Roughing It in Mali to Reach Fabled Timbuktu

Conveniently located on the edge of downtown Mopti is the Campement Hotel de Mopti. There are better places to stay than this, though the location of this hotel is a draw.

Rooms have both air-conditioners and fans, though chances are the air-conditioner is just for decoration. Mine seemed to have been dead for quite some time. The rooms tend to be rather warm, so the fan is a must. Beds are covered with a mosquito net, which is probably necessary considering the proximity of Mopti to water.

Rooms have private bathrooms, which are rather large. Wear sandals, and be careful about the flimsy soap dish holders. The hotel does provide soap, shampoo, and a towel to use, though I preferred to use my own.

The hotel does have an Internet cafe. Don't expect the connection to be anything fast, though. There's even the chance the computers won't be able to connect (as was the case when I was there).

There is also a large restaurant next door. My breakfast there was quite filling, though it was the same breakfast I ate the entire trip: bread, butter, honey, and tea.

Check out the other hotels in town before settling on this one. This was not the cleanest of places, but it was suitable for a decent sleep and in a very convenient location.

If you don't mind loud music playing all night and sweltering heat in your room, Auberge Kansaye is the place for you!

Each room is named after a village in Dogon Country. They are small, hot, and dirty. The beds appear to have clean sheets, though mine had holes and smelled. The mattresses are of very poor quality and sagged quite a bit. The walls appear to have been painted a baby blue color about 100 years ago. And the floor... well, let's just say my room had some unidentifiable stains.

The temperature in the room rivals the temperature of most saunas. You can pay extra for a fan or just steal one, like I did. They do provide mosquito nets, which is a good idea in this town, especially since the hotel is located next to a dirty pond-like river.

The rooms are not very secure. They do have locks, but they are of very poor quality. They only lock from the outside, so when you sleep, the door is still unlocked. As I was changing after taking a shower, a French woman opened my door and looked in. Apparently she thought my room was the bathroom.

If all this scares you, you can bring your mattress to the roof and sleep there. Just don't forget your mosquito net.

There is a shared bathroom and shower on the second floor. The bathroom reeks like raw sewage. So be prepared to plug your nose and do your business fast. The shower appears to be in very rough shape, and it is, but of all the places I showered in Mali, this place had the warmest shower.

Rooms are 3000CFA/night, or 4000CFA/night if you want a fan. Though in my case, I snooped around the hotel, found some fans hidden away, and brought one to my room without paying extra.

In addition to the hotel, Auberge Kansaye has a restaurant and bar. Food is decent, as are the prices. They have a variety of drinks to choose from... just don't expect anything too cold.

If you're on a tight budget and don't mind slightly sketchy accommodations, Auberge Kansaye may just be your place if you are ever in Bandiagara. They do have a baggage holding room, so if you're heading to Dogon and don't want to carry all your bags, just leave them here. I did and had no trouble getting it back--with everything still in it.

On the edge of Sevare, adjacent to the bus station, is Hotel Via Via. Opened in 2003, this hotel is clean and modern and a welcome sight after going days without showering in Dogon Country.

Rooms are large in size, clean, and air-conditioned. I did not sleep in the room, though. I slept on the roof. If you're coming from Dogon Country and are used to sleeping on the roof of buildings, it is a piece of cake. The hotel will gladly put a mattress on the roof for you. Just be careful of all the rebar sticking out of the roof.

Each room has a private shower and bathroom. They are clean and stocked with towels. Unlike most places in Mali, Hotel Via Via has sit-down toilets AND toilet paper (talk about luxury!). If you're sleeping in the roof, just find an unoccupied room to use the shower and toilet. If they are all booked, as was the case when I woke up in the morning, you'll need to use the bathroom and shower outside near the front gate of the hotel.

If you need something to eat, their restaurant serves great food at reasonable prices. They have the usual Malian fare: rice, couscous, spaghetti, etc., with meats and fish (because Sevare is very close to the river).

If you're traveling by bus and want a place close to the station, you can't get any closer than Hotel Via Via. Rooms cost 15,000CFA/night (about US$30).

If you're looking for a place that is not your typical hotel and will put you right in the middle of a neighborhood that rarely sees tourists, check out the Restaurant & Hotel Ende. It's way off the beaten path and has a few rooms to rent out to tourists.

Its primary function is to serve as a meeting place for local and Dogon guides. Though, as in my case, it also serves as a hotel. The owner is Dogon, and his brother (Aly) is a Dogon guide. Aly was my guide for the trip.

The beds are comfortable, though my pillow would have been a bit nicer to rest my head on if it did not feel like a rock. They do provide clean sheets in each room, as well as a small desk and small garbage can. I was surprised to find an air-conditioner in the room. It did work, though it sounded like a diesel engine. Don't expect a TV in any room, but if you want to watch TV, they have a small one in the lobby.

At night it may be wise to wear insect repellent. I was bit twice by mosquitoes while sleeping.

There is a shared shower and shared bathroom outside of the rooms. The bathroom has a squat toilet and no toilet paper, so come prepared. The shower area is rather dirty, though in Mali that is not uncommon. The shower water is not hot by the way.

Restaurant Ende serves excellent food. The two times I was at the restaurant I ordered the fish and spaghetti. Prices are rather inexpensive, $6 to $7 for each meal. As for drinks, they serve anything from bottled water to soda to alcohol.

I do not know the exact cost for each night there, but my best guess is that it is somewhere around $20/night. To get there, make sure you have a taxi driver who knows the area well. Most likely you'll need to call the hotel en route to get specific directions. There is no sign out front of the hotel, which makes it blend in with every other building in the area. I hope my photos attached to this review can help you find it.

On the edge of town, near the Toureg Peace Monument and the Amanar Restaurant, lies the Sahara Passion Hotel. As with most structures in Timbuktu, it is a stone-and-mud structure. There is a small restaurant in the front, though I only tried the breakfast food there.

I did not see any of the rooms inside, as I slept on the roof. Roof sleeping is fine. The hotel will provide a mattress and mosquito net. There is also a clothesline to hang wet clothes. Tents are allowed on the roof, too.

There is a shared bathroom at the end of the main hallway inside the hotel. Besides the luxury of a sit-down toilet, there is a decent shower that seems to get warmer the longer you're in it. I will just say that you should wear sandals in the shower.

Rates for the Sahara Passion Hotel range from about 5500CFA for roof sleeping to 13,000CFA for double rooms. Please have your passport ready when staying there, as they do record information from it.

Near the Sahara Passion Hote and across the street from the Toureg Peace Monument lies Restaurant Amanar. The menu is small, but the food is excellent. I ordered my usual plate of spaghetti. As with most places in Mali, it took a little while for the food to arrive, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a big surprise when the chef came to my table to apologize for the food taking too long to come out. He had no need to apologize.

If you're near the edge of Timbuktu, near the Peace Monument and the desert, check out Restaurant Amanar.

A few blocks from the Toureg Peace Monument, the Sahara Passion Hotel, and Amanar Restaurant is Hotel Camping Touareg. Owned by an American, this is a tiny three-room hotel (with roof sleeping) on the edge of Timbuktu. Built in recent years, the building is in great shape and relatively clean.

The rooms have very high ceilings with a ceiling fan. However, there are no large windows to bring in natural light. Even during the day the rooms tend to be very dark. The only windows are a couple small ones near the door and a small one in the back of the room. Most light for the room comes from a florescent light above the door. At night this attracts lots of bugs, so be prepared to wear sunscreen or a sheet over you (there are no mosquito nets).

There is one bathroom in the building to be shared with everyone. It includes a sit-down toilet (!) and toilet paper. In the same room is the shower, too. On my visit, though, I was the only one staying at the hotel, so the bathroom and shower were essentially mine.

There is no restaurant at the hotel, though they do have a refrigerator with water, sodas, and beer. The cost is approximately 1000CFA per drink.

Some "friends" of the hotel, Toureg men, tend to pester you with souvenirs once they know you are staying there. It may be wise not to make your presence known, as they might invite themselves into your room and try to get you to buy something.

For reservations, email Christine Rabah (the owner) at amboni2000@hotmail.com, or visit their website at http://timbuktu-tombouctou.websiteanimal.com/.

Being my first time in Africa, and knowing that I was not taking the usual African trip, I got quite nervous as the plane approached Bamako. As with most flights in and out of Bamako, they arrive and depart in the middle of the night. My flight, from Casablanca, arrived at 3am.

After landing, you walk across the tarmac to the terminal. Within 10 minutes you fill out an entry form, show your passport and visa to the security and customs officials, and have your bags scanned, and then you are out of the terminal. It was at this point that I knew my trip would be quite different than one I have ever taken before.

Immediately after passing through customs, a man said, "Are you Greg?" I said yes and asked if he was my guide, Aly Guindo (alyguindo2003@yahoo.fr). But he was not. He was a "friend," a term I soon realized did not have the same meaning as "friend" here in the States, and he was to take me outside to meet Aly. Outside I met Aly, a man I had been in touch with for 3 months prior to my trip. His "friend" then asked me for a tip for carrying my bags. So I gave him $1, but then he demanded $5. Aly pushed the "friend" back and cursed at him, and we started to walk away.

Before long, individuals who change money on the black market approached us. Aly mysteriously walked away at this point, and I changed some money into the local currency, CFAs (pronounced like "say-fahs"). If you need CFAs at the airport, the black market men will probably be your only choice, though you will get a bad exchange rate.

Finally, with CFAs in hand, we took a taxi to Restaurante Ende, about 20 minutes frm the airport. This restaurant doubled as a hotel, which turned out to be very common in Mali. It was owned by Aly's younger brother, who was only 23.

I was a bit freaked out at this point, being in a strange city in a strange country where everyone knew I was a tourist. To make it even freakier, every few hours in the middle of the night there would be Muslim praying broadcast over loud speakers throughout the city. It took me a few minutes to realize what it was, as I was totally unprepared for it.

The next morning I ate a nice omelet and Aly met me (along with a friend of his) for a tour of the city. It was at this point he told me of some bad news. Apparently the day before I arrived, his friends had crashed his car, killing two people. When Aly quoted me the price for the trip, he was expecting to use his car and only worry about paying for gas. But, without his own car, he now needed to find a car, find a driver, and pay for gas. I knew that the trip would now be interesting, as we had to stretch the money I gave him to cover these added expenses.

I received a tour of the city in a hired taxi for the day. We drove to Llasa, a small town overlooking Bamako that has sweeping views of the city. Then it was on to the Artisans Market in Bamako. A word of warning: if you carry a backpack, please be sure to keep a hand on it at all times. Pickpockets are common. At the market you can find any souvenir you want, whether it is a wood carving, drum, jewelry, blanket, or anything else you can imagine. Also, you'll surely see other tourists there, as well as locals.

After the tour, I was brought back to the Restaurant Ende, where I ate a delicious plate of spaghetti and fish and napped. During this time, Aly went out to try finding a car to take us to the next city. We were originally supposed to drive to Segou for lunch, then be in Mopti to sleep. This, however, did not happen.

At this point, since I come from New York City, I was a bit agitated that things were taking so long and nothing was in order. I soon realized that this is the way life is here, and I had to adjust.

In the late afternoon, Aly found a car and driver and we left Bamako. Just outside the city we stopped and met a few of his friends, one being a man named Ismail, a very interesting man I wish I had spoken to longer. After chatting and eating for a bit, we continued to drive and picked up a friend of his who needed a ride to Mopti.

That night, after a long 3- to 4-hour, drive we stayed in Segou. Aly was trying to save money by having me stay at the cheaper, more affordable hotels. But, because of bad planning, we had no reservations and the hotels were booked. Instead we stayed at the Hotel Moba-So. The cost was about 20000CFA, an amount Aly unwillingly paid, but the rooms were clean, comfortable, and probably the best I had in all of Mali.

After checking in we went next door to a restaurant. To end my first full day in Mali, I ordered pigeon. People have asked me what it tastes like, and all I can say is that it tastes like chicken.

I met Aly at Hotel Moba-So's lobby around 9am. His friend who was traveling with us was also supposed to be ready to go at 9am, but he decided to sleep in. So, Aly took me to "downtown" Segou for breakfast. Segou is one of Mali's bigger towns. Located on the Niger River, it has a small port. A few blocks from the port are some hotels and souvenir stands. After doing the touristy things, Aly took me to his "sister's" apartment near the center of town. I was expecting to meet a blood relative, but she turned out to be a white Canadian woman who lived in Mali. Unlike most places in Mali, her apartment had finished floors and a real kitchen, and she even had a shiny iBook laptop.

Once Aly's friend was awake and ready to go, we got back on the road to Mopti, only stopping once for a quick lunch in San. The road we took was the main road through Mali and one of the very few paved roads. It is not terribly wide, so when cars driving in the opposite direction approach, you must slow your car down and move off to the side of the road a bit so you can pass safely. If we did not do this 7,283 times during the drive, I think we could have made it to Mopti a few hours quicker.

In Mopti we dropped off Aly's friend at his house. For Malian standards, Aly's friend was rather wealthy, and he was married to an American from Queens (go figure). The neighborhood he lived in was also occupied by Europeans, most likely French vacationers who rent out homes for the summer.

From Mopti we traveled 30 minutes longer to the town on Bandiagara. Bandiagara is sort of the gateway to Dogon Country. Tourists here can easily find guides to take them to Dogon Country. After attempting to check into the nice hotel at the edge of town but being told it was fully booked, Aly took me to the only other hotel in town: Auberge Kansaye. Like most hotels, it doubles as a restaurant.

After my first couple steps inside Auberge Kansaye, I wanted to run out screaming. I had thought my first night in Bamako was bad, but Auberge Kansaye made my Hotel Ende feel like that Sandals Resort in the Caribbean. Auberge Kansaye felt like a bombed-out hotel in Beirut. At the hotel entrance was the bar, where guides and loud backpackers smoked and drank while listening to music from Senegal at 110 decibels. From there, upstairs or closer to the restaurant were the rooms to rent. The first room I looked at was close to the bar. Honestly, it felt like a storage room. The doors to each room were just big slabs of metal, with each room named after a Dogon village (nicely spray-painted on the door). The locks were flimsy, and the "doorknob" was either a piece of metal bent into a handle or (if lucky) a real handle. Because of the noise from the bar, and because the room was about 300 degrees, I decided to check out the rooms upstairs.

The rooms upstairs were not much better. As with the rooms downstairs, the mattresses were dirty, sunken in, smelly, and simply scary. But they were 3 degrees cooler than the ones downstairs. I took the room named Kani Kombole. My guide told me to try sleeping on the roof, since it would be cooler, but I felt uneasy leaving my belongings in my room unattended, so I searched the hotel and found three fans hidden in a hallway. The first two did not work, but the last one did. I brought it in the room and had it blow on me all night. Though feeling a bit uneasy about the hotel, I managed to fall asleep rather quickly.

After waking up in the scariest place I had ever slept, Aly's friend Chicken met me at the hotel and gave me a tour of Bandiagara. This was his hometown, and he knew every nook and cranny of it, so he took me to areas that most tourists never go, areas that were very dirty and different than the parts of town Westerners see.

After the tour of Bandiagara, Chicken hired a motorbike and we drove to the village of Songo. Tis town is about 20 miles outside Bandiagara, off the main road. Unlike most Dogon villages, this village is not under the Dogon plateau. The road to the town has been repaired in recent years, which has enabled more tourists to visit. On my visit, a new hotel was nearing completion, with the hopes of attracting even more tourists.

In Songo, the children treated me as a king. As I walked down the street, I had one kid on each of my fingers. It made walking quite difficult, actually. With a proper guide like Chicken, you can easily navigate your way through the streets of this town to reach the small cliffs hovering above it. At the cliffs, besides getting a great view, you can see paintings by the children on the rocks, as well as a cave used to store their instruments (some hundreds of years old). Songo was not on my original itinerary, but I am glad we took the detour.

After my tours, and then stopping to eat lunch and take a nap, we (Aly, Chicken, and I) hired a car and drove 45 minutes on the bumpy dirt road to the Dodgon village of Djiguibombo. Along the way we passed a Japanese tourist with a guide who were stuck between the two villages because their motorcycle had broken down. I'm not sure what happened to them after that. Djiguibombo village is mixed with followers of Muslim, Catholic, and Animist religions. Unlike many of the other villages I had been in, this one seemed rather quiet. Not many people were out.

On the outskirts of the town was the market. Luckily, I was there on market day. As with all markets in Dogon country, the market is split in two, one side for men, one side for women. The women all seem to sit, sell their goods, and gossip, whereas the men all gather around big fires cooking goat meat and smoking. I was offered some goat meat straight from the bone, but after seeing three other people take bites from the same bones I was offered, I declined.

After mingling with the people and making friends with some of the children, Aly returned to say he had found a ride for us to get to Teli, the first town in Dogon Country we would be staying at that night. Our ride to Teli was an old motocross motorcycle meant for one, maybe two people. Yet, we managed to fit all three of us on (Aly, Chicken, and I). The road from the top of the Dogon plateau to the bottom has many turns and is slippery with loose rock and dirt and narrow. If Aly drove in the United States, he would have many speeding tickets under his belt. So, needless to say, it was a fast, scary ride down the plateau. I think Chicken was more afraid than I was.

As soon as we reached the bottom of the plateau, the motorcycle broke. We were about 3 miles from Teli and the sun was setting. Aly did not want to walk with the bike to Teli, so we decided to stop for the day and spend the night in the village just a few hundred yeards away, Kani Kombole (the same town used to name my hotel room the night before). I was now in true Dogon Country.

We dropped off my belongings at Kani Kombole, and then Chicken gave me a tour of the town while Aly arranged for the broken motorcycle to be taken away. Chicken was a great tour guide, using many profanities and stopping to take a "leak" whenever he felt like it. But he did know his stuff, and I learned a great deal from him.

That night the only other tourist staying in the village was a woman from Holland. When I sat down to eat dinner, her guide said to me, "Hey, Gary, remember me?" He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on who he was. I thought maybe he was mistaking me for someone else, because my name is not Gary. But then he said, "A few days ago, I was the first person you met in Mali... in the airport." Ah, I instantly knew who he was. He was the man who took my bag and demanded a $5 tip at the airport. I did not like him but I pretended that I did. Dinner, though, was nice, especially with this man and Chicken arguing about religion for most of the dinner. After dinner, Aly taught the Dutch woman how to make the Dogon tea. The problem, though, was that the Dutch woman wanted to go to bed, but Aly insisted she learn, and it takes 30 minutes to make the tea.

Before I went to bed, I went outside the "hotel" to see some girls dancing and singing outside. It was pitch black, except for the moonlight, yet these girls were out there dancing and singing away. As soon as the flash from my camera went off, they went ballistic. The next 15 minutes was spent taking photos of them dancing, with no sign of it ever slowing. Aly took me aside and said I had to stop. So the children knew I would be going to bed, Aly had each child shake my hand and say, "Good night, Greg." But, the kids did not know how to pronounce my name perfectly, so they each said, "Good night, Gay." When they had all done that, Aly looked at me and said, "The kids called you gay."

After sleeping on the roof of the hotel I stayed in without needing a mosquito net, waking up to the sound of kids playing and animals making animal noises, and seeing the Dogon plateau looming overhead, nicely lit by the rising sun, was a very memorable experience. I shared part of my breakfast with one of the local women, and then I met the Dutch woman outside. We wandered around town a bit, taking photos of children and the amazing sights.

Before long, Aly and Chicken showed up and said we'd be walking from town to town today. Chicken expressed how good it is to walk and that I will get the true Dogon experience when I walked. Soon after that Aly and I were walking, and Chicken said he'd catch up to us in a few minutes. After Aly and I had walked about 1 or 2 miles, we wondered where Chicken was. A few minutes later we saw him on a parallel pathway getting a ride on a motorcycle, after he had told us it feels great to walk and it is very important to walk.

The next town we stopped at was Teli. Teli has an amazing old town built into the side of the plateau. After finding Chicken in town, Aly and I hiked to the top to get a view of Teli and the surrounding area. The most amazing thing is that parts of the cliff village are 3,000 years old, once occupied by the Pygmies. Yet, despite the old age, tourists are free to walk up to and touch anything there. It was also easy to picture how the area looked 3,000 years ago, probably the same way it looked today.

After climbing down from the old cliff village, Aly took me to meet the chief. The chief was also a souvenir vendor. After seeing the skulls of monkeys built into the walls of his home, and also seeing his loaded gun, he asked me if I wanted to buy a souvenir. Since he was the chief, and evidently very good with the gun, I made no hesitation to find a souvenir I liked. When it came to bargaining for the price, I sort of just let him name the price without arguing. I did not want my skull to become part of his monkey skull collection.

To get to the next town, Ende, Aly said we'd be taking a donkey cart. A donkey cart was exactly what it sounds like--a crudely built cart pulled by a donkey. It seems like a cool, relaxing way to get from town to town, but it is the bumpiest way to travel and leaves you with a very sore back afterwards. Chicken, again, failed to leave with us on the donkey cart. After we reached Ende, Chicken (again) arrived on a motorcycle a short time later.

In Ende, Aly became very sick. As he slept off his illness I ate lunch. I napped for a bit as he rested up, and then later in the afternoon he showed me around town. Ende is where Aly is originally from, so I met several of his uncles and other relatives on my tour.

Our next stop was a market near Yabatalou. Instead of taking the donkey cart, this time we took the cow cart. I think the cow cart was even more uncomfortable than the donkey cart. This ride lasted over an hour, and we passed through a couple villages along the way but did not stop. Upon arriving at the market, Aly told me to explore it on my own. Being the only white guy there, I was easily picked out as the tourist. Some children, expecting to receive money, food, and clothes, began to follow me around. It was not long before they saw my camera and began demanding to have their picture taken. Unlike in other towns, these kids were very aggressive. They wanted their picture taken, and then they wanted me to pay them for it. With a crowd of over a dozen children surrounding me, I became a little nervous. They grabbed at my clothes and the camera, trying to either just touch me or steal something from me. Luckily, Chicken arrived (on a motorcycle, again) and bailed me out of the situation.

By this time the sun was setting again. Aly said we would then be walking to Begnimato, which was located on the top of the plateau. Chicken, of course, did not come with us. Instead, he stayed at the market to eat and drink millet beer.

To reach Begnimato from the bottom of the Dogon plateau you need to hike uphill through canyons in the plateau. Since the sun was setting, this turned out to be a very dimly lit hike. Along the way we passed groups of locals walking back from the market. Like his driving, he is a fast hiker, too. I was doing my best to keep up with him, trying not to get in the way of the locals, but at one point I accidentally stepped on the foot of an older lady. She looked at me and was probably surprised to see a white guy next to her. She said something in Bambara to the other women and they all laughed. I can only guess what she said, but I am pretty sure it was about me.

We arrived in Begnimato just as the sun set. I rested after the long day, then ate dinner. After dinner, as I went to the shower area, I met two American girls who were studying in Senegal. They were with a third American and sleeping a few huts away from me in Begnimato. After chatting with them a bit, I took my African shower--a bucket of water and nothing else.

I woke up in Begnimato on the roof of a hut to see the beautiful sight of the sun hitting the tower cliffs above the village. Apparently two nights earlier there was traditional Dogon mask dancing on the cliffs, a rarity for tourists to see, but the Americans I met had witnessed it.

After breakfast, Aly gave me a tour of the village, where I met another man who hunted monkeys and put their skulls in the walls of his house. We then walked to the edge of the plateau overlooking the villages below and the great plains in front of us. This sight made me really feel like I was in Africa. It reminded me of an African plain you might see in National Geographic.

When we returned to the hotel area, Chicken was awake and ready to leave with us. Apparently the night before, he arrived in the town very late, after drinking too much at the market we left him at. Today, though, he was ready to hike with us. Chicken carried my bag as we started the hike out of the village, and basically out of Dogon Country. Not long after we left, I ran into the three Americans again. We chatted a bit before their guide took them on a different path than what Aly, Chicken, and I were taking. Along the 2-hour hike we passed through very rocky terrain that reminded me of the black rocky surface after lava hardens. Just a few minutes later on the same hike, we passed through some marshy areas and cornfields.

We took a break in the town of Konsogou. Konsogou is the halfway point between Begnimato and Dorou, which would be our eventual destination. When we started our hike again, we passed a group of locals carrying the bags of other tourists in the opposite direction we were heading. Apparently some tourists drop their bags off in Dorou, and then locals carry their bags down the plateau to their destination. When the tourists arrive at their destination, their bags are waiting for them.

We reached Dorou around mid-day, then waited for our car to pick us up. As we waited, Aly gave me a tour of the village, pointing out how all the water they use in the town is collected at one time in these two large pools. The water then has to last for several months. I can't imagine what happens when they run out of water.

Our car took us back to Bandiagara and back to the scary hotel I had stayed at a few nights earlier. At this point in the trip, Chicken said he would be leaving and not traveling any farther with us. He gave me a false story about his mother dying in the hospital, and so he wanted me to give him some money to help her. I knew, though, that this was a story many guides use to try getting tourists to give them a big tip. And, after giving Chicken a small tip, I was pretty certain his mother dying was a false story when he was dancing in the street 2 minutes later.

I was surprised to see the three Americans I had met earlier also at the hotel/restaurant. We ended up eating lunch together, learning more about where we came from and why we were in Mali. I soon learned I'd be spending a lot more time with these Americans. Their guide had not been able to find a ride for them to get out of Dogon Country. So, as a result, they wanted to ride with Aly and I. So, instead of Aly and I sharing the four-passenger car he had hired, we had to put four more people in the car. It was a tight squeeze.

Before leaving Bandiagara, Aly wanted to show the other Americans and me the market in Bandiagara. As we were walking through the market, a young man apparently said some profane words at me that Aly understood. This angered Aly, and as a result he chased down this young man and began beating him up in the street. The best way to describe the scene after this was that a small riot started. People began arguing with Aly and the young man. To further enrage Aly, his scuffle with the young man also made him lose a necklace of his that a tourist had given him in the past. Before blood was shed, we managed to get Aly in the car and leave town. The other Americans were now scared beyond belief, and it made the ride to the next town very awkward.

All of us were driving to Sevare, a small town outside Mopti. There the Americans were going to take a bus back to Bamako the next day, and Aly and I would then drive from there to Bambara Mounde to start the 3-day camel trek to Timbuktu. We arrived in Sevare in the late afternoon and checked in at the Hotel Via Via. For the first time in several days I was able to take a real shower; despite the frigid water, it felt great. Also, it was at this point that Aly realized we were running out of money, fast, and that we needed to start cutting corners when we could. The Americans I met stayed in a nice hotel room with beds, while I slept on the roof of the hotel, just like in Dogon Country.

Before the day was over, we all went to a restaurant and nightclub in Sevare that was owned by Aly's wealthy friend we had driven to Mopti a few days earlier. The restaurant was outdoors, and besides us, no one else was there. The nightclub, though very loud, with a live DJ mixing music from around the world, was empty except for one lonely girl dancing by herself. One thing I noticed was that there were a lot of mirrors in the club. The Americans then told me how people in West Africa like to watch themselves dance in the mirror.

I went to bed that night excited, knowing the next day I would be starting my camel trek to Timbuktu.

I woke up in Sevare feeling good. I had a nice shower the day before, I was at a clean, nice hotel, and today was the day we'd drive to Bambara Maounde to start the much-anticipated camel ride to Timbuktu. But, as I would soon find out, today would not go nearly as planned.

When Aly met me after breakfast, he informed me that our driver told him that he would not drive us to Bambara Maounde. The driver had an old Peugeot, which was not suitable for the rough dirt and sand roads between Douentza and Bambara Maounde. So now we had no ride.

Aly brought me to Mopti, about 10 minutes away, where he hooked me up with a friend of his who would give me a tour of the Bozo and Flani villages that line the rivers of the Niger and Bani Rivers at Mopti. In the meantime, Aly (again) would look for a ride for us.

Mopti sits on the Bani River, just south of where it merges with the Niger River. As a result, Mopti is a place of lots of trade on the river, and Flani and Bozo people have many villages on the river.

Along the shore of the Bani River you can find tourist boats that will take you to the villages. Aly's friend and I boarded one, and I received a private tour of the villages. While sailing on the river, I saw many fishermen out on the river catching numerous fish, including the dogfish (which looks like a piranha). The people along the river live off the fish. In the villages you saw how they prepare the fish after they are caught. Be warned, though, that the children in these villages are aggressive. If you do not give them anything, they will become quite angry, as I found out.

After a 2-hour tour, I met Aly back in Mopti. But, despite his efforts, he could not find a car or driver to take us to Bambara Maounde. So he went to plan B. Just east of the center of the city is an area that looks like a junkyard. But, despite the shoddy appearance, this is the place that you can find bush taxis (or bachees) to various towns and cities. After another lengthy negotiation with the Toureg man who appeared to be in charge, Aly and I boarded the back of a bush taxi and were on our way to Bambara Maounde. Bush taxis are used mainly for locals to get from town to town. They are generally a 4x4 vehicle of some sort, oftentimes modified Land Rovers or Jeeps. They can be unreliable, but that is to be expected in Mali.

In the back of this bachee, I sat with Aly, a young teen who was smoking, and a lady who appeared to be mentally ill. At one point there was a fifth person in this back seat with us, but he only rode for about 30 minutes. During the ride, we were stopped at a checkpoint and IDs were checked. Locals in Mali need proper identification in order to travel within the country. Tourists just need to show their passport, as I did, and everything will be fine.

After about 3 hours on the paved road, we stopped in Douentza to stock up on water before heading north towards Bambara Maounde and the desert on a rough dirt road. Though mostly a flat ride through near-desert land, just north of Douentza are the Hombori Mountains, which are simply impressive.

After another 3 hours, we finally reached Bambara Maounde, which was to be the start point of our camel trek to Timbuktu. Aly and I hopped out and grabbed our bags, and then the Land Rover drove off towards Timbuktu. Aly left me at a restaurant and said he would go find his friend with the camels, and then we would be off on our camel ride.

Bambara Maounde is a tiny, dusty town halfway between Douentza and Timbuktu. For tourists, it is just a pit stop where you can buy a cold drink, have a quick bite to eat, or use a bathroom (which is just a mysterious hole in the ground). There are no real sights to see in town, aside from a small market a couple days a week. I had not planned to spend more than a few minutes in the town. But, in reality, I was about to spend much more time in this town than I wanted.

After about 30 minutes of Aly looking for the camels, he returned and said that his friend was not there. Apparently his friend had left for a several-week trip into the Sahara to get salt. So, with no friend, we had no camels and could not start the trip. Aly then began asking around for other people willing to rent camels, but all were just stubborn Touregs who wanted to take advantage of a white tourist. In Mali most white tourists are perceived as people with millions of dollars who will pay for anything. Therefore, these Touregs were giving Aly a price of $450 for three camels for 3 days--$420 more than what Aly could have gotten the camels for from his friend.

By this time it was getting late. At the restaurant, the owner brought out an old mat for me to rest on. As people ate their food and walked by the restaurant, I napped on this mat, thinking Aly would find camels and we'd be on our way in a short time. But that never happened. We never found camels that night, and I ended up sleeping on the dirt floor of the restaurant, since there was no other place for us to sleep supposedly. Needless to say, it was a rough night, with my head next to a refrigerator, a frog jumping on my face in the middle of the night, and the temperature getting quite cold (the coldest night, by far, that I had in Mali), and I was dirty, tired, and getting quite worried that my camel ride would never happen.

I awoke this morning after what was a long, cold, miserable night on the dirt floor of a "restaurant" in the dustbowl town of Bambara Maounde. The previous day we were not able to get the camels to ride to Timbuktu as expected, so we unexpectedly spent the night on the floor of a restaurant since the town had no other places to sleep. Aly and I awoke this morning to hopefully find camels to take us to Timbuktu.

Since I could not speak the language, Aly went off to look for camels, again. He returned soon and said a man would be there at 9:30am with camels. I was excited and glad that the main reason I came here would be actually happening. Before long, the camels came with a Toureg man who was going to charge us $300 for the camels, as opposed to the $30 we could have gotten them for if Aly's friend was in town. Needless to say, we could not afford the camels and then had to figure out how we'd get to Timbuktu if not by camel.

Growing ever annoyed with this town, and the fact that my main reason for coming to Mali was now not happening, I told Aly we should just drive to Timbuktu instead of wasting time negotiating with Touregs who were unwilling to rent us camels for a fair price. Aly agreed, and he went off again to seek out a ride to Timbuktu.

Much of this day was spent at the restaurant I slept at, interacting with kids and the locals. In the early afternoon, 4x4 trucks with tourists from Timbuktu began to pass through town. The ones who stopped spent about 15 minutes taking photos and getting a drink before leaving again. I met two men from Belgium here who informed me that the ride from this town to Timbuktu is at least 5 hours away on a rough, sandy road. That did not sound appealing.

At 3pm Aly returned, saying he had found a ride for us that left at 4pm. Like the previous day, we'd be taking a bush taxi (or bachee). Aly negotiated a fair price, and I got to sit shotgun, while Aly sat between the driver and I. Behind us, the 4x4 truck was filled with locals who had come from Timbuktu for the market in Bambara Maounde and were now returning to Timbuktu (with their purchased goods on the roof of the truck).

Halfway through the ride the car filled with smoke. We stopped and Aly and I jumped out thinking the car was about to explode (though everyone in the back stayed inside and were not scared at all). Apparently, this happens all the time with that car, so the driver fixed it in 2 minutes and we were back on the road in no time.

About 25 miles from Timbuktu we passed through another town. We stopped so Aly could see if they had camels for rent. They did and offered us a fair price. But then they saw me, the white man, and immediately increased the price and said the camels would not be there for a couple days. Not willing to deal with the stubborn Touregs, we got in the car and continued our drive.

To reach Timbuktu by car, you need to take a ferry across the Niger River approximately 8 miles from Timbuktu. The ferry closes at 6:30pm, though. At 6:20pm we were not yet at this ferry. The driver put the petal to the metal and drove as fast as he could without flipping the car. If we missed the ferry, we'd be stuck on this side of the Niger until the next day.

Luckily, the driver's fast driving paid off and we made it to the ferry. However, there was another problem: the ferry only held three cars, and we were fourth in line. When the ferry arrived, the driver sneakily cut in front of the car ahead of us. Obviously, this angered the people from the car we cut in line and a near riot started. As I sat shotgun, people surrounded our car on the ferry and were screaming at the driver. Loud, angry men were leaning through my window and yelling across me at the driver. I think for the first time in my life I felt like I was going to be pulled from a car and torn to pieces by an angry mob. Have you ever had that feeling?

Not wanting to be killed, the driver decided we would get off the ferry so the other car could board. However, when he went to start the truck, the engine would not turn over. We ended up pushing the truck off the ferry. At this point I figured we were now stuck on the wrong side of the river. But, much to my surprise, another ferry soon came, which ended up being the last one of the night. We pushed the truck onto this ferry and we were soon crossing the Niger.

As we crossed the river, I experienced one of the most memorable parts of my trip. Next to the ferry was a hand-powered boat carrying local people across the river. I could only see them because of the full moon and stars lighting up the river. I thought to myself, "Wow, this hand-powered boat must have been what it was like centuries ago for people crossing the river at night."

After 10 minutes or so, the ferry made it to the other side and we drove off (the truck was fixed at this point, barely). Another 15 minutes later we arrived in Timbuktu (the total ride being a little over 3 hours, not 5, as the Belgian men had said). It was now rather late. The truck dropped us off near the main part of town. Aly met a few friends, and then we walked for 20 minutes through the sandy streets to where I was to stay. Unfortunately, where I was supposed to stay was closed, so I ended up sleeping on the roof of the nearby Sahara Passion hotel.

After a nice, not too frigid shower, Aly and I went to dinner at Amanar restaurant. The menu is small but the food is excellent (at about 4000CFA for a meal). Amanar is located across the street from the Flame of Peace monument, a monument built to remember the end of the Toureg rebellion that took place in the mid-1990s. In the monument you'll see dozens of weapons buried in cement. It is, by far, the most modern-looking structure in all of Timbuktu.

Again, as I did in Dogon Country and in Sevare, I went to bed on the roof of a hotel. This time, however, I had company in the form of an Aussie who made lots of noise, sneezing, sniffling, and coughing all night. Regardless, I slept well my first night in Timbuktu.

I woke up on the roof of the Sahara Passion (about 5000CFA to camp on roof, rooms for about 12000CFA) hotel ready to see what this mysterious town had to offer. The previous night I had arrived late, then immediately went to the hotel and ate, so I did not see much at all.

After eating breakfast, Aly met me and brought me to a friend of his who would give me a tour of the town. For the next couple hours I took a guided tour of Timbuktu. The tour, however, was not anything worth spending on. My guide was 18 years old and did not seem to know much about the town he had lived his entire life in. Most questions I asked he could not answer. When I asked him when people first arrived in Timbuktu, his response was, "A long time ago." If I ever went again, I'd take a good guidebook with me and give myself the tour.

On the tour I did see the Djingareiber Mosque, built in the 14th century and open for tourists. I had never been in a mosque, so what was inside was very interesting. After visiting the mosque, we took some time to pass by the homes of the early white explorers. I think it is safe to say that the town has hardly changed since those explorers passed through Timbuktu centuries ago.

After seeing the homes, we stopped at the Timbuktu museum, which was a single room that was very badly lit. The museum was unlike any museum I had been to in the States. Instead of everything being behind glass and out of reach, everything in the museum was out in the open and could be picked up and touched. I guess they are not too concerned about preservation. The only things under glass were an old book and shackles for slaves. Again, when I asked the guide how old the book was, his response was one I could have said: "It's very, very old."

After seeing the main tourist attractions in the town, we stopped by an Internet cafe to check email and a post office to send postcards. From there, we walked to the OMATHO office to get my official passport stamp. Please note that it is free to get such a stamp at this office, though my guide insisted it cost money and that I had to pay him to get the stamp. At this point I was not too happy with my guide.

The most interesting aspects of Timbuktu are the areas of town that the locals frequent. My walk through the local market was indeed interesting, with various foods from around the area for sale, like big slabs of meat covered in flies for people to buy. Be warned that taking pictures here is tricky. Ask permission before snapping away.

One thing I learned very quickly is that the locals and guides in Timbuktu will pressure you to buy things, such as turbans, tobacco, etc. According to them, you absolutely need to buy it, and they will give you a "good price." However, the truth is that they just want you to buy the items, at extremely inflated prices, from their friends so that their friends can also earn money. There is no need to buy anything from them, so save your money.

After the tour I had lunch (at El Hayat in the main area of town), where my guide took the water at the table and used it to give himself a rough bath in front of me. I think next time I am in Balthazar I might do that if I feel a little dirty.

With the tour and lunch done, I met Aly to figure out what we'd do next and see how I'd get out of Timbuktu. Aly insisted that I fly back to Bamako. My tour guide took me through an old part of town where we met a supposed airline ticket agent. This meeting took place inside his house. As I sat on the ground and watched Bee Gees karaoke with his family, the man wrote out the "official" prices of the airline tickets on a piece of paper. The cost was $200, and it departed the next morning (or on Saturday, which would have been too late). So, since this would not work out, we left.

Aly and I then determined that we should drive back to Bamako, especially since we had the time to do it. In the meantime, while he looked for a ride, I would then take a 3-day/2-night trip into the Sahara. I was to leave for that in about 1 hour. We walked towards the edge of town, near Hotel Boctou, and Aly met a Toureg man who he had arranged my desert excursion with. If you're interested in taking a trip into the Sahara, look for the Toureg men with camels near Hotel Boctou and the edge of town. Some trips last a few hours, while some can last 7+ days.

Before leaving for the excursion, my 18-year-old guide asked if he could have my shoes (the only ones I had on the trip), or my pants (one of my only two pairs I brought), or my shirt (a rather pricey shirt meant to keep me cool and protect me from the desert sun). After receiving a not-so-good tour of the town, I did not fulfill his requests, though I gave him my French-English translation book, since helping him learn English better is a far better gift than a pair of dirty sneakers.

Late in the afternoon, around 4pm, I began my trek into the Sahara with two Aussies (well, one technically was from Cyprus, but she lived in Australia) and the Toureg guide. We rode for a couple hours, traveling several miles outside of the town, and then stopped at his house to camp. At the camp was a semicircle of thorn bushes with a mat on the ground. This was where we rolled out our sleeping bags and camped for the night.

Before going to bed, the guide made us tea, and his wife prepared a meal of pasta and goat meat. As I was soon to learn, all food you eat in the desert has sand in it. Every bite of food is crunchy, even soft pasta. After eating, we all talked for a bit, then settled in for the night.

I was not quite sure what to expect on my trip to the Sahara. I had originally hoped to ride camels TO Timbuktu, so I was not planning to take a ride into the desert on a camel. After the 3-hour ride the previous day, I had no idea what was in store for me in the desert. Perhaps see Toureg villages? Perhaps ride all day? I wasn't sure.

I woke up and found my Toureg guide building a fire right in front of my feet. As I sat in my sleeping bag, he prepared tea for us, and then we ate a bread breakfast. Luckily, I brought oranges and the Aussies brought dates for us to eat, too. After eating, a group of three traveling Toureg salesmen stopped to try selling us souvenirs. We all declined.

After breakfast, the Toureg guide tracked down the camels and put on their saddles, and then we began riding farther out into the desert. We began our ride at 9am, and by noon we were off the camels and resting in the shade. As expected, the Sahara sun is extremely hot. It is dangerous to ride in such direct, intense heat for a long time. Under the shade of a small desert tree, we ate a meal of pasta, then napped, admired the amazing silver ants (seriously, they look like metal ants), and napped some more.

After napping in the shade for 5 to 6 hours, the Toureg guide went searching for the camels. Luckily, they had not wandered far, and we were soon back on the camels. At this time it was nearing sunset. We rode for 3 hours, saw the sun set, and then rode under stars. It is amazing to know that I rode on a camel in the Sahara under the stars.

Out of nowhere, a small Toureg camp appeared. This was the place we'd be spending the night. After a round of tea, a meal of pasta with goat meat (and sand, of course), and another round of tea, the Aussie who spoke French began conversing with the Touregs. They explained to us that the salesmen who had stopped at the camp in the morning were not true Touregs, because true Touregs do not sell souvenirs. He, of course, was a true Toureg. About 20 minutes later, this same Toureg was then trying to sell his pipe to the Aussies. So, does that make him not a true Toureg?

Like the previous night, it did not get too cold in the desert, and I slept outside my sleeping bag.

If you think spending a weekend home and relaxing on a couch watching TV is relaxing, you have obviously never been to the desert. Napping in the middle of the desert, with absolutely no noise, no worries, and no rush to do anything is (by far) the most relaxing state you can be in. Though I wasn't sure what to expect at the beginning of the day, I found that day in the Sahara to be one of the most relaxing days of my life.

After another good night sleeping out in the open in the Sahara, I was a bit sad knowing I'd have to return to Timbuktu and face the noise, dirtiness, and confusion of being in that city.

We spent the night at our Toureg guide's wife's brother's camp. Waking up, I found our guide, his wife's brother, and his wife's brother's son sitting in front of me. The son appeared to be about 5 or 6 years old and mimicked everything we did and said. Unfortunately, he mimicked too much. At one point he picked up a used cigarette butt from the sand (that his father may have smoked), placed it in his mouth, and began pretending to puff away. In Mali, though, many people smoke, including young teenagers.

After breakfast, we packed and left on the camels to head back to Timbuktu. Once we neared Timbuktu, our guide dismounted his camel and unhooked our camels from one another. He then handed us the ropes tied to the camels and said we would be controlling our camels. With just a few simple commands and pulls with the ropes, I was controlling where my camel moved. Of course, sometimes he chose to not obey me and walked through some prickly bushes to try making me mad. It worked--I didn't like the thorns cutting my legs.

During this part of the ride, we asked the guide how to pronounce the commands "left" and "right" in his native Toureg language. Unlike the simplicity of "left" and "right" for us, his language practically had a full sentence of sounds for each command. Needless to say, I was unable to pronounce the commands.

To have a little fun, the guide made a strange sound with his mouth, and then the camels began running very fast. It sounds like it is a lot of fun, which it is. But, because camels are not the smoothest runners, I almost bounced out of the saddle, off the camel. I guess that is what happens when you weigh as little as me.

Shortly after that we were back in Timbuktu and the Sahara tour was over. I said my goodbyes to the Aussies and the guide and then met a friend of Aly's who would take me to him. I ended up spending several hours at one of his friend's houses, playing checkers and conversing with his friends. Unlike many tourists, throughout my trip I had been experiencing life in Mali just as normal people do. This afternoon with Aly's friends was no exception. Tourists in Timbuktu were out sightseeing, and I was inside comparing my life to theirs, playing games, and eating with my hands from the same bowl of food as they ate. I would not think most tourists do that.

Aly, feeling bad that my trip had not turned out as expected, wanted to provide me with a comfortable ride back to Mopti. So, he found a new Toyota Land Cruiser that a man was renting out. Unfortunately, the price was rather high. For some reason, even though I did not care how comfortable my ride was back to Mopti, Aly insisted we rent this car. He ended up using the rest of the money I had given him for the trip. Therefore, he no longer had any money to pay for anything else for my trip. So, to get back some of his money, he asked me to help him find other people to ride with us. The search began, and we soon found an American (Rod) who was willing to come with us. But Aly wanted more people. We scoped out the main street in Timbuktu and approached people to see if they needed a ride. The last thing I thought I'd be doing on my vacation would be hustling tourists to see if they needed a ride out of Timbuktu.

That night, after only getting Rod to join us in the car, I slept at Hotel Camping Toureg. Hotel Camping Toureg is owned by an American and is usually closed. However, you can email the owner (Christine Rabah at amboni2000@hotmail.com) to have her open it for you. It sits on the far edge of town, near the Flame of Peace monument. A couple blocks away is the Sahara Passion Hotel, too. If you become very friendly with Christine, she will let you stay there for free, as she did with me. Despite the money troubles with Aly and I, I was happy knowing I had a ride out of Timbuktu. Or did I? (Read my Day 11 review to find out what happened next.)

I felt relieved waking up on the last day I'd be in Timbuktu. I was glad knowing Aly had found a ride out of town, albeit an expensive one. Today also happened to be Thanksgiving Day. Yet, unknown to me as I left the hotel and walked to the meeting place on the other side of town, today would be unlike any Thanksgiving Day I would ever experience.

At 7am, Aly, Rod, and I all met at Hotel Boctou to take the Toyota Land Cruiser back to Mopti. Aly told us we'd have to walk to the car's owner's house, back towards where I had just walked from. When we arrived, Rod and I sat down in the small living area/courtyard in the house, while Aly went outside with the owner. Through the front doors we could hear Aly arguing with the man. Though, since Rod and I didn't know a lick of Bambara, we had no clue what was happening. Then, Aly and the man left without telling us where they were going.

For the next 2 hours Rod and I sat in this man's house with his family staring at us, wondering who we were. They didn't speak English, and we didn't speak Bambara or French. So, we had no way of telling them who we were, and they had no way of telling us to leave. Slowly but surely, Rod became very agitated not knowing where Aly was. However, I was used to Aly's long absences and was not too concerned.

Eventually Aly returned and took me aside to talk to me. He had never done this before, so I knew something was wrong. Apparently the owner of the Land Cruiser had pulled a "bait and switch" on Aly, quoting one price for the car but then demanding a higher price when it came time to pay. Aly, still insisting that we take this car, ended up selling his cell phone to get more money. But it was still not enough, so Aly asked me for some money. Not expecting to use any of my "emergency money," and not wanting to be stuck in Timbuktu, I gave Aly about US$75 and an additional 16000CFA (about US$32) and told him to spend it wisely. Again, after getting the money, Aly left.

Around an hour later a young man came to the house for Rod and I, explaining that he was Aly's friend and we were to follow him. So, with our big bags, we walked back to the central part of Timbuktu. He did not say anything to us except that Aly was looking for a ride for us. At that point, I knew something bad had happened, that we had lost the Land Cruiser and Aly had no ride for us to get out of town, even with the money I gave him. I feared that Rod was snap at this point, especially since he did not know Aly like I did.

We ended up going to the same house I had spent the previous afternoon in. Again, I played checkers with Aly's friend, and we stayed there for another 2 hours. At the house we met Jezabel, a French student studying in Bamako, doing research in Timbuktu, and also needing a ride out of town.

Around noon, Aly finally arrived with a car. I had never felt more relieved, and was even happier to leave Timbuktu. Still, despite all this, I had not eaten anything that day, even though it was Thanksgiving, because we did not have any money to spend on food.

The next 3 hours were spent on the dirty, bumpy road between Timbuktu and Bambara Maounde. We took a pit stop in Bambara Maounde at the same place I spent the night on the floor of the restaurant. There, the children recognized me as the crazy white guy who had spent the night there a few days before. Here, the driver asked us if we wanted any goat meat by waving a bone with goat meat on it and saying, "Chomp chomp?" Jezabel was the only one who ate any. After seeing how it was prepared a few days before, I declined.

After the pit stop, I ate a few peanuts as we headed down the bumpy dirt road to Douentza, where the dirt road meets the one paved road outside Douentza. Before long, the few peanuts were bouncing around in my empty stomach, making me rather uncomfortable. Luckily, just as the sun set, we made it to Douentza, onto the paved road, and pulled over for another break.

Here, at a tiny roadside shack at the edge of Douentza, with my filthy clothes and unshaven beard, feeling sick, and sweat pouring out of my body, I ate my Thanksgiving meal for 2005: a single plate of spaghetti and water from a Nalgene bottle. I ate the bowl of spaghetti in record time.

After my Thanksgiving feast, we drove for another 3 hours down the paved road to Mopti. We originally had planned to make it to Mopti in time to catch the bus to Bamako. However, due to the delays we had in Timbuktu, we missed the bus. So, I spent the night at Campement Hotel de Mopti.

Even though I slept in an actual bed, had a fan in the room to keep me cool, and was exhausted from the previous day of traveling, I did not sleep well during my stay at Campement Hotel de Mopti (about 15000CFA/night). I was scheduled to take a 7am bus from Mopti to Bamako with Jezabel, the French girl who rode with Aly, Rod, and I from Timbuktu to Mopti the day before. So, I awoke at 5am, packed my bag, and was outside at 6am to meet Aly for breakfast. In typical Aly fashion, he was late. Around 6:30am, a man who worked at the hotel restaurant approached me and told me Aly had arranged for him to give me breakfast. I walked to the restaurant and had my usual breakfast in Mali: tea and bread with honey.

At 6:55am I got a bit worried. The bus was to leave at 7am and Aly had not yet arrived to bring me to the bus station. But a minute later Jezabel came and told me to grab my stuff and go. We quickly walked to the bus station (which was nothing more than a roadside stop near Hotel le Bafaro), and there we met Aly. This was the last time I'd see Aly, so we said our goodbyes and I boarded the bus. Aly was not joining me since he was taking Rod to Dogon Country.

Unlike much of what I had seen in the country, this bus was actually very clean, looked reliable, and was comfortable. It was definitely one of the better ways to travel in Mali if not part of an organized tour. On board there were mostly locals, as well as two other Westerners. The best way to describe the bus was that it was Greyhound, Mali-style.

My belief that this would be a clean, comfortable ride quickly turned into the opposite of that. As soon as the bus began moving, a woman two rows in front of me started vomiting, or maybe dry heaving, into a bag. She did this every 10 minutes all the way from Mopti to Bamako, which took an excruciating 9+ hours.

To make the ride longer than it should have been, approximately every 20 minutes the bus would stop because people in the roadside villages would place barrels in the road to stop vehicles. When buses came, they surrounded the bus and boarded, trying to sell people food and drinks. This would have been nice every few hours or so, but not every 20 minutes.

The bus took one scheduled stop in San for lunch. Since the bus had no bathroom, this was also the place you had to relieve yourself, but I was not able to find a bathroom anywhere at the massive bus station (which looked like more of a market than anything else). So, I ventured away from everyone and ducked behind a building. Apparently dozens of other people had done the same thing, since behind every building were remnants of other people's business. It was gross.

Eventually, around 5pm, we made it to Bamako. I wish I had taken a photo of the bus before and after my 9+ hour ride on it. At the beginning of the trip it was clean and nice, but by the end of the trip, it appeared as if a bomb had gone off inside. The floor was littered with food scraps, huge bags of rice, and trash. I remember having to step on top of two bags of rice in the aisle to get out.

At the Bamako bus station, Jezabel met a friend from France who had also just arrived on a bus from Mopti. The three of us boarded a taxi to take me back to Restaurant Ende, the place I first came to when I arrived in Mali. Had it not been for Jezabel and her friend, who turned out to be a radio reporter for the French equivalent of the BBC, I would have never made it to Restaurant Ende. We got a little lost on the way there, so Jezabel's friend used a cell phone to call the hotel to give the driver directions. Luckily, I had snatched a business card from the hotel before I left when I first arrived, so we had a phone number to call.

At the hotel, I said my goodbyes to Jezabel and thanked her for getting me back to Bamako alive. I then met Ismail, a man I had met my first day there. He bought me a Coca-Cola and we talked about our lives and his business ideas. Unlike many people I met, Ismail spoke English quite well and was very affluent. After we spoke, I showered, had another plate of spaghetti and fish (about 3500CFA, or US$7), and rested before my pre-paid taxi to the airport arrived (about 14000CFA). As I ate dinner, I met a French photographer (who was actually from a French-controlled island in the Indian Ocean) who looked through all 650+ of my photos and told me which ones were good and which ones were not. Most were not good.

When the French photographer left (to sleep), a Dogon guide approached me and said a man from Boston was coming soon. Sure enough, a man from Boston soon came to stay at the hotel. Being the only American there, he quickly approached me and we struck up a conversation about the guides and who (and who not) can be trusted. I told him to hire Aly, and that his brother (the owner of the hotel) could help him out arranging it. Before I could get his name, my taxi had arrived (surprisingly 30 minutes early, too) and I was on my way to the airport and out of the country.

After my shower, change of clothes, dinner, packing my bag, and conversing with the French photographer and man from Boston, my prepaid taxi arrived to take me to the airport. Unlike every time I was traveling somewhere in Mali, the taxi arrived 30 minutes early. I was expecting it to arrive 30 minutes late.

The ride from the hotel to the airport is a quick 15 minutes or so and costs about 7000CFA (US$14). It felt good driving in a reliable car with the windows down on a cool night wearing clean clothes. At the airport I gave my remaining 500CFA in my pocket to the driver as a tip, grabbed my bag, and headed inside.

The strange thing about the airport in Bamako is that nearly every departing flight occurs between 1:30am and 4am. So, if you arrive at 11pm, you have to wait an hour before they even let you inside the airport. That's what happened to me, at least. Once inside, obtaining my tickets was a breeze, and then I passed through a security checkpoint where they checked my passport. The first waiting area is rather small, surrounded by a restaurant and vendors with typical Mali souvenirs. I guess they're trying to get travelers to buy that one last souvenir for the "best price" before they leave the country.

After leaving the first waiting area, my bags were scanned and then security checked my passport, again. From this point you need to walk down stairs (no elevator or escalator, making it a pain for those with big bags) to the main waiting area. The main waiting area sits on the same level as the tarmac and runway. When my flight was called, and because there is no such thing as "boarding zones" on the boarding pass, it was a mad dash to the gate. But, as expected, before I got on the plane I had to go through another security checkpoint, where they opened and searched everyone's bags. For some reason, when security saw my American passport, they let me through with no search. There is no jet way to the gate, but rather a long walk across the tarmac to the plane, which is, again, a mad dash of everyone trying to get on the plane first. Security watches your every move and they let us board the plane from the front or back. Once on the plane, I was ready to sleep. After all, my flight didn't depart until 4am, and I had been awake for the most part since 7am in Mopti the previous day.

Three and a half hours later I was in Casablanca, Morocco. The lack of flies and dirt roads confirmed my feelings that I was out of Mali and would be back in the US in a few hours. Despite the mishaps during my trip, I knew I would miss the country and cherish my memories from there.