The Manding Highlands: Bamako to Kayes

S on the trail


A trés beau camping spot

Lunch at an abandoned
railway station


Helping friends out on the trail
- our latest bike pump, Senor Jose.
RIP, Jumbo Joe

It's a rainy morning in Kayes, a hub for transport in the north-west corner of Mali. Our first proper rainy day in almost two years and a strange ending to our time in sub-saharan West Africa. From here we'll move up and out through Mauritania and into Morocco - a journey that will likely see very little of us on the bikes due to the heat, sand and long, isolated stretches of road. So the past week of cycling has marked the close of this stage of the trip. We have travelled through the Manding Highlands with its wonderful forested escarpment, following the Bayole River until it converged with the Bafing to become the Senegal. The area was bursting full with the most extraordinary birds and one day a monkey even ran across the trail in front of us. Many of the villages we cycled through were quite isolated and given the state of the "road" almost entirely dependent on the rail line that passes through the area. The trail was rough (quite fitting with all of the others we rode in Mali) with sections that required us to push/carry our bikes over rocks and rivers. The journey was by no means easy, but brought with it some of the most rewarding riding in Mali.

7 Reflections from the Manding Highlands

1. There is no such thing as the right path, it is best to just pick one and see what it brings.
2. Bad days happen and it is best just to ride them out as calmly as possible because...
3. When you least expect it the world will reveal to you something of unimaginable beauty.
4. The most magnificent places are never the ones which are easily accessed.
5. You can make and eat almost anything from a Nalgene.
6. Many things we will never understand, but perhaps it is more important how we deal with our lack of understanding than trying to understand everything.
7. There is no hurry, there is no where to get to and nothing that must be seen beyond where you are at this moment.

Up the Niger River to Bamako

Our bikes' maiden voyage crossing the Niger at Macina.

The massive irrigation project on the north side of the Niger made an incredible difference. In contrast to the desolate Sahel we had cycled through on the south side, now we were passing through rice paddies and buying fruit along the roadside.



Brewing thé a la menthe at sunset with fishermen waving from their pirogues as they pass. A little piece of peace.


Traffic jam.













Our new friend, fondly known as 'Jumbo Joe' helped to see us through additional thorny encounters.


Sunshine & Rain

Djenne

The guidebook doesn't exaggerate when it describes Djenne as the most beautiful city in the Sahel. I would even include enchanting, timemess and majestic. With the taste of strong sugary mint tea still lingering on the tongue, one can be pleasently lost for hours weaving through the narrow alleys walled in by captivating houses whose architecture fuses the Sudanese and Moroccan influences.






Each year after the rains, the outer banco covering must be reapplied on all the buildings. We are told that Djenne is an island for much of the year but there is no sign yet of the surrounding waters. It has been two weeks since the last rainfall. This strikes me as an ominous start to the rainy season.




We are currently in Segou, approximately 250km east of Bamako. It has been so wonderful reading all the comments on the blog. Thanks for joining us on our journey!

The Best and Worst of the Classic Shortcut: Bankass to Djenne

The Best

• We travelled through a unique, rural area of lovely oasis-like villages. The people along the way rarely spoke French, but greeted us warmly nonetheless.
• Out of the quiet dark that followed the magnificent force of the sandstorm, the distance weaving sounds of flute and drum played by Fulani hearders camped nearby.
• Coca Cola and American country music with the friendly, lonely Gendarme at the roadside checkpoint.

The Worst

• Beware of the Malian secondary road as it may lead to pushing ones bicycle through the sand for hours.
• 5 punctures in 45 km despite all best efforts at dodging thorns, the only things that seem to be growing out of the sand.
• And when at last you've come to console yourself with the romantic notion of travelling off the beaten track up pop a village of small children screeching "ça va Toubaaawb!" (no Lucy not Toubob, but Toubaaaaaawb, you would love it!)

Pays Dogon

Ende at pre-dusk: The rocks on which we are sitting are hot but the day, now in late afternoon, is beginning to cool. Below us the Ende market is spread out in a shifting maze of colour and movement. More than half the women wear the indigo patterened wraps, some with rainbow embroidered stripes. Many are beginning to pack their wares of millet, onion, cucumber and sahel grapes, or make their final trades and sales of the day. Some children have joined us on the rocks that overlook the market. Others skip between the women or help to prepare the donkey carts. The scene is both calming and invigorating - made so by the pace, flow, colours and sounds bounced off the escarpment behind and above us. We have walked along the bottom of the escarpment on our amble today - tomorrow we will climb up to the top to explore the villages above. The cliffs are doted with the tiny dwellings of the pygmie Telum people - hunters who lived in the area from the seventh century until the Dogon agriculturalists came seven centuries later. The Dogon initally built their villages up on the rock face as well, then moved down to the plain where their crops and animals were. Millet and donkeys. We scamper down from the rocks, joining those on their way back to their homes, heading to the campement. K takes the lead and I pause to watch the beginning of a local football match on a sandy pitch. There is a crowd of small boys and men also watching and it reminds me so much of summer evenings with my dad, watching softball games at Wanless Park, placing nickel bets on the outcomes of innings. I am slowly on my way home.

En route to Mali

As we continued north, leaving Burkina Faso and entering Mali, the pavement gave way to rough dirt roads. The landscape became increasingly dry and barren as the true Sahel began to stretch before us.