Tuesday, July 30, Lome, Togo

I spent my first two days in Togo in bed with a penetrating headache and roiling stomach. I'm not sure if I ate something I shouldn't have, or ate too little, or was simply sick at heart.

But my arrival in Lome was auspicious. When the taxi driver pulled up to the door of the Le Galion hotel (for the first time the taxi driver did actually know where the hotel was) I was almost knocked off my seat by the mass of people nearly bursting out of the wall enclosing the hotel. Every table in the cafe that underlay the hotel was full of boisterous, touristy-looking folks. The joint was jumping. After weeks of being the only resident of my hotels this was a shocking change.

Le Galion looks like something out of a Francois Truffaut film. It is only two stories with approximately ten rooms above and the aforementioned cafe below. I got here via much struggle.
I spent my last day in Grand Bassam searching the internet for accomodations in Lome. I was anxious to have a confirmed reservation to show to the immigration officials at the airport. I wasn't sure they'd require it, but I wanted to provide as few obstacles to a visa as possible. I already purchased the second half of a round trip ticket as everyone advised me to do (the airline people, the internet, LP). I headed for Abidjan Airport with plenty of anxiety in my stomach. Would they let me in?
Four times they checked my paperwork before I got on the plane:  twice before I presented my baggage for check in; once at passport control; and once before they scanned my carry-on luggage. Each time I expected someone to send me packing due to my visa-less status. Twice I heard, "You have no visa?" Each time the questioner raised an eyebrow, paused, then sent me forward. Somehow I made it to the plane. (After lining up for the wrong flight.)
Our plane landed in Lome and we were directed down the ramp to a waiting bus meant to take us to the terminal. I held my breath, wondering what I'd find when I got there. Our plane was sparsely populated, barely 50 people in a plane ready to take over 300. I thought that might help me as the line for immigration would not be so long as to irritate the officials when I explained my lack of a visa.
What I found was a large sign to my right:  "Visa Applications", manned by two smiling folks, a young woman and a rubinesque man. They gave me some paperwork to fill out, stamped my passport, and sent me on my way. They never even looked at my return ticket. I didn't know whether to exult or to weep. (My visa was only for seven days, SOP, and I must renew it by Friday. Perhaps then they will ask about the return ticket?)

I lost my first two days here, as I said, to illness. Part of my angst was caused by the fact that I could not locate the tour service mentioned in LP that had lured me to Togo in the first place. I searched the internet for hours but could find no address or way to contact them despite their prominent mention in LP. My headache made that even more difficult.
Finally I noticed an email address in LP. It had been there all along but I hadn't noticed it. I sent an email. Twenty four sickly hours later I still had heard nothing. I despaired.
Then, on Monday evening my problems all resolved themselves. My loneliness was assuaged when I met a German couple upstairs at the hotel. Like many such encounters it happened because of my ill fortune. The electrical outlet in my room was so tenuous that I couldn't charge my computer. These MacIntosh charging systems have always been a problem when I travel but this was the worst. I simply could not get it to charge. I looked for another outlet and found one in a common area between the various rooms. By propping the computer on some books and clothing I managed to keep a connection that would charge the battery. I sat down to read and wait. I estimated it would take 3-4 hours to affect a complete charge.
While I read my book a man came out of another room and spoke to me in German-accented English. He had been robbed on the streets of Lome that day (a camera held too loosely in the crowded bazaar) and needed a computer to find some files. I happily provided my machine. We began to talk. His wife (or girlfriend) joined us. We chatted away for the next few hours. At the same time I received an email from the tour service. They'd been 'in the bush' and had just returned to find my message. My headache concurrently evaporated. All was well.
I'm supposed to meet with the tour operator in 15 minutes. My plans for the next week depend upon what he has to offer. We shall see.