The last several days, I have been playing the part of a ‘beach bum’ and ‘hack journalist’ in La Manzanilla. To many gringos, this small Mexican beach town is Paradise. You’re probably wondering how’s the weather there? Well, it has been quite pleasant and a little on the cool side (at least for me). I would estimate the temperature to be no more than 80-82F (27C) during the day and somewhat breezy. At night, it feels like it is a bit on the chilly side with the temperature hovering around 65F (18C). I understand that it really heats up during the heart of the summer with the temperature getting into the mid 90’s with humidity. If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m a person who loves tropical heat and I’m more comfortable with temperature readings in Fahrenheit.

La Manzanilla is located on Mexico’s Costa Alegre, a popular resort area on the Pacific Coast between Puerto Vallarta to the north and Manzanillo to the south.

A couple of days ago, I returned to La Manzanilla, a small beach resort located about 45 minutes north of the Manzanillo Airport on Mexico’s Pacific Coast. Affectionately known as “My Secret Paradise”(a nickname that I coined), La Manzanilla is not really a secret anymore - the cat has been out of the bag for sometime now.

A longtime favorite beach town among Mexicans from Guadalajara, there is increasingly steady flow of Americans and Canadians who vacation here. Not surprisingly, there is a growing expat community of gringos here in La Manzanilla - many of them are snowbirders, which is a popular term used to describe North Americans who fly migrate south during the cold winter months (November – May) before returning home sometime after May. Many of these snowbirders have summer homes situated in the hills overlooking the town.

It seems that everybody is enchanted with “My Secret Paradise”; whenever I go to one of the more popular cafes like El Girasol Bistro, I always overhear conversations about buying property from gringos who are vacationing here for the first time. As expected, land prices are going up as more and more gringos try to set up shop here. Stay tuned…

Dec. 23, 1995 Kumasi, Ghana A ladyfriend from Accra accompanied me to Kumasi, Ghana’s 2nd largest city of and spiritual home of the ancient Ashanti empire. Located in the hilly central region about 3 1/2 hours by car from the capital of Accra, Kumasi is now a thriving tourist mecca with a variety of attractions and places of historical interest. Note: The Ashanti King and his royal court still reside here. About a half hour drive from this royal city is Lake Bosumtwi, Ghana’s only natural lake. Surrounded by verdant green hills, this lake is home to several small fishing villages and is considered sacred by the Ashanti people. The lake is very important to the well being of these communities as it provides them with an abundance of fish. Understandably, fish is the staple of people’s diet and fishing is the primary source of income. Christianity and Western culture hasn’t had a tremendous impact here as the people maintain the ways of their Ashanti ancestors and they still pay homage to their African Gods.

Curious about the folklore and mythology of these fishing villages, my friend and I took a taxi to Bosumtwi where we hired a boat for a scenic tour of the lake. The Boat Captain, who was an Ashanti and lived in one of the lakeside villages, recited a very interesting story which was an integral part of Ashanti folklore.

At 16-year intervals, in order to ensure that the lake continues to be abundant with fish, it is customary that the Ashanti people of Bosumtwi district make a sacrificial offering of a human being to the God who resides in the lake. Traditionally, the local people would capture an outsider for this very important ritual as the Gods were most pleased if the sacrificial victim was of European ancestry, and would reward the small fishing villages as such with a superabundance of protein rich fish for the next 16 years.

I asked the boat captain nervously, exactly when does this sacrifice take place? Looking at me with cold steely black eyes, he said that the sacrifice must take place sometime before Christ’s birthday, in other words before Christmas. Hmm, upon hearing this, I gulped, lost all my color and turned a ghostly white. Today was Dec. 22, 1995 - nothing like being in the wrong place at the right time! I could see where this was going. Before I could blink an eye, the captain and my turncoat friend shoved me overboard into the lake. Although I am good swimmer, for some reason the water lacked any buoyancy as I felt myself being dragged below the surface by forces unseen. The rest is history – the local communities were blessed with another 16 years of tremendous fishing!

January 1996 Bamako, Mali While I was in Abidjan, I met this businessman from Mali at my hotel. I told him I was planning on visiting his country and asked him if he could recommend a reasonably priced hotel for me in Bamako. He highly recommended this hotel located directly across from the outdoors crafts market. I made a quick mental note of the hotel.

The rogue taxi that abducted me at the Bamako airport delivered me to this hotel safe and sound albeit for an exorbitant fare. Basically I was ripped off. After dumping my bags in my cavernous and musty room, I went downstairs to get something to eat and drink after my perilous journey. Walking outside to the small dining area, I sat myself at a large table which was already occupied by at least 10 young Malian guys who were enjoying a round of beers and a hippiesh white lady. As I ordered my meal, the entire delegation quickly welcomed me to Bamako. It was apparent to me right away, that the young men were all touts. They seemed relatively harmless enough as they were laughing and smiling. Chatting with them, I was keenly aware that I was being sized up. A couple of the touts inquired whether I was going to visit the Dogon country and Timbuktu, and tried to pitch their services as tour guides. In addition, I was offered a bedwench for the night and some marijuana but I let them know that I really wasn’t too keen on any of their propositions.

The white lady had some real horror stories to share about her travel odyssey; apparently she was raped and robbed of her monies and passport while staying with some Nigerian prostitutes at a Catholic mission. Now she was biding her time while the US Embassy in Bamako was trying to facilitate her departure so she could return home. After finishing my dinner, I excused myself and I retired to my hotel room. I really didn’t get much sleep that first night as there were more than several mosquitoes in the room, and they kept whizzing over my head. During my brief stay in Mali, mosquitoes and touts turned out to be a recurrent theme. C’est La Vie!

Thailand is one of my favorite places to watch butterflies. Butterflies can easily be observed in a controlled environment such as an enclosed butterfly garden. In Thailand, there are number of these gardens near Chiang Mai and in the resort areas of Ko Samui and Phuket. While I enjoy visiting butterfly gardens, it’s a lot more fun and rewarding to watch butterflies in the wild or in an open-air garden. One of the best places to observe a variety of butterflies and the phenomenon known as puddling is near streams, ponds and waterfalls. Highly recommended butterfly venues are Khao Soi Dao Wildlife Refuge, Pangsida National Park and Chiang Dao. In Chiang Dao, Khun Lek has a wonderful wildlife garden with a variety of colorful flowering plants that attract many butterflies. The musical travelogue “Butterflies of Thailand” features over 25 species of butterflies interspersed with scenes from the Thai countryside. Check it out!
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January 1996 Bamako, Mali After a short flight from Abidjan, Ivory Coast, I arrived on a balmy evening at the airport in Bamako, Mali. It was sometime after 8:00PM. After deplaning, I picked up my baggage and proceeded to go to the immigration checkpoint. I was little disconcerted to discover that there were no queues - it was sort of a free for all as people were jostling with each other to get to the immigration booth. I guess this is the way they do things in Mali. Finally, after a little pushing and shoving of my own, I got through and cleared immigration.

Walking out into the loading area and the warm desert night, a thick haze blanketed the airport. The atmosphere was surreal. While surveying the scene and pondering my next move, I accidentally let down my guard and put my luggage on the ground. Before I could blink an eye, two young guys snatched my bags and threw them into the trunk of a dilapidated black car. Trying to apprehend these jokers, I was shoved into the back seat and the car sped off. Scared and frightened, I tried to communicate with the driver and his cohorts to no avail as they spoke little or no English. For a moment, I thought was kidnapped. But that apparently wasn’t their game – the driver made an attempt to find out what hotel I wanted to go to. I protested that this wasn’t a licensed taxi and asked to be let out. In actuality, it was a rogue taxi. The driver insisted in broken English that he was going to take me to my hotel, so don’t worry. I was at their mercy - the only other choice I had was to jump out of the car.

About 45 minutes later, the taxi arrived at my hotel which was situated smack dab in the middle of downtown Bamako. After getting out of the car the driver tells me $60USD. I shook my head and told him ‘hell no’. We took the dispute to the hotel front desk. Fortunately, there was someone that understood English. I tell the clerk how I was literally abducted at the airport by this rogue taxi and despite these circumstances, I was willing to pay the driver the normal taxi fare but I refuse to get ripped off (The clerk tells me that the normal fare was about 15USD). After a heated discussion with the driver, the hotel clerk turns around to me and tells me to pay the driver what he wants in order to avoid any further problems. Shaking my head in disbelief, I reluctantly handed the driver the monies and tell him to get lost! Despite the fact that I was abducted and ‘robbed’ by this rogue taxi, arriving at my hotel safe and sound was probably worth the 60USD!

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast Dining at a restaurant in the Marcory district of Abidjan, I struck up a conversation with the young waitress who happened to speak passable English. I told the waitress whose name was Ann of my plans to go to the crafts market the following morning to buy some fabric and some indigenous crafts. As I was looking for somebody to help me with the shopping and act as a translator, I asked Ann if I could hire her to accompany me. She agreed to take the assignment.

The next morning, I hired a taxi and we went to the crafts market. After finishing my shopping, I wanted to cash some traveler’s checks so I asked Ann if she could take me to a place where I could get a good exchange rate. Nodding her head, Ann said no problem. So we hopped into a taxi, a short while later we arrived at our destination. Pulling up in front on a nondescript office, the taxi was instantly surrounded by at least 30 very animated young men who were jostling for position and chattering in languages that I didn’t understand. Some of them held wads of the local currency in their fists. I guess this was the black market welcoming committee.

To say the least, I was very alarmed and feared for my safety. Casting a nervous glance at Ann, I summoned up all the courage I had and opened the car door, got out and made a beeline for the door to the money exchange office, all the while pretending to ignore the bedlam surrounding me. Once inside the office, I breathed a deep sigh of relief and I proceeded to exchange my traveler’s checks. Funny thing - after leaving the office, the welcoming committee had disappeared. Maybe they found new fish to fry. I hopped into the waiting taxi and returned to my hotel safe and sound. What an adventure!

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast While having breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, I met this interesting English gentleman named Fred in his mid 50’s. After chatting with this bloke for a while, I find out he’s working in Africa as a civil servant for the British government. Stationed in the Ivory Coast for the last year, Fred had some very colorful stories to tell about his tours of duty all over Africa. Men being men, the conversation eventually drifted to ladies and where to find them. Living in Abidjan for awhile now, Fred seemed to be quite familiar with the turf and asked me if I wanted to accompany him for a night on the town. As I was game for some carousing, I tell Fred I’m good to go. So we make arrangements to go out later that evening

Stepping into a taxi, we headed towards Treichville, a popular tourist district. Shortly into the journey, we unexpectedly hear sirens. Looking into the rear view mirror, I see it’s the local Abidjan police. The taxi pulls over by the curb as the police get out their car and approach the taxi. Fred, sitting in the front seat, rolls down his window and asks the young police officer nonchalantly, what‘s up? For the next 15 minutes or so, Fred and the young cop are engaged in a heated conversation. I hear some mention of passport and papers, but I really don’t understand French. At some point, the cop motions to me sitting in the back seat and Fred says to him in clipped French, my friend is American.

After what seemed like an eternity, the police finally let us go along our merry way. Fred explained to me that the local police wanted to collect some money from him because he didn’t have his passport on his person. Just a couple of cops trying to pick up some spare change. Luckily he was able to bullshit his way out of the jam by telling them about his important assignment in Abidjan. The cops never talked directly with me – while I wasn’t carrying my passport with me, I did have a Xerox copy on my person. Fred and I laughed and continued to one of his favorite watering holes in Treichville. The rest of the night was without incident – downing a couple of Guinness, Fred and I chatted up some Nigerian tarts before returning to our hotel empty-handed.

Factoid: When you’re traveling to a foreign country, I recommend that you make a copy of your passport and carry it with you at all times. Store your passport in the hotel’s safe deposit box.

January 1996 Abidjan, Ivory Coast Walking to my hotel room, I ran into a young African fellow who was staying a couple doors down from me. We exchanged pleasantries - his name was Frank; native of Liberia, Frank was passing through Abidjan on business. As he seemed like a friendly fellow, I told him maybe we could get together for a drink in the next evening or two. He smiled and nodded his head.

The following night, I heard a knock on the door. It was Frank, my neighbor down the hallway. He asked me if I wanted to join him and a friend for a drink in the hotel’s cocktail bar. He hinted that his friend, who was an officer in Nigerian Army, had a little business proposition for me. As I had nothing better to do, I told him – OK, Why not? but a little voice in my head said, “be careful about this business thing”. Following Frank downstairs to the cocktail bar, we were joined shortly by a very stout, husky and dark gentleman dressed in khaki attire. He had a very dangerous and ominous look about him. Putting aside my apprehension about the situation, we sat down at table and ordered a round of Guinness.

We engaged in a little chitchat before the army officer artfully segued into the business proposition. In a hushed voice, he told me that he had a substantial amount of monies in Nigeria that he was trying to get out of the country, and he was looking for someone from the US or Europe to place the monies into their bank account in return for a healthy cut of the action. Sound familiar? While listening to him, the little voice in my head was cautioning me that this guy is up to no good-be careful! Instead of saying NO, I hesitated and said I have to think about it. He asked me if he could call or write me about this matter? Being polite, I gave him my business card. Of course, there was no way I would fall for this scam. I think he knew that I was on to his little Nigerian two-step, as I never heard from him again.

It was in December 2005 that I embarked on a memorable 6-week adventure to West Africa which took me to four different countries – Ghana, Togo, Ivory Coast and Mali. I distinctly remember landing at the airport in Accra, Ghana sometime after midnight - stepping out into the arrival area, I was greeted by a rousing reception of Ghanaians who were stationed behind the chain linked fence, then whisked off to my hotel by my friend. It was the start of a very momentous journey!

Although I had experienced African culture in the Diaspora while traveling extensively in the Caribbean, nothing in my past experience really prepared me for this trip. My eyes (and my mind) were wide open as I traveled to metropolitan cities and out into the African bush (countryside) passing thru colorful marketplaces, artisan villages and dirt poor rural villages. On this journey, I learned a lot more about the history and diversity of cultures in West Africa than I had in my studies at the University. Traveling is definitely the highest form of education - you learn so much about yourself, the world and about different cultures and peoples.

I spent most of my time in GHANA – I stayed in the family home of a friend who lived in Mamprobi, a humble neighborhood located on the outskirts of Accra. While in Ghana, I visited a number of different places - including the Slave forts of the Gold Coast, the tourist mecca of Kumasi (the heart of the Ashanti) and the Upper Volta dam. The rainforest canopy tour at Kakum was very exciting and was the first time that I had taken a tour like this. Of the four countries that I visited, Ghana by far was the friendliest and most westernized and Mali was the most exotic and intriguing. My only regret was lacking sufficient funds (and time) to make it to the legendary Timbuktu in Mali.

I have so many wonderful memories from this trip - of the people that I met and of the many exotic places that I visited - as well as some really astounding stories to share, that it would be some really juicy material for a best selling novel. In this novel, there would be elements of culture shock, political intrigue, extortion, adventure, romance and heartbreak. Stayed tuned….