Tuesday, July 23, San Pedro, Cote D'Ivoire

Today is a day of rest preceded by two eventful days.
I left Abidjan on Sunday morning. I crossed the road in front of my hotel, which was in the distant suburbs, and immediately grabbed a 504 van to the city. One dollar, and the radio was playing Elvis and the Beatles and Otis Redding. I was happy. Once in the city I had to do a little negotiating but found a very friendly taxi driver who sped me to the bus station in the north of the city. He searched the madhouse till he found the right bus to take me to Sassandra, a city about 200 kilometers to the west. The bus filled rapidly and we were on our way within 20 minutes. For once I had navigated and negotiated skillfully.
The first two hours of the trip to Sassandra were uneventful. Then we took on a few more passengers and I was suddenly compressed between a linebacker-sized guy on my right and a smaller man on my left. The linebacker's considerable girth was crushed my spine. Add the crash of the bus encountering deep potholes and you have a recipe for pain. This lasted about 90 minutes. We were in Sassandra, or at least we were on the main highway a couple kilometers from the hotel recommended by LP. I got out. The other passengers looked on in wonderment. "You're getting out here," they said (in body language). I assured them I was not out of my mind with a smile and several nods.
More taxi negotiating yielded a trip to the hotel on a hill overlooking the harbor. It was a luxury place, probably more luxury than I truly wanted, but I doubted my ability to find something better so I agreed to the $34/night cost of one night's lodging. Since it was mid afternoon I still had time to explore the city. I set out.

Some kids from the central market in Sassandra.

This girl really wowed me, again in the market on a Sunday afternoon.

While walking I was approached by a guy on a motorcycle offering me a personalized canoe trip to the hippo's on the Sassandra River. He was clearly somebody who made a few bucks with rare tourists who visited the city. We negotiated. This time I made a muck of the whole process and agreed to an exorbitant fee to be paid next morning when we would set out.
But I got an unexpected bonus out of the deal. My guide, who spoke only French, ran and fetched a buddy of his who spoke English. As I spoke to this new guy I realized he had a group of young interns under his care that very minute across the street. So we went and found them. Which led me to 90 minutes of nirvana chatting with these kids who were in Cote D'Ivoire working with various businesses as part of their university educations. They were male and female, from Mexico, the Philippines, Italy, France, and, most notably a pretty young blonde from Holland, who immediately button-holed me for conversation.

Two of the interns I chatted up in Sassandra.

I enjoyed the heck out of that time. After wandering a bit more I went back to the hotel. Once again I was the only guest in the place. I had a fretful night beset by mosquitoes for the first time in my journey. I dragged out my mosquito net and wrapped myself in it. It wasn't wonderfully comfortable. And since there was no where to hang it I had to "wear" it, which probably undermined half its usefulness.
Next morning I was up early for my canoe trip. I rode on the back of his motorcycle for a half hour till we reached a canoe port on the river. He handed me a paddle and we worked our way upstream for about an hour to the place where he'd reputedly seen hippo's before. (The interns told me they'd taken the same trip the day before and seen no hippo's so I was prepared for the worst.) We stored the boat on the river bank and trekked through the jungle for ten minutes till we got to an observation location. We waited. No hippo's. After about a half hour we gave up and did the return trip. All in all a worthwhile adventure nonetheless but not worth the fee.
Then he ripped me off. He owed me $10 change but my heretofore reliable guide disappeared to allegedly get change. He never returned. That left me with a bitter taste after so much good luck in Sassandra.
It was time to check out of my hotel and head for San Pedro, the next burg on the way to Liberia. I boarded a van outside the Sassandra market and waited for a full house so we could move on. That took about a half hour. Generally these vans fill quickly, but they always carry freight on the back or on top. This freight business takes a long time. Imagine trying to fit various bags of coconuts, cassava root, clothing, bags of bread, and other goods into spaces not designed to haul such.
Then we got to driving. I now declare that the road from Sassandra to San Pedro is the worst road in the world.

My guide strikes a path through the jungle as I follow.

We met river fishermen as we rowed along. These guys were out setting traps for fish.

The Sassandra river as seen from my vantage point as I took a breather from paddling.

Every 100 yards featured a series of potholes deep enough to hide a canoe and always extending across the road sufficiently to make sure we could almost never escape a bone jarring portage.This went on for hours. At one point I considered asking the driver to let me out despite the fact that there was really no place to be let out, out. Other than a few small villages all we saw was jungle and rice fields. I got through it and was deposited on the outskirts of San Pedro (Cote D'Ivoire's second largest city). The van driver found me a taxi and negotiated a fare (two dollars) to take me to a hotel prized by LP.
That hotel turned out to be too expensive but I found one nearby at a more manageable price.
Then I reached in my pouch for the funds and found.....none. I thought I had 100,000 of the local currency stashed away. ($200). But the pouch was empty except for some US currency. How was I going to pay for my hotel? I'd spent my last dollar, I thought, on the taxi, except for the hidden funds.
Generously the hotel allowed me to wait a day to pay the bill, but that still left me with the dilemma of how to get the money. I remembered we'd passed several banks with ATM's on the route into the city. In my recollection, however, those banks were far distant, and I had no money for a cab.
Then I reached in my pocket and found the sum of $2.00 in Ivoirian currency. That would be enough to get me to a bank. Unfortunately the hotel people told me that the banks were closed (it was past 4pm) and the ATM's were inside the banks. I had had various experiences with this on my trip but I knew that frequently, yes, the ATM's were in the banks.
What to do? Without funds I couldn't eat. I've gone without food for extended periods on my trips and I knew I could abide this, but somehow it angered me more that my fast was forced on me rather than a chosen strategy.
I refused to accept my fate. I decided to walk to a bank and see for myself if I could find an accessible ATM or, failing that, a foreign exchange place.
Off I went--though dead tired from the arduous ride from Sassandra.
Very quickly I came to a fork in the road. As Yogi said, "If you come to a fork in the road, take it."
I tried to remember what I could from the taxi ride. Left or forward? I chose left. Fifteen minutes later I realized that had been a mistake. But I persevered. I went in the general direction that I thought might lead me to the banks. Up a steep hill. Down the other side.
After 35 minutes of walking I came to a commercial district. To my astonishment I looked to my left and saw the aforementioned banks. They were much closer than I remembered. But there was still the problem of the late hour. It was now past 5pm.
My favorite West African bank is called EcoBank. I found one. The gate was closed, the doors of the bank closed. But there were four guards inside the gate. I decided to ask, as best I could, if the ATM--which I saw on the left side of the bank--might be accessible. I dug out my ATM card and stuck it through the iron bars of the gate. One guard noticed me and examined the card.
Then he opened the gate and waved me inside. I was thunderstruck. 
I entered the little room housing the machine. I stuck my card in the slot.
It wouldn't go in. The machine was off. Again, I despaired. The guards must not have known the ATM rules.
But, no, the guard said (really motioned), don't worry, I'll get the machine activated. Which he did. And I got my money. And I verily skipped out the gate.
I walked happily back to the hotel and paid my bill. Then I lay myself down to continue reading David Copperfield, which I'm loving, and sought to rest after two eventful days.