Tri Cycling Africa

HomeBack to the homepage. JourneyThe filmmakers cycled a tandem recumbent tricycle over the dusty landscapes of West Africa. Over two months they crossed five countries from Bamako, the capital of Mali, up to the legendary city of Timbuktu on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, south through Burkina Faso, Ghana, then Togo and Benin. This is the motivation behind the journey. TrailerDownload an extended trailer for the documentary series. Media KitDownload an electronic press kit (includes full synopsis, crew bios, episode breakdowns, director's statement and more), brochure and white paper. PhotosSome images from the trip. BlogsOutside the making of the documentary, this is a series of emails sent home during the trip. They are completely honest accounts from the filmmakers of the highs and lows of travelling in a foreign place. ContactThe series is currently seeking distribution. Click here to contact the producer. CreditsThis project would not have been possible without...

JEFF McLEAN'S BLOG | MARTY POUWELSE'S BLOG

14/10/2002 - Tombouctou, MALI

It's been quite a ride (literally) but we've made it to Tombouctou (Timbuktu). It's a thriving metropolis of 2 million people complete with a chain of internet cafés. No, not really. It's actually rather quiet, rather hot, and has but one internet café.

Mopti was tourist tout central. Anyone who is anyone with a degree in Extreme Tout Annoyance thrives in Mopti. We were somewhat prepared for the onslaught but it never failed to surprise how insistent these 'guides' can be. It's impossible to go for a quiet stroll down the street without being accosted. We made our way to the boat station office at 3pm for our ride up the Niger River NE to Timbuktu after being told this was when the boat was due to arrive. There are several tickets available: lux (delux), first, second, and third classes, which are all private rooms for up to eight people, and fourth class, which is whatever floor space is left on the deck or on the roof. We ended up with fourth class. We had heard, however, that the roof is lovely and cool at night, compared the stinking hot rooms which are more prone to mosquitos. The problem with fourth class is that an infinite number of tickets are sold, so we had to be at the port at 3pm to hurry on and secure a space. The boat then apparently boards at 6pm, and 'sets sail' at 8pm.

We did receive some peace in Mopti for a short while along the river bank and our spirits lifted. The scheduled 3 o'clock came and went (as expected), as did 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 o'clock. During our hefty wait we met an american traveller who could speak the local language (Bambara), a very admirable trait for a westerner. Whilst chatting amongst ourselves we were approached by some touts continually questioning us about where we were going and how they could help us. Apparently, the word 'no' is new to them as they didn't seem to recognise it. They started to become aggresive and Megan, our new american friend, did all she could to reason with them in their language, but evidently the word 'reason' bypassed them as well. Being somewhat intoxicated was encouragement for them to continue at any cost, and the exchange culminated in Megan being threatened to have her tongue cut out, and Jeff being killed if they saw us in Dogon Country, which we were still considering as a destination. Though it was only a bunch of drunken youths, this episode just served to dissappoint us further.

Shortly after 10pm the boat finally showed and with the likelyhood of complete bedlam getting on the boat we proceeded with purpose and confidence toward the vessel. The said bedlam didn't dissappoint, and we scrambled our way over the railing complete with backpacks, and headed straight for the roof. It WAS wonderful, as reported, and we finally sat back and relaxed. Several storms were developing on the horizon, and as we watched they got closer and closer and the thought of lightning hitting the metal roof hadn't escaped me. At midnight, just as the boat was starting to drift away from the port, the storm arrived and the wind and rain hit us with fury, complete with spectacular forked lightning, and intensely bright sheet lightning. We managed to secure our luggage in someone's tent and scrambled off the roof while the storm unleashed it's fury. As you can imagine, I was like a pig in poo with lightning landing all around us, and it was another hour before the storm eased and we were finally able to push off.

The night sky was wonderful. We stayed up and chatted and slowly people drifted off to sleep. I didn't relish the idea of sleeping on metal, so I postponed the inevitable as long as I could. At 3am the boats' engines failed. At 11am the next morning we started off again! Ahh, Africa. It didn't take long to resign myself to the seemingly low care factor of the locals... it's so much easier to accept it and move on, rather than fight it.

At 12 noon we stopped again. Expecting another unscheduled eight-hour stop-over in the middle of nowhere I was most pleasantly surprised when the engines fired up half and hour later. During the days, we talked, ate, filmed, watched the spectacular sunsets, and at night, stared at the sky full of brilliant stars and discussed intelligent subjects with like-minded individuals. It was perfect. We watched the landscape along the Niger River noticeably flatten as we headed further north toward the desert. I am still astounded by the isolated communities which are dotted along the banks, some with thirty or more dwellings, others with just two or three. These places are primitive but they seem to work wonderfully. The classic images of a man in his pinasse at sun-rise, a group of kids laughing and waving at us, or mothers washing the dishes in the river are all there. They're real, and they're beautiful.

After a few more lengthy stops (four hours last night), we arrived in Timbuktu this morning at around 9. After so long on the boat, our arrival seemed abrupt and unexpected. I was just starting to master the art of climbing quickly to and from the roof. We've formed a group of friends now, and though I feel a little loathe to gravitate toward other westerners, I know I have lots to learn from them. As a group we can speak fluent english, french, greek, italian, flemish and bambaran. Very useful indeed. If I'd realised how important the french language was, I'd have spent far more time trying to learn it.

It's another relief to be in a hotel and have some real peace and quiet, and this town is thankfully very quiet. The architecture is quite amazing and better than I expected. Apparently, people arrive here dissappointed because of the lofty expectations that the legend of Timbuktu creates. We're now officially in the Sahara desert. The sand is everywhere, and on the few roads, a narrow line of bitumen peeks through.

We'll stay here for at least a couple days while we consider our next move. We'll probably take the nine hour bush taxi ride back to San, and start our trike riding in earnest.

Don't be afraid to stay in touch. It's lovely to hear words from friends and remind me there's still stability in my life.

Love,
Marty.
xoxoxoxoxoxox

Geez, it feels like I've been to bloody Timbuktu!
(Sorry, couldn't resist.)

PREVIOUS | NEXT