Soundtrack: Frank Zappa – Catholic Girls, Crew Slut and many more…
- I can almost taste the local beer in Cape Town by now.
I’ll give you a little status on how things are going for my British friend Ian and me. With our life’s on stakes we do the daily routine of going to and from embassies to get visa for Cameroon (85 Euros), Congo (64 Euros) and finally Angola visa which is (20 USD) and issued same day. Finally the DRC visa is our hands tomorrow for 20.000 Naira (100 Euros). When thinking of it is totally crazy paying so much for a dodgy country as the Democratic Republic of Congo where the army is randomly killing civilian’s, and the next civil war is waiting over the next hillside. I guess we better gun it through in a day or two…
Yes Abuja in Nigeria is bloody expensive, not ony about visas, also the hotel Savannah Suites we are staying at cost us sky high rates at 16.200 Naira (80 Euros per day).
Today we picked up the Angolan visa, which were issued same day as we applied. We had the great fun to stumble into the two Christian’s from USA again, Justice and Bas, as clean cut as you can get American people. For sure with the worst taxi negotiating skills seen abroad. What I shouldn’t have told them about was our effort to watch some Max Hardcore on the hotels Wi-Fi the other evening, but instead we got banned from the Internet connection and had to clear it out with the reception to get our account reset. The girl surely gave me a funny look when she looked up our browser history…
This evening we are trying to do something normal with the two Christian’s like going to the movies, have some dinner and beer’s.
Tomorrow we will pick up our visa’s from the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) and head straight towards south-east Nigeria. Hope they will greed us welcome and forgive our sinner’s.
If we survive the taxi ride through Abuja photo’s will arrive later this evening.
My thought’s goes to Mr. Hardcore currently serving 4 years in a Texas prison.
Just arrived home, after a nice evening with a chicken burger and probably the most shitty movie ever, 
Armored. But still, what can you expect from a movie when it cost less than 5 Euros incl. soda and popcorn. At least Ian and I enjoyed the cold beers while Bas and Justice went for a Fanta…. What can I say, not much man talk!
No bad bellies yet, crossing fingers!
We will be out of Abuja before 12 O’clock tomorrow and heading for Makurdi for the local missionary church hoping they will supply us with shelter for the night. We promise to be god boys while staying in Gods house.
meanwhile I have bad news from our South African friend Kobus from Gottoride.com - he is stranded with his BMW in Togo due to a crack in the barrel after the engine sucked in some sand. He is currently waiting to get a new piston and cylinder flown in from 
Switzerland and is therefor set back on his schedule. Anyone near Togo at the Toni-Togo Moto shop, drop in for some beers and keep Kobus accompanied.
I have promised Kobus to hook up with him in Cape Town, as well as with Chris Stark my old friend from Denmark, if everything goes after plan. You might never know if the VFR decides to give up as well. This continent and enviroment is probably the hardest in the world on the machinery and rider!
I got one of my Sidi Vertigo Mega Goretex boot’s repaired after the sole started to become loose. It is amazing that they have lasted for so long in these hard conditions. Jegstrup Cross Center in Denmark are currently sending me a new set of these comfortable and protective boots to Cape Town. Because of that I am ready for next leg in South America. Great thanks to Anette and John from Jegstrup Cross Center the importer of Sidi boots in Denmark. They have been supporting 100 % during my journey and always been helpful. I owe you a great thanks.
Soundtrack: Roger Waters – Three Wishes
Give a smile or a handshake to the African people and you will get a thousands back. After you have travelled for some while in Africa you really understand why it is not as developed as one could wish. If we had the same kind of enviroment back home, and the same diseases to fight, like Malaria. The Western world would look completely different. During daytime you experience 40-50 degrees celsius on your swetting body and that is just in the shade. Try getting out under the sun and you will feel its amazing and killing heat. Working 8 hours a day in this heat is simply living hell. Often you see people staying in their huts or underneath the 
trucks during the hot time of day. Riding in motorcycle clothes is killing me, several times I have faced dehydration and sucking hot water into your mouth is not satisfying at all. You sure appreciate the conditions back home in northern Europe after a day under the rocking sun of Africa.
For every 75-100 k’s we stop to beaten up some Mauritanian shop owners for some Cokes and water.
I do not know what it is with Ian, but he loves wearing only his grundies or even without when walking around the compound, or doing bike maintenance. It has led to quite a few funny and embarrassing episodes when people show up as he least expects it. It has to be some kind of fetish. One thing is 
certain, Ian and I quickly agreed on changing the name of the trip to “The Gay Way Down” or “The Gay Men Goes Again”. You rally can’t avoid getting close to your travel partner when travelling like this. It sometimes include funny noises, most of them heard before, some in a new version.
Before leaving Kololi, Gambia, Ian and I had decided to head inwards the continent and do as much roads towards Senegal on Gambian soil. If it hadn’t been for the slow ferry and the time it took for it to leave harbour we would have made a far greater progress. All in all it felt good for both of us getting on the African tarmac again and see the kilometers slowly decrease when getting closer to the so far away Cape Town. On our first day together we found the Janbura campsite close to Georgetown just where Gambia is 
putting an end of the road. We both put up our tent under the trees on the campsite, what we thought was a nice and neat place. As always, when possible I love to end the day with a bath and a cold local beer, so we also did that day. Next morning I woke up to monkeys shitting on my tent, which I can assure you is pretty close to dog or human shit, if you think of the consistency and smell.
The evening before we were informed of the nice breakfast for the simple price of 100 Dalshi, which we were told would include coffee, pancakes, juice etc. Once again, what you are told in Africa isn’t always the pure 
truth, one have to take everything with a gran of salt, which you get used to after a while.
Getting out of Gambia wasn’t like I had in mind, but we sure got out, but not in the official way. At the last Gambian check point we arrived at, we asked for direction to Senegal. We were told to head a couple of k’s back in the same direction as we came from and turn right. We manage to a find road leading down to a piste, still not found on my North & West African Michelin map. To start with the tarmac disappeared as soon as we turned of the main road. Hard soil appeared and a small village would show up with children coming from every corner of the area looking at two stupid Toubab’s coming through their compounds, probably not seen before. I stopped and asked for direction to Senegal and a young man pointed in a direction between a couple of trees with only a little trail leading out of the village towards north-east. It was sure going to be exciting, 
later even more exciting than we could ever wish of. Soon hard soil would change to soft sand turning a 400 kg heavy packed VFR into something like an Airbus 340 trying to get the best speed/ decent ratio from 3.000 feet after take-off in a non operating engine config. It sure felt like that. And if that wasn’t the whole truth, we were in lack of water already when we entered the piste, both Ian and I had a litre of 40 degrees hot water with us, best situated for English tea with a drop of milk (hate that), while the ambient temperature had increased above 50 degrees causing my temperature indicator to shut down. As we slowly moved on towards Senegal on small trails we saw less and less of 
villages and civilization. At a point Ian had to stop his bike due to coolant temperature warning (red lamp). The radiator fan didn’t come on as it was supposed to. Ian told me he never had seen it working, which I found strange. The feeling of thirst quickly arrived after 20-30 kilometers and we were both fighting against the heat and sand. After a while we discovered that the GPS said Senegal, we had crossed the border without noticing! Should we turn around and head back to get everything done after the book or should we continue and make it to Senegal, then head for the nearest police 
check point and have them to do the papers? Another option was to just try and make it through Senegal hoping not to get stopped and have to show our documents. We went for the last solution, act like nothing had happened. I recon the piste was about 40-50 k’s and took us more than 4 hours to complete before we could kiss the tarmac welcome.
Next day we managed to reach Mali without showing or documents a single time at the many check points we would go through. Ian did the Mali border and was very pleased of how easy it went. There was just a single hurdle he forgot to do the Douanes (customs) and once again we where in a new country without
permission for the bikes. Luckily they took it easy on us upon exit of Mali and we went straight through to the Burkina Faso border. Mali must be the country of the tits, they came in all sorts of shape and lenghts. Girls and woman walking along the road witout any clothes on the top of their body. Quit a sight when riding through, and some of them make turn your head. Others I do not have to write about here.
At the Burkina Faso border we both played the game as it is supposed to be played, the officer demanded 10.000 CFA each for the entry visa and tried to unburden us for another 2.000 each. We tried giving him some Dunston’s that Ian had bought in Western Sahara when a Moroccan guy had taken him for a ride. The naïve British bloke was told that with two boxes of Dunston’s he would be through the borders in no time, or the value of them was equal with 90 
liters of high quality Mauritanian fuel. Without a doubt the worse cigarettes you can get your hands on. But with so many things, one gets used to the bad flavour and quality even though they are causing your throat to feel sore and having your coughing each morning. We have tried to get a lot of people to smoke these cigarettes wherever we go. I should say that the cigarettes sure came to their purpose when we got stopped by an insanely speeding police officer in Mali on an old wobling BMW with Gambian number plates. He had for sure intended to give us a ticket for speeding when we 3 minutes before had gone through his village with too much speed
and hadn’t spotted him. With a Dunston’s you get things straightened out. He fell right down on earth again after hovering in 30.000 feet when Ian inroduced him for a Dunston. Of course I had to join the game as well though I had my Monte Carlo cigarettes in my pocket, while Ian stood next to with a poker smile. Ian and I were not the best friends after that episode.
Most people we offer the Duston’s smokes them without saying anything, some people are honest and tell us the truth about these horrible rich American blend cigarettes. Before I noticed it I was addicted to the Dunston’s and
felt quite sad the day that the last pack was gone. We say, “With a Dunston all your worries fade away,” or…”Have a Dunston’s, it’s the quality of life.” Unfortunately the border officer in Burkina Faso didn’t smoke cigarettes, or maybe he was aware of what we tried to poison him with. He was more eager to see some cool cash. I went out to the bikes to get my Lonely Planet guidebook while Ian kept the dude entertained. In the book it only stated the 10.000 CFA to be paid at the border, nothing about paying for formalities. We simply waited things out and acted as if we didn’t quite get the point of paying another 4.000 CFA. I 
must admit that Ian act better than expected and this saved us for 12.000 CFA (20 Euro) that day at the police and Douanes upon entering Burkina Faso. The Douanes was an even more hard nuts to crack. He simply took and kept our papers when we said that it was the last money we had for gasoline. But we managed to get the price down from 20.000 CFA for two bikes to 12.000 CFA. We drove off with a big smile. New country and it felt like we had concurred the world when crossing the border.
Just before reaching Bobo-Dioulasso I was out of money. I had simply used too much during my stay in Banjul, mostly on beers. Luckily Ian immediately suggested that I could lend some money from him.
Written in Ouagaudougou, Burkina Faso with the company of imported German Cody’s 5,4% beers.
PS: A trip down the West Coast of Africa is not for sissies, I now feel it on my own body. For sure I will be 10 years older when arriving in Cape Town, if I arrive?
Soundtrack: Tool – Lateralus
Things you normally take for granted in the Western world such as electricity and running water are not always available here in Africa. We have at least three to five power failures during the day and more often tap water is not present.
What I bet you don’t want to live your life as here in Africa is a donkey. It must be the worst thinkable, these creatures are probably one of the most hardworking animals in Africa, if not in the world and it looks like they are least appreciated. Back in Europe you will hardly see one, and if you do, farmers often have them for no reason what so ever. In Africa, the continent of the rocking sun, they are used by the farmers and village people for almost everything, mostly you see them on the side of the road pulling the cart full of luggage while the drivers in the carriage are 
beating the shit out of them, while they are working hard underneath the burning sun. When these poor animals aren’t working they will be placed directly in the sun, with their front legs tied together so they can’t run away. If the donkey is really lucky it will be under a tree protected from the killing heat. Life as a donkey must be pretty shitty, especially in Africa, I recon they are hard animals to cope with the enviroment and the way they are treated. You also see starving dogs on the street with open wounds caused by fighting with other dogs for food to avoid starvation.
I didn’t expect to get my camera submerged in water while staying at David’s place, neither did I expect that we would have a break in into the house on a dodgy Saturday morning. When that was said I had a splendid time with David and family and expect to see the great doctor abroad in the future. David showed and teached me more of Gambia and Africa during the 17 days I stayed in Kololi compared to what I knew from the 2 months I had spent on the continent. David asked me what I wanted to see while I was there. My first answer was that I wasn’t interested in any tourist areas. Instead it ment seeing the 
hospital in Banjul where his Gambian brother Essa worked and doing a one day tour up country side.
Gambia is considered as one of the poorest countries in West Africa. The life expectancy age of its people is 58 years old. Many locals live on rice with sauce and if they are lucky they can afford some fish. Their homes if they have are small sheds with tin roofs where whole families live. The major income comes from tourist’s fishing which is almost taken over by Senegalese people and small farming.
David a 63 year old American guy who decided to change his 
life and settle down in West Africa and make a difference. As I recall by reading some of his book called Toubab, his mum had told him “I would like to save the world, but someone else has to do Africa. David had written “Mum I got your covered”. David was a warm person who took great care of me, but I also like to think that I gave him something back for the days I spend at his house and with his family. I liked his great sense of humor, always up for a funny story, a joke or play for me on his old guitar from his days as a protester against the Vietnam war. Normally I reckon not many people would do it like David, but because of him and his help, effort and devotion to the Gambian people, things are improving. During his years living in Gambia David was adopted by a poor Gambian family living in the slums of Banjul and he got married with a lovely Fulla woman named Binta from Guinee Conakry.
David is a CEO for WAME a non profit organisation operating in West African countries (West Africa Medicine & Education) beside of that he also do charity for the Danish Gambian Friends Organisation.
While staying in Kololi, Ian from UK showed up. The day I left Palma del Río in Spain, this great fella wrote me an email to see if I were up for some company. Ian was 10 days behind me which meant I could hang out in Kololi with David for some time, before Ian would get his butt down here on his Yamaha XT660Z Tenere. It is not the first time Ian has travelled for a 
long period. He has done the east way around the globe to New York with Kudu and has good knowledge of travelling and how to behave among the locals. This time Ian is getting the full value for his money as he is on his own and can decide what to do. Last time he travelled in a large group of 16 people. Now he is living out his own journey and on his own, except from my interference from time to time ;oP
Ian a fire fighter from Heathrow airport is not just any typical British bloke, he is probably the best company I could have wished for. He defiantly shows potential to become a great friend once we spit up in Cape Town in June and he fly back home. Though he is an old bastard with 36 years on his passport I think we have a lot in common. Good sense of humour, probably as sick as it can be, which fits mine pretty good and with the same kind of fascination of birds as I. I recon David can agree on that. When it comes to navigation Ian is not the guy you want to guide you home in a foreign city late night, not even 
in daytime. On the fifth day he was in Kololi we went over to Ray’s place. Ray is a pensioned bloke living in Gambia with a young bird. Unfortunately he broke his hip 9 weeks ago and was mistreated on one of many bad medical clinics in Gambia. Ian decided to stay with his fellow country man while I wanted to head home and hit the sack at David’s place. Two hours later I am starting to get SMS’s and calls from Ian that he is lost in Kololi. I had specifically given him clear instructions 3-4 times before I went home, and still the British trail-finder gets lots in the total opposite end of town. I ended up hunting him down in a wrecked Peugeot 205 in the middle of the night, finding him in 
a gas station down the Kololi main road sitting with the locals. After that I didn’t have much fate in Ian’s navigation skills, and instead kept wondered how the bloke found his way down to Gambia?
Most of the mornings we spend together with Lilly a girlfriend of Binta living nearby of compound. Lilly was out of work and Ian and I were longing for some breakfast that looked just a little bit like the full English. She was a champ doing the breakfast for us each morning and made quite a few bucks on it as well, as we decided to pay her 100 Dalashi each morning for 
her effort. A Gambian salary can go as low as 600 Dalashi per month which is 16 Euro, if you are one of the lucky few Gambians to have a job. I once thought that Gambia was the most nicest country in West Africa, I now know that I am wrong. It is destroyed by too many tourists. Many bumsters hang around on the street corners and in the tourist areas looking out for some quick earned money due to a stupid tourist coming by. It is said to be the paradise for divorced women looking for a good time. Just as many men are 
seen walking around with Gambian women looking for a better life in Europe. For me it doesn’t look like real love, it rather looks like a solution for getting a better life, not saying I would be any different if I were in the situation of the Gambian people. But what that made me feel most sick, was seeing how some white men treats the black women in the discotec’s when I took David’s wife and friends out for an evening. It was like walking into a butcher’s shop looking on what kind of meat you want. But at least show a little dignity you bloody Dutch guy doing the Netherland – Banjul challenge.
A couple of days before Ian and I were ready to pick up our Nigerian visa and start the bikes up, we woke up by David and Binta talking loudly in the morning. David came into our room saying “Guys, somebody has busted into the house”. We immediately got out of bed. I felt it like it was a bad movie, but soon realized that this was the real thing. We both got our head torch lights on and went out to take a look in the garden. The bikes were still there, and everything seemed to be okay, even the gate into the compound looked as no one had gone through. Back into the house I quickly scanned the room, it looked 
messy like we had left it before we went to bed. Only thing that didn’t seem correct was the position of my iPod, they had tried to steal it, but dropped it close to the door, before they had fleed out of the door. Instead they had disconnected David’s laptop , where the computer had been. The guy most have had balls the size of coco nuts and just as hard to do a job like that while two big blokes like Ian and me were sleeping in the same room half a meter from the computer. In fact I heard him or they come into the room because of the noise from the door, but thought it was David coming in to work on his computer as he so often did during his sleepless nights. I am sure it must have been some people with knowledge to the house and that we and the laptop where there. If we were there it probably ment the possibilities of getting a big score. Next day Ian ordered and paid for a new laptop for David due to his financial situation which I tought was a beautiful move from Ian.
Soundtrack: Lou Reed – Just A Perfect Day
The muslim people here in West Africa seems to be very nice and there doesn’t seem to be any extremism regarding religion. They are very open minded where ever I go, even the women are well respected. It also happens that you see muslim people drinking at the bars. Not exactly what you many other places like in Europe for example or what you are being brought up to believe. Regarding circumcisions people still practice this, which is a horrible operation on a person without anaesthesia. Especially on women it can have fatal consequences. Regarding what I have been told by the locals in Gambia, it has more to do with old rituals than Islam. I spoke with a guy at my age on the snake farm in Gambia, he still recalled getting his circumcision done at the age of 6. My arrival to Banjul was not suppose to happen on a dark 
Sunday evening. I had already spent four days hanging around at the Zebra Bar in Senegal with a crazy Dutch guy in an old Mercedes 307 diesel van, who had gone from Europe down to Gambia, combining his travel with doing charity work for West Africa. On his departure he had already broken down with the old Merc 1 k from his home in Holland, and spend 12 hours troubleshooting an electric failure in the charging system, only Dutch people are as crazy as this. Africa must be the continent with the largest amount of old Mercedes. The age of them are probably ranging from the early 80’s to mid 90’s, but occasionally you do see new models as well, even Humvee’s are seen down here, so there must be some people with cash. Most of the Mercedes are converted to contain as many people as possible, passengers even hang outside the buses to get to get further down the street or to the next village, and if that wasn’t it, why not stow 10 goats on the roof together with the luggage of the passengers. Yeah everything sure is possible in crazy 
wonderful West Africa. These Mercedes are without a doubt the most popular vehicle used all over West Africa. The cars that hasn’t been able to pass the yearly road worthiness test’s in Europe are being send down to Africa to end their life on the potholes and dusty roads. It means goodbye Europe, welcome Africa and they will end their days here when the chassis is totally fucked up, and none of the doors are able to close. While we have so strict rules regarding emissions in the western world, Africa gets all our junk to keep on polluting their own continent and everybodies world. It is sad but true. If we only think about removing our problems in our own little part of the world, what good is it if we just move the problem to the neighbour country or continent? The Dutch fella was accompanied with a young Nigerian bird named Miriam who he had “bought” for a couple of Singer sewing machines, to be exact it took him the price of four of these American quality machines, I still wonder what exactly he got out of it? When it comes to sewing machines it doesn’t matter so much that you are skilled at your profession. It is more important that you show your customers that you have more than one machine, though you only have two hands using four machines. People believe your product is good if you have a big quantity of machines. In plain simple words, one sewing machine tells you can sew, four tells your are the best tailor in town. Things sure works different here, but I still love it… At the campsite there was also Monica a middle-aged divorced German lady who had been travelling West Africa in a group of people driving 30 tonne trucks down to The Gambia. She had got tired of the group thing and decided to 
get off in Senegal at the way back and wait things out to see where time would take her, more travel of Africa or on the jet back to Germany. She might still hang around there? I hadn’t had in mind staying at ZB for more than a day or two, but the atmosphere quickly changed my plans. We would sit together in the evenings drinking “Bier La Gazelle” and smoking Wacky Baccy till early morning, while the other guest’s at the campsite would have a hard time sleeping due to our annoying laughter and silly conversations and not to forget the special smell of the lovely stuff. I had a great time and I often thought of how great the hippie days would have been like. I would have given my right arm for living in those days when people really got together at the Woodstock concerts in the late 1960’s. Back in those good old days it was Sex, Drugs, Rock ‘N’ Roll and travelling east on the “Hippie Trail”. I would have fitted in perfect. They really knew how to have a great time, I wish I was part of it. After the fourth day I had enough and checked out of the ZB with a bill that shocked me more than first time I saw Ian working on his bike butt naked. Both me and the bike missed getting on the Senegalese tarmac again or what is left of it due to potholes. The road down to Dakar and Kaolack was decent, but the last piece of tarmac or what was left of it before reaching the ferry in Barra was more than terrible. Most vehicles simply chose to drive next to the road on the corrugated gravel as the tarmac is full of potholes as if some someone had dropped hand granades for every 10 meters. I am sure my nuts are still to be found 30 k’s before the ferry where I went into one of the holes when I gunned the bike to reach the last ferry. When I finally made it to the border it was starting to get dark but it didn’t seem to put an end on the traffic situation and the life at the border area. It was still full of life and locals were selling everything from bananas to cheap crappy massed produced Chinese lamps. Africa is suffering under the import of horrible cheap Chinese product’s. Everything down here has made in China on it. Even on the road you will see Chinese people helping the African people building up the infrastructure, I wonder how long a Chinese build road will last? A couple of ladies and a funny dudes came over to me as I stopped in front of the Duane’s, just before the ferry taken me from Barra to Banjul. Two of the ladies were money exchangers and one of the 
dudes were just eager to score a gift from me, a t-shirt or a couple of CFA’s. In the end we didn’t get down to any business as the exchange rate was too low and I didn’t have in mind giving away my things to a bloody bumster. The border formalities were quite quick and easy-going, though the police insisted on interviewing me in a back office regarding my doings and entry into Gambia. As if this interrogation was not enough, an officer tried to unburden me of 1000 CFA for his part of the formalities which he finally gave up on when he found out that it was the last money I had on me for the ferry to Banjul. After my final stamp in the passport I gunned the bike as fast as I could to get the last ferry. David had previously informed me that I should be nice to the guys working on the ferry. They were awesome, great guys, three of them entertained me the 40 minutes or so it took us to get to the other side of the Gambian river in a rather lazy pace when you know the age of the ferry. It is 5 years old but looks and performs like a ferry that has been in service for four decades. Sailing after dark made me think on all the the ferry disasters you always hear about in east Asia. The Barra – Banjul ferries are filled with about as many people you can think of, and then another 200 more. If it gets into distress every child, woman and man are on there own. You shouldn’t expect too much on these kind of ferries. If you get to your end destination it means it is your lucky day, I really felt it like that. I had during the day been in contact with David about my progress down to his place. He advised me to follow some fellow passengers on the ferry when reaching Banjul to guide me into the Denton bridge on the other side of Banjul. I would there meet with David at one of the major check points. As I already had made several new friends on the ferry it was no problem, one of them a young Gambian called Abdoulie . It was quite a strange experience following a cab with 5 people you really don’t know in late evening through the slums of Banjul. Each time the bus stopped an old wrecked Toyota Hiace minivan, people would come and speak with me, all saying that I shouldn’t worry about my security. When 
you have heard that three times in a row, you really start to think about your security, but in the end everybody were nice to me. I guess they were just curious to see a Toubab on a huge bike. (In West Africa it is not that common to own a big cubic bike). Meeting with David Z. Levine was just what I had expected, a tall light bald slim guy in his early 60’s with the classic look as a doctor should have, at least in my imagination. David had been standing at the check point waiting for me half an hour. When he arrived he had parked his BMW F650GS and went over to an officers to advise them that he was expecting a friend to show up any time. As he left his bike for 30 seconds he suddenly heard the sound of a one-stamper torquing its way down of the Banjul highway away from the check point. The high ranked Gendarme had taken it for a spin without asking. That is how things work in Africa. After a little hassle and much interest in my bike, David and I finally went through the formalities and were heading home to his place in Kololi for a cold JulBrew and a shower.
Soundtrack: Pink Floyd – Mother
The final goal was near for my Greek friend Aggelos aka Cookie as Banjul was within a day of reach. Things took quit a dramatic change when arriving at the Senegalese border. The day before I was on the Diama Dam piste for 3 hours trying to get to the one of two borders into Senegal from north. It was with the idea to avoid the fucking Rosso border which is ruled by bumsters and corrupt cops.
A couple of hours after sunset and still on the Mauritanian soil we were trying to reach Senegal and the famous camp Zebra Bar to enjoy a cold beer. As so often before things just takes a couple of hours more and the sun seems to be in a hurry to hit the horizon. 30 clicks before the more civilized country of Senegal was reach we were stopped by two Gendarmes on the Diama Dam piste. These guys were incredible nice to us and suggested that we could stay overnight at their check point by the means of their security. One of the officers told me that we might get into trouble trying to pass the national park during the night as it is tormented by bandits. Today I do not regret staying at the check point, though 
it ment sleeping on the bare soil and constantly hearing the sound of blood thirsty Malaria infested mosquitos trying to find a bare spot of human skin. When that is said I can insure you the guys were taking proper hand on us. They served tea and took me for a walk down to the dam to see the locals fish during the night, all in all a great experience on the last night in Mauritania.
Next day I woke up quite early. You might say I didn’t wake up at all, I had been awake the whole night due to mosquitos and cars coming by. We packed our things and got on the bike. I had a little bad taste in my mouth due to not giving the officers a little cadeu, but then again I had given them some cigarettes and I am sure they enjoyed our company as foreigners do not come by at that place very often. Furthermore I could hear them snore, so you might wonder how much protection you really get. Most of these Gendarmes are young kids with a Kalashnikov, so I might wonder how effective they are if Alqaeda shows up?
The border to Senegal was very calm, almost no people and most important, no touts or bumsters. We got there early in the morning and I did the paperwork, first at the Police and later I had intended to 
pay the Douanes a visit as well, if it hadn’t been for a stupid cop rejected my Greek friend entrance of Senegal without a visa in his passport! I politely told him that Greece had the say agreement as Denmark about getting into Senegal with a 30 days stay, but he didn’t buy it and send me outside to wait. suddenly another officer with lower rank than the cop in the office came out to us and informed that Aggelos was rejected entrance to Senegal and he wanted both me and my friend to leaved the area immediately. There we were between two borders, not knowing if Mauritania would accept us back? Quit a shock for Aggelos and also for me as you are standing between two borders without valid visas for any of them. We even tried to mention paying 100-200 Euro for a visa to get in, but no money could buy that. Back home Aggelos had contacted the Senegalese embassy and was told that he didn’t need any visa to get in, he would get it at the border, which for me sounds naturally as Greece is a part of EU.
Luckily Aggelos was accepted to head back to Nouakchott on the 3 hours long dirt piste to get his visa, but in the end he choose to head all the way back to Europe instead, as he would have missed his Friday evening flight from Banjul, The Gambia.
I said farewell to my friend now that he had made up his mind, I had intended to go back with him to Nouakchott to get a Senegalese visa, if he had chosen that. All in all I was quite glad that I didn’t have to do the piste again, but I felt sorry for my friend.
All I had in my head after saying farewell Aggelos at the Mauritanian border was to get to the Zebra Bar ASAP and get some food and beers. I was in lack of rest days. It was four of the best days ever at Zebra Bar just untill I saw the bill on my departure day, maybe I shouldn’t have tried that fun tobacco from the German woman Monica?
The story about Aggelos trip back to Europe:
When left from fucking Diama Dam Senegal police, I started to Nouakchott. When I arrived there it was around 5.00 pm. I got some fuel in the city but the stupid fuckers had mixed water into it, so I did just 150 km and the bike stopped. It was good that I 
had filled the Touratech cans in Rosso. I then had 16 liters more in reserve. I made it until the total gas station 220 km from Nouadhibou. There I got fuel again and kept on to reach Erik in the city. I was calling his mobile but no answer! I was waiting in a bakers shop at the back of the shop. They were good guys and gave me food and I parked the bike in the back. After I remembered that Erik had given me his card and I called the mobile that he has in Mauritania. He came and picked me up and we drove to his house. Next morning I woke up and drove to Laâyoune to Le Roi Beduin and I was trying to find a new rear tire to replace the worn one I had on. I found and I ordered it. The delivery down to Laâyoune. It took 3 days to arrive from Casablanca and cost 200 euros!!!! 
/
Anyway I installed it and got on the road again. I drove until Tangier where the tire broke down around the port. So I was driving like 10 km in hour to reach the boat. On the ferry to Spain the waves were huge and bike was down with broken mirror. In Algeciras I found a guy with a GS that took me to a BMW dealer where they installed a new tire for 150 Euro and a new mirror.
Aggelos is back in Greece again and is longing for the road, had he had more time, he would have been together with me on the road to Cape Town.
Thanks for your company my friend, you have been great. Most people would never set there foot on African soil. So far you have done that ;oP
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