Travel Weekly Crossroads' editor, Judy Koutsky, left New York
on Oct. 23 for a press tour of Africa's Ivory Coast. She is
chronicling her adventures in regular on-line travelogues. This is
the first chapter in the "Judy Goes to Africa" series:
ABIDJAN, Ivory Coast -- "Akwaba to Cote d'Ivoire."
After weeks of arduous planning to enable Internet connectivity
halfway around the world, and then maintaining my sanity during the
15 hour journey west, those words of welcome resonated magically in
my ears. Finally I was in Africa.
I did not get to this point without a lot of well meaning advice
about the Ivory Coast. I heard the tales from those used to
traveling in style: The hotels are right out of the 70s, don't
expect American first class comfort; the streets of Abidjan are 10
times more chaotic than Manhattan's; the country is poor, the food
strange, the people many. These stories were told to warn me,
prepare me, not to scare me off, I was assured. After all of this,
I was urged to keep an open mind and not go there with preconceived
notions. Although I may have had second thoughts, nothing could
deter my enthusiasm for seeing a continent few ever experience. So
I packed my bags (trying to pack light will prove to be very
difficult, but you'll be grateful from the moment you lug your
suitcases out the front door), got my shots (yellow fever, typhoid,
meningitis, polio, tetanus), took my pills (malaria, RX for
diarrhea which the nurse assured me I'd need), bought my sunscreen
with DEET (with a concentration of no more than 15%, as it's a
carcinogenic) and headed for the airport. Now I was finally
here.
Day 1, Oct. 24: Abidjan
When thinking of Africa, one can't help but conjure up images of
exotic animals, savannah, and a traditional village way of life. A
trip to Abidjan will dispel those romanticized notions quicker than
you can say akwaba (which means welcome in Baoule). Skyscrapers,
banks, traffic jams, long bus lines, bustling businessmen and kids
in the streets begging for money are just some images of growing
urbanization that will greet visitors.
A good place to start exploring is the Treichville market, which
is said to be the biggest in all the Ivory Coast. Not unlike
Jamaica's market, but on a much grander scale, there are hundreds
of little stands set up selling everything from masks to colorful
African garb to exotic fruits, vegetables and fish. Purveyors can
identify Americans, black or white, by the clothes they wear and
are ready to make an irresistible deal. Although English is a
problem here -- the official language is French -- these
entrepreneurs know some, especially numbers ("65,000, but, for you,
55,000") and shameless flattery ("You are beautiful girl, you need
a beautiful mask"). As we hadn't converted any of our money yet, we
could only look, much to the dismay of the merchants. As I pulled
out my camera to shoot a particularly beautiful display of
handcrafted wood carvings, the young man shook his head vehemently.
I understood. In the market, everything has a price tag, even the
right to take a picture.
As we got on our bus to head for the next stop, young children
surrounded us begging in French. One girl kept asking for a "bic,"
and it wasn't until later that I realized she wanted a pen. We felt
guilty, for taking a few pictures and for their obvious poverty, so
we gave them a few American dollars. The crowd quadrupled within
minutes; one young boy with an effectious grin ran after the bus
and lifted a ride on the back for several blocks.
After seeing this side of Abidjan, visitors should head for the
business district where they'll see a completely different picture.
Known as the Plateau, the French influence is most palpable here.
We ate at a very posh French restaurant for lunch which is
frequented mostly by Europeans. We ate duck and drank wine in a
meticulous garden complete with colorful flowers and palm trees.
Here was the upscale metropolis, no sign of poverty in site.
Fanicos. As we drove out of the city's center
and along tall grass and palm trees, we came across women and men
walking with very large bundles on their heads. As we got closer,
we saw that the bags were wet and water was running down their
faces. These are the fanicos, the washermen. Low on the
economic ladder, they do other people's washing to make a living.
They bring the bundles down to a large, shallow lagoon near the
Parc du Banco where lots of children are cooling off on this hot
day. There they scrub, using lye, and beat the clothes against
large rocks held in place by car tires. After all the washing is
done, they carry the wet clothes in a large bag on their heads
looking for a spot on the grass to spread out their load to dry.
The road was lined with pants, dresses and blankets as far as the
eye could see. (I originally had thought the clothes were on
display for sale.)
We arrived at the Golf Hotel Inter-Continental, a popular resort
among Europeans on holiday. The outside decor, which currently is
being refurbished, is nothing much: a '70s-style yellow building,
chipping in places. But the rear of the property more than makes up
for it. With palm trees galore and a swimming pool as complex as a
water-park theme ride, complete with slides, islands, twists and
turns, it was peaceful and well maintained here. Just a short
distance from the pool is the "African Riviera." Many lounge by the
pool or beach for hours, then eat in the hotel restaurants (which
are very good), not even leaving the grounds during their stay.
In Abidjan, like in most cosmopolitan cities, there is a
striking contrast between the rich and poverty-stricken -- poor
peasant marketers and fanicos vs. business hotels and expensive
French bistros.
That night we went to a native African dance where they wore
masks and danced on stilts. The two-hour performance was
high-energy with an assortment of drums, songs and fast-paced
dancing. The performance told a story, which was narrated in
French, about a village boy trying to win the heart of a girl in a
rival village. The dramatic ending, when the young boy ate fire,
won the mask of the high spirit and married the girl, was a great
way to conclude the evening and our introduction to Abidjan.
Day 2, Oct. 25: The Train Ride
So far, we had been traveling in a very comfortable,
air-conditioned minibus with a well-versed tour guide. However, the
tourism department wanted us to get a taste of the how the Ivorians
travel. So the next morning we were up at five and left shortly
thereafter to head to the train station. As for the subsequent
six-hour, overheated train ride, I wouldn't have given it up for
anything, not even a cool, painless excursion in a minibus.
The train, taking us from Abidjan to Dimbokro went through the
lush and surprisingly tropical African countryside. We passed by
countless palm, mango, coconut and papaya trees, coffee fields,
rice paddies, forests (what's left of them) and savannas. We
stopped at a station every hour or so, with a vibrant and eager
crowd waiting to sell their fruits, vegetables, sandwiches and
water to the traveling passengers. These women and children,
dressed in bold, colorful garb, balanced the merchandise on their
heads while walking alongside the train. Many locals on the train
bought the cheap plantains, yucca, and cola nuts for what amounted
to less than one American dollar. The train ride enabled me to see
the Africa I'd read about in books.
Yamoussoukro. The political and administrative
capital of the Ivory Coast (Abidjan is the commercial capital),
Yamoussoukro was more my pace. This quiet city lies in the heart of
the savanna, with much smaller and more manageable markets and
fewer people (population: 100,000; Abidjan: 3.5million). After
traveling for so many hours, we were anxious to get to our hotel
and wash off the grime of the day. The President Hotel far exceeded
any expectations I might have had. As nice as any luxury
accommodations in Europe or the U.S., this hotel had all the modern
amenties one likely would not expect in the Ivory Coast. With a
restaurant on the 48th floor, giving us a spectacular view of the
world's largest basilica framed against the savannah countryside
and distant mountains, this hotel is well worth a visit. As I
explored, I was delighted to find beautifully manicured grounds,
complete with a golf course, large swimming pool, fitness center,
and health spa (manicures, pedicures, masseuse), all excellently
maintained. I could spend a week here and still not be bored. The
best part is that it's a short distance to downtown Yamoussoukro
and everything it has to offer. (Tomorrow, we are going to Our Lady
of Peace Basilica, the local market and the Lake of the Sacred
Crocodiles).
Maquis. After eating at so many posh, French
restaurants, tonight we were treated to local ethnic food at an
Ivorian maquis. The maquis eateries are popular among the
locals because the food is cheap and good, the surroundings
unpretentious and cozy. They served us plantains, fried and
sweetened, fish and chicken prepared in traditional African sauces,
manioc, a native Ivorian vegetable grated and served like
cous-cous, yams, papaya, mango, pineapple (all locally grown) and
sweet onions. Maybe it was because everything was grown naturally,
maybe it was because we were in Africa eating a traditional African
meal with the mayor of Yamoussoukro, maybe it was the Ivorian wine;
whatever it was, our taste buds were in overdrive and we gave in by
indulging shamelessly.
While both places are worth a visit, Abidjan and Yamoussoukro
are in sharp contrast with each other. Abidjan offers all the
big-city essentials: active nightlife, large markets and diverse
restaurants. Yamoussoukro, however, seems more sophisticated, and
the people seem more relaxed and friendlier.
Judy Goes to Africa, Part 1: "Akwaba to Cote
d'Ivoire"
Judy
Goes to Africa, Part 2: The Paradox of Our Lady of Peace
Judy
Goes to Africa, Part 3: Forgerons, Potiers and
the Dance of the Leopard-Men
Judy
Goes to Africa, Part 4: Living on 'African Time'
Judy
Goes to Africa, Part 5: No Electricity, but the Men Wear
Levi's
Judy
Goes to Africa, Part 6: Friendliness is Country's Best
Attraction