[[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
Saturday, December 6, 2008
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
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
Thursday, December 4, 2008
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
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
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
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
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
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, December 1, 2008
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
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
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
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