more busses

We are back up in Zignuichor after staying a few days in the stunning beauty of Cap Skirring. Zignuichor is a cute little town where we 'run the gauntlet of art' every time we leave the hotel but where, honestly, we have met some nice people that want to show us their wares or tell us about their pirogue for hire, but are content when we say we aren't interested right now.

It took about 4 hours to go the 90 km because I tried to save us a few dollars taking the minibus instead of the sept-place taxi. Though Julie agrees that the bus was more comfortable. That was before it stopped half way and sat for two hours waiting to fill up...

Almost all transit runs betwen 90% and 180% capacity all the time. They are not on schedules so much as they leave when full. This can range from a few minutes to possibly days. A sept-place taxi is a battered renault station wagon with seven seats. They are rusty, cramped, and falling apart. But appear almost new comparred to the minibusses (ancient panel vans converted to transit use with seats for about 16 and a roof rack for everything from lumber, produce, and charcoal to live goats and chickens). On our bus, the side doors were welded shut, the driver and passenger doors were tied on with string, and the back door was hanging open the whole time.

Four guys pushed us out and the driver popped the clutch to start. We immediately pull into a gas station to fill up continuing my unbroken streak of filling up the tank once all of the passengers are in. This was the first time, however, where the driver didn't turn off the engine while filling - though he did wait until we were on our way to light his cigarette.

But we made it safe and sound. And checked into the cheap hotel across the street from the nice hotel. They share one kitchen and restaurant (in our place) so the food is good (though we do have a couple of cockroach friends in the bathroom). ugh.

Our room, though at first glance appearing much like a minimum security prison cell, is actually quite lovely. Huge and with a pretty good breeze, it has, what I have proclaimed to be, "the best shower in all Africa".

So in general the bathroom in Africa is just considered a wet environment - like the bottom of a pool. There are never shower curtains and often the 'shower' is just a nozzle - the water runs across the bathroom floor into the nearest floor drain (which one hopes is at the low spot). In fact, in Morocco, one had to stand ON the squat-on-the-floor toilet to bathe. But we do have toilet paper and OOOOOOooohhh cloth towels.

My favourite Julie quotes so far this week:
•  In regard to maneuvering the ferry from it's berth in Dakar (7 guys, throwing ropes, yelling instructions at each other as though the boat didn't make twice weekly trips...): "The whole continent could use a kaizen"
•  In regard to my bottle of cheap whiskey: "That's a lot of drunk, for $3"
•  In regard to what going to bed with wet hair had done to my hair: "It's sort of a George Fawcett. The left says George Washington, the right, Farrah Fawcett."