Day 7: Tourist Trap (Natitingou)

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Day 7: Tourist Trap (Natitingou)

Written by Eric Mathurin

Friday, 12 December 2008

It was hot when we went to bed so we left the door to our room open into the night air and slept on top of our sheets—presumably there weren't too many mosquitoes, but who knows—I have actually seen any, but I do have a few bites. African mosquitoes are lot more stealthy than our North American ones, but they're not nearly as good at finding you.

Breakfast was day-old bread (they had to send for it into the nearest town the previous day) with homemade mango jam and various choices of hot beverages. The funny thing about these trips is that I eat far, far less than I do at home and I'm rarely every that hungry at meal-time. (I've only eaten lunch twice so far.) And at home I don't cycle 50-100 km after breakfast.

The group at breakfast.

Speaking of which—the cycling today was fairly easy apart from the thick dust churned up by speeding cars from time-to-time—and the sun. By as early at 8:30am we were already wilting from the heat.

There were few villages or people along this portion of the route and by the time we met up with the junction to the main highway (and, sadly, paved road), it was a long, easy descent into the town of Natitingou.

The hotel courtyard was very posh by our standards and our room equipped with a ceiling fan and shower head (which drains onto the floor, as most do) and everything is very freshly painted.

Our hotel room.

Yet another beautiful tree.

Today was essentially a rest day since the riding was so easy and we arrived so early. We took our time on various chores—laundry, bicycle cleaning, showering, etc. and were left pretty much on our own.

The dusty road before us.

I walked with David in the early afternoon. (I think that as soon as I stepped into the full sun all the moisture in my body evaporated into a cloud above me.) We walked through some of the side-streets, peeking at restaurants and hotels and then through the dirt paths where people live. Everyone was quite friendly, helpful, and left us pretty much to ourselves.

Eventually we found the very well-hidden "internet cafe" which I think is probably a classroom and only one actual computer (of the 6 or so) with a veeeeeery sloooooow dial-up internet connection. I waited about an hour for David to look at his emails and then spent about 10 minutes to send one to Gill. (Five minutes to type the email, and the rest to load the page.)

Fancy schmancy bicycles.

Dirty road = dirty faces.

We also stopped by the roadside for a tasty lunch of rice blended with beans, topped with a spicy sauce, pieces of Fulani cheese, and an egg. One of my favourite things about Bicycle Africa is that we rarely frequent restaurants (and usually hotels) that the average tourists would use.It makes the trips a lot more interesting and varied.

Potential client for David.

Speaking of which: the hotel and town has a plethora of Yovo tourists. There must easily be 1-2 dozen that I've seen: definitely the most I've encountered on any trip like this, in any place, at one time (outside of the airports). Possibly because this is a gateway to the Tambera region.

I relaxed at the hotel with a cigar for most of the remaining afternoon until the others showed up. One of "the others" was a fellow on a loaded touring bicycle who I overheard inquiring about "the International Bicycle Fund" to the hotel staff. In other words—David. He turned out to also be named David, a colleague of our David from Seattle. He accepts used bicycles in the U.S. and imports them into Ghana, where he spends two months each year. He took a bus from Ghana (8-9 hours) and then rode 50 miles to meet up with us—and sell bicycle repair tools and parts to local bicycle shops in town.

Lunch chef.

Lunch.

Eventually we all made our way into the night down to a small Beninese restaurant for a meal of rice, fish and sauce (for me).

At the internet

Back at the hotel the chairs had been rearranged for a "performance of music and skits" for us tourists. I stuck around, and several Yovos formed the audience with us. (A big group of about a dozen went into the restaurant. Oddly, they all seemed to be wearing matching, white shirts.) I sat and watched until it became to painful to bear any longer: The sketches were hard to follow since (a) they were in French and (b) they were playing to the other tourists in the audence and not us. The skits seemed to primarily involve the mishaps of unsuspecting tourists to Benin. A man with a guitar sang and played so quietly that when he tried to bring in audience clapping it was so haphazard I wanted to crawl away and hide under a rock in embarrassment for him.

This is the first time on these tours I've felt like a genuine "tourist" and this kind of "experience" doesn't interest me in the slightest.

Tomorrow David has changed our plans, eliminating two days of cycling and taking a bus direct to Abomey as the cycling days were long (for others in our group), the night train probably won't be running, and buses south of here may be scarce.

Frankly, I'm alarmed at how fast the trip has gone thus far. I feel like we've done very little cycling and that the rest of the trip will just blow by—or worse—be a repeat of today: many tourists and short riding days. That makes me sad.