Last Day In Africa: Accra To Chicago Via AMS & DTW

I got up and worked on blog text until about 9am.  Then went to Busy Internet.  They were in the process of rebooting all their computers.  Not good.  I asked the girl if this would less than or more than 10 minutes.  She said they're working on it.  "So that means more than 10 minutes..."

I left and got a cab to Osu.  Only GH¢2.  I'm getting better at this.  I went to the internet cafe in the Osu food court.  But I had a GH¢10 bill and nothing smaller.  The internet cafe at the food court couldn't give me GH¢9.  But no problem--I'm in a food court right?  I went to buy a pastry.  Nope--they can't break it.  I went to another place to buy an Orange Fanta.  Nope--they can't break it.  Then I realized that I actually had a GH¢1 coin, so I used it.  I didn't think I'd have these liquidity problems in Osu.

I went to Frankie's.  I figured since all I wanted was a small beer, I'd just go to their lounge.  But even though there is only a door separating the lounge from the restaurant, a small Star costs GH¢3.30 in the lounge and GH¢1.80 in the restaurant.  And there is no TV with CNN in the lounge.  So I went back out to the restaurant.  I watched more soccer then went to Ryan's Irish pub at noon.  I had a hamburger and a couple of beers.  I had a nice chat with a couple of men.  One left early after a while and then the other, who has been in Ghana for 14 years, and I compared our levels of travel savviness with stories of our travel experiences.

After that, I took a cab to my hotel where I just picked up my bags and then went to the airport.  I ate one last little bit of food at The Landing.  I had hummous and a Russian salad.  Maybe food with garlic and onions is not the best thing before a flight.  Oh well, I smell already.  I filled out my Ghana immigration card.

Than back to the airport where I went through immigration and then just waited for my flight.  There were a lot of white people carrying stuff sold by the merchants.  Wow!  People actually do buy that stuff!

Soon we boarded the big plane and it was nice because they had stairs at the front of the plane and at the back so I didn't have to walk all the way through.  Not bad.

It was a 6 hour flight and I was between 2 people.  Yuck.  Then a small time in Amsterdam.  They had a McDonalds but no Sausage McMuffin with Egg and that hash brown thing.  So I didn't eat.  Then a multiple hour trip to Detroit.

 

Immigration was pretty good.  No questions, really.  He typed forever, I suppose because he typed in my list of countries visited.  Then I got my bags and went through customs.  Naturally, I was smelly, unshaven, and jut got back from a trip to Africa--that means a full inspection of my bags.  I did it and it was thorough.  Lots of questions which were easy enough to answer.  I had only one thing that I was worried about--my prescriptionless prescription drug, Savarine--and they totally missed it.   Then after the X-ray security scan, they hauled me out for the full body scan which was kind of neat.  I had to stand on some foot prints and hold my arms up, then rotate 90 degrees and hold my arms a different way.  Cool, where I had a small hamburger at small fries at McDonald's to get my American fast food fix settled for the next several weeks.  Then a short flight to O'Hare.  I got my bags (whew) and went out to the Hilton lounge to get a beer and call my brother.  He was actually really close to O'Hare by coincidence and picked me up.  Then, because it started snowing a few hours before, it took us 3.5 hours to go 15 miles.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008 10:03 Chicago local time

Accra Again: Lost Luggage Day II

I recharged my phone overnight and got out my new SIM card.  Then I remembered something.  I have to unlock my phone.  I need a code I got from AT&T before I left.  Dammit.  That means I need to go to the internet cafe first.  I went to the busy internet cafe and with a little sleuthing found my unlock code in my email.  Then I popped my old SIM card and put the new one in, and voilà.  It asked for the passcode and I entered it.  I stepped outside and tried to place a call.  The first time you try to call, it registers the SIM so you have to redial.  But when it registered me, it told me I had only GH¢0.50.  That's like 3 minutes.  Busy Internet sells credit, but not this early in the morning.  Fortunately, I'm near Nkrumah Circle and I saw people selling credit.  I bought GH¢2 of credit from a guy.  His girlfriend was there, and she asked I'd buy her some credit too.  Sorry.

I called my airport plus extension and finally got a guy.  He said he'd look into it and call me back.  It was very loud with all the traffic, so I went back to my hotel room where I called again and explained the urgency of the situation--I'm leaving for the US the next day and need my baggage.  I got his name, Moses Glago.  He said he would visit the Virgin Nigeria office and get them to help.  I asked if I should be there too to answer any questions that might arise.  He said he didn't mind but it wasn't necessary.  So I walked back to Osu to wait for the call from Moses.

I had a beer at Venus in the Byblos Hotel.  Then out on the street met a guy (who says his artist name is a rather uncreative Black Africa) try to sell me paintings.  I told him I wouldn't buy anything but could look.  He tried to ask GH¢28.  I reminded him that I said I wasn't going to buy anything.  Then he gave me a painting for free and suggested I give him a donation (the left arm buffs the right arm, the right arm buffs the left arm, he kept saying).  I said that asking for a donation for a free item is the same as selling it and I wasn't going to buy anything.  Finally after about 5 minutes of this BS, I just gave him his painting back and left.

I got another GH¢1 of Tigo time, a Time magazine at Koala, and got a cab to the airport.  I found Moses.  Had he been to the Virgin Nigeria office? Not yet.  He had me write out a more detailed description.  Another guy with lost luggage asked for their phone number and they gave him the bad one so I gave him the good one.  I tried to go to the Virgin office, but it was closed and the security people told me to wait or come back later.  I went back down and peppered another guy with questions about the whole process.  My bags were not even in their system.  They didn't even know where they were.  They were not being tracked.  I said I want phone calls to be made and my bags located.  Another woman came in on the same 2 flights the same night.  Same story with them.

I went to Aerostar and had a beer while waiting for Moses to call.  He didn't so I went back and asked more questions.  The guy said they don't call.  They just use the email system.  I figured all I could do was wait and left.  A guy outside, Stephen, reminded me that I should go to the Virgin Nigeria office again.

Up I went.  There I met Olivia.  I explained the whole thing to her--Moses was supposed to talk with her (he didn't), I was leaving for the US the next day, the whole process in Douala was manual even down to handwritten boarding passes and my bags were not even in their system.  Then she did what the Aviance people would not.  She got out her phone and address book and started calling.  Of course, the first guy she called was Moses and made him come up and they had a brief exchange in their native language.  Within 5 minutes, a Virgin Nigerian employee had gone to an underground cage where baggage is kept and found both my bags and neither of them was slated to move anywhere anytime.  There was an hour to the next flight from Lagos and they would get my bags on that flight.

If I hadn't talked with Olivia, I would not have been able to return to the United States with my bags.  The Aviance people were worthless.  Worse that worthless.  They lied to me, deceived me, and made me waste my time.  If the girl who told me my bags would be on the next flight wouldn't have lied, and would have said that they weren't even in the system, I would have gone to the Virgin Nigeria office a day sooner and gotten my bags on the previous evening's flight.  Instead I was wasting my entire day--my last full day in West Africa--there and the frickin' airport because that stupid idiot girl lied to me.  I'm eternally grateful to Olivia.

I waited in the internet cafe at the airport and then heard the annoucement that my flight landed.  I tried to get in the back door to get my bags while there were on the carousel, but it would have cost a GH¢10 dash.  Dammit!  I tried with another guy but he couldn't get me in either.  In the end, the only thing I could do was wait at Aviance.  There was a new woman and I told her I wanted my luggage and that the girl who was there at the desk yesterday had lied to me about the luggage being on the flight.  Then I saw the girl who lied was there in another chair.

I sat down to wait.  A guy sat next to me--he was the guy who I gave the better phone number to.  He thanked me.  Then after about a half hour, my luggage came.  They have a customs officer right there in the room and I cleared customs.  He didn't look at anything of mine--just the other guy.  I just had to sign a ledger with information about my luggage.

Then I got a cab for GH¢5 back to the hotel.  Since it was late and I didn't much money left, I just ate at a local Chinese place up on Nkrumah Circle so I didn't have to spend GH¢6 on cabs to and from Osu.  The power at my hotel went out just as I was leaving and it went out at the CHinese place just as I was finishing up my meal.  So I avoided the bulk of the problems with the power outages.  Though, Ghana had had pretty reliable power until then.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008 8:51 Chicago local time

Accra Again: Dealing With Lost Luggage

My luggage was lost and they told me to call them around noon.  It was late morning so I decided to start already.  There is one difference between Douala and Accra--in Douala, there are plenty of businesses where you can use a phone to call people and pay by the minute.  Accra doesn't have many of these.  The sun had come out and I was still wearing the same shirt I wore on the plane and all night long.  I finally found a box.  But the number wasn't working.

I decided to try another box.  It took a long time to find one.  Again, the number wasn't working.  Ugh!  This sucks!  I went to M&J Travel which is near Osu and asked them if they could help.  All they would do is give me the number to Virgin Nigeria.  They remembered me.  When I was there, they thought McCain was going to win, but I had been monitoring fivethirtyeight.com, so I said the race was still leaning pretty heavily in Obama's favor.  She noted that in fact, Obama did win.

I walked back to the hotel.  There is a prepaid card pay phone at the hotel.  I asked where I can get a prepaid card.  "Oh, that phone doesn't work."  (Of course not, this is Africa.)  There is another one there on the desk.  "That one doesn't work either."  But the clerk offered to let me use a cell phone, but I'd have to get some MTN credits.  OK, that shouldn't be too hard.  But it was.  Usually, you don't have to walk more than half a block to find someone selling credits.  But I walked all over. I found another prepaid card phone outside a hotel.  I went in and asked a hotel employee if they sell card.  No, he said, check the gas station across the street.  I went across the street.  Do you sell Ghana Telecom prepaid cards? No, go down the street.  I was hot, sweaty and getting frustrated.  I found 2 guys out side a business that sells MTN credit, but it was closed (it was Saturday, after all).  They directed to another business, but it was also closed.  I wandered around some more, then finally found what I was looking for.

There are 2 ways to get time on your phone.  You can buy little scratch off cards and enter the number.  Or you can find people with credit on the phone and they can transfer some of their credit to another phone number--for a fee of course.  So these two women were there sitting under an umbrella with a sign showing how much it costs to transfer how much credit from their phone to mine.  I gave them the phone number of the desk clerk's phone and got about GH¢2 worth of time--about 15 minutes.

Then back to the hotel.  The phone number I was given is still out of service.  I couldn't get a human at the Virgin Nigeria office despite trying a few times.  Then the desk clerk called the airport.  From that we got the number to the bag reclaim desk.  So I now I had that number.  I called and explained my situation.  Then my time ran out.

An African couple came.  The man is a big guy.  He asked how I'm doing.  Not so well.  He and his wife live in Miami, but he is a chief (Nana) in Cape Coast and was here to do chief stuff.  He is also a travel agent.  He offered to help and gave some advice.  The most helpful piece of advice was to get a SIM card for my AT&T cell phone.  He said I should do everything through the hotel clerk, so I gave the hotel clerk GH¢5 to get me a SIM card.  He said I should go to the airport (I already decided I had no choice but to do that) and get names and if I needed help he knew people there who could help me.  But he had to run because he had chief stuff to do.

So I headed to the airport (GH¢5).  I went to the Aviance counter where they handle lost bags.  The first thing I did was ask for the phone number.  She gave it to me but it was the same phone number I already had.  "That's your phone number?" "Yes." "I tried it--it doesn't work." "I know." "You know it doesn't work?" "Yes." "But that's your phone number?" "Yes." I stood there aghast.  "Why does your office have a phone number that doesn't work?" "It usually works, but there's a problem this weekend." The girl checked her computer.  She told me that my bags were going to be in the flight tonight.  I asked for her name.  She wouldn't tell me.  That should have been a red flag--she didn't want to held accountable for the information she gave me.  I would find out why later.

I went to Aerostar, a bar/restaurant near the airport.  I got a Star beer.  It's nice there--outdoor but shaded.  And reasonably priced unlike the places inside the airport.  Just GH¢2 for a big bottle of beer.

Then I got a cab to Danquah Circle in Osu for GH¢5.  I walked down to Ryan's Pub and a beer while watching Everton play Manchester City.  Finally I was hungry.  Ravi who I met at the airport in Douala recommended Indian Heritage as the best Indian food in Accra and it was pretty close to Ryan's Irish pub, so I went there.  But they open at 6:30.  So I went to a bar across the street, Honey Road, and ordered a beer.  Then this crazy guy who might be the owner or might just be the husband of one employee and the father of another one sat at my table.

He was talking crazy.  Asking me all types of weird questions.  Like "Kunta Kinte: what color is he?" "Black." Easy enough.  "Who was the first man on the moon?" "Neil Armstrong." "Wrong!" he asserted and said some Russian name.  "Stevie Wonder: What color is he?" "Black." "Where was Kunta Kinte from?" "The Gambia" "No--from Africa."  "Who took him to America: black men or white men?" "White men." It went on like this for about a half hour.  He was extremely offended that I didn't know Kofi Annan was from Ghana.  He asserted that there are no scientists born in America.  Naturally we talked about Obama.  Finally, 6:30 rolled around and I was anxious to end this craziness with this meaningless questions.

The Indian Heritage was good.  I got a spinach like dish recommended by Ravi and samosas and rice and a garlic naan and a chicken dish.  Yummy.  I couldn't even finish it all.  They did something funny with the bill.  They left the chicken dish off and then had me pay for it in cash downstairs.  How odd, but I went along.  Then they help me get a cab (it's a bit off the main drag so not many cabs come by) and for GH¢4, I got back to my room.  I fell asleep until the desk clerk called and told me I should come and pick up my new SIM card.  So I did.  Then I went back to my room, exhausted since I didn't sleep the previous night, and died on the bed.

Monday, December 15, 2008 8:03 Ghana local time

Douala To Accra Via Lagos

I got up early on my last day, Thursday the 11th, to go to Delice.  They had pain aux raisins but no chausson aux pommes.  So I had a lighter breakfast than I expected.

Time was low, so I returned to my hotel and packed.  I still had an hour, so I went out in search of a close internet cafe.  They were all either closed, or had no connection.  Then I found one that was open and while I was reaching for my money to buy some time, several square blocks, including theirs, lost power.  I just got a moto-taxi back to the hotel.

The cab to the airport cost me CFA 3000.  Not bad.  Lonely Planet said CFA 2500 and CFA 3000 at night, so I didn't get reamed too bad.  On the way, we passed a bar called the Barak Obama.  I'm not sure if they misspelled his name for copyright and legal reason or if they just didn't know to spell it.  Interesting, either way.  Barack Obama sure has captured the popular imagination in Africa.

The way the airport works in Douala is that the cabs don't take you right to the departure doors like at most airports.  Rather, the drop you off by a bunch of men who grab your stuff and charge CFA 300 per bag to take your bags up to the departure area.  Whatever.  I had fun by having only a CFA 5000 bill to pay the guy and made him run all over looking for change.  I was pretty early, and it's fun to make people work for their money when they provide a service I don't really want anyway.

I got there and this guy told me that my plastic weaved bag has to be wrapped.  I said I'd get it wrapped if Virgin Nigeria told me to wrap it.  He told me would wrap it and he started.  I asked him combien ça coûte?  3000 Francs.  C'est fou! I said.  D'accord, 2500 Francs.  Non, c'est fou.  But he kept wrapping.  Pour quoi vouz continuez à emballer quand nous n'avons pas une marché?  Je ne peux pas payer sans une marché.  Another employee in a yellow reflective vest was watching this with an interested look.  The guy kept wrapping.  I kept telling him stuff like "je ne payer une prix folle.  Vous douvez negocier une prix avant vous faisez le travaille." But he kept going.  When he finished, he asked for CFA 2500.  Non!  J'ai dit que je ne payer pas 2500.  Mais vous avez continué.  Je ne comprend pas pour quoi vous prefere à faire le travaille avant negocier une prix.  Je pense que c'est fou." I told him I'd give him CFA 500.  The yellow vested employee was enjoying watching this.  The wrapper wasn't happy at all.  He asked for 2500 again.  I reached down and touched the tape. "C'est combien?  50 Francs?" and then I touched the plastic sheet thing we put around the bag and asked "Et ça, c'est combien?  50 Francs aussi?" He was looking angry and just looking around.  "500 Francs, c'est ne pas bon," he said.  I reminded him again the price he stated was crazy and he should have stopped and negotiated a deal with me but he didn't.  Finally, I upped it to CFA 1000.  He just kept looking around with this disgusted look.  He did that for a couple of minutes.  I held the CFA 1000 in my hand ready for him to take it.  "Est-ce que vous gaspillez votre temps ici?" I asked since he wasn't doing anything--just looking around waited for me to cave in, I suppose.  Then after another couple of minutes, he finally wandered off.  I'm not sure what he was going to do.  He refused my money and walked away.  The yellow vested guy eventually left too since the show was over.  A guy from India was watching as was a Chinese girl.  But their French apparently wasn't up to being able to enjoy the spectacle as fully as the guy in the yellow vest.

After about 5 minutes, the wrapper guy came back. I renewed the offer of CFA 1000.  He took it and left.  The yellow vested guy came back a few minutes later as well and asked if I paid the guy.  I told him I had.  Then I asked "normallement, c'est combien?" He said CFA 1000--exactly what I paid.  Not bad.

I was the first to get my boarding pass.  The system was totally manual.  My boarding pass was hand written.  My seat assignment was done with stickers.  The luggage tags were written out by hand as well.  Hmmm...  I hope my luggage makes it with this hand written stuff...

I went through security and had to pay a CFA 10000 (US$20) departure tax.  Then I needed to fill out a departure form and hand it to immigration.  Security was fairly high.

The guy from India, Ravi, and the Chinese girl and I hung out together for the next three hours as we waited for the plane to take off.  He knows Africa pretty well since he is here with sales for agricultural equipment.  We talked about African economics and development and culture.  There was an Africa guy listening to us who was probably interested in our opinions of Africa even if they weren't terribly optimistic.  They, after all, have enormous culturally based problems to overcome.

We boarded the plane and it wasn't long before we were in Lagos.  Near the end of the flight, they handed out the Nigerian immigration form.  They said that even if you transit, you need to fill it out.  However, as soon as I landed, I went to the Virgin Nigeria transfer desk and got a boarding pass for the next flight and that flight was right there in the terminal, so there was no need for me to go through Nigerian customs.

I had been worried that we might not make it in time for the next flight, but it turns out that the plane to Accra is the plane I was on, so our delay was its delay.  I got on, again through pretty high security.  They were smart and gave us our Ghanian immigration forms as we boarded so most people would have them filled out even before we took off.  The plane started to back up.  Then it started to go forward again.  Hmmm....  Wrong way.  The pilot announced that there was a problem with something.  We waited about 20 minutes and then 2 white men in yellow vests came into the cockpit.  Another 20 minutes elapsed and the pilot announced that they were going to deplane.

I asked the check in girl if there was a bar a restaurant in the terminal.  She said there was, but it was only going to take 10 minutes--that they were just recycling the air in the cabin.  Well, the security to get on the plane was high, so the board process would be at least another 30 minutes.  So off I headed.  Lagos has a pretty nice bar in that terminal.  I asked if I could pay for a beer in Euros and ordered a Star.  While I was fishing out a bill, a guy next to me whipped out a N500 note and plopped it down.  So he bought it for me.  He is a South African white guy (2/3 of the people in the bar were white) who works on an offshore drilling rig.  We chatted and he asked if I wanted another beer.  I said I better go check the status of my flight.  No line up.  I asked the girl who told me 10 minutes.  This time she said there was a problem getting at the part.  So it's safe to have another beer?  She recommended a coffee--strong and black.  Hmmm.... This sounds like it's going to take a while.  Beer #2.  More chatting with Basel.  Then Basel had his flight so he left.  I went back to the same girl.  She was there with another guy and they were joking and having fun.  I asked for an update.  The plane was going to be replaced by a plane still in the air coming from Abuja.  It was 10pm.  She said we'd take off at 11pm.  The man said no way.  I agreed with the man.  He said we was a mechanical engineer and there was no way we'd be off by 11.  I said I was an electrical engineer and I agreed with the mechanical engineer.  The girl said she had a degree in engineering technology.  Then she and the guy started negotiating a bet.  But I laid out a timeline and convinced her we wouldn't make it.  I apologized to the mechanical engineer for ruining his sure bet.

Since I now knew we had time, I decided to whip out the laptop over a third beer.  The bar there has free WiFi.  So I was on the finally on internet for a while.

At about 11:15 I headed back to the plane. Almost everyone was boarded.  My timing was perfect.  I caught the tail end of the boarding process.  The flight was short.  Virgin Nigeria has one particular food-this sort of ground beef wrapped in a spiral of pastry that comes in a long white box with a goofy hinge.  It's horrible.  I wouldn't feed it to a dog.  But that was my meal on the second leg.

We landed and I went through immigration.  After I got through, the officer called me back and took my passport again.  I'm not sure why.  But there were no problems.  I waited for my luggage.  But it didn't come.  Crap!  And it was past midnight already.

I filled out a form at the lost luggage area.  Then headed out to get a cab.

As soon as I left, a guy asked if I wanted a cab.  Yep.  I told him where I was going--the Date Hotel.  GH¢15.  GH¢15?!  That's ridiculous.  He said it's a fixed price and could show me.  He reached into a car and grabbed a piece of paper.  I told him that having a piece of paper isn't a fixed price list unless it's posted in the vehicle.  OK, how much would you pay?  GH¢2000.  They didn't like that.  So I left.  A little further out are the real taxi cabs--the yellow ones with numbers.  One of them offered to take me for GH¢7.  No way--too high.  I said I would just spend the night there in the airport and turned around.  He called me back.  Again I started at GH¢2.  We finally got to GH¢5 from me and GH¢6 from them.  I stood firm until they gave in.  So I went for GH¢5.  Later I would ask my hotel desk clerk and a couple from the US I would meet at Ryan's Irish pub and they would tell me that GH¢5 or 6 is about right.  Gee, I'm getting better at this negotiating thing.

But, the Date was full.  I looked at their calendar and pointed at the circle around the 12 and said that it was me.  He apologized.  I got out and headed north.  Now it was close to 1am.  There I was walking in Adabraka at 1am.  I passed the Niagara Hotel and they had rooms, but the price was too high.  He agreed to come down from US$55 to US$30 since it was already 1am.  Still too high.  I left to go to the Busy Internet cafe.  I had apparently left my book there at the Niagara and the desk guy followed me in a cab to return it to me.  Very nice of him.  The cab took me to the Busy Internet cafe and then it had to take the desk guy back to the Niagara.  They charged me GH¢4 for that.  Oh well.

I was on the internet all night.  Then at 6am I left.  I tried a few other hotels but they were booked up as well.  It turns out I did the right thing my just going to the internet cafe.  Finally, I went to the President Hotel and just left my laptop there behind the desk while I headed out to Osu.  I was hot and sweaty and knew Frankie's would have AC, cold water, and pastries.  I walked there and got a bit lost, but not too lost.  It was too early for pastries.  But the water was refreshing and the coffee wasn't bad.  I was feeling better already.

I left and walked through Osu and found a guy who tried to sell me these bracelets with my name on them in African colors.  I decided to pick up a couple.  He had me write the names.  It's an interesting process watching them put the name in.  They made a misspelling and had to back track.  I went off for a while. When I returned, there was another misspelling, so they had to fix that.  Then about a half hour later I returned and picked them up.  Only GH¢5 for both of them.  Not bad.  Other vendors tried to get me to buy stuff.  But they weren't successful.

What was I doing while the bracelet guys were misspelling names?  That the topic of my next post.

Monday, December 15, 7:12 Ghana local time

Last Day In Douala

I got up Thursday the 11th, to go to Delice.  I had pain aux raisins and chausson aux pommes. After that, I headed to the internet cafe.  No connection--come back in an hour, they said.

OK, I looked for a cafe, but there aren't many cafes around Bananjo.  I went to Le Paris and they were more or less open.  Officially open, but no customers at that hour, apparently ever.  I had a nice expresso (as the spell in France) and checked out the menu.  Very nice looking menu.

An hour had passed so I headed back to the internet cafe.  The connection was sort of up but only blogspot.com (owned by) was working reliably.  Frustration!

I had a rest back into my hotel and a few hours later returned to the internet cafe.  It was sort of up again, but only for responsive sites.  Then it went down again.  Gee, this internet cafe is usually pretty good.

It was getting late and I felt like a draft beer so I went to a place called Pression II.  I asked if the have bière à pression.  She said they didn't.  I looked at her aghast.  Really? (C'est vrai?).  The name of the place is Pression II and they don't have beer on tap?  I got a bottle of Castel which turned out to be not as cold as I wanted.  I wrote into my journal.  While I was there, all the other customers eventually left leaving just me.  Then a guy came in.  All these empty tables, but he sat at my table across from me.  Odd.  He ordered a meal.  I continued writing.  His meal came and he ate it as if he hadn't eaten anything in days.  A few minutes later a friend of his came in and ordered some food.  I got to the end of my train of thought and told them bon appetite and headed out.  After all, it was going to be my dinner time soon.  I went back to Le Paris.

What a nice choice for my last dinner in Francophone Africa.  My entrée was chèvre on toast baguettes on a bed of lettuce with diced tomato. The chèvre was sprinkled with rosemary.  Just delicious.  My plat was turkey cordon bleu with mashed potatoes.  It was cooked perfectly.  I have to learn how to make cordon bleu.  The chèvre was CFA 4500 (US$9) and the turkey cordon bleu was CFA 7500 (US$15).  So it was pricey, but one of the best meals I had in Africa.  Again, these guys could make it in the US.  And actually they should because there weren't enough customers.  I was the only one.

I took a moto-taxi back and went to sleep.

Sunday, December 14, 2008 9:24 Ghana local time

Monday And Tuesday In Yaoundé

I spent a pretty relaxing 2 days in Yaoundé.  Just exploring and enjoying the last few days in West Africa.  I had coffee in the (late) morning at Espresso House.  I went downtown to the internet cafe down there.  They have internet at Espresso House but it is ridiculously expensive--CFA 1500 (US$3) for an hour.  I got pastries at the pâtissirie across the street from the Ideal Hotel. It is a wonderful pâtisserie and it is open really early to really late.

On Monday, I ate a nice salade vert for CFA 1000 and Poulet basquaise for CFA 3000  (green salad: US$2, Basque chicken US$6) at Le Sintra,a nice place downtown where I had a croissant and coffee a few days previous.  That was my only meal of the day.

On Tuesday, I ordered a take out pizza from the grocery store close to the Chez Wou Chinese restaurant.  I got a bottle of wine and just enjoyed pizza with the French news and Knight Rider dubbed into French.

I went back to Concordia in the evenings.  It's very nice and the beer is reasonably priced.  Just a pleasant environment to hang out.  The owner came over and introduced himself to me and asked about my trip a bit.  He thanked me for coming and I told him he ran a very nice place.

On Tuesday, I needed to get a ticket for returning to Douala on Wednesday.  I headed south to look for the Guaranti Express.  The Lonely Planet says it is 1km off the bottom of the map.  It actually says the same thing about Centrale Voyages.  I walked pretty far to the south.  I passed the large brewery complex and found a Guaranti Express storage yard but not the station.   So I walked back.  On the way back, I spotted the Centrale Voyages off on a side street.  I explored a bit around that area, but nothing.  So I decided to head into town and rest with a beer at the Sihusa again.  Next I tried a cab, but he wanted CFA 3000 (US$6) round trip.  So I decided, why not try Centrale Voyages.  I headed back there.  They now charge only CFA 6000 (US$12) for their Prestige service.  It's pretty much identical to the Guaranti Express VIP service--you can wait in an air conditioned waiting room, you get a cake or sandwich, a soft drink, and they play music videos on the bus.

Well, that was my two days.  It was pretty relaxing.  A lot of walking and reading Le Zahir.

Thursday, December 11, 2008 7:42 Cameroon local time

Blog Dump

I saved up a bunch of posts and posted them. Part way through my connection went down. Anyway, some will be somewhat shocking to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. I posted several posts that I wroe while drinking a bottle of wine in my hotel room. I wrote things that normally only go into my journal. But they are the human condition. They are me even they are shocking. They are truth.

Read at your own risk.

Yaoundé To Douala

I woke up early and thought that maybe Espresso House didn't open until 9 on Sunday because it was Sunday.  The other times I went it was already 9:30 or so, and for some reason they don't post their hours.  So I went.  And they open at 9 even on weekdays.  It's like Cameroonians don't wake up with coffee.  How odd.

Anyway, I had a bus at noon and needed to pack.  I picked up a couple of pastries from the pâtisserie by the Ideal and savored them.  Then packed and showered.  I was having a bit of a laundry crisis but I managed to find wearable stuff.  At about 10, I checked out and just as I got out the street, a cab was dropping off two men.  He charged CFA 1500 (US$3) to Centrale Voyages.  Traffic was heavy so he took a long cut that supposedly saved time.  But I had 2 hours till my bus left.  There is a restaurant at the bus station that has large bottles of Castel for CFA 600 (US$1.20).  The cheapest beer in Cameroon. I had one and read Le Zahir.  It was interesting because the character in that book gets hit by a motorcycle, just like I was.  His injuries are much more serious than mine.  All involved with my accident emerged in pretty good shape.

Then time came to load the bus.  At Guaranti Express, they tag you bags and they don't unload them at the end until they compare the tag numbers.  At Centrale Voyages, they just toss them on and trust you when you leave.

It was a 4 hour trip.  Again, we weren't stopped by police check points though I did see other vehicles stopped.  They must have some sort of arrangement with the police for these special buses.  They started out with a Celine Dion music video CD and then switched to a much more interesting local one.  I love African music videos.  I love the way they dance in them.

Things started looking familiar and soon we were there.  Several people asked me if I needed a taxi, but I knew where I was and I knew I was close, so I just walked to the Hotel Hila.  They remembered my name even.  I'm like a celebrity there. ;-)  I got a room for 2 nights and headed back downtown.  I decided I wanted pizza at the Mediterranée but then I realized that their pizza oven stops from 3 to 6.  Dammit!  The Ecobank ATM was down.  So I headed to the Bonanjo region with more banks and my usual internet cafe.  I got CFA 50000 (US$100) successfully.  The internet cafe guy told me the connection isn't good right now.  I was hungry.  I decided to check out the Café des Arts in this historic old building on the square with the post office.  It was very nice.  The menu du jour was salade aux carottes, osso bucco with tagliatelle or bar grillé, and fruit.  Bar is a fish and I wasn't in the mood for fish.  So I ordered the menu with osso bucco.  There was a slight misunderstanding--I wanted the menu du jour--all of it, and she thought I just wanted to the osso bucco.  But things turned out.  The menu was CFA 6000 (US$12) and the beers were a pricey CFA 2000 each.  But it was delicious and the atmosphere is nice.

The internet cafe was still having connection problems, so I just headed back to the hotel.  I picked up the latest The Economist on the way.  I saw an ambulant salesman selling small Christmas trees and an ambulant salesman selling mothballs from a big bucket of mothballs.  A man was buying some mothballs from him.  IT was the first time I've ever seen a guy selling mothballs.  You just never know what you're going to see in West Africa.  The surprises never stop.

Back in my room, I did a load of laundry and layed it out on a chair near the air conditioner.  I should be good enough to get back to Chicago.

I settled into the hotel bar to read The Economist and wait for the organist who came at 8:30.  I read the economist and listened to music until 10:30.  They have a small Christmas tree already and they had some French Christmas carols in their repertoire.

Thursday, December 11, 2008 8:08 Cameroon local time

More Yaoundé And Thinking About Girls

It stands to reason that I continued thinking about girls. Especially given changes that are coming over me. I have noticed that I am finding myself more attracted to more girls than ever before. It's like every girl gets +2 on the 1 to 10 scale. And whereas I would have thought myself unworthy of them a few days ago, I no longer feel that. After all, I dumped a super sexy girl because she wasn't worthy of me. The only thing holding me back right now is language. Right now I have as little fear of women as ever. I hope it lasts and isn't just a short term effect of my recent fling. I have a feeling of control over my life that I deserve because many many men who are less than I am have such a sense of control over their lives--at least in the area of romance. Finally I am starting to internalize what I have known intellectually all along. It's nice. It bodes well for the beginning of my 40's. Maybe it's just an artifact of turning 40--there are those who say that life begins at 40. So far, I'm pretty damn happy with my life since my birthday. I feel like I was given a test for my 40th birthday--assert myself and make it to Bobo Dioulasso, Burkina Faso or get stuck in Bla, Mali. And I passed. I didn't let life trample me and despite the fact that they didn't want to let me onto the bus from Bla to Bobo, I got on that bus.

Well, it was Sunday. That means stuff doesn't open early. I went to the Espresso House Cafe. Gee, if any place should open early, isn't it a place with a name like that? I think so. I guess they aren't in accord with me. I returned after an hour when they were open. They had CNN with a CNN sponsored version of the Daily Show. I wonder what will happen to The Daily Show. We are entering a new politics. Obama promises a common sense politics that simply won't be absurd enough to provide humorous fodder. The Bush White House was a caricature of functional organization. He valued loyalty over all else. And as a result of his screwed up value system, he screwed up America.

Anyway....back to my day in Yaoundé. After my failed attempt to go to the Espresso Cafe, I headed downtown. Along the way, where Churchill Avenue terminates at it's north end, there was a woman laying on her back, buck naked, her legs splayed in a diamond, arms a bit out from her side. Just laying there in the mud. I did a double take. That particular intersection, a little bit along Churchill Avenue seems to be the place to go if you need a really quick hooker fix. There are a few women dressed really slutty who engage you as you go by ("vous etês tout seul?") and further down the road there were many opened condom packets. A bit further down the street there a place with security guards. One engaged me and after a brief conversation in French he told me "je connais une petite" if I was interested. My French was up to no more than "je déjà...". I declined. Probably had in mind a girl just a bit to the north at the end of Churchill Avenue.

I was looking for La Terrace which is written up in the Lonely Planet but it doesn't seem to exist anymore. So I headed into a place called Le Café du Yaoundé. At first I though I would be the first customer, but after getting there, I realized that the place has many many customers already and the majority were white. I got a couple of bière à pressions and read Le Zahir by Paulo Coehlo. He talks about his life as a writer in this book and I spent a lot of time thinking about the possibility of turning my West African voyage into a book. If the economy sucks as bad as it looks like it might suck, I might just have a lot of free time on my hands while I look for a job. Turning my experiences into a book might just be the best way to spend my time. I'm already organizing it in my head.

I had lunch at a place a bit beyond the Cafe Espresso right next to the VSO office that has chicken and fries (VSO is like the Peace Corps for Commonweatlh countries like UK and Canada). Well, it turns out their fries are fried plantains, but tasty. And the place doesn't serve with silverware--just toothpicks. But I can do the right hand eating thing so I was right into it. A couple of girls kept checking me out. They were cute, but I already had all the local girls I need for a while.

On the way back, I stopped by the grocery store for a can of ravioli, another Côtes du Rhône, and a few pats of butter, then to the bakery for a nice warm baguette. There was a really cute European girl at the grocery store, but alas she spoke French. I wanted her and if she spoke English I would have invited her out somewhere.

Then I just spent a nice evening in. Ravioli, a delicious baguette, a Côtes du Rhône, my computer, French news on the TV, and my thoughts.

Sunday, December 7, 2008 18:52 Cameroon local time

First Full Day In Yaoundé

[[This post contains a word that certain residents of Fischer Avenue will find objectionable. Nevertheless, it is the appropriate word and is unavoidable. Reader discretion is advised.]]

Am I a man who gets what he wants out of life? It's a question that many men ask themselves, I suppose. At least, if they have the courage to actually first articulate and then ask themselves the question. I suppose it's a question avoided by many. But it's the question I was pondering today. I don't know if my answer is "yes", but I do know that I was asking myself this question in Yaoundé, Cameroon and not on my drive home from work in Seattle.

Of course my renewing of this line of questioning is very much related to my recent fling. In the area of romance, I am not a man who gets what he wants. But this time was different. Sure, she was the initiator--asking if I would like her to accompany me to the seaside resort town of Limbe. But I didn't flinch. In the past I would have. That question, coming from a waitress who I was mentally undressing the whole time she was serving her other customers, would have totally freaked me out. Indeed, in the words of George Constanza, "it moved". But instead, we made an arrangement to meet in my hotel room after she got done with work. (It moved some more.) And meet we did. And before long we were...well, in the words of Elaine Benis, "yadda, yadda, yadda".

So, what is different? Is it just the boldness of Mlle. X? Or is there something different in me? I think maybe a bit of both. When she posed the question, I wasn't scared off. That is very different. And that is one of the things I was thinking of. The other is the fact that I dumped her. She didn't dump me, and we didn't let time run out (my preferred option as I wanted to fuck her up until the end). But I found her insufferable and ended it. It was the first time I ever ended it by myself. I have had two major relationships in my life, and both ended as a result of turning into long distance relationships whereupon I was dumped. I've never been the dumper. There is a sort of feeling of control, though, in being the one who dumps. A control I never felt before. And it is frankly liberating to know that I am capable of it. I felt that I do in fact have control over my life, and I am not just a victim of the forces around me. I made a decision to dump her, and I followed through on it because she no longer served my needs. That is a form of control over my life. A form of control I never felt before. And that feeling of control is far more important than the few extra fucks I would have gotten if I had just let her get away with her princessy behavior.

So that's what was on my mind as I explored downtown Yaoundé. Yaoundé is a lively, vibrant city. It's modern and fun. And because it's Francophone, it's not so overtly religious like Nigeria and Ghana. I really enjoyed Yaoundé. I wish I could stay here longer. When I was in Nigeria, I was ready to pull the plug on Cameroon. I was ready to just go to Ghana and spend my last days in West Africa there. Even sitting in the Cameroonian consulate in Calabar I was asking myself if I really want to continue. Nigeria treated me horribly. My first day had a hard fall on a construction site and then I took a direct hit from a motorcycle in a rond-pont--and my ATM card wasn't working and I had almost no money. I was at the low point of my trip. Even lower than my rude introduction to Dakar. I just wanted out. But I stuck it out. I got money Western Unioned to me and made it to Cameroon. I was counting on getting to Douala in one day, but it took three days on roads that were either the worst I rode or the second worst I rode. Then I made it to Douala. Then I had another money scare--this time my parents were on vacation and couldn't send me money. But I finally got an ATM to work. And next, there I was in bed with a super sexy girl whispering into my ear, in French, "as tu un capot?" And because I had stayed in a motel that rents by the hour in Conakry and stole their condoms the way I steal soap, I did indeed have a capot.

Life is like that. My trip is good--very good. But I had no idea how much I needed to find, fuck, and then dump a hot girl to make it truly complete. I know that sounds horrible. But that's the nature of the human condition. If life were simple and followed Biblical rules, the Bible would be sufficient and there would no market for literature. But to be human is to be complex. Far more complex than can be explained in one book. Far more complex than can be explained with one ethical system. Relationships are hard to start for me, so the idea of a rebound relationship is unthinkable because it would require that I go out and actually find yet another woman willing to be with me and that ain't easy. But now I know what the rebound relationship gives you. That sense of control, reasserted.

Anyway, enough about me.

The Lonely Planet map of Yaoundé, especially Nlongkak Rond-Pont is totally screwed up. The icons are weirdly placed. Basically, if you stay at the Ideal Hotel, you'll be well served by a compass because, otherwise the map will just frustrate you.

I followed the compass down a street and found some banks that didn't give me money. The SGBC seems to have 2 kinds of ATM's. One has a TRS-80 looking text based interface and one has pretty high resolution pictures on it's screen. The TRS-80 ones don't give money while the pretty picture ones do.

So I headed to the Express Exchange which is a Cameroonian chain that exchanges money and travellers' cheques. It was interesting. They needed a photocopy of my passport. Not just the passport, but you need to bring in a photocopy that they keep. Fortunately, there was a photocopy place next door and it was only CFA 25 (US$0.05) for a photocopy. I cashed in €100 and got CFA 65590.

I wandered all over Yaoundé. What a vibe! Perhaps the best Francophone city in West Africa. I had a couple of early afternoon Castels at a place overlooking the busy street. That's where I did a lot of my pondering. I explored some more and then returned to the hotel.

I ate at Chez Wou in Yaoundé. I was not happy. What is it about Cameroon and Chinese restaurants? The prices for the main dishes are normal. A tad high, but not ridiculous. But the soup and egg rolls are just outrageous. Chez Wou charges CFA 3000 for egg rolls (US$6) and CFA 3000 for all their cheap soups like Hot & Sour or Wonton or Egg Drop. What the hell? $12 for soup and egg rolls? What the hell are they thinking? It's unbelievable. I wound up ordering nothing more than sweet and sour pork. At least it came creatively served in a half pineapple shell. The food was good. But to eat Chinese without having soup or egg rolls--to eat just one flavour--is just wrong. They actually have a course thing for CFA 14000 (US$28) with hot & sour soup, an appy, a plat, and a desert--worse than à la carte!!! The bastards! I highly recommend to any visitors to Cameroon, Douala or Yaoundé, just not try to fix their Chinese food cravings. It's just not worth it here. Other West African countries aren't so horribly priced. In Conakry I ate at the Chinese place 3 times having nice complete meals each time. But you can't do it in Cameroon. C'est impossible. Unless you have a company paying your bill.
Since they don't open until 6pm, I had a beer at the Condordia Lounge across the street. The Concordia Lounge is very nice. A great place to just chill with a beer.

Saturday, December 6, 2008 23:00 Cameroon local time

Douala To Yaoundé

My last night in Douala before heading to Yaoundé was grand. I spent it in the bar of the Hotel Hila. The organist was there again. He plays organ for a number of singers who tag team each other. But each night, it seems, he does a sort of 20 minute be-bop set. Absolutely wonderful! Just a great way to spend 20 minutes. Maybe even better than 20 minutes with Mlle. X. I'm not sure--it's a close one. ;-) He starts playing around 8:30. Anyone in Douala would be well entertained with an evening at the bar at the Hotel Hila. Sexy hookers doing that slow enticing "check out my goods" walk, hot music, reasonably priced booze--it's a trip! Again, one waitress in particular, a very cute (but not so hot that she would become an insufferable high maintenance princess) girl, seemed to fall victim to the contagion of my happiness at the music of the organist. A couple of times one of the organist's overstimulated friends came up and rubbed a bill into his forehead and let it fall on the keyboard. The organist's girlfriend would go and move the bill and equalize his forehead. Everyone was grooving to that steaming hot be-bop. This night, it started with a 10 minute be-bop interpretation of Hello Dolly. I've never heard Hello Dolly done so well. Fanstastic! Simply simply wonderful!

But, alas, I needed to go to sleep. I got up the next morning and went to the Guaranti Express station a block to the south. My 9am bus was there and I got my stuff loaded, paying a guy CFA 500 (US$1) for his help. I got a seat and at about 9:20, we were off. Something odd happened on the trip--or rather didn't happen. There were no police check points. I don't know if it because it was raining, or because it was the Guaranti Express VIP bus, or because there just aren't check points between Douala and Yaoundé. But it was nice.

I arrived and asked a few taxi drivers for their prices to the Ideal Hotel. Nobody would go below CFA 2000 (US$4) so I took the first guy who had offered that. It was a bit far and I got to see a bit of the city. We eventually arrived and thankfully, they had a room. Their prices, however, had doubled since Lonely Planet went to press. I didn't question it too much since the prices in Lonely Planet really were in the "too good to be true" range. For CFA 15000 (US$30) I got a huge room with a bedroom, TV room, windowed sitting room (what I would call an engawa, but that's me), and a bathroom with even a bidet. There was no AC, but it seems the altitude of Yaoundé makes that pretty much unneeded.

I went across the street to Le Globus where I had a chicken and fries dish and a couple of beers. I had a nice view of Yaoundé. Yaoundé is built on a really hilly region. That means that the streets cannot be rectilinear. But it also means that the city is gorgeous. And the unique architecture makes it even more interesting. Yaoundé is much prettier than Douala. It's much nicer. And even though it's a smaller city, it has more stuff.

I explored a bit around my area and wound up going to a grocery store where I paid an unreal CFA 1950 (US$4) for a can of Pringles, CFA 1050 (US$2) for canned ravioli, and CFA 1000 (US$2) for a liter box of "wine" porting a picture of a bottle of red and a glass. OK, it's not wine. It's "cellar red". I knew a German in Bluefields, Nicaragua who maintained that, as Velveeta claims to be not cheese but rather a "cheese food product", that Miller Beer is not beer but rather a "beer food product". Well, by that criterion, this Vinoval cellar red is not a wine, but a "wine food product". And, the proof is in the ingredients. Yes, like all food products, this wine food product actually has an ingredient list. And here it is: "eau, alcool, extraits de vin rouge de France, arômes". Yes, that's right: water, alcohol, French wine extracts, and flavors. What in the hell are French wine extracts? At least I got the real Pringles. They also had Cracks for CFA 1800 (US$3.60) and if you have read my Ouagadougou posts you know that I had Cracks before and that while they look just like Pringles, they taste like cardboard because they are a Chinese knock-off made out of melamine and scrap newsprint.

Saturday, December 6, 2008 22:00 Cameroon local time

Limbe To Douala: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, But More Awkward Than Hard

[[I'll call my fling girl "Mlle. X" since she has a job at a high profile restaurant in Douala and want to avoid making her identifiable as much as possible.]]

It was already about 8:30 am when I woke up. Mlle. X was still asleep after her late night dancing.

I took a shower and brushed my teeth and then went out to ask the desk clerk how to get to Yaoundé. She said there is one bus each day and it leaves at 9am. Hmmm.... Too late for that one. But there are plenty of bush taxis all day long to Douala and I can get a bus to Yaoundé from there. I went back to the room. I hadn't unpacked too much. So it didn't take much to pack. I was waiting for the inevitable. Mlle. X would wake up and ask me what I was doing. Then it happened.

I sat on the bed and told her I was going to go to Yaoundé today. She didn't seem too surprised. I asked her if she planned on going to work today. She said she understood what I was saying--that I was breaking up with her. "Je comprend. Tu me monque" is what I think she said. I don't know the the term "monquer" but I assume it means "to dump". "Desolé" was all I could say. I didn't explain. She didn't need an explanation. I'm sure she knew she had overplayed her hand was half expecting this. We pretended that it wasn't really a break up but that I was just going on my way and that we'd meet again. She gave me her number for when I return to Douala--my flight which leaves from there. I said I would call. I won't. She said she either works in the afternoon or the evening at her restaurant. They have good food so I'll go back--but not when she's there. I had brought her to Limbe from Douala, so it's only fair that I pay to get her back. I gave her CFA 10000 which is just enough to cover the whole trip for the two of them back to downtown Douala. She wanted more. OK, breakfast is fair game. I tacked on CFA 5000. That was her golden parachute.

She tried to get me to stay longer and we could all go to the Mile 4 station together, but I declined. I wanted this ending to be short. We headed out. She got Michelle and we bisoused goodbye. Then off to the reception where they called a taxi for me. While waiting for the taxi, she got me to buy a cup of coffee for each of us and an omelette for her. The master of the kitchen was there--the guy to whom I confessed last night that I was going to dump her today. He seemed interested in our interaction knowing remembering what I had said. He knew I was exasperated with her and he knew that she lost a second night here in Limbe would would be forced to give up her fantasy as a princess and return to her mundane life as a waitress as day earlier that she had hoped. He seemed happy that this princess was getting her comeupance.
The taxi arrived. We hugged and I left. Whew! It's over. The value of what I was taking from her in our "arrangement" was diminishing while the value of what she was expecting from me was increasing. It was time to cut my losses.

The taxi took me to the station and it wasn't long before we left. We got snagged by a couple of checkpoints. At one, they wanted to unload a woman way at the back of the van so about 6 or 7 people had to pile out to let her out. They questioned her for a few minutes, then let her back on. I had to show my passport to a guy. When all was in order, he asked for my yellow book to see if he could extract a payment from an irregularity in that. But, no. My papers are all in order. A second checkpoint guy flipped through about 10 pages of my passport and gave up before finding the Cameroonian visa and just handed it back to me. these Cameroonian checkpoints are insane.

Finally, we made it to Bonaberi. I couldn't get a mototaxi for CFA 1000 so I had to pay CFA 1500. In fact, the guy sort of deserved the extra since we had to deal with a big parade (why a big parade on a Thursday?). The moto-taxi rides are too much fun. It's definitely for those with a death-wish. He got me to my hotel. I checked into the Hila again. They were happy to see me. They seem to be impressed by my ability to get a super hot chick to my room. And she shows up wearing the uniform of her high profile restaurant, so they know she's not a hooker. Actually it's rather nice to have the men (and women) at the desk so impressed by my conquest.
I got a ticket for Yaoundé for the next morning. I was expecting to pay CFA 7500 (US$15) for the luxury bus, but it was only CFA 6000 (US$12). So tomorrow afternoon, I'll be in Yaoundé. Yaoundé is the capital, but it's cheaper by the prices in Lonely Planet. It also has museums. Douala doesn't have anything really. I got a pizza, a plate of hummous, and a couple of beers at the Mediterranean restaurant while I watched that same parade we passed go by again. Then off to the internet and then back home.

Whew! What a couple of days. I'm so glad it's over.

Thursday, December 4, 20:26 Cameroon local time

Douala To Limbe And The Insufferable High Maintenance African Princess From Hell

[[I'll call my fling girl "Mlle. X" since she has a job at a high profile restaurant in Douala and want to avoid making her identifiable as much as possible.]]

My watch went off at 6. I was too tired so I turned it off and went back to sleep. Then my Mlle. X's cell phone started to go off. It went off a few times and she finally answered it. Her sister was downstairs. I was a bit surprised that even knowing her sister was downstairs, that she initiated a little romp. Oh well--I guess the sister has to wait. ;-) But it was a good excuse to be quick.

The thing about this fling is that I take what I want from her and she takes what she wants from me. It's selfish me and selfish her. A mutually beneficial arrangement based on nothing you normally want to base a relationship on. It isn't even a "relationship". I won't call it anything more than a "tacit arrangement". We've been at this a few days and already she's brought up the subject of marriage. Like I want to seal our "arrangement" with marriage. Sheesh! Does she think she's that special just because she's hot?

Anyway, we showered and headed out. We took a car to the Bonaberi station. It's tough to take a car there because the traffic jam is continuous due to major road construction. The trip to Bonaberi was CFA 4000 (US$8). But the tickets on a bus to Limbe was only CFA 1300 or CFA 3900 for three. And we were the last ones. So that meant we were on the road almost immediately. It's about a 90 minute ride to Limbe. I had to show my passport through the window at a checkpoint. These Cameroonian checkpoints are more annoying than in any other West African nation.

Finally we arrived. Then, Mlle. X started turning into the simply high maintenance girl I knew her to be into the insufferable high maintenance princess from hell. I suggested the most recommended hotel in the Lonely Planet--the Park Miramar Hotel. But it's in the city and doesn't have a private beach. She wanted a private beach. The taxi driver recommended the Seme Beach hotel. It's way out of the city--a CFA 5000 (US$10) taxi ride. OK, I knew this trip would be pricy, and I had decided to just sort of bite the bullet. We took the long trip out there. It is on the other side of the Cameroonian refinery. There's one stretch that has dozens of tanker trucks lined up to get fuel to take to gas stations. Fascinating. At least I'm getting to see this. We reached the hotel and it was full! I did not expect that--it's a Wednesday in the low season.

Now the guy who recommended this place and charged US$10 to take us there, agreed to charge us only CFA 3000 (US$6) to take us back to the hotel I wanted to stay in. On top of this exorbitant cost, there is police checkpoint between Limbe and this hotel and the police at this particular checkpoint are especially bad at wasting time. I went from being in an OK mood to starting to not be happy at all. I saw this little excursion as a total waste of money. We made it back to the Park Miramar and they had 2 rooms for CFA 15000 (US$30) each--one for Michelle and one for Mlle X and me. We were all hungry and Mlle. X knew just where she wanted to go--for fish at the shore of the city. We piled back into the cab and off we went. The cab driver was, for some reason, staying with us. At least he didn't eat with us. We got three fishes with hot sauce and cassava root strings and some fried plantains. I got a beer that wasn't cold and the girls got Malta non-alcoholic beer beverages. One of the benefits of a high maintenance girl, I suppose, is that she commands the staff around. And she's a waitress herself so I was a bit surprised at her treatment of them. But I got another beer than was quite a bit colder.
The fish was really good. We ate it African style--with our right hands. It was fun. I chatted with Michelle a bit with about the same success as Mlle. X. A photographer came over. He's one of those guys who takes a picture and then prints it out. Each picture costs CFA 1000 (US$2) so it is one of those things that you normally get one and you're done. But what Mlle. X wanted to do was live like a princess. She thinks that because I'm rich relative to her, that I'm OK with just throwing money away. And it seems she is happy to make deals with the driver and the photographer feeding me only bits and pieces of the information. She got 4 pictures--one of which she rejected because she found it too blurry.

Soon, she was off with the driver negotiating something. Her is her plan: we would go back to our hotel, change, and then go back to the Seme Beach hotel where we could gain entry to the beach for CFA 1000 each. He would take us there and back for CFA 3000 (US$6). The then asked if we could stay for another day. I told her that I had to go to the ATM and if I could make a withdrawal successfully, we could stay another day. After all, we weren't going to be there long. The driver came and we headed to the car--with the photographer. She said he was going to come with us and take 3 more pictures (for CFA 3000). My withdrawal worked and she was happy. I changed into the African outfit she bought me (the change from the CFA 20000 I gave her had "fallen from her pocket" in the market--she also got me a towel).

So it was back to the beach--the three of us in the back seat and the photographer in the front seat. Again, we got stopped at that same stupid police checkpoint. It took about 10 minutes to get through--the driver kept getting out to talk to the police officer. Then we got to the Seme Beach hotel. I was prepared to pay for 3 CFA 1000 entrances. Except, it wasn't 1000; it was CFA 1500. And they didn't want to charge us for 3, but for 4--the photographer wouldn't get in free like the driver would. I balked. Nope--no more then CFA 3000. I let Mlle. X do the talking. She is used to getting what she wants and managed again to charm the guard into letting us in for CFA 3000.

It was Mlle. X's 4th time in Limbe and Michelle's first time ever in Limbe. They were living a little fantasy. The beach at Seme Beach is very nice. It's far away from the refinery and there is no smell or anything. The beach is volcanic black sand and the terrain is mountainous with palm trees--very pretty. The photographer started taking pictures. The girls were doing sexy poses in their bathing suits and the photographer was having a good time. I didn't want to go out into the water. I tend to be paranoid about my passport and money belt. Passport is required in Cameroon. The police checkpoints check it constantly. Eventually, Michelle attracted the attention of a guy and the girls and the guy and the photographer were frolicking in the deeper water while I was enjoying the scenery and playing in the shallower water feeling the waves carry away the sand under my feet seeing how long I can stand before there wasn't enough sand to keep my balance. After about an hour, I headed up to the bar to have a beer. The driver came with me. We discussed my favorite topic in Cameroon--police checkpoints. I explained how it works in America--you get through immigration at the airport or the border, then there are no police checkpoints except the occasional drunk driving checkpoint. Other than going through those on a Friday or Saturday night, I've never been through a police checkpoint in the United States. He was amazed. Then he asked me to help him fill out a visa application. What is this? Why is everyone who wants to come to America too fricking lazy to fill out the application themselves? Time was getting late. We went back out to the beach and now Mlle. X had attracted the attention of another guy. Whatever.

The girls were taking a long time to come in and the photographer and the driver were starting to get agitated. Finally, they came in. It was just starting to get dark. We passed an accident scene--a taxi and a truck carrying lumber. We stopped and got out to gawk. The police were there with tape measures making an extraordinarily thorough drawing of the scene. We got back in.

When we arrived, Mlle X told me to pay the driver CFA 3500 (US$7). He then finally left. But the photographer was still there. He plugged in his little photo printer and she selected 5 pictures: 2 with me and three of her and Michelle in sexy poses. I knew exactly what was up. She was asking for pictures of me to try to keep me happy and she was printing off the sexy pictures for a less transient boyfriend. But I wasn't happy. I kept asking how much this was going to cost and she kept shushing me. This was I pretty much decided that the second night in Limbe was not going to happen. I would finish out the day and then give her a little golden parachute in the morning to get home, then I would bugger out.

We went back to the room while the photos printed. I told her I would pay for three--not 5. That she can't just change the terms on me like that. She begged me to just pay it. We went back out. The photographer is in the enviable position of being perfectly bilingual. He found himself taking orders from the French speaking woman and finding that the English speaking man wasn't interested in paying so much. She we all moved to a more discreet location. I told him that she told me that he would take three pictures at Seme Beach and that would be it and that was all I agreed to pay. And I told him that I think he heard her tell me that. He said he did but that she promised him that they would just go to the beach, take some pictures, and then he could return to the beach in town with the grilled fish restaurants where he could make a lot more money. But instead of letting him go back, she frolicked in the water for three hours. I understood his point. She in an insufferable high maintenance princess, after all. She screwed him over just as much as me. There were a lot of people eating there in the hotel terrace and our negotiations were starting to embarrass Mlle. X who didn't understand what the photographer and I were saying. This was coupled witht the fact that one of the customers there knows her from her waitressing job. The 8 pictures were CFA 8000 (US$16). Too expensive. I said I wanted the digital files. We finally agreed on CFA 10000 (US$20) for the photos for her and all the digital ones for me. We plugged his card into my laptop and copied them over. Then Mlle. X said she wanted one more photo. She said she would pay me back if I gave him CFA 1000. Yeah right. Fuck! I gave him CFA 1000 and he went home to print it out. He came back an hour later and gave them the picture. She said it was the wrong picture and that is was another one she wanted. She asked for CFA 200 for him--I presume for the taxi. Well atleast Princess X is asking for smaller amounts. She also wanted to call her mom and asked for CFA 2000 (US$4) for credits on the phone because she was out of credit. She received a call from a guy who I assume is one of her lovers. She tried to hide the fact, but she couldn't.

The hotel restaurant is recommended by Lonely Planet but the photographer recommended a place called Bamboo which was much cheaper. I wasn't hungry yet, but was getting hungry. The Park Miramar is in the middle of a botanical garden so it isn't on the main drag and you con pretty much only get a taxi by calling one. She called our driver who was with us most of the day. He would come in an hour--in the mean time, I had a Castel and the girls had pineapple juice. Then they set to work on my trying to convince me to marry Mlle. X. I explained that we only met like 5 days ago and that wasn't enough time to decide if a partner is right for you (actually it is enough to know if a partner isn't and I knew that pretty early on).

Finally, the taxi man came and for another CFA 1000 (US$2) we headed to Bamboo. It is a place with loud music and a pretty limited menu. Mlle. X wanted spaghetti. But Bamboo didn't have spaghetti. Michelle ordered chicken with plaintain chips. I ordered steak with French fries. Since they didn't have spaghetti, Mlle. decided she would eat back at the hotel. It took a while for out food to come. Mlle. X was getting impatient because the hotel restaurant would close soon. She decided to order--pork with rice. But they were out of rice, so she canceled the order. Our food finally came. I let Mlle. X eat off my plate. Greasy fries, a typical African steak. She ate a bit. Then we paid and left. Limbe is a small town so there isn't much circulation of taxis. We headed down to a bigger intersection. They were a bit afraid but I said it was a small town so it was perfectly safe. I spoke a bit too soon as a drunk guy came up to me and said that if I wasn't planning on having both of the girls tonight that he needed one. This was in English so they didn't understand. I told him that they are free people and I don't own them and if he has something to ask them that he should address them directly. He staggered off. Along the way we stopped in a couple of restaurants but they were all just closing. Then at the big intersection by the King William hotel and a huge tree covered in Christmas lights, we hailed a couple of moto-taxis. They took around to 2 restaurants that they thought might be open but they weren't. Finally someone said the the Park Miramar stays open pretty late. So we went back. The moto-taxis were CFA 500 each. Mlle. X told me to pay and I did and then she came and berated them for charging so much which was totally bizarre.

Anyway, we went in and Mlle. X ordered a nice fish dish in peanut sauce with a salad and rice. It was far nicer than what Michelle or I ate. I ordered a glass of wine for CFA 1000, but it didn't sure didn't taste like a $2 glass of wine. I'm sure it was one of those cheap mylar bag brands. Mlle. X tasted it and ordered one to have with her meal. Her meal finally came and she didn't drink the wine--just gave it to me. So while Michelle and I had mediocre meals, Mlle. X managed to finesse herself a gourmet dish.

Then off to bed. She and Michelle went first. I still had her glass of wine. The two people working there asked me some question. I don't remember what. I went over to their table and explained the insufferability of the high maintenance princess from hell that she was. I told them that she thinks we're staying one more day, but that I was leaving tomorrow and they will have to leave too since I am their funding source.

Mlle. X came to get me. We went to sleep. We were asleep for a while when Michelle called her. They wanted to go back to Seme Beach and go dancing. They didn't need money from me--I guess the men they met at the beach arranged to pay for their evening out. Mlle. X asked for my permission to go. I frankly didn't care anymore and I just wanted her to go so I could type up my blog in peace. I just made her leave the key. She left. I waited a few minutes, then flipped on BBC World on the TV and got out my computer and started typing furiously. Boy there was a lot to remember and type. What an eventful couple of days.

I exhausted myself and put my computer back and went back to sleep. Eventually, Mlle. X returned home and knocked at the door. I let her in and we fell asleep.

Thursday, December 4, 20:14 Cameroon local time

Tuesday In Douala: Lost Credit Card Panic

Well, I guess my Tuesday started at midnight. My fling girl came around that time. She went out and got some food and came back. I agreed to left her bring her sister since I frankly don't have much to talk about with her anyway. Then we went to sleep.

We woke up and yadda yadda yadda... She wasn't happy with my wardrobe and I gave her some money to buy me some clothes. Then she left and I headed out to see if I get a ticket to Limbe from one of the bus stations a block or so from the Hotel Hila.

Well, the Lonely Planet says there are buses to Limbe, but apparently, there aren't at this time of year. I asked what company goes to Limbe and they said I had to go to the station at Bonaberi to get to Limbe. Damn, that's like 5km away. I hailed a moto-taxi and for CFA 1000 (US$2) I took the long ride to Bonaberi through construction zone traffic that rivals that in Seattle. When I got there, there were no big comfortable buses. Only bus taxi mini-buses. A set of people with one bus company tried to charge me CFA 7500 to get tickets today to get a bus that would leave at 8am. But I didn't quite understand their system by which they would guarantee it would leave at 8am and they were sort of evasive. I left and headed to the exit of the bus station area. There were a bunch of moto-taxis there at the exit. As I walked toward it, a guy asked me where I was going. I said I was going to get a moto-taxi. He followed me. I went up to a moto-taxi and then this guy started negotiating for me. Oh well. I waited for them to finish. CFA 1500 to my hotel. I said I came here from my hotel for CFA 1000 and wouldn't pay more than that. The moto-taxi driver agreed. I hopped on. Then the man who negotiated the CFA 1500 asked for a tip. I looked at him funny and asked "pour quoi?" as we took off? Why should I tip a guy who negotiated a 50% worse price than I negotiated when I was going to negotiate it anyway?

I was tired and hungry and decided to have pizza for lunch at the Mediterranee. I had a couple of beers and bought the lastest Newsweek from their in-store newstand. Then I went to the internet. On the way I stopped by the pharmacy since I needed another box of Savarine (the anti-malarial) and another box of condoms. The woman working there tried to sell me some sort of sexual enhancement drug, but I declined.

Then on the way back, I decided to stop off at the SGBC bank ATM and take out a dose of cash in anticipation of my trip to Limbe. I opened my wallet. My ATM and credit cards weren't there. Panic! Did my fling take my cards while I was sleeping? She must have. I walked quickly toward the hotel. OK, I can do this. I have enough money to survive until I can arrange something. I need to cancel my cards, though and I don't have the phone numbers. How could this happen? I slept light to make sure I woke up if she went through my stuff. When did she do it? When I was in the shower? Or when I was asleep?

Then I realized that my wallet was really light--all my other random cards weren't there. Hmmm.... Wait, I remembered something. When I was preparing for her first night over, I did a lot of rearranging. I remember rearranging my wallet. And I remember taking stuff from my wallet and telling myself that my wallet was totally stealable now and I would just lose a few dollars. Did I take my credit cards out and put them with the other random cards? I don't remember doing that. But maybe. I was cautiously optimistic and hopeful. I made it home. I was sweating. I looked in the first place I remember putting the stack of cards. Not there. Dammit! I looked in some more obvious places. Nothing. Then finally, I found the stack of cards at the bottom of a bag of clothes. I pulled them out. And there they were--my ATM and credit cards. Whew! All is well.

I took a moto-taxi to the bank and got some money out and then moto-taxi'ed back to the hotel.
I needed some relaxation after that stressful situation. I went to the bar of the Hila. At about 8:30, they start to play music. They have an organist and a couple of singers. I was sitting there writing my journal when the organist started this great upbeat music. I got into the groove. He was really happy that I was grooving and kept the upbeat music going. The two waitresses saw I was enjoying the music and it made them happy as well. After a lively 15 minute medley of good music--some which I recognized and some which I didn't he ended. I led the applause. Then he started playing for the singers. They got scattered applause but nothing like the organ solo that everyone enjoyed.

Then I went back to the room and waited for my fling.

Thursday, December 4, 2008 1:02 Cameroon local time

Monday In Douala: A Haircut Disaster

Well, I woke up early. In fact, I never really even slept. How can I sleep? Twelve hours earlier, I had not even the wisp of a faint idea that I would have an intimate experience with a very attractive woman. Now it has happened. Oh sure, the Hila Hotel is crawling with hookers, but I never even considered one of them. They can wear really short skirts (and they do) but far far more attractive than a short skirt is a real job. And my paramour has a real job. It's not an economic transaction--it's a fling.

Once again, I headed to the Delices for coffee and pastry breakfast in air conditioned comfort. After my nice breakfast, I bought another Paulo Coehlo book, Le Zahir. Then off to see what the Chinese Restaurant has to offer. Their soups and appies are expensive--nothing less that CFA 3000 (US$6). Oh well. I'll just have lunch today. Then I got my favorite--mabo tofu. I think they called it spicy tofu in English and Fromage Chinoise Piquante in French. But I recognized the Chinese characters. However when the mabo tofu came, I didn't recognize it. It was tofu, it was spicy, but it wasn't mabo tofu. It wasn't brown and the tofu wasn't the soft kind. It was tasty, but not quite what I wanted.

Then I headed back to the hotel and spent some time unclogging my failing air conditioner of ice. I had done laundry in the morning and the humidity, I presume, froze it all up. Now it was getting late. And I wanted a haircut. There is a place right next door to the hotel called Ballard Coiffure. I went there. It's almost literally a hole in the wall. The whole shop is about 4 square meters. Not encouraging, but how bad can it be. Then I saw the scissors--sewing scissors and not barber scissors. OK, not encouraging, but Africans can do a lot with a little. I asked how much. CFA 2500 (US$5).

I sort of explained what I wanted and then the guy started cutting my hair. But his technique was all weird. He didn't wet my hair. He fluffed it with a comb and started cutting off the parts of my hair that stick out. OK, not exactly what I call expert. Then he combed my hair on my forehead and before I could stop him made some really weird cut. I was getting exasperated. I asked him if he didn't to get my hair wet? Oh no. That wouldn't do. It wouldn't? Whenever I get a haircut, they always wet my hair. He was cutting in a weird way--he was using only his left hand and having difficulty orienting the scissors.

I told him that whenever I get a hair cut that the barber always grabs a chunk of hair between his fingers and pulls up a certain distance from my head and then cuts it flush with his fingers. Ah ha! He pretended he knew what I was saying. But he wasn't pulling my hair to the same distance and he was just sort of picking random points and not methodically moving along my head. And half the time he was cutting flush with his fingers above the fingers and half the time he was cutting below his fingers.

It was a total disaster! Complete and total. He was trying, but he definitely did not know the first thing about how to cut white hair. My hair looked like a horror movie mop. I reached into my pocket and got out CFA 2500. I gave it to him. He wanted to try to fix it. His buddy who speaks better English tried to explain it would just take some time. No. He doesn't know what he's doing--enough time is NOT the solution. They tried to convince me to sit a bit longer so they could fix it. No. I gotta go. It's past 4:30pm and I need to find someone who can fix this disaster. It was the first time I ever left in the middle of a haircut because it was just turning out disastrous.

I went to the lobby and asked the desk man for a recommendation for someone who could fix it. He didn't know but he felt sorry for me. He suggested that I go to the Akwa Palace hotel which is the top hotel in Douala--hence the top hotel in Cameroon. If anyone can hook up a white guy with a hairdresser who can fix a white hair disaster, it was them. I hailed a mototaxi and CFA 200 later I was at the Akwa Palace. They didn't have an answer for me but suggested I try the Parfait Jardin hotel.

I went there. I explained my situation to the desk man. "I just got a haircut from a guy who doesn't know how to cut straight hair." He looked at my hair, smiled, and said "yes, I can see that." He sent me down the street and I went down. There was Elite Coiffure. I entered. The girl at the counter said they could fix it. There is one hairdresser there. He was with another customer and he was really slow--just shortening the hair of a guy with almost no hair to begin with. My stress levels were getting really high. I planned to meet my fling girl and I needed this fixed.

I explained with the help of the desk girl what I needed--a repair job. I explained that I needed him to deal with the parts that were too short because the previous guy screwed up and just needed him to work with it and make something passable. He started. First thing he did was to wet my hair. That's a good sign. In the end, he did an OK job. He didn't quite know what to do with the back of my head. He tried to get my skin to blend into my hair and had a hard time. He spent a lot of time working details. Maybe if your hair is going to be short and not really move, the details are important, but I just brush and go and I ride around on moto-taxis and stuff like that. Millimeter precision is not what I'm after. It turned out about as well as it could though. An American hairdresser would have done a better job from just simply knowing how white hair works. But it was OK. This one only cost CFA 5000 (US$10). I tipped the guy CFA 500. So it was only double the disastrous haircut.

Then I moto-taxi'd back and unwound in the hotel bar with a beer and glass of red wine while I journaled and pondered my day and the day previous and the day to come.

Monday, December 1, 2008 22:27 Cameroon local time

Sunday In Douala: A Day With No Plans--Do You Really Want To Read The Excruciating Details?

I got up on Sunday and headed out about 8am. After a nice breakfast with a coffee, orange juice, pain aux raisins, and chausson aux pommes, I decided to see what is on Avenue Charles de Gaulle. I had to get by a traffic circle with some people filming a music video but I think I managed to stay off their shot. Avenue Charles de Gaulle has a lot of stuff. There's a Chinese restaurant, a nice looking French restaurant, and other cafes and things. It was Sunday morning, though, so not much was open.

I returned to the hotel at about 11 am and there was no water or power. Well, I guess I better go out again where there is AC and refreshment. I went to a new place and had an ice cold beer. I was reading Veronika Décide de Mourir, watched some goofy French movie on their big screen TV and watched as a restaurant across the street. One waitress was standing in the door way and even from across the street I could see her body was in the Shakira/Beyoncé league. I finished up my beer and went across the street. The hottie was my waitress. I ordered another beer and an entrée and a plat.

She asked me what I do in Douala. I told her I'm just a tourist. She asked how long I'd be in Douala. I said not too long, that I fly out on the 12th and want to go see Yaoundé (the capital), Limbe (a seaside resort), and maybe some other places. Then she offered to come to Limbe with me. Did I hear right? Did a pretty waitress with the body of Beyoncé just offer to spend the night with me in the Cameroonian sea side resort? Apparently so. We made arrangement to meet at my room when she gets off at 5pm. I went back and prepared my room a bit and waited. Would there be a knock at the door?

There was. I let her in. We talked for a while--mostly in French. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We went out for dinner. She was pretty hungry and we went to an all you can eat buffet. I had already eaten at her restaurant, so she took my portion and we wrapped it up for her to take to her mother. Then we got into a taxi. I went to my hotel and she headed to her home.
I got my journal and pen and went down to the bar to ponder my evening. I'm single--I deserve a sweet little fling now and then. They are very few and very far between for me--especially ones who look like Beyoncé. It didn't even take 2 months since my 40th birthday. An excellent start for my next decade.

Monday, December 1, 2008 7:57 Cameroon local time