123 days in

Paris, je t'aime

Well, we made it back to the west with minimum hassle. Our friend Abdu kindly picked us up from our hotel at 1am and drove us to the airport, our seats were waiting for us at the airport check-in desk, amazingly the plane left early, the connecting plane from Casablanca to Paris was also on time, and all our baggage arrived in Paris when we did. All in all it was a very successful departure.

Now we’ve been in Paris for four days and I’m completely in love with the place. I’ve been here before, eight years ago, but it didn’t capture my imagination the way the city has this time. I think I appreciate it more now, and the months of speaking bad French to Africans has helped too.

We looked into leaving Paris for a couple of days in Dijon, but the train costs put a stop to that idea. So now – joyfully – we’re spending the full 10 days in Paris, strolling, photographing and just generally soaking up the wonderful atmos.

I’ve been shooting all film since before halfway through Mali, so the images are becoming harder to post now. However I did snap a couple of digital images today.

More soon.

114 days in

back in Bamako

After the mammoth Dogon trek we headed back to the place we departed for Timbuktu from, Mopti, and spent the next six days sitting around a pleasant hotel, eating and watching life go by. It was so nice to finally have a bit of freedom from guides and over-organisation.

By day five I was getting pretty bored of waking up at eight, walking to town for breakfast, walking back to our hotel, ordering lunch, having a siesta, ordering dinner, going to bed at eight and repeating the process all over again the next day.

Fortunately we bumped into an American guy called Glen on our final day and after chatting a while joined him on his bus journey to Segou, about three hours east of the capital Bamako where we fly from in a week.

So we spent two nights back in Segou bumming around, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere before rising at 5am for a non-existent bus heading to Bamako. The bus finally arrived at eight and the insane driver rocketed us on suspensionless wheels along terrifying Malian roads into the capital around midday. By the end of the ordeal I was a nervous wreck.

Rushing by taxi through crowded Bamako streets to make the 1pm check-in deadline at the mission catholique hostel further damaged our already shattered nerves, but we made it in the nick of time.

We unloaded our stuff and were greeted by the first Australian we’ve met in all of Mali. Pete’s been travel for two years throughout South America and Africa on his BMW motorbike. He’s a pretty interesting guy, so hopefully we’ll have some adventures with him and his mates, then catch up with a local contact in Bamako for few days.

After Bamako we head for Paris to spend a couple of weeks being insulted by ignorant Parisians. After that the trip ends. I’m not looking forward to ending the trip, but we’re running low on cash now so haven’t got much choice.

106 days in

Timbuktu and Dogon delays

The Dogon adventure is over. I’m both saddened and gladdened by that.

There’s no question Dogon country is an utterly amazing place and a must see if you’re in Mali: beautiful tiny villages nestled beneath the sheer cliffs of a great escarpment snaking hundreds of kilometres through isolated Malian semi-desert, stunning nights under star-filled skies, a cultural richness, breathtaking views. Both of us were stunned more than once by what we were seeing.

But the trip was also fraught with money problems and arguments with our guide, again.

Aly is a nice guy. But the problem we had was when he arrived in Douentza to take over the trip, he wasn’t properly informed and or given all the money we handed the original guide. We didn’t know this at the time, but it meant he ran out of cash halfway through and started asking us for more money to complete the journey. To be fair, he wasn’t asking for payment money, he just needed more cash so we could afford to eat, pay the various village taxes, and sleep in safety. In the end we gave in and provided more dollars - with a promise we would get it back - and the trip continued.

But all this strained our relationship with Aly, who was less interested in us after realising his money for the work might take time to arrive from Mohammed at journey’s end. To put it simply, the second half of the journey was a bit awkward for everyone involved.

In all we walked more than 100 kilometres, half of which we covered in the first three days. The beginning half was almost completely non-touristic due to there being fewer villages and less beautiful scenery, giving us more authentic experience. The second half of the journey, while more picturesque and dotted with pretty villages, was obviously full of tourists and so we got hassled by kids and touts more.

It’s a journey we won’t forget.