We wish to learn all the curious, outlandish ways of all the different countries, so that we can "show off" and astonish people when we get home. We wish to excite the envy of our untraveled friends with our strange foreign fashions which we can't shake off. - Mark Twain

26 November 2019, Duékoué to Man, 82.1km
Hotel Beau Sejour 20,000XOF (R500)

Perhaps the flies crawling over the bloodied neck of the decapitated hyena put us off. Or perhaps it was the sight of the python, a sizeable one, cut into pieces and lying on the cement floor, also a-crawl with flies. The several cane rats, one being vigorously de-haired, were less disturbing, but as they also lay plump on the floor at the entrance to the restaurant, they did not add particularly to the ambience. Probably we should have stayed and eaten something exotic. The atmosphere was pleasant. Brightly-coloured plastic chairs placed under trees overlooking a lake in which mountains were reflected. But instead we opted to take a taxi to another option in town, and there ate chicken yet again for dinner. I can’t work out why we never get a knife. We get a fork and a spoon, but never a knife. I assume we are expected to eat with our hands, but I really would prefer a knife.
It was an overlong day, but a great ride. The first 50km were done under a cloudy sky, the last 30km were hot. The road had few potholes and often sported a narrow shoulder. And the scenery was pretty with some interesting rock formations around Duékoué and mountains around Man.
One sad image burned itself onto my retinas in just a glimpse. A man and woman were standing at a grave. The grave was covered in blue and white tiles. The woman stood hunched, her back partially turned to the road. She was bent over the grave, her palms flat on the raised surface, clearly distraught. The man stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, perhaps unable to bear her grief.
Another image made my day. A young mother cycling with her baby strapped to her back. She wore a lime green sarong, a turquoise T-shirt and a mustard-yellow headscarf. On her feet, open shoes, in her left hand a cell phone. Quietly confident, she passed me. A little later she took a left onto dirt, and waved a smiled her goodbye.
We breakfasted from a roadside stall on rolls filled with something fishy, and with sliced boiled eggs and fried onions. We sat on a bench beside the stall, watching the comings and goings of others seeking sustenance. They arrived on ancient bikes and lay them down in the dirt. They greeted old friends, and bought something and away they went. They greeted us and looked us over, but not for long, and we were allowed to finish our meal in peace.
At a later rest stop, we found somewhere shady to sit and there were joined by a vagrant. Around his neck, hanging low against his chest, was a wooden mask. And wrapped tightly in bundles, he carried his few worldly goods. He simply smiled at us and seated himself nearby, not asking anything. We ended sharing an orange with him. He followed us to two stores as we sought softdrinks. We told him a little about our story, and wondered afterwards how often he gets to engage with people. He seemed self-contained, but being poor in a poor country cannot be easy.

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