We were lucky. Four days after we crossed the border at Sao Domingo into Guinea-Bissau (G-B), the border closed. The Senegalese army had chased the Jola separatist guerilla into the city. The guerilla -using mines as warfare- blew up a minibus with people coming from Varela beach, before they were captured/executed by the military. This is a region of tension and sporadic turmoil, one must not forget that. But except for some out-of-order tanks along the roadsides and the former presidential palace in debris, there are few signs of neither the 98-98 civil war, nor the last coup in 2003. Another [View Full Entry]

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The Gambia is like a well-deserved oasis of communication in this Francophone desert of western Africa. One chat, bargain, order and enquire, all in English. This making The Gambia an excellent recreation point, not only for us but also for package tourism. There are massive resorts, beach erosion, widespread sex tourism and all the other paraphernalia of mass tourism. To see old, tubby, pale European women snuggling with their Gambian 25 something, paid "lovers", is not uncommon when you're down at the beach. For me this was of less interest, since the life of a Swedish relative in Africa arouse my [View Full Entry]

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The crossing at Rosso was less intimidating than expected. Our friends crossing a day earlier faced a tenacious guard stripping them on their money. I even got a good exchange rate for my last Ouguiya. The camels and goats seen high and low in Mauritania, are now transformed into horses and mules. The less strictly dressed women walk around the streets with heavy, bulky loads on their heads to a never ending beat of music booming out from telecentres and coiffeurs. The wonderfully gnarled Baobabtrees are scattered around the landscape adding an alien touch to the scenery. This is easy-going. At [View Full Entry]

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I don't like to quote the lonely planet, but this very much is the landscape of MADMAX. Car wrecks, flocks of camels and nomads dressed in layers of light, pale-indigo coloured cloth blowing in the wind; with six metre long pieces of cloth wrapped around their heads covering all but the sand blistered eyes. Crossing the border into Mauritania is a glimpse of African bureocracy to come. The actual crossing took us about four hours. We had to stop and show our passports at six places to answer irrelevant questions and to wait for the police/gendarme/military/visa-issuer and so on, to decide [View Full Entry]

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Not only is this a physical journey for me, but also a journey in english semantics. Be indulgent, have patience with my linguistic faults as I try to twitch and wrestle with english expressions that you'll find far from idiomaticly correct. It felt good to leave Chefchaouen at last, next time I'll be back with the hordes of tourists in July or August. Not only did all the hotels get booked by police and security staff prior to the kings arrival, the constant cold and the afternoon drizzle got to me at last. So of to Fes it was. Once again [View Full Entry]

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I must admit, I was expecting a lot more hustle. After my small enquiry among people back home and abroad. I soon had my picture ready. It was exotic, arabic, and picturesque with all the hustles that comes. Persistant salesmen, touts, con-men and the deceptive drug-dealing-alley-yongsters you find all over the world. So far the hustles are yet to come. Got spat out in the middle of the night at Mohammed VI airport. Always a bad time of the day to bargain over taxi-fares or being finicky with hotels. It's such a feeling to be out again. Out of Europe, [View Full Entry]

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