Advertisement
Published: March 12th 2006
Edit Blog Post
exhaustion on the banks of the Niger
while i didn't exactly kiss the ground - i did find comfort in the soft sand being underneath my bottom, rather than our tires... On our accidental pilgrimage:
So, off we pushed. The road was worse than expected. I really have no idea how Craig managed it. I could barely hold myself together - and I just had to sit, hold on, and balance - not drive and hold up a .5 ton piece of metal. We’d pass the occasional ‘village’ - but none of them had any water, or biscuits. It was strange, you were ‘only’ 30 kilometers from a major tourist destination, but still, in the middle of nowhere. Though, a 4x4 would whiz past us full of toubabs once in a while as a reminder of where we were headed.
Good thing, too. Because about 2 hours before sunset (time was sun - looking at my watch had become useless)…the dreaded happen, the bike broke. Pop! The chain had gone. And had trapped itself, unbudging, unforgiving of what we had put it through, inbetween two metals parts of the bike. I looked left, looked right, north, south, up. I knew we had enough water and snacks to get us through until morning. But a car had to pass - they had to.
And they did. A friendly Malian driver
freaks
you can imagine why the locals took a few steps back when we pulled up anywhere - being we looked like aliens - or at least spacemen and guide, touring around 3 French tourists. The tourists were not amused that our predicament was holding them up - but give me a break! The Malians had the exact size wrench we needed, and leant it to us, with the promise that we’d meet up in Tomboctou to return it.
Well, after a grueling 2.5 hours to go the last 30 kilometers (that’s about 24 miles), we met our next hurdle:
The Niger River.
It was with a tremendous exhale that we rounded a curve in our desert landscape to see sparkling blue water. Only kilometers from the river’s edge. We pulled up to the ‘embarquement’ - and were relieved to have plenty of company - so it wasn’t a question of whether a barge would arrive or not. There were all sorts of stragglers: toubabs in 4x4s, locals on donkeys, and a few other motorists. I still don’t get where they all came from since most hadn’t passed us on the road - who knows - they must have been off-road chasing elephants….
So, having barely made it, literally, both mentally and physically, when finally we pulled up right to the edge of the
peace
a few moments peace while crossing the Niger River...a lone piroguer keeping his distance from our loud-engined modern barge device... river, I lost it. Just layed down. And later rolled over and swept my hand through the Niger River. I swear I felt generations.
Being a complete spectacle with not only our white skin, but monstrous bike, spaceman helmets and goggles and dazed looks - we made lots of ‘friends’. One actually turned out to be quite helpful, for it was dark before we made it across the river (full of fatigue and worry for what was ahead - it was not the romantic moment one hopes for when crossing the Niger River for the first time!)… and our new ‘friend’ led us to the hotel we needed in Tomboctou (to return our borrowed wrench!). We were sandwiched between the two 4x4s in his party, zooming down a paved road, in the dark, dodging donkeys and unlit taxis, but in the safety of the taillights and headlamps of our buddies.
Now, to spare you a pretty non-descript description, Tomboctou, my friends, looks just like anywhere else.
Maybe more tourists and more aggressive locals than in other large towns..but that’s about it for distinguished characteristics. Plus, we weren’t there to discover the secret wisdom or energy of the
huh?
still trying to figure out what this sign refers to...sister cities, maybe? place, we were there to sleep, eat, shower, hunt down a mechanic, find a piece of warm clothing for both of us, possibly unearth an internet café or telephone (and we won’t even talk about my menstrual needs…). Nothing like working off a ‘To-Do’ list while in Tomboctou.
The next day went something like this:
- got my Tomboctou stamp! - not as a tourist - but as a traveler whom had lost their license plate somewhere between nowhere and nowhere, and needed an official police statement of ‘loss’ (can they document sanity, too?)
- found a mechanic and spent yet more hours sitting next to greasy, jovial men pulling the guts out of our bike
- Craig mostly waited with the mechanic and I spent the morning running place to place with the help of my ‘junior guide’ - a 12-year-old kid who in the end, did find me all the strange items on my list
We broke out of Tomboctou by that afternoon (ironically, it was as hard getting out as it was in…), but not before carefully studying our Michelin map and asking plenty of people how to get back to Douentza.
They kept
Tomboctou
just another man, another day, another village... insisting for us to go back they way we came (they had to be nuts!). But, we didn’t heed their word.
You’ve GOT to understand - it was inconceivable to us that the terrifying road we had come in WAS the main route to Tomboctou, especially when there was this other promising, wider route plotted on the Michelin map.
But, as it turns out, the locals knew what they were talking about, and so our ‘new’ route we chose to return by led us to…nowhere…and another 1+ days of adventure. Little did we know our Michelin map was not much better than that of the one hand-drawn by our elephant man who had gotten us into this mess in the first place.
Note: as it turns out, most tourists actually take a BOAT to reach Tomboctou!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.07s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 7; qc: 28; dbt: 0.035s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb