Author: shrinkerlin-shopping

We were in Takoradi Ghana for the day. This city of approximately a half million people seemed relatively prosperous. As is typical for this cruise journey, we were offered a tour to a Unesco World Heritage Site. I joined a group to visit a cocoa plantation. Recent experiences had left me a bit wary and cynical, but I am happy to say this experience proved totally different.

First of all there were no armed escorts at the pier. Our tour bus did pass the usual shanty town, but it seemed to be a relatively small area, compared to other places we visited. One turn onto a well maintained highway and the standard of living seemed to be at least average for this part of the world.

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We drove to a village about 1 hour outside the city. We were invited to the community center which seemed typical of others we had visited: open air with thatched roof. People brought plastic chairs from home for seating. A group of men with serious demeanor assembled at the front of the center and stood until another man in a bright red robe entered. Our interpreter explained that the latter man was the village leader. Next to him was another man who was his spokesman. Out of respect, only the spokesman speaks directly to the leader. While the entire event had a feeling of solemnity, you could also tell that all these men were close friends and were enjoying their part in the show. Through his spokesman and our interpreter, the chief spoke a warm and friendly welcome. A representative from our cruise ship presented the chief with two packages, each containing a fifth of peppermint schnapps, as a sign of our appreciation. More speeches and the spokesman opened one bottle of schnapps and proceeded to pour at least a third of the content on the floor while the chief recited a long prayer. Then the spokesman opened the second bottle and was in the process of repeating the ritual, when one of the village men in the back jumped up; said a loud “Amen!”; and confiscated the open bottle. Everyone had a good laugh.

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There were mainly men and a few older women and small children at this welcoming ceremony. The chief apologized and explained that the older children were in school which was about a half mile down the road. This was market day and most of the women were at the regional market, buying and selling for their households. A group of the men walked with us down a well paved road to the cocoa plantation. I was expecting neat symmetrical rows of cultivated cocoa plants, whatever cocoa plants were. Instead we climbed up a steep embankment of what looked like forest. There were cocoa trees of various sizes seemingly planted in a random pattern, along with other apparently wild plants and a dense mat of vegetation on the ground.

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1. Cocoa trees 2. Immature pods grow directly on tree trucks 3. A mature pod 3, Opening a pod with a machete 4. Fresh wet cocoa beans

We came back to the village to see the harvested beans drying in the sun. The village leaders graciously served us drinks of their local fermented brew and thanked us for coming. The headman wished us safe travels. He very tactfully added that the village had 3 community projects they needed help with. First they wanted to improve the the outdoor bathroom facilities of the local school. We had passed this large active school with more than 100 pupils, on our walk to the cocoa plantation. Primary and secondary students, in their crisp uniforms, were as orderly and playful as students anywhere. He also said they needed to bore an additional well in the village. He pointed to construction materials in nearby piles indicating that these were active projects. Finally he said the community center could use a new roof. Indeed if one looked up, the glint of sunlight was evident through the ceiling. Without communicating any sense of entitlement or obligation, he said if we wished to help in any way, the village would be very appreciative. We gave freely. These were happy hard working people who shared a glimpse of their daily life with us.

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Linda

We were in Ivory Coast for one day.  We docked at Abidjan, a city of about 5 million people. That is about 20% of the national population. It is not the official capital of the country, but it is the major economic center and functionally the international center.  I elected to go on a cruise line supported excursion to Grand Bassam.  This is a small town about 1 hour’s drive outside Abidjan. The cruise line has a long-standing partnership with UNESCO.  The ports of call always include site seeing venues which are UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Grand Bassam is one such.  During Ivory Coast’s 19^th century French colonial period this was a prosperous regional capital.  It was an architecturally beautiful town of French colonial buildings. Many still exist but are in moldering shambles.  As a world heritage site, they hope for UNESCO support to rehabilitate these wonderful buildings and make the town a world class tourism site.  So far very few have been repaired.  In 2016 it was the site of a terrorist attack on a hotel which killed 22 people.  I and about 60 fellow travelers went to see.

The first thing I noted was the armed police escorts which met us at the pier.  There were fine, uniformed police officers on equally fine motorcycles with lights and sirens.   My bus was part of a two-bus caravan. Pedestrians and motorists alike parted way and gawked to see who these apparent VIPs were. Traffic was dense and chaotic. Along the way, the second bus fell behind and got separated from the escort.  The main escort officer pulled my bus to the side of the road in a business district on the outskirts of the city and apparently called his supervisor for back up. We waited there for about 45 minutes until the supervisor, in a police pickup truck, found the second bus and escorted it back to us.  The second driver got quite a dressing down from the police supervisor and then again from the motor cycle officer.  There was never any evidence of danger or hostility towards us, but we were not allowed off the bus while we waited.  Local people either ignored our presence or tried to sell us their wares at the bus windows.  These were local businesses, not tourist shops.  There were food stalls and household goods. There were many shops that manufactured hand made furniture and art.  Since there were so many, I think they may have been wholesalers.

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Grand Bassam colonial buildings show the ghost of their glorious past. Many are abandoned. Two have been repurposed to art an art gallery and a crafts center. The gallery showed paintings by local artists. There were paintings with traditional African themes and there were beautiful modern abstract paintings as well. The curator of the art gallery would not allow photographs. Even if he had allowed them, it would have be a challenge to get good photos because the building was so dark. I was puzzled about this, until I realized that the building had no electricity. The crafts center allowed photos and the building had electric fixtures but none were lighted. A gentleman sat outdoors working with an old fashioned hand loom. On display around him were his own exquisite hand made textiles. I set out to buy one. Of course we had to negotiate a price. This was complicated since he spoke only French and CFA’s (Central African Francs) and I spoke English and US dollars. He wanted more than I was willing to pay for a large piece. It was worth every penny he asked but I did not have that much money with me. I selected a somewhat smaller piece and with the help of an interpreter we agreed on a price. Once we had closed the sale, the weaver told me he was happy I got that piece, because the first one I tried to buy was a traditional pattern that was really meant for a man. The one we agreed on was far more suitable for a woman.

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DAILY LIFE IN GRAND BASSAM

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Neighborhoods

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WARNING: THE LAST PORTION OF THIS POST MIGHT BE DISTURBING.

Very sadly during our bus ride back to the pier, we witnessed a tragedy. There was a traffic accident in which I believe someone was killed. This large city has chaotic roundabouts with vehicles 5 or 6 lanes deep jostling for position, exiting, and entering. I did not witness the impact but others seated just in front of me did. Reportedly a young man on a motor bike collided with a pedestrian trying to cross such a roundabout on foot. I saw a woman who witnessed the event, faint. Then I saw a young man, (I believe the motorbike driver) unresponsive, lying on the pavement. Grave injuries were evident to me even from the bus. Our police motorcycle escort stopped the bus, walked over to the motionless man. The officer stopped traffic to prevent the young man getting run over and he moved back the gathering crowd. The officer walked back to the still unconscious man and visually inspected him. From my vantage in the bus, I thought he was dead or dying. He had a bleeding head injury and clearly multiple fractures. My first inclination was to get off the bus and render first aid. There was at least one other physician on the bus. He did not move. Neither the bus driver nor our guide moved or open a door. I sat myself back down. There was an excited crowd out there who spoke only French. The police officer was on his cell phone calling, I presumed, for an ambulance. Soon another police officer appeared. Someone brought a large piece of cardboard and to my amazement they rolled the unresponsive man onto the cardboard and drug him to the side of the street. I saw but did not hear his screams as the pain of moving him must have aroused him to conscious. He flailed his fractured limbs and then lay still again. Our escort got back on his motorcycle and soon we were on our way again. All of this happened in about 20 minutes. I saw no first aid. I saw no EMT’s. I can only hope, but I actually doubt, that the young man got emergency trauma surgery, survived his injuries, and will be able to be rehabilitated. I suspect he died at the scene. Once again I was grateful to escape to my floating bubble of luxury, but I was deeply disturbed.

This, I assure you Gentle Readers, was the nadir. At least I hope so. Things progressively improved as we sailed further along the West African coast. How could they not?

Linda

Da Gambia is a small independent country completely surrounded by Senegal except for its western border. which is the Atlantic Ocean. It is even poorer than its larger neighbor Senegal. In the past, it too was an active port for the slave trade and other commodities. Like most countries in Africa it was eventually colonized successively by several European countries. As we learned in several lectures on ship-board, there was an infamous conference in Berlin in which Africa was divided among the several European countries. What had been various African ethnic groups were arbitrarily established as colonial territories without consideration of culture or language. The French got what is now Senegal. The British focused on land on both banks of the Gambia River which runs right through Senegal. When the two colonies became independent, they shared many elements of traditional culture but differed significantly in their colonial heritage. So the Senegalese speak French, tend to be Catholic Christians, and drink coffee. Da Gambians (after the river) speak English, tend to be protestant when Christian, and prefer tea. Each sometimes denigrates the other’s “Britishness” or “Frenchness”.

When Alex Haley wrote his famous book, Roots, he told of tracing family legend a from current living family, all the way back to the village where his teen aged ancestor was kidnapped and then sold into slavery in the United States. Allegedly this village still exists in Da Gambia. I joined about 30 of my fellow travelers on a visit to this village, which in astute marketing, has renamed itself Kunta Kinte Village after Alex Haley’s relative..

It is about 6 miles up the Gambia river, which is a very broad but shallow river. There were derelict boats run aground in places along the way. Our guide told us that it is about 10 meters deep but in some places it was too broad to see either shore. The currents are affected by sea tides and dolphins sometimes played along side our boat. It took about 2 hours to go that 6 miles and even longer to get back. I don’t know if that was the fault of the current or of the old but seemingly sound boat.

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The village was a poor place, but it was clean and there was no suggestion of poverty to the extent of hunger. Our guide told us that about 4000 people live there permanently. It was my impression that at least 2000 of them were children under the age of 10 who came out to greet us. They were cute and endearing. They offered to pose for a sweet picture and then demanded a dollar per shot. Slender young women in traditional dress with beautiful babies slung on their backs did likewise. Or they implored, “Something for my baby?” There were hundreds of them. We were escorted around the village by armed security. Some of us asked if the children should be in school. We were shown two school buildings and told that “Today is a school holiday”. Our on-ship, lecturers had asked that we not give the children candy since they had little access to health or dental care. Adults among the children offered writing pads and pencils for sale, which we could then donate to their schools. You purchased the school supplies and then “donated” them to a child. Around the corner the very same adult approached you about buying the very same supplies again.

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We went to the Roots Museum. There was no admission fee or it had been paid in advance by the tour operator. The museum was 2 rooms with reprints of various black and white photos. I took a few pictures before I was told that photos of the photos were not allowed unless I cleared with the museum docent first. I went to the docent who told me he would allow it for the small fee of $4. I gave it consideration, but concluded that the money likely did not go to support the museum, but to the docent himself. I decided to not take anymore photos.

They took us to a community center, which is an open thatch roofed building with audience seating. There, several men brought in a very old woman and introduced her as Alex Haley’s oldest surviving relative, perhaps a fifth cousin twice removed. For $5 we could take a selfie with her and get a genuine photo copied “certificate of authenticity” stating that she is related to Alex Haley, who himself passed away nearly a decade ago. I was sceptical but considered paying the fee, until I asked one of the old woman’s handlers, “Who benefits from the money given?”. He told me that it was hers alone…but she did have certain expenses to cover and she could decide how to dispense it. She did receive a fair amount in cash donations. They next took us to an identical community center and different men introduced two slightly less elderly ladies who were the next oldest living relatives of Alex Haley. They accepted donations but they did not offer certificates of authenticity.

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As we walked in the village children and mothers swarmed me. If I made a the slightest gesture towards my fanny pack/ purse small children tugged at my clothes, reached out and begged for money.

The exception was a tall slender man who accompanied our walk while serenading us with sonorous music. He added beacon of calm to a chaotic situation. He was happy to pose for a picture and show his extraordinary stringed instrument. Though he asked for no money, I was happy to give him a gratuity.

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We finally left Kunta Kente village for the slow ride back to the ship. The tour guides on the slow boat prepared an abundant meal for us and served beer and wine. There was a variety of well prepared dishes. They encouraged us to come back for seconds and even thirds, because they did not want to waste food.

For reasons just stated my photos at this destination are relatively limited. I took them mostly at a distance and generally tried not to focus on individuals. Of course people have a right to decline photos, but I felt uncomfortable with their constant demands for cash. After we left the village one of the security guards told some of us that some of the mothers and children don’t actually live in the village but came there because they heard that a cruise ship had arrived. Once comfortable again on my luxury ship, I was left with conflicting feelings. At very best these were not wealthy people. Yet I resented their efforts to get money from me.

Linda

We have been in a new port almost every day or two. It can be exhausting. On the ship everyday there are lectures, dances, bridge, shows, parties, pool parties, mahjong, jewelry making, cooking classes, art classes, trivia competition, needle point classes, the walking track and the exercise room, yoga, the spa,and still more. There are interesting people to meet and new friends to make. I do not even think of trying everything.

Dining is all you can eat and more, 24 hrs every day, delivered to your room or anywhere you happen to be on the ship. That includes caviar and champagne. Originally I said they they were not good at feeding vegetarians. I was wrong. A vegetarian could literally eat her heart out. For example take yesterdays chef’s “inspirations” at just one of the four dinner venues.

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They will also prepare custom requests from lamb, to steak, to fresh fish,to hot dogs, to sauteed spinach. I have become accustomed to dressing for dinner and I can do a “killer” formal night.

I am writing all this not to gloat about what a great time I am having (well that is not the main reason.). This is undoubtedly a luxury cruise. But in some parts of west Africa the luxury ceased the moment one stepped off the gang way. I am a fairly seasoned traveler. I have traveled not so much for leisure, but to see different parts of the world and different peoples. I think I am not a naive traveler, but this trip caught me off guard. I have not posted a destination description since Dakar. I came to realize that the jarring contrast between luxury and poverty was becoming oppressive for me, and I did not want to pass that on to you, gentle readers. It has taken me a while to processes it all, so that I can communicate the various experiences of this trip to others as accurately as I experienced them, but without over emphasizing the unglamorous elements.

I must admit that after some excursions I was more than relieved to get back to the air conditioned ship for a hot shower to wash away the dust and detritus. The gratitude for all that I have been given, lingered, along with a measure of humility and guilt. Those emotions lessened as we moved south down the coast. I don’t know if it is that I have just become more hardened to it. I do think the poverty is not as deep in some of the recent countries and/or it was not displayed as readily. At any rate I will resume the descriptive narratives and photos….. and keep you updated on terrorism and Corona virus.

I really am, having a great time and I am so glad to make this journey.

Linda

A number of readers have asked about the Corona virus. There has been no official information other than the cruise line continues to say it is committed to our safety and is continuing to monitor and evaluate all factors.

Singapore is scheduled as a major stop for passengers and some crew to get on or off. We have no official information about this stop. Scuttle-butt is that we will likely avoid Hong Kong.

Along that line they did cancel our scheduled stop in Mombasa, Kenya on February 25. 26, and 27. This had nothing to do with Corona, but we were told it was because of terrorist activity, possibly aimed at tourists. I believe some Americans were killed in Kenya a few weeks ago. An American tourist was kidnapped there last spring. Some of us on the ship had excursions planned for national parks and outlying areas. Apparently the US state department issued a travel travel advisory and the cruise line cancelled this stop. They have added extra days in the Seychelles, and in Zanzibar instead.

I am scheduled to disembark in Sri Lanka on March 8 for a side trip to India, to the Taj Mahal. I will rejoin the ship in Chenai, India and continue from there. I do not anticipate any problems with these ports. As for stops east of these we will have to wait and see what happens.

Linda

It has been a while since I have updated. I have all the usual reasons: too busy having fun, too tired from having fun, and unreliable internet. I will do a post or two to briefly update daily life on board, and then do a couple about destinations.

The first update is to assure everyone that I and all my fellow travelers are healthy. I dined with the ship’s doctor 2 nights ago. The entire crew is admirably discrete and professional, but he did say that there has been nothing more than the usual illnesses and injuries.

Only in Luanda, Angola on February 4th, did we have any sort of mandated medical screening. Everyone had temperature taken; we were squirted with hand sanitizer, and mosquito repellent was sprayed on exposed skin. A fire truck, police cars, and ambulances were at the port when we disembarked. They escorted our tour of the city for the first few stops. Then the fire trucks and ambulances left us with just police escort. Police escorts have not been uncommon for our tours in west Africa.

Namibia and South Africa routinely require a face to face encounter with immigration authorities upon entering or leaving these countries.

Several sister ships from this cruise line are sailing primarily around Asia. News reports are that they will by pass any Chinese ports including Hong Kong, Macao, and Taiwan. My ship is scheduled to visit Hong Kong but there has been no announcement about that port so far. We aren’t due there until April 2nd. I think we are all hoping this will all be over by then and that no other ports will become off limits.

I personally am in very good health. I walked 5 or 6 miles around Capetown yesterday. Back in January I got a mild dust pneumonitis for a day or two after visiting Da Gambia. It cleared once I got away from the air pollution. I still struggle a bit when we hit rough seas. But today it is sunny skies and gently rolling seas as we are just rounding the Cape of Good Hope.

Linda

Darkar is the capital of Senegal with a population of about 1.5 million. It is a bustling city with traffic jams reminiscent of I-35 in Austin.

PUBLIC BUILDINGS

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STREET SCENES

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THE GRAND MOSQUE

The grand mosque opened in September 2019 in this primarily Muslim city. Our guide very proudly told us that the mosque was entirely funded by donations from members.

DAILY LIFE

Markets

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The Neighborhood

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Public Transport

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Transport that doesn’t use fossil fuel

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The Senegalese: handsome, hard working people of West Africa.

Linda

I delayed even more than usual in writing this post. I had to first collect my thoughts and feelings about my visit to this place. I have know about it for much of my life and it was among my top priorities of places to visit during this trip. I have read about it; I have seen a documentary about it. Other people I know have visited and described their visits to me. Still I was quite moved by it. It is one those hallowed places that memorializes unimaginable human suffering inflicted by the hands of other humans. I have visited others: Auschwitz, Dachau, and Mauthausen come to mind. All are disturbing, but I have to admit that I felt this one a bit more personally. I shall not go on and on about this place. I shall just present as it was presented to me. There is some controversy about whether, it is the place it claims to be. There were apparently many such places in West Africa. This one has been preserved and has become a widely visited tourist site.

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Linda

We had 2 days and one night in Barbados. I took the first day to spend more time snorkeling. This time it was from a large catamaran that accommodated about 2 dozen of us. We entered the sea from a ladder at the bow end between the 2 hulls. Dozens of green turtles tolerated our presence. There was also what I first thought was a sea monster. It was 2 feet long and spotted. I was later told it was a puffer fish, and like I said it was 3 feet long. It had a large head and it ate other fish. Did I mention that it was 4 feet long?

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On the second day I took off on my own. I told the man in charge taxis at the port that I wanted to go to Rock Hill. At first he did not know where I was talking about and he had to consult a map. When he appreciated where I intended to go and that I was alone, he escorted me past a long line of waiting taxis to a female taxi driver, named Ann but called “Mama”. Mama and I negotiated a bit starting at $100 but ended up at $50. Rock Hill is a former sugar cane plantation. Slaves there were emancipated in about 1834.

Emancipated but with no place to go, the slaves stayed on the plantation and began to receive wages for their work about 2 years later. There are the remnants of what they call the “slave huts” and a more recent monument to this history. At first Mama wanted to take me to the usual tourists sites: government buildings, the university, the exclusive hotels and beaches. But she eventually drove me out of the city and into humble but pleasant country areas. The houses here are owned by the descendants of those slaves. Some of the original slave huts still exist in ruins. A few have been preserved and are still occupied by the descendents..

As Mama began to warm to my interest in this area, she proudly showed me the house where she and 3 generations of her family were born, on land that has been in her family since emancipation. She said her ancestors were brought there from Ivory Coast to serve as slaves. In 2005 a sculpture was erected to memorialize this former slave and plantation area. Its soaring lines pay homage to the continuous lineage from past to future. Sadly it seems to be rarely visited and is not well maintained.

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Linda

I am discovering that cruise travel is flexible and is sometimes totally dictated by climate. We were initially intended to go to Saline Bay on the tiny island of Maryeau in the Grenadines. Tides and winds made the captain of our not so large cruise ship, divert to the just as tiny island of Bequia in the Grenadines. Port Elizabeth is the most picturesque and the only town on the island. Still it was an interesting and pleasant visit. Its port could not even accommodate our ship so life boats were used as tenders.

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Port Elizabeth had a charming version of the tourist strip, where locals showed their wares. Some of you may know that I am sometimes quite emotional about dogs. That emotion is frequently fear. I was therefore rather intrigued by the home made fudge kiosk. The proceeds go to feeding the feral dogs that roam everywhere. They don’t rescue them. They don’t immunize, spay or neuter them. They just feed them. If they are visibly sick or injured they will try to capture them, but the island has no qualified veterinary services. So care is limited.

Pick-up truck “taxis” drove us all over the island, proudly showing us vistas and the lavish homes of their wealthiest residents.

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The highlight was the hawksbill turtle sanctuary.

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They recover eggs from the beach to hatch them. They raise the turtles for 5 years; then release them back to their original beach. Ever curious, I asked the turtle wrangler , how one can tell a girl turtle from a boy turtle. They all looked the same to me. He said all the turtles in the tanks above were girls about 2 years old. He said their life span might be 50 years in the wild. You cannot tell the gender until they are about 10 years old. Then the males develop what most people think is a tail. He also said that gender can be influenced by the temperature at which the eggs are hatched. Well, what’d ya know!

Linda