the trip and placed my hand inside my new tour guide’s hand. We walked up the hill and reached the local water tap. Children were lined up with large buckets waiting to bring back water for their family to prepare for the day. There, I was given a new tour guide—a girl around 10 years old with what had to be 20 litres of water on her head. She didn’t spill a drop as we walked quickly to the center. In front of the center waited 10 eager and excited clients, all of whom rushed over to greet me.

After conducting my interviews, I came outside to find two of the members waiting for me. One was the center chief of this particular center. They were standing with the neighbours and called me over. The mama of the home was drying out her fried grasshoppers and when she saw me coming immediately yelled at one of the children to get a ‘big paper’ (plastic bag). She filled a fairly large bag with grasshoppers and I thanked her. We continued down the hill. We walked through some compounds (essentially like someone’s back yard), to get to the Emelda’s shop. On the way, one of the neighbours was cooking her grasshoppers still. She went to talk to Emelda and asked if I could watch them. Of course, I immediately pulled out my camera and started taking a video, letting a couple jump out. Abraham, the center chief, assured me that would have happened even if I was stirring them properly.

At Emelda’s shop, or ‘off license’ which is similar to a bar, she sells beer, wine, cold drinks, and some food items. She wanted me to ’snap her’ (take her photo there), but she had had to hide all of her drink items off the shelves yesterday when the tax collectors came by; she didn’t have enough to pay taxes this month and knew they wouldn’t be going to help her people anyway. So, she decided to hide her items and pretend she had been doing very poorly in business. Next we went to Abraham’s farm. Emelda helps Abraham on the farm as well. The farm was huge, he was growing cabbage, tomato, sugar cane, njama njama (leafy green vegetable), pepper (jalapenoish), fish (in a fish pond), you name it, he had it. They had created an irrigation system by digging ditches through their farm land starting at the top of the hill (the farm was all on a downward slope). The ditches crossed back and forth over the approximately 5 hectares of land, finally ending in the fish pond. It was pretty muddy and slippery, so it was suggested I leave my sandals at the top. As we were walking around, the sun was starting to get pretty hot; Emelda had an extra head scarf and tied it on my head to protect me. Abraham decided to cut down some sugar cane stalks so I could take them back to the office. He cut down about 6 or 7 huge sticks and tied them together with grasses. They were about 4 to 5 feet long; they came up to about my chin. We left the farm and made our way over to another friend of Abraham’s who also helped on the farm.

He explained to me that here in Cameroon, you should not try to do it on your own. Your business and life will fail. He says life is too hard here to try it alone, you need the support of others; even just to cover you when you have malaria or typhoid, you need support. That’s why he likes being with GHAPE, they all support each other. All of them work together to make their lives better. Not a bad way to approach a problem. This other friend had three large pigs that had all just recently had piglets. There were quite a few of them all trying to jump out as soon as I looked in. I think they thought I was bringing them food or that the camera was food, because after a couple minutes they all became fairly disinterested in me. We walked up to the road so I could catch an okada (local term for motorbike here) back to the office. I still wasn’t wearing shoes (I know, could have caught all kinds of worms and bugs through my feet) and was wearing Emelda’s head scarf still (she said she would get it from the office later—it was too dusty to take an okada without it. I was now also carrying 7 or so long stalks of sugar cane over my shoulder and snacking on grasshoppers out of a big garbage bag; needless to say, I felt very Cameroonian. As I hopped on the bike and held the sugar cane with one hand, I rested my grasshoppers in my lap and pulled out my cell phone with the other hand to send out a few messages. It was only about half way through the ride home that I thought, “what am I doing? Hold on to the bike, put your grasshoppers and your cell phone away! What are you thinking?” Everyone was really happy to see me come back to the office with gifts of grasshoppers and sugar cane. They all went outside and began chopping off pieces of about one foot for each person. I was lucky enough to get my own stalk!

I have run out of time here, and have to get ready for Foumban this weekend. Foumban is about 4 hours outside of Bamenda and apparently has a huge cultural festival every two years. I will add some more blogs when I get back from that. However, I will say that this week, I successfully created the first GHAPE website! It was a bit over my head, but with a lot of trial and error it is up and running! Check it out and keep in mind there are still a lot of little details I’m still fixing up. www.ghape.org . I also added new photos to jenmcq.smugmug.com

If only the Fon had nachos…

Sunday morning I left the house quite early to meet Heather and Kat so we could go to Pinyin. I was told by people in the office that it was at most a 20 minute drive away. On my way to meet them, I ran into Celestine on his bike. He gave me a ride to the roundabout we were meeting at and told me he’d take us to the motor park. If you want to go outside of Bamenda, you have to go to the appropriate “Motor Park” to find the right taxi. They are similar to bus stops, but usually only have run down yellow sedans. To get to Pinyin we had to go to the Bali motor park on the west side of town. The car was going to cost us 1200 CFA each one way (7200 CFA roundtrip for the three of us, which is around $14.50). Ok, not a huge amount, but in terms of costs here, it seemed really steep. So we called a driver who Heather and Kat had met and asked him how much to take us; we figured it would be about the same price but quicker and less crammed. I don’t think he would go below 10,000 or something, so we decided it would be too expensive for a half day trip. The night before the owner of the Royal Restaurant, Awah, had told me to check out Chomba, so I asked how much to there. He said 300 CFA one way (about 60 cents). So we decided to go check it out.

Awah told me to go to the Fon’s palace to ask them to provide us with a guide to show us where to find the cave and waterfall. An older man came out and agreed to show us, but warned us it was quite a hike. We called him Pa. He shook his head when he saw Kat and my flipflops—apparently we were not dressed appropriately for the hike. Heather immediately began cursing me and my physical activities that I always drag her into; ever since Station Mountain she won’t do anything that sounds physically challenging. This time I just lucked out; I had no idea we were going to get to go hiking.

The first stop on our little walk was the shrine for the ancestors in Chomba. There was a long wall made from grasses weaved together with a small entry way in the center with dried grasses hanging over it. Only some of the distinguished elders in the community can enter the area behind the wall, where the ancestors live. When sacrifices are made to the ancestors, the animals (usually fowls and goats) are put on the other side of the wall for the ancestors to take. Apparently, the ancestors also spend a lot of time in one of the pools at the bottom of one of their waterfalls.

We walked for about an hour and a half or so before reaching the waterfalls. There were two large rivers that came together in the valley. It was really gorgeous. We stopped for a few photos—well, quite a few photos actually. I forgot to mention, when we started our walk we asked our driver, Gilbert, if he wanted to join us or stay in Chomba. He decided to join us and turned out to be a really nice and hilarious guy. So, in my photos on smugmug, that’s who the younger guy is in some of the photos. He was starting to get really tired and kept asking how much longer, haha, and joking around with Heather about being so tired and stuff. After the waterfalls, we kept walking to make our way to the caves.

The pathway into the cave was completely grown over; I’m not sure that many people have been to see the caves recently. The cave was pretty big and somewhat open. The river ran through the center of the cave. It was cool and peaceful in there; if there weren’t so many mosquitos in there, we probably would have stayed longer. On the walk back, we went by a ‘bridge’ made of a couple skinny branches lying across the river. We decided to check our balancing skills and walk across. Kat, Gilbert and I made it over pretty easily; it was a little futile, because we just had to go back over again once we reached the other side. I have little faith in my ability to cross that river with 20 litres of water on my head, a kid on my back and when the river and wind are roaring in the rainy season like many of the locals in this area do with ease.

On the walk down, Gilbert decided to teach Kat how to go down hills—run. Every time there was a downhill, we would run, while Pa yelled to Gilbert to be careful. He was holding Heather’s hand and telling her to go slow and carefully. We stopped at one point and Pa asked if we liked guava. He disappeared into the bushes and was all of a sudden standing on a flimsy branch at the top of a guava tree jumping and shaking the tree to make the fruit fall. Keep in mind this man is in his late 50s or so. It was pretty funny; he came back with his pockets and shirt bursting with guavas. We all grabbed a few and had a snack for the walk down. Kat and I began talking about all the food we wanted to have when we got down. Mainly, we focused on nachos with sour cream, salsa, and guacamole, with some cold beers. We decided we would go for beers once we got down and take Gilbert with us. Jokingly we said that the Fon of Chomba would probably be waiting at the bottom for us with cold beer and nachos. Cold beer is nearly impossible to find here; even in places that have fridges, they hardly ever have cold beer.

Once we were down, Pa took us to meet the Fon. He said we should have brought him a present of whiskey or something similar. I think he was expecting us to say we would go to town first and then come back, because after we said we had nothing he seemed to imply we would just meet the Fon next time then. A younger guy came out and told us it was fine if we had nothing, the Fon still wanted to meet us. We went into the Fon’s meeting area, there were two large chairs with elephant tusks and leopard skins in front of both. The Fon came in and sat in one of the chairs; when he entered we stood and bowed our heads. He asked us about where we were from and what kind of work we were doing. He was really interested in microfinance and GHAPE; he asked me about average loan sizes, interest payments and loan repayment schedules. Then, the younger man that had led us to the meeting room came in with a tray of cold beer. I couldn’t believe it. We were having cold beer with the Fon of Chomba.

In order to help people understand you here, you simplify your sentences so it sounds more like Pidgin. Things like “I am going to go into town for a bit now” are changed to “I go town now. Shortly.” Anyway, when we were talking to the Fon, Kat was using her simplified, you don’t understand me, English, haha. Heather started squeezing her arm to make her realize. The Fon was quite educated; he used to work for one of the ministries in the Northwest Province and was college educated. He was fluent in English. I don’t think he noticed really, but hard to say.

On the drive back to the city, Gilbert had driving lessons. Kat and Heather had never driven standard, so they practiced on Gilbert’s car on the drive back. It was pretty hilarious. We went to Alizane, a restaurant downtown, for beers and food. We paid for Gilbert to drink and have some lunch. On the drive back to Kat and Heather’s we tried to figure out how much we owed him. We figured with Chomba each way being 300, plus the drive to each of houses being around 200 to 300 each, it shouldn’t be more than 1200. We decided to offer 3000 CFA. He told us we were supposed to pay 1500 CFA per hour, and calculated that we had been together for 6 hours. Of course he included the hour we spent at the restaurant. The drive to Chomba took us about 40 to 45 min and was supposed to be 300 CFA, so, I’m not sure how he calculated 1500 per hour. Kat and Heather left it to me to argue with Gilbert, we finally agreed/gave up and decided on 8000 CFA ($16 USD). Not a huge amount, but more than it would have cost to go to Pinyin, and a lot more than 300 each way as we were told. Oh well. It was a pretty fabulous day regardless.