Getting my just deserts.

Having survived my first but hopefully not last trip to the Sahara, I am writing you again from Bamako, which already feels like home.  I can now say with authority that what you must do, immediately, is drop everything and book your trip to Mali.   It’s nearly impossible to explain to you how incredible this place is, but obviously, I’m going to try.   I blew it with the photos on the last post so I’ll try to make up for it here. 

What’s funny about this place is that everything just sort of unfolds in front of you.  I spend my life and work planning things - for myself, for my clients, for my friends – it’s what I do.  But since minute one in Mali, I’ve made up my mind not to plan anything.  For the first time, I’m letting my life happen around me, and it seems there is no better place to give that a whirl. 

As I told you before, serendipity came to me upon landing in Bamako, when I met Nathalie from Fort Greene, who had been on my flight from Conakry.  Having both been around the African block for some time, we made a good team, bargaining and haggling when we needed to, and taking every opportunity we could find to make the best of everything.  We teamed up and spent two nights going out in Bamako.  Malians drink and smoke like longshore fishermen, so it’s not hard to find a party at any hour on any day of the week.  We then took a flight to Mopti, and it was then that things started to get interesting.   

On the plane, the pilot passed by our seat and took a shine to us. He invited us up into the cockpit to have a look around.  He and his co-pilot, Miguel from Mexico, gave us the birds-eye view of the land, and we watched and listened as we flew.  They asked if we were going to Timbuktu and we said that no, we were only going as far as Mopti, and then taking a 4×4 up to the festival.   They looked at each other, said something quietly on the headphones and then Walid (the other pilot) said, “Eh, just stay on the plane, we’ll take you to Timbuktu”.   What?  I’ve been a travel agent for 9 years, and this is a first.  So we just hitchhiked to Timbuktu on the airplane.  AND I sat in the jumpseat for the entire flight to Timbuktu.  As scary as a take-off is, sitting in the cockpit is terrifying.  When we got close to the city, we decided to fly around for a little while looking for the festival site.  We found it, a tiny cluster of white tents about 4 km from Timbuktu town.  

Timbuktu from the air

When we landed in Timbuktu, the pilots invited us to lunch at their hotel, so we took their chauffeured car there, where we met their friend Dicko.  Hotels in Timbuktu were all full, so we stayed at Dicko’s house.  A jolly man, Dicko’s smile can light up a room.   

The view from Dicko's roof

The next day we split up for our separate camps at the festival.  I was being taken care of by a company called Maliymas, operated by the lovely Boubakr, who picked me up and took me to the camp in the dunes.  As I have told you, the festival is usually in Essakane, about 100 km from Timbuktu but this year it had been moved to the city because of this whole Al-Qaeda kidnapping thing.  Whatevs.  Each tour operator chooses a spot for his camp, where his clients will sleep and eat (and drink).  Maliymas was the farthest camp from the festival, about 1.5km, which was a tiring hike each way through the dunes, but perfect, as there was no noise, no hassle and the desert stretched out endlessly from our camp.  As expected, security was everywhere, and if you looked hard enough, you could see the Malian military camped out on dunes all around the festival, keeping an eye on things.  I took this photo when i arrived: 

From our camp

After getting settled, I headed to the festival site, where I met up with Nathalie and the pilots.  I’ll tell you right now, the only thing more threatening to one’s health than drinking in the desert with a Malian is drinking in the desert with a Mexican.  We loaded up on Castel in cans (Oui! Nous CAN! - shout to the FCB) and hit the dunes to act like lunatics.  

Acting like a lunatic with pilots in the Sahara.

The Festival in the Desert is an annual thing run by the  Tuareg people who live in the north of Mali. Let me just tell you that I can’t think of any people who are more badass than the Tuaregs.  They ride camels, they wear turbans of purple and blue and green, they CARRY SWORDS, and are also really clever and smart.  They also make some ass-kicking music.  If you’ve never listened to Tuareg music, do yourself a favor and look into it.  Check out Tinariwen to get a sample.  

Tuareg band (can't remember which one)

I have heard that Tuareg women are pretty fierce, and the women in these groups are no-joke.  They usually play the calebasse and do some chanting, and the men clap in some pretty intricate rhythms and sing over the chanting.  The songs usually use the same chord from start to finish, but it’s not monotonous.  It’s a haunting sound; one can become entranced easily. 

In addition to the music, there was much merriment back at camp, with campers from Mexico, Holland, Colombia, Spain, Italy, UK, France, South Africa and America.  Travelers in Africa are a rare breed.  There are a lot of solo travelers, and everyone here has been everywhere, done everything and are traveling in Africa because they’re looking for the next frontier.  They’re all really interesting with great stories, and are rather unflappable.  They’re also ready and willing to share rides, hotels, ideas, guides, contacts, etc.  

The camp

The festival starts late, because during the days the desert is hot and dusty, and it’s more comfortable to fete when it’s night-time.  The drawback is that the concerts don’t finish until about 4am, and by the time you find your way back to your tent, which isn’t easy (I had to use the stars to navigate! Points for that, please), and have some tea and sit by the fire, you don’t go to sleep until about 5.30am.  But then, at 7.30 it becomes to hot to sleep so you get up and have breakfast.  It’s too hot to take naps, so everyone generally just hangs out in the big tent until lunch, then does the same until the concerts start up again.  I did this three nights in a row, and this combined with the sand and 0% humidity took a lot out of me and everyone else.  It was worth it, though. 

One of the highlights of the festival for me was meeting up with Chris, my friend who lives in Kidal.  He’s recording music in the desert, and is friends with one of the bands who came down to play the festival.  You can read more about his work here.   He lived in Brooklyn for a while, but now lives a nomadic Tuareg life in Northern Mali and Mauritania.  I tried to go with them back to Kidal after the festival, but their driver refused, saying a white woman in the car was too much of a risk.  Oh well. 

Chris (the white guy) and his Tuareg band - super nice guys

On the last night of the festival, we danced to Amadou and Miriam (who are adorable, by the way) and listened to a “jam session” with all of Mali’s greats.  We spent one last night (morning) in the desert, and then headed back to Timbuktu for a night before heading south.  One of the Tuareg guides, Mohamed, had been insisting on taking me on a camel ride, so i finally agreed to go.  It was sunset, and just about the most amazing thing.  I went with my friend John, who is a filmmaker working with Bouba on a project here.  

John, Mohamed and Mohamed's camel.

A kindred spirit in the travel industry, I hitched a ride to Mopti with John, Bouba and some other folks, where we spent one night before heading to Dogon Country.  The ride was easy and interesting, complete with a stop to administer some first aid to some Americans who flipped their car.  Oops.  

The crew (that's bouba in the middle)

When you're driving 8 hours in the desert, it helps to have something pretty to look at.

After a great relaxing night (and a shower!) in Mopti at the charmingly named Nyapasdeprobleme hotel, we headed to Dogon Country, where the guys wanted to film a bit for the promotional piece he was working on.  The colors of Dogon surprised me.  On the way there I thought I was driving through a well manicured miniature golf course… 

En route to Dogon Country

Dogon Country is like nothing else in this world.  I shall not try to give a history on these people, because I certainly won’t do it justice.  We visited the village of Begnemato, which is about a 30 minute trek down the escarpment.  It’s a bit of a tourist trap, but basically, you turn up, tell them you need a place to sleep, and they put a mattress on their roof for you.  It’s a bit of a jarring juxtaposition sitting in Dogon country ordering beers and CocaColas, but I’ll tell you, it’s an experience worth having.  

Where the Telem used to live. The Telem are gone, but the Animist Dogon still use these houses for sacrifices and for storing their monkey heads and whatnot.

When we were there, there was a traditional Dogon masked dance.  I’m pretty sure it was for the benefit of the tourists, but it was pretty amazing nonetheless.  

Dogon Dance

We hiked out of the village and were carried for about an hour by charrette and bull to a restaurant where we met our driver, who took us back to Mopti to pick up another tourist and take us to Djenne.  We spent the night in Djenne and saw Mali’s most talked-about mosque, and then the next day headed home to Bamako.  

Grande Mosquee in Djenne (aka: the only thing in Djenne.)

We arrived safely in Bamako last night and celebrated our last night all together.  We downed some African Guinness in an amusing nightclub before going to the airport to put John on his plane home.  Tonight I will do the same thing, but this time we’re putting Bouba on the plane.  

Then, I’m alone again.   Only tomorrow will I know what I’m doing tomorrow!  Who will I meet?  Where I go?  What will I see?? Stay tuned! 

Mood: Feelin’ it. 

(Camera) Health: Not so good.  Scratched lens, and covered in toothpaste.  Balls.