Cities were always like people, showing their varying personalities to the traveler. Depending on the city and on the traveler, there might begin a mutual love, or dislike, friendship, or enmity. Where one city will rise a certain individual to glory, it will destroy another who is not suited to its personality. Only through travel can we know where we belong or not, where we are loved and where we are rejected. - Roman Payne

28 July 2019, Libreville
Lustral Hotel 31,000CFA (R775)
29 July - 1 August 2019, Libreville
Airbnb 23,000CFA (R575)

As we had to do an embassy run to Libreville, some distance off our preferred route to Cameroon, we arranged to leave our bikes and the bulk of our luggage in Lambaréné and take public transport to the capital some 250km away. We opted for the government bus, a mid-size vehicle costing 5,000CFA each (around R125) and departing in theory at 06:00 for the five hour trip to the city.
We arrived early to find one other passenger already waiting, but the office still closed. More passengers arrived; Charl went for a cigarette stroll near the river; the office opened and the passengers filed in to take seats in their order of arrival, keeping second-place open for Charl (I was stationed outside keeping an eye on our luggage and buying baguettes with egg and meat and salad for the journey).
Filling a small bus to capacity is an art form. Everyone has luggage with them, some transporting three or four enormous packages, freight in fact. Those with more than their fair share of luggage, pay extra for it. We were absolutely fascinated with the process of ensuring justness, and that not one open space remained. First the biggest packages were loaded, taking up two back seats. Then mid size packages were placed under every seat (two seats on the left, single seats on the right). Then slightly smaller packages were placed in the aisle where the fold-down seats would be once occupied, leaving just a small space for future feet. Making only one exception to the passenger arrival order, and that for a very old and frail woman who boarded and chose her seat first, the passengers were called to the bus door in the order in which they had pitched up. Not initially realising the importance of this, we were infinitely grateful to those who had kept Charl’s second-place open in the office. Passengers got to choose their preferred seats as they boarded, none of the first arrivals opting of course for the infinitely less comfortable fold-down seats. Once all the normal seats were filled, the fold-down seats were filled from the back, as once occupied there was no room left to maneuver. And then we were off…
We had booked accommodation in yet another expensive African city via Airbnb, but when we got to town could not find the listing. We essentially used the last of our cash for a taxi, and found ourselves in a large and confusing city at the tailend of a Sunday without accommodation or money. In the end we checked into the expensive (for us) Lustral, predominantly because it was within walking distance of where we had been set down by the taxi, and because it had wifi on which to search for and book alternate accommodation. Charl went on a quest for cash, but four bank ATMs denied us withdrawal rights. We finally remembered we had $11 left in our emergency dollar fund, and persuaded the receptionist to hold these in exchange for some CFA, which meant we went to bed at least watered and fed, if not at peace. In the morning, we took a taxi for which we could not pay to an EcoBank, which Blanca had WhatsApped us about, and there managed at last to fill our pockets. We paid off the hotel, took the same taxi to our new Airbnb and had him wait while we dropped off our bags and drive us immediately to the Cameroon embassy.
The Cameroon visa must be the easiest to get anywhere. No fuss or bother about itineraries and hotel bookings. A simple form to complete, cash to be handed over, and a “pick it up tomorrow at 10:00” and we were done. Wish the same could be said for the Nigerian visa. Having collected our passports and Cameroon visas on the Tuesday, we strolled optimistically down to the nearby Nigerian embassy, where we were told that they issue visas to Gabonese citizens or residents only. “Ah, no, madam, s’il vous plait”, said I. “Wait”, said she. Thirty minutes later a man with traditional cut marks on his cheeks came and and told us again to “Wait”. We saw him leave the compound with a higher-up in a shiny black vehicle. Two hours later he returned to tell us that they issue visas to Gabonese citizens or residents only. “Ah, no, monsieur, may we tell our story?” We met then with a consular officer who said that if we could persuade the South African embassy to ask him to issue the visas, he could perhaps make an exception. The South African embassy was willing to assist, but not to the point of actually asking them to issue the visas. They confirmed our identities and explained that we were “explorers”, people with no clear idea of where they will be when and who cannot, therefore, apply for the visas in their home country. Despite an additional four hours at the Nigerian embassy on the Wednesday, and a meeting with the ambassador, we left visaless, noone being willing to break the rules and grant us entry to a less-than-safe environment. Will have to try again in Cameroon…
The South African embassy is located close to the seafront, where we were disappointed to see plastic bottles ranked on the beach, and where we got into trouble for photographing the presidential palace and the rather unattractive “breaking the chains” hermaphrodite statue opposite. We were hailed by two policemen who demanded to see what I had photographed and who then tried physically, but unsuccessfully, to prevent me from deleting the offending pics, wanting to show them and us to their “chef”. They were unaware that Charl had photographed the statue, which appears below. We had no idea we were looking at the presidential palace, and nowhere were their sign prohibiting photography, so why they should be shocked or surprised at the behaviour of tourists was a mystery.
The share-car taxi system in the city takes some getting used to. You wave down a vehicle, tell the driver your destination and how much you are willing to pay. If he does not like your offer, he drives off, though the more patient will negotiate, taking pity on your ignorance.