Gradually the magic of the island [Corfu] settled over us as gently and clingingly as pollen. -Gerald Durrell

6 January 2020, Boffa to Kolaboui, 94.6km
Unnamed Motel 100,000GNF (R149)

Had a good giggle this morning when a prankster, from outside his homestead sited a little above the road, called out “Yeah, fortay” (white) … over a loudhailer! An autocyclist approaching me, let out a surprised laugh, as did I, turning my head back to get a quick glimpse of the man. When he heard me laugh, he asked “Ca va?” Hope he heard my response, “Ca va, bien”, and saw my wave…
It was a much longer day than hoped. We were tired following yesterday’s ride and hoped to break the 117km to Boke into two. There were no accommodation options marked on any of our online maps, but we hoped to find something at the Tougnifili-Fonto carrefour (intersection), about halfway between Boffa and Boke. Unfortunately, there was nothing, so we had to push on to Kolaboui, just 20-plus kms shy of Boke, and a long 45km beyond our hoped for end-point.
The road was in good condition, barring the shoulder, with little traffic. And although it was hot between 12:00 and 16:00, it is noticeably cooler in the mornings, and noticeably cooler late-afternoon.
We passed through villages named Kissing, Kossinssing and Khissiling, taking a shadow-kiss selfie at the first of these. And bought airtime at a tiny hamlet, actually Orange Credit, and drinks when we needed, sometimes chilled, sometimes tepid.
By the time we reached Kolaboui, we were both “fatigué”. I was cycling ahead of Charl and stopped where I saw a couple of men drinking tea to ask about a bed. One of them spoke good English, took one look at my shaking legs, and suggested we join them for tea, which we did when Charl arrived. The proprietor turned out to be from Gabon, and was glad we had liked it there. They told us about a motel literally around the bend, though we later missed it as it was completely unsignposted. In fact, we had to be led back to it by an autocycle taxi driver,who insisted on taking Charl’s name and number. We discovered my back tyre was flat, just as we were leaving them; thank goodness for the tea, or we may not have had the energy to change it.
The entrance to the motel was unprepossessing, it being used as a dump site for cans from the attached bar. But our room and attached bucket bath shower were spotlessly clean and airy, as was the outside squat pit-toilet (not my favourite). We were awoken in the night by something knocking over one of our empty soda cans. Turned out to be a sizeable frog, carefully evicted by Charl.
It was our second night in a row where our dinner comprised cold chips, this time served with “viande” (meat), well-spiced, but with tiny bone slivers, product of careless hacking. Filling, though, and tasty enough…

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…