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The Amazing Summer 2023 European Vacay, Part One: Preparation and Arrival in the UK

The parliament buildings in typical London cloudy weather on our first morning

The last eight months since curtailing from Guinea have been a mix of wrestling with disappointment at what led to our departure and adjusting to being back in the U.S. and relief. One big plus with returning to the U.S. for work though was being able to plan and take a long summer vacation. Had I stayed in Guinea, I expect that between the summer transfer season turnover and continuing staffing gaps, I would have had difficulty taking much time, if any, off.

Yet back in the U.S., in an office flush with staff and work/life balance, the request was approved quickly and very early. A week after starting my new job in January, my boss had signed off on my 3.5 weeks of leave in July. Frankly, I was a little stunned but extremely pleased. Time off overseas has often required a great deal of coordination between myself, my colleagues, and bosses. Here it was just a matter of asking and then receiving. I could then begin planning for all the moving parts of this incredible trip that would include a planes, trains, automobiles, and a cruise, coordination with my friend CZ and my sister and brother-in-law CH1 and CH2, summer camp, some solo time, and six countries.

Although I have been in the U.S. several significant chunks of time for language and/or functional training (July 2011-July 2012; July 2014-January 2015; April 2017-August 2017; August 2021-June 2022), the only vacationing has been during home leave, which must be taken in the U.S. The leave policy during training is strict and does not allow for time off except in very few circumstances (maybe your own wedding, and even that is not guaranteed). During summers we have either been arriving for training or departing for Post, or I was at Post and time off tended to be maximum two weeks to accommodate the travel and transfer schedules of colleagues. This summer has been the first summer where I have been based in the U.S. since 2008!

I was determined to make the most of it.

The weather turned uncharacteristically stunning for our trip on the London Eye

We flew out the early evening of July 5. In preparation, I had worked to get my daughter C and I to bed early on the two evenings before. This involves some melatonin and another light sleeping draught. My rather dramatic pre-teen proclaimed loudly to anyone who would listen that I had drugged her. We may have been in bed before the fireworks started on July 4th, but we were plenty tired to sleep on our red-eye flight and adjusted to European time a sight easier.

We landed at 6 AM and after collecting our bags and going through immigration we caught a Bolt (like an Uber) from Heathrow to CZ and her son Little CZ’s hotel on the Albert Embankment. Initially, the plan had been to stay a night in London and then make our way down to the cruise ship port the following morning, but the logistics and cost of booking a car transport or the possibility of a train strike on the day of made me wary and it just felt better to go down to Southampton the day before. My friend and her son had arrived a few days before us and were settled into a nice room with a late checkout, so we would meet them, have a bit of a stroll around, and then catch a southbound train.

We had advance booked a flexi-fast pass ticket for the London Eye that allowed us to not only skip the line but ride the wheel whenever we wanted on a given day. It was much pricier, but gave us a lot of flexibility. One thing that was paramount on our trip was advance bookings, as we had heard that tourist numbers in Europe would be very high and we wanted to be sure to get into the venues and see the attractions on our must-see lists. The few times we failed to do this during the trip resulted in us missing out.

We walked along the embankment, alongside the National COVID Memorial Wall, a stark reminder of the pandemic that we were only starting to put in the rearview mirror. In the space of our stroll’s beginning and our arrival at the London Eye, the grey clouds had scattered and the sun had come out in force, and C and Little CZ had been reacquainted as if little time had passed since they had last seen one another a little more than a year before. We enjoyed our turn on the wheel, at least CZ and I did; the kids may have been rather blasé about it, though happy enough with some food truck eats and time on the playground by the Eye.

Some of Southampton’s Titanic Memorials – the Memorial to the Titanic Musicians (left), the Titanic Crew Memorial (center), and the Titanic Engineers Memorial (right)

We took the long way back to the hotel crossing over Westminster Bridge then passing Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and the Parliament buildings, to cross back over Lambeth Bridge. We took a little rest in the hotel room and then, in one of the roomy black traditional-looking cabs, arrived at London Waterloo station to catch our just over an hour train to Southampton.

We arrived just before 5 PM and then walked the short distance to the Novotel, where we would stay the night. With a cruise ship in port, we had not had a lot of lodging options and had worried a little about the lack of air conditioning, common enough in England, at the hotel, but it was cool enough and we were all jet lagged, so after some dinner we all turned in early.

I woke up around 3:30 in the morning. I was wide awake and hungry.

There are times when I quite enjoy a little jet lag. Not when I have to be awake for a meeting or get through a full day of work, no, but when I am in a place where it is nice to see the sunrise or there may be something to do in the middle of the night (from trying on feather boas in a 24/7 Walmart or visiting the top of the Burj Khalifa at 5 AM), it can be rather fun. But lying awake in the dark while the other three people in the room sleep? Not all that jolly. As soon as breakfast started at 6 AM, I was there, reading my book. I was not sure how long the rest of my party would sleep, but CZ had mentioned waking around 9 AM so we could visit a local museum that opened at 10. I did not want to sit around that long.

The imposing Medieval Bargate (left) and the ruins of Holyrood Church from its courtyard

Southampton is perhaps most famous as the departure point for the RMS Titanic. I knew there was the museum, but wondered if there were any where else in town that commemorated the historic tragedy? I checked my phone and saw there was a memorial to the ship’s musicians just 15 minutes from the hotel and another memorial to the Titanic’s engineers just a minute from there across the street. I looked at my watch, I had more than two hours to go for a stroll…

It was a beautiful Friday morning before the businesses and shops opened and it felt like I had the city almost to myself. After finding the musician and engineers memorials, I realized it was not even 7 AM and the map showed there were several more heritage and historic landmarks not far away. Off I went! The 12th century Norman Bargate, smack dab in the shopping street, was used to collect local taxes from those entering or leaving the town. Further down the street stood the atmospheric ruins of the Holyrood church, which was built in 1320 and then destroyed in the Blitz in 1940. In the base of the clock tower stands a stone ornamental fountain, with a small relief of the Titanic at its top, dedicated to the ship’s crew, most of whom came from Southampton. I also passed the God’s House Tower, a 13th century gatehouse, a medieval merchant’s home, and parts of the town’s original walls. It was such a joy to walk for so long in the quiet morning seeing the sights, but I ran out of time and had to head back.

Back at the hotel the rest of the party was roused and had breakfast and we headed to the see the Titanic exhibition at the SeaCity Museum. It was a really spectacular! There was information and photos (those that had them done) of the crew living in Southampton, mementos from the ship, recreations of the ship’s interior, and audio of survivors’ stories and transcripts from the Senate hearings on the disaster.

A real 2nd class breakfast menu (passengers often mailed their menus to loved ones) and part of the carved grand staircase from the Olympic, nearly identical to that on its sister ship the Titanic

Unfortunately, we had only an hour at the museum as we needed to get back to the hotel to check out and then head to the City Cruise Ship Terminal to begin the next phase of our vacation.

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New York City Visit on a Long Weekend

View from the 80th floor of the Empire State Building

I have long wanted to go to New York.

Well, what I mean is I have long wanted to spend more than a day in the Big Apple. Throughout my life, I have visited the city three times, but each time for only a day. In high school, probably my junior year, our class took a trip from the Northern Virginia area to New York City. We left around 6:30 AM and returned at 10:30 PM. I do not remember much from the trip — we went to Wall Street to see the New York Stock Exchange, we visited the FAO Schwartz toy store (the movie Big had come out the year before), and we sat on the floor of the Trump Tower lobby and were scolded by guards. In college, I went home one Thanksgiving with my roommate to Connecticut, and the Friday after the holiday we took the train into the city. We visited the Macy’s flagship store and goofed around at the Museum of Modern Art. Later, when I started working in Washington, DC, after graduate school, I took the train up for the day to visit that former roommate who was spending the summer in the city. I visited the Tenement Museum and we walked around Central Park.

In addition to wanting to spend enough time in New York City to require a hotel stay, I wanted to bring C to see it too. Initially, I had hoped our 2021 Home Leave would include as much as a week in the city, but with COVID-19 still going strong, it was not feasible. NYC restrictions on the unvaccinated (which included kids like C) kept it off our list and as French training grew in intensity in the Spring of 2022, I did not feel I could getaway for a whole weekend.

I knew as soon as we were back in the Washington, DC area that we were going to take a trip to New York for Memorial Day weekend. After reviewing all the planes, trains, and automobile options, I decided the easiest and most economical would be to take one of the bus companies that ply the DC to NYC route.

We had a view of the Empire State Building from our hotel room!

Early on the Saturday, we took the Vamoose bus from Rosslyn, Virginia to New York City. It was a good, comfortable trip. C said she was excited to see the view from the bus on the way; she was not quite blown away by the Jersey Turnpike as she had hoped, but once we began to approach the city and the Lincoln Tunnel, she perked up.

We excitedly disembarked from the bus at Penn Station; only a ten minute walk from our hotel. Unfortunately, within five minutes of our arrival, at the first corner, while waiting for the crosswalk, we witnessed one man assaulting another man. We heard yelling, then a bottle breaking, and a man ran to the street, blood running down his face, before he turned and ran down 7th Avenue. It was pretty shocking, though being New York, there were crowds of people standing around with little to no reaction. But I turned to C to find tears in her eyes and she told me, “Mom, I want to go home.”

Oh man, that was hard. For all the places we have been, all the unfamiliar, exciting, unpredictable, and even dicey situations we have been in, sometimes one does not expect it at “home.” C has had limited experience in the U.S. and most of it has been on vacation. Not that I want her to experience the negative! It is only that she has not been exposed to it so much until recently. I hugged her and asked if maybe we could just get to the hotel and see how we felt from there. She agreed.

We walked the seven and a half blocks to our hotel. It was too early to check in, so we stored our bags, and I took C to the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch to cheer her up. We have been into eating at Hard Rocks over the past year – in DC, Lisbon, Grand Cayman, and now New York. C and I enjoyed our favorites and then we were ready for the next part of our New York adventure.

We headed over to the New Amsterdam Theater on West 42nd Street, stopping at the Hard Rock Cafe gift shop (C loves her Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts) and MINISO (C also loves her Japanese cute stuff). C and I were catching the matinee of Disney’s Aladdin on Broadway!

I had originally planned for us to see Chicago as it is one of C’s favorite movies and she knows all the songs. But I had heard the current New York production, though the longest running Broadway show, has little in the way of set and costume glamour. C and I also really know Aladdin and it seemed a natural second choice. I knew it would really have the Broadway pizzazz. And boy did it deliver! Disney changed up some of the storyline for the stage and added in a few extra songs and the singing, set, and costumes were fantastic. C and I both loved it!

After the show and a quick meal and rest at the hotel, we headed to Nintendo New York at Rockefeller Plaza. C had long wanted to visit this iconic store, the only one outside of Japan. She loves Nintendo and Pokémon and the Nintendo New York store has a Pokémon section with plush characters not available anywhere else for retail in the U.S. The place was packed, with a roped line for the cashier register as if we were at an amusement park. C had been saving up her allowance for just such an occasion and she did not leave that store empty handed.

On Sunday morning, our second day, we headed to Madame Tussauds. This stop had not been on my original agenda, but the location is just a few doors down from the New Amsterdam Theater, and C had asked me what it was. After I explained it was a famous wax museum with wax replicas of celebrities with some 20 locations around the world, she begged me to go. With all my travels, I had never actually been to a Madame Tussauds, and though London is supposed to have the largest, the New York location is probably considered the best, so it seemed a fitting place for us to both visit for the first time. I imagine the place can get pretty packed, but we arrived very soon after opening and the crowds were not bad. I am not sure I could go out of my way to visit another Madame Tussauds, but C and I had a fun time.

C and I then walked the 17 blocks from Madame Tussauds to Central Park. We grabbed some lunch and then walked an additional 18 blocks through the park to the American Museum of Natural History. Another of C’s favorite movies is Night at the Museum. We have been to the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC multiple times, but we had long planned to visit the one in New York, featured in the original Night at the Museum movie. C and I were a little disappointed to learn that we could not find the Theodore Roosevelt statue at the museum (there is still a seated one though we could not locate it; the famous one in front of the museum was removed in January 2022 as it was culturally insensitive); we would also find no Sacagawea, no Genghis Khan, no small display of American cowboys or Romans or Pompeii. But we did find the Moai head from Easter Island, the capuchin monkey, the blue whale, and Rexy. And so many other amazing displays. We spent over three hours at the museum and just scratched the surface of all it had to offer.

The Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda at the American Museum of Natural History

Having already more than met our step count for the day, C and I braved the New York subway to return to 42nd Street. With the ability to pay for up to four riders with a single credit card direct at the turnstile (no need to buy physical tickets!) we managed quite nicely.

I have to admit that even with all my travel all over the world, I was a bit nervous to ride the New York City subway! That assault we witnessed upon arrival had also rattled me. Come on, I told myself, you have been on plenty of public transportation options in countries all over and in plenty I did not speak the language. Just to make sure I understood the ease of paying for the subway, I approached a guard at the museum to ask him. “Yeah, sure, you can totally ride the subway!” he said jovially. “Yep, just scan your card twice at the turnstile and make sure you wait until it turns green.” But then his voice dropped an octave and turned serious, “But be careful. Have your daughter go through first. Stay close to one another. Do not let anyone else get close too close to you. Keep a tight grip on all your belongings,” he added with an air of danger. And then he smiled, “You will be fine! Have a great night.” I was not sure how to feel. I felt both buoyed and wary. We only had to go three stops! I pumped myself up. And we did it.

Before heading back to the hotel we stopped at one more New York megastore (It’s Sugar – another of C’s favorites) for C to indulge in some more retail therapy.

On our final morning in New York, we headed over to the Empire State Building for a visit to the exhibits on the first floor and then views on the 80th, 86th, and 102nd floors. We truly lucked out with our timing. Only the day before, I purchased our tickets for the first available visit at 9 AM. We arrived maybe ten minutes early, but we were let in anyway. There was no line and we whizzed past all the stanchions setup for when there are crowds.

C gets “carried away” at the Empire State Building

The exhibits on the history and national and international cultural phenomenon of the building are amazing. So many movies, television shows, and advertisements have featured the world-famous iconic building. I could have taken C to Top of the Rock or the One World Observatory, but I had to go with the Empire State. Though it has not been the tallest building since 1970 (it is still the 54th tallest), it is by far the most famous building in the world.

I think C really enjoyed the exhibition and the views from the enclosed 80th floor, but once we went out on the 86th floor outdoor viewing platform, she was less enthused with the height. She does not remember that I took her to the Burj Khalifa (the world’s tallest building) when she was just 14 months old. She does not remember so well staying at the Intercontinental Hotel Nanjing in a room on the 77th floor of the Zifeng Tower (the 25th tallest building in the world), or staying in a hotel room on the 66th floor of the Jin Mao Tower (the 37th tallest building in the world) while visiting the top of the Shanghai Tower (the second tallest building in the world). Heck, we have lived on the 19th floor (in Shanghai) and the 23rd floor (in Guinea), and again on the 19th floor (Virginia). I have been taking C to tall buildings all her life.

We not only had little in the way of crowds, but we also had gorgeous weather, at least for the views from inside. Outside on the 86th floor platform, it was very windy. I did not want to rush, but I will admit that my legs too feel a bit wobbly when I look out from a high height. We walked the whole way around, took some photos, and then I gave in to C’s entreaties to get inside to safety! I got a good ole preteen death laser stare when I said we had one more elevator to board to the 102nd floor. I expect C was afraid that I was next going to make her hang on the side of the building. Luckily, the top observation floor is all enclosed, though its floor to ceiling windows can still give one the willies when standing too close to them. C perked up again though with the views of all of Manhattan and beyond. It was truly spectacular.

It was time then to pack up and take the bus back to Virginia. We packed a lot into our little weekend though the Big Apple has far too much to see in such a short time. Despite the rough start, C declared it fantastic, giving the Aladdin show and New York City shopping two thumbs up for her favorite things about the trip. I think I will be able to convince her to go back.

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Spring Break on Grand Cayman: Part Two

Memorial plaque and viewpoint at the site of the famous 1794 Wreck of the Ten Sails

On our fourth day in Grand Cayman, we opted to make a trip to the capital of this island nation, Georgetown. Again, we caught the first hotel shuttle of the day to make the 15-minute drive. We stopped first at the cruise ship terminal to drop off an older couple who were trying to catch their cruise after missing its initial departure in Florida. We could easily have walked from there to the museum, our first stop, but the driver insisted on taking us all the way.

As cities of the world go, Georgetown is not particularly large, but its population of 35,000 makes it the largest capital of the United Kingdom’s 14 British Overseas Territories. I love that the town was initially called Hogsties, named for all the pigs kept in the vicinity! The bay is still called Hog Sty Bay.

We stopped first at the Cayman Islands National Museum. Though quite small, it is chock full of information and uses some really nice multi-media presentations. The museum is housed in the oldest public building in the Caymans, dating from the 1830s.

After visiting the museum, we took a stroll around the town. A few cruise ships were in port and the main streets fronting the harbor were busy with cruise ship passengers clogging the souvenir shops. A few blocks back and it was just a quiet Wednesday afternoon in a small island capital. We passed the House of Parliament, the library, the 1919 Peace Memorial and the Clock Tower constructed in 1937 in memory of King George V, and Heroes Square. It was not a long walk, but it was enough to drum up an appetite for our lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, which surprisingly was not too busy. After lunch, we called the hotel shuttle for pick-up and spent the rest of the day lazing around the hotel.

On Thursday, I rented a car. I just did not want to keep relying on the hotel shuttle that only operated from 10 AM to 5 PM on the hour or the island bus. or the pricey taxis. We needed some wheels! Unfortunately, we did have to get another taxi to the airport to pick up the rental, but we would drop at the airport when we departed. I had opted for the smallest, most economical car but was pretty excited when we upgraded to a mini jeep! The perfect car to tool around the island.

The Cayman Islands National Museum, the sign welcoming tourists at the port, and a fun sculpture at Heroes Square

We first drove over to the far east end of the island to visit the Cayman Parrot Sanctuary. It is an approximately 45-minute drive, but more like an hour or hour and 15 minutes when you are completely unfamiliar with the roads and tend to go around one too many times at the traffic circles. (not saying that was me, just saying that *could* happen to some people). Frankly, the driving was fine with a few little wrinkles. For example, on the one road that resembled a highway, the East-West Arterial Road, the posted speed limit was 40. Given that we were in a British territory and driving on the left, I assumed the posted speed limit was in kilometers. Certainly, the speedometer in the car used kilometers. But 40 kilometers an hour is just 25 miles an hour and seemed extremely slow for a two-lane each way highway. This was really puzzling me until I saw that there were a few places near the posted speed limits where there were those digital “Your Speed” signs and it was reading in miles per hour!

The Cayman Parrot is the only native parrot to the Cayman Islands and their national bird. C had got it in her head recently that she wanted a parrot and was thrilled to learn she could visit with the birds during our Grand Cayman vacation. The Cayman Parrot Sanctuary has much more than parrots. We were able to go into an enclosure and feed some parrots, parakeets, and cockatiels; then to another enclosure to pet some sweet little guinea pigs, held a small snake, and pet the resident agouti.

The beautiful historic house at Pedro St. James

After the parrot center, we drove back towards town stopping briefly at the site overlooking the reef where ten British sailing ships wrecked centuries before. It’s the most famous wreck of the Caymans and Queen Elizabeth II dedicated a memorial to remembrance in 1994 when she visited.

When then traveled on to the historic site of Pedro St. James. On arrival we were informed that there was a large cruise ship group arriving in about 20 minutes so we would have to wait for them to view the 4-D introductory presentation. C and I cruised the grounds a little before returning to join the group for the presentation. Afterward, knowing that the group would be tramping through the home together, we had lunch at the on-site cafe. We had also opted for the self-tour of the house as the guided tour was about 90 minutes long! The house is interesting, and I would have loved to have heard more on the architecture and history, but it is not a big home, and I did not think C would hold out that long (or I for that matter).

After lunch we then had the “castle” all to ourselves. Though it was not large by today’s standards, it would have dwarfed nearly all other buildings on the island. If I remember correctly, the first floor was the food storage and preparation areas while the second and third floors were the living spaces. The most extraordinary part of the home was the wide wrap-around verandas which created additional living space with an additional room in each corner and light-filled, ventilated walkways between that could be used for extra seating or office space or whatever. The house is the oldest surviving stone structure in the Caymans and is known as the birthplace of Cayman democracy as it was here at the “castle” where in 1831 a decision was made to form the territory’s first parliament and in 1835 an envoy from the Governor of Jamaica read the proclamation ending slavery in the British Empire. It was well worth a visit.

A fiery sunrise

On Friday, our sixth day, the weather had turned. It was still very warm of course, but it had grown cloudy and windy. I was glad we had joined the Stingray City tour early in the week as the wind made the sea a bit choppier. I woke up early to catch the sunrise and walked out to the hotel’s little beach. It did not look promising with all the clouds, but just when it looked like there would be no sunrise at all, a ball of red light began to glow at the base of the clouds. With the cloud cover, the light did not have much room to grow, but though small, it was dramatic.

It was Good Friday, which turns out to be quite a big holiday in the Caymans. I had not realized the strength of the Christian belief such that places that are open nearly all year round are closed only on Christmas Day and Good Friday. While looking around for someplace that would be open, one site noted that they had live music six days a week and would do so seven if Cayman law were amended to allow it! Normally, I am quite thorough in my research of vacation destinations, but I did not anticipate this. I found that a lot of entertainment and restaurant venues would be closed on Good Friday, limiting our options. But in the end, we just wanted to hang out and I wanted to drive.

We first made our way back to Hell as C wanted to check out the gift shop. Imagine our disappointment that though the sign for Hell indicated it was open daily, it was in fact closed on Good Friday. (There is a lot to unpack there, but I will leave that to the reader to do so). From there we headed to the Dolphin Center, just across from the Cayman Turtle Center. Though we did not intend to book any dolphin experience, a fellow tourist had mentioned there was an observation area that we could enter for free. We spent about an hour watching the dolphins as they swam and jumped either on their own or in their interactions with the paying guests.

For lunch, we stopped at a delicious Mexican place in town that was luckily open on the holiday. Then we drove the hour or so to Starfish Point at the tip of the landmass on the right side of North Sound. I had hoped the drive would reveal beautiful ocean or other views but frankly, it was a bit on the boring side. Initially, we passed through the same towns we had the day before and it was largely shopping centers and residential homes. There seemed little in the way of beaches on the less populated, eastern part of the island. As we cut up Frank Sound Road, the only road the cuts north/south in the east, the few houses quickly gave way to dry scrubland. Even along the northern road to Rum and Starfish points I found few spots worthy of a stop.

Once we arrived in the vicinity of Starfish Point, we saw where a good chunk of the local population was spending their Good Friday. I had never thought of Easter as a party kind of holiday, much less Good Friday. But it seems in the Caymans that it very much can be. Camping over the Easter weekend is a Cayman tradition and the popular beaches, like Starfish Point, are covered over with pop-up tents with friends and families eating and drinking, cooking and talking, and swimming. We made our way over to Starfish Point, hoping we might see some starfish in the shallow waters, but there were far too many people and boats (including a BBQ boat selling food to those not cooking themselves). No one stopped us from wading in the water, but no one interacted with us either. C and I were the odds one out. We were not local, we did not know people, it was not our holiday. We got ice cream at the very busy Kaibo restaurant nearby before we headed back.

Flora at the Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park

On Saturday, our last full day on Grand Cayman, we headed back over to the East End to visit the Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park. We arrived soon after the opening – I wanted us to be there before the free Easter festivities for local kids commenced. After days of clouds, the morning was hot and humid. In many areas of the park, one could walk beneath a canopy of plants but between individual gardens the path lay directly in the sun. There were a few other visitors but we had little interaction and it was almost like having the park to ourselves. Visiting the park was also a chance to see the endangered blue iguanas, only found on the island of Grand Cayman. We were able to see some roaming around the park but also in the conservation center on the property.

That evening we had one final activity – a tour that would include a visit to Bioluminescent Bay. I had read that it was not advised to swim in the bay given the type of algae involved can be harmful to humans and humans can be harmful back. But we were still up to seeing the phenomenon. Our boat left the dock about an hour before sunset so that we could watch the sun sink as we motored from the inlet near Governor’s Creek across the North Sound, returning again to Starfish Point. The Easter revelers were in rare form with music from the campers on shore and that from several party boats competing. C and I stayed on the boat chatting with some other tourists (who as incredible luck would have it live only a few blocks from us in Virginia!) while most of our boat’s occupants jumped into the shallow waters. It did not take long for many of them to rush back onto the boat for some treatment for jellyfish stings! I am not sure what our tour guides were using as luckily C and I had no need, but there were at least eight on our boat that needed treatment.

Sunset from the jellyfish bar

Ironically, our next stop was the Jellyfish Bar – where our tour guides tried to lure us off the boat into the one-foot-deep waters to learn about jellies and hold them. After a good third of our boat had just experienced some stings, it was a little bit of a hard sell, but the guides explained this interesting fact: jellies cannot sting the palm of the hand or the sole of our foot. The guide scooped up a jellyfish and deposited it into the palm of our hands. Both C and I even gave it a try and lo and behold it was true. Though afterwards it is key to use the sand to “wash” our hands to remove any of the minuscule barbs the jellyfish may have left behind to ensure we do not transfer them to other parts of our body where it will in fact hurt.

After our educational jellyfish stop, the sun had set and night had fully come, we motored into Bioluminescent Bay for those who would participate. From the boat, C and I could see some of the glow, but it was not nearly as impressive as we thought it might be. Maybe it would have been better in the water, but I was happy to just stay on the boat to see the sunset, enjoy the oohs and aahs from our fellow travelers, and the cooler air as we headed back in at the end of the trip. It was a great way to end the trip.

All in all, it was a good vacation for C and me; we had just the right amount of activity, including a once-in-a-lifetime stingray experience, and lazing about. I was so proud of C for getting out of her comfort zone — kissing a stingray, holding a snake, holding a jellyfish, riding a scooter, and her willingness to snorkel her second and third times ever after a not great first experience several years before. After the challenging previous months, we needed some wins and we found them in Grand Cayman.

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Spring Break on Grand Cayman: Part One

Three months after our early return to the United States from Guinea, my daughter had her Spring Break. We had had such a topsy-turvy few months with our unexpected return, then two months in temporary housing, and then a move to a more permanent place, that I really wanted us to have a nice mother-daughter getaway. We had to cancel our original R&R trip from Guinea in December since we were leaving and we had only had the quick trip to Maf Village and Sierra Leone, which while a fun little adventure with friends, was not the same as the initial two-week vacation I had planned.

Finding ourselves back in Virginia during winter after always-hot West Africa, I longed to be warm again. The Caribbean seemed a good choice. But where in the Caribbean? I wanted someplace where a week would allow us to see most, if not all, we wanted to see and maybe even allow for some real downtime. After checking out a few places, I settled on Grand Cayman.

Grand Cayman is not my usual sort of place. Do not get me wrong. I absolutely love sunshine, beaches of soft, pretty sand, palm trees, and glistening clear water. I just cannot do it all day long under the noonday sun. I also like to enjoy it in peace and quiet without 10,000 other people on holiday all around me. In Cayman, C and I found a good compromise.

Then just a week before this trip our shipment of 3,500 pounds of Household Effects (HHE) had been delivered to our new apartment – an overwhelming activity at any time – and I had learned that an acquaintance of mine – a fellow single mom diplomat – had passed away. I was very much in need of a getaway.

We had extraordinary weather on the flight down – A view of the Florida Keys from the air

We had an early flight and the three hours to Grand Cayman went quickly. Although I had planned to sleep, the gorgeous weather and views kept me awake and glancing out the window regularly.

Although we arrived on Grand Cayman just after 10 AM in the morning, I did not have all that much planned for this first day. We took a taxi from the airport to the Holiday Inn Resort, our hotel for the week. The hotel is in the same general area as the famous Seven Mile Beach, but on the opposite side of the island. Though only 1.5 miles as the crow flies from Seven Mile Beach it is located across a highway, along a windy road past a golf course and a growing residential area. It’s an odd place to put a hotel, but I had enough points for a free week, so I could not really complain. (But I did, just a wee bit)

Not a bad view from our hotel room

The upside is that the hotel runs a complimentary shuttle from the hotel to Seven Mile Beach, Camana Bay, and the Cayman capital of Georgetown. The downside is the shuttle did not operate on Sundays.

We had lunch at the hotel restaurant and then took a taxi down to Seven Mile Beach near the Westin Hotel. The back of the hotel was hopping. There were people everywhere around the pool, at the majority of tables at the beachfront cafe and chairs around the bar, and spilling onto the beach to and into the water. It seemed this was the place to be. C noted all the kids frolicking nearby and turned her best pre-teen glare on me and petulantly asked me why we were not staying there. (Hint: The $800-a-night price tag was part of it) C jumped into the water. I took off my shoes and walked through the surf. It was really beautiful. But it did not take long for the searing bright sun and crescendo of the crowds to get to us. After an hour we sat down for a cold beverage and a snack at the restaurant and C conceded that the Westin was maybe not all that.

I did not want to get another expensive taxi back; I had planned for us to enjoy the late afternoon weather for a walk, but just as we got started we came across several electric scooters. C had never been on one, but it seemed a good enough time to try, especially given the winding road alongside the golf course had very little traffic. It took some time to get back and ended up costing twice as much as a taxi! But we had a fun time and a low-key first day.

On our second day, we had a lazy morning before catching the 10 AM hotel shuttle (the first of the day) to the main strip where we caught a bus heading to the northern end of the island where we could visit the Cayman Island Turtle Center. For such a developed island, the bus system is fairly regular and inexpensive; it cost 2 Cayman Islands dollars (about US$2.50), which was a far cry from the CI$30 (US$36) for the short taxi ride from the hotel to Seven Mile Beach the day before. The buses are like large mini buses similar to a small tourist bus. Ours dropped us off right in front of the Turtle Center in no time.

At the Cayman Turtle Center

I had heard some mixed reviews on the Turtle Center. The Center is one of the top tourist spots in the Caymans though there are some that are concerned its conservation activities do not go far enough as they do farm some of the turtles for local meat and shell products. It is tricky, but if they did not do that then perhaps those who wanted those items would seek alternative ways to source the turtles if they could not buy them from the Center? The Caymans have a long history with turtles. When Christopher Columbus came across the uninhabited Caymans in 1503, he named them Las Tortugas (The Turtles) for the overabundance of turtles in the islands’ waters. Harvesting turtles was a mainstay of the economy for at least a hundred years and when the Islands became a self-governing territory in 1959, the turtle became a prominent part of their flag. I could see both sides.

C and I had a great day at the Turtle Center. They had an informative talk at the predator tank where they had a few nurse sharks, tarpon, barracuda, jacks, and other predatory fish. C also enjoyed hand-feeding some birds in the aviary. And then we had the great pleasure of snorkeling in the lagoon with the turtles.

This was only the second time she had ever snorkeled! And the first time had been in Lake Malawi with an ill-fitting mask when she was about 6 years old. But she snorkeled like a champ.

After turtle snorkeling, spending some time in the Center’s swimming pool, and then lunch, we decided to walk over to Hell.

Oh, the jokes are almost endless.

We found it – Hell on Earth is inland on a beautiful Caribbean Island.

But Hell is an actual place on Grand Cayman about a 15-minute walk from the Turtle Center. Walking allowed us to stop and take a photo at the crossroads to Hell Road. Indeed, the road to Hell is paved and yes, I was leading my 11-year-old there.

Hell is just a geological formation of black limestone in standing water. Though online it is described as “sinister,” it really is not. I would not want to be walking through it (one is not allowed) and it was hot, but it was more lovely than eerie. With our backs to the kitschy souvenir shop with its dress-up devil costumes and “Postcards from Hell,” the abandoned night club and Hell Post Office, and only the rock formations, birds, fish, and trees against the startling blue sky, we could have been far from civilization. I certainly would not plan a whole trip around a visit to Hell, but quick-ish stop is worth it. Mostly, as apparently, the Caymans and tourists alike say, so we can say we have been to Hell and back.

It was hot and we were not really looking forward to trekking back to the Turtle Center or onward to find the closest bus stop, but the only other visitors to Hell at the time, three jovial ladies from upstate New York with some challenges to driving on the left, offered us a lift back to Seven Mile Beach and in the end even took us straight back to the hotel.

Boats gather at the Stingray City sandbar; C gets a pat on the back from a friendly stingray.

The activity for Tuesday, our third day on Grand Cayman, was a visit to the island’s number one tourist attraction, the famous Stingray City. Stingray City is a shallow sandbar located in North Sound, a bowl-shaped lagoon cupped between Grand Cayman’s narrow peninsula to the west and the bulkier body of the island to the east and capped by a barrier reef, where stingrays have been gathering for years, reportedly first for fishermen’s catch and now for tourists’ handouts. In the clear three feet of water, tourists can stand as southern stingrays swim around and sometimes right up to them. I read that boats are limited per day and by the number of squid goodies that can be given. For the tasty squid, stingrays will eat from your hand, let you give them a kiss, and offer you a brief slap on the back.

C had initially been a little worried about getting in with these sea creatures, but once our boat pulled up and set anchor, she was ready to jump in. Though I had chosen a trip earlier in the day hoping there might be fewer visitors given that many cruise ship passengers would likely take the midday tour, it was rather crowded with several more boats pulling up just after us. Though it would probably have been a different, and possibly more magical experience without every Tom, Dick, and Harry vacationing in the Grand Cayman on Spring Break, our tour guides made sure that everyone who wanted a stingray interaction got one. It really was a unique experience that C and I will likely not forget.

Sunset at our hotel

Following Stingray City, the boat then headed to a reef for some snorkeling. C and I opted to wear floatation devices for safety, and I am glad we did so. First off, I wear some rather thick prescription lenses and when snorkeling with a tour company’s equipment, I do not see all that well. Second, this was only C’s third snorkeling experience and the first in the ocean. And finally, the wind was beginning to pick up and the seas were very choppy. While we heard others from our boat exclaiming about seeing a stingray, a lobster, and a barracuda, C and I just saw some fish and the reef. And that was perfectly fine for this particular day. After being pushed around by the waves for 15 minutes, we were more than ready to get back in the boat. Though we almost got aboard the wrong one! That is what happens when one is partially blind and so many look-alike boats are all gathered in one place.

We spent another low-key evening at the hotel attempting to order food from the Cayman Island’s version of Uber Eats. It was fine, really. It was a great start to the week. This is exactly what I wanted – a few fun things to do while also lots of lying around doing little to nothing.

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Introducing Our New Diplo-cat, Ramen

My daughter and I may have departed Guinea earlier than planned, but we have brought a little something from the country with us – our new Diplocat, Ramen Noodle.

We lost one of our diplo-kitties, Tikus, when in Malawi, and I had promised my daughter that she could get a kitten though noted, given the challenges of moving with pets, it would be best to wait until after our arrival in Guinea before we found our newest furry family member. Our Guinea kitty.

Before arriving in Conakry, I had heard there were quite a few feral kittens at the Kakimbo residences where we would live. I figured once we got a bit settled we could pick out one of those kitties. Turned out they were super feral little beasts that were nearly impossible to catch. On several occasions I found myself running around the parking garage trying to capture one. It did not seem like it was going to work out.

At a Country Team meeting where I was the new person and did not really know what to say I blurted out I was looking for a cat for my daughter if anyone had any leads. Lo and behold the Peace Corps Director announced that if I am looking for cats, she has cats. A whole bunch of them running around her front yard. Though she fed them, she isn’t really a fan of cats, but is concerned for their welfare when she would depart in two months. It sounded like a plan.

Thankfully after about a month with us Ramen was too large to hide inside the area in the back of the toilet

Therefore on July 11th, a Monday holiday in Guinea, I celebrated by taking one of my very first (rather terrifying) drives over to the Peace Corps Director’s house to capture our new kitten. We had initially planned to grab one of the older cats but the Peace Corps Director thought maybe it would be better to adopt a younger one. And just then this little orange tabby streaked in front of us and C knew that was the cat for her. With a pillow case and a can of tuna and five people we managed to corral that ball of fluff into our carrier and we took him home. We dubbed him Ramen and guesstimated his birthday to be April 1.

At home I placed the unzipped carrier in one of the bathrooms, set out a little food and a litter box, and then closed the door. Just to get him acclimated. When I looked in 20 minutes later, he was gone. He was not in the carrier. He wasn’t in the bathtub. He wasn’t in the under the sink cabinet even though I found a hole where he might have accessed it. I looked and looked in all the same completely obvious places where he obviously was not. I began to think I had imagined the whole thing – the drive down the narrow streets, the catching the kitten, everything. But then after a few hours, Ramen the kitten crawled out of a hidey hole in the back of the commode!

So here is something else about Conakry. Before I bid on the assignment I watched a Post bidding video – a recruitment video of sorts. One thing that was most definitely highlighted were the number of pets in the Embassy community — and I distinctly remember something along the lines of what a great Post Conakry is for pets. Well, uh, that might have been a slight exaggeration.

I heard there were basically two vets for the expat community – one who spoke English and one who spoke only French. I went with the former, a lovely, good-natured man who I think was doing the best he could with what he had available. But it sure did make for some interesting times.

Dr. K prepares to neuter Ramen in my living room – just another foreign service experience

I needed to get Ramen fixed so I called on Dr. K to perform the procedure. One nice thing for Conakry is the vets make house calls, even on the weekends. Dr. K arrived at my apartment with his scrubs on and carrying his vet bag on a Saturday morning. We would be conducting the procedure on the coffee table in my living room. Yes, you read that correctly. A veterinarian would be conducting a minor surgical operation in front of my television set. I brought out my tie-dyed towel from Jamaica to make it extra special…

I had not realized that I would be serving as the vet assistant. I held Ramen as the vet injected the anesthesia. I did not have a great grip and he bucked as the needle went in — probably a good thing as I learned later the vet was more than a little generous with dosing. I assisted as the vet shaved the area and also made the incisions. This was not how I had initially seen my day going. Dr. K wrapped things up with some sutures, handed me a prescription for some painkillers, and headed out.

There was no cone of shame. I wish I had known that Dr. K had very little supplies as I would have ordered one from the States and waited for its delivery before the procedure. The lack of that cone became problematic. But that came later.

I headed out to get the meds at the pharmacy, then I came home to monitor Ramen. He was loopy, like really loopy, for a what seemed a really long time. But then again normally, in the places I have been where my pets have had surgery (the U.S., Indonesia, Malawi), you drop off your pet in the morning and the veterinary staff will monitor the animal for several hours until you can pick them up in the afternoon. I would say usually I do not see my pet until 6-8 hours after the procedure. It was quite strange to see him so groggy, his eyes unfocused, his third eyelid visible.

Mealtimes started to get a little weird with Ramen around

Over the next few days Ramen seemed very off. I kept trying to give the medication as prescribed, but the pills seemed large for a 5 pound cat. I conducted a little Google sleuthing and discovered that the vet had prescribed Ramen 150 mg of doxycycline each day. I had felt bad that the pharmacy had only had 100 mg pills. Yet, it turned out the typical dosage is 2 milligrams of doxycycline per pound of body weight – or only 10 mg for a five pound cat! The vet had prescribed 15 times that dosage! Once I discovered this, three days in, I stopped giving the medication altogether. He got his energy back, but developed a weird cough. A week later he ripped out his stiches and one incision site looked bad. Online I learned that usually stiches are not even necessary for neutering. I was beginning to worry he was not going to recover from what should have been a fairly straightforward procedure.

Luckily he did.

I also had Dr. K given him his first rabies shot and microchip. Dr. K told me he had no microchips so I would have to order one and he would inject it. I bought a pack of two off Amazon. After the insertion I gave the extra one to Dr. K and he was ecstatic. He thanked me profusely. He said it was one of the best gifts he had ever been given. I wish I had ordered a ten pack.

Ramen grew on us quickly. He is the mushiest cat I have ever had. Most nights he slept draped across my daughter or curled up near her head. A couple times a week I was the lucky one to have him join me for a snooze. He was (and still is!) naughty as well. He refuses to use the cardboard cat scratchers and he and his claws kept me in terror of his ripping up the faux leather sofas in our Conakry apartment or the carpet in our Virginia housing. We have showered him with cat towers with sisal fiber joints that he does at least sometimes scratch, and I have acquired a spray water bottle for when he invariably attempts another scratch location.

He is a rather extraordinary cat. We taught him to play fetch with some small bouncy balls and now when he wants to play he will jump up to the bed or the sofa carrying one of the balls or even one of his mouse toys.

Ramen looks forward to more travels as a diplo-cat

He is also so, so good. As a young, energetic cat who gets a serious case of the zoomies twice a day I had no idea how he might respond to being cooped up in his carrier for the duration of our flight from Guinea to the United States upon our departure. Because the EU put new guidelines in place in early 2022 that require all transiting pets to meet EU pet import requirements, we could not fly through Europe. (The guidelines require a titer test for all pets coming from “countries of concern” for rabies. The test necessitates at least a three month lead time. Both the blood draw and laboratory testing for the titer would be difficult, if not impossible, in Guinea.) Therefore, we had to fly through Addis Ababa – an eight hour flight and a one hour stop in Abidjan – going in the opposite direction first. Then the 17 hour flight from Addis to Washington, DC via Dublin. All told our two cats – Kucing and Ramen – spent about 34 hours in the carriers going door to door. Ramen made not a peep.

And now we are back in the U.S. Well C, Kucing, and I are back. This is Ramen’s first time here. We lived first in temporary housing for 2 months and then moved into more permanent housing, meaning within the first year of his life Ramen has lived in four locations: Peace Corps Director’s yard, our home in Guinea, our temporary quarters in Virginia, and now our apartment in Virginia. He has a long way to go to catch up with Kucing, who has lived in six countries at a total of 14 addresses, but he is well on his way to being a proper Diplo-cat.

P.S. It turned out that the rabies and distemper shots Ramen got in Guinea were for dogs. We found out at his first vet check-up in the US. This could explain his interest in playing fetch….

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Time to Come Clean: Curtailing from Conakry

There is no one path in the Foreign Service. Generalists like myself and specialists, who may work as IT, office management, medical, or security experts, will naturally have different jobs and pathways (for example security personnel have more domestic assignments that are in more places around the U.S.) and there are differences between the generalist’s cones (Political, Economic, Management, Public Affairs, and Consular), yet even within a cone there is a wide difference from one person’s career to the next. There are those who may spend most of their career overseas, rarely spending time in Washington. I know at least one person that I can point to that in a 20+ year career has done only one two-year tour in Washington. Others may spend more time in DC. Some prefer hardship posts – going from Monrovia to Haiti to Caracas and Tegucigalpa. Others somehow end up in mostly “garden” posts: from Costa Rica to Taiwan to Iceland and Latvia. Still, others like to alternate their hardship and plum postings.

One of Conakry’s many, many billboards. This is reportedly part of the country’s rebranding as the government attempts to attract tourists and investment

I have mostly pursued postings in locations often considered more challenging (though any post, even in the most developed and beautiful of locations can have its challenges). I also wanted to experience different aspects of the Foreign Service life. I have been to both Embassies (Lilongwe and Conakry and even Jakarta in my Defense Department days) and Consulates (Ciudad Juarez and Shanghai). Also, large posts (Ciudad Juarez and Shanghai) and small (Lilongwe and Conakry). I went to a post with danger pay (Ciudad Juarez had 15% danger pay at the time). I went to posts with language requirements (Ciudad Juarez, Shanghai, and Conakry) and without (Lilongwe). I went to posts that allowed for a consumable allowance to bring in additional foodstuffs and other disposable goods (Lilongwe and Conakry). I went to posts with paid-for Rest & Relaxation tickets (Shanghai, Lilongwe, Conakry). I extended at one post (Lilongwe) which resulted in doing a mid-tour home leave. And now, I have added another foreign service experience: curtailing from a post.

A curtailment is the cutting short of a tour of duty. So, surprise! C and I have left Guinea.

I never thought I would curtail from a tour. I knew Guinea would not be a walk in the park, that it would have challenges, of course. Honestly, for me, that was part of the appeal. But Guinea proved much harder than I expected.

I will miss views like this from our 23rd floor Kakimbo Towers apartment. Sun near us as rain clouds gather over the mangrove forests to Conakry’s southeast. Also, the view into the Peul neighborhood behind Kakimbo, Rue de Prince, and the Bambeto traffic circle.

It is difficult to pinpoint any one thing that led to the decision as it was a combination of so many things. First and foremost: I did not arrive at this tough assignment 100%. Like many people, the COVID-19 pandemic wore me down. I pushed through the first 16 months of it in Lilongwe. Not that it was easy, but it started off novel, even oddly exciting, and we were in a country and me in a job where we had already been for over 2 1/2 years before the pandemic. Then it was back to the U.S. for Home Leave and 9 1/2 months of training on Zoom as the pandemic continued. The French language training had not been good for me. Perhaps it was the combination of online training, teachers whose style did not work for me, and pandemic fatigue, but when I headed to Conakry at the end of June 2022, I was mentally drained.

Timing is an important factor in life, and I now believe that arriving at the beginning of summer was an unfortunate one for us. After this experience, I do not think I would want to do that at any post, though in a hardship, difficult-to-staff post like Conakry, I think it was all the worse. I arrived at a gutted Embassy. The summer transfer season was already in full swing with many positions gapped as predecessors had departed and their successor not yet arrived. This included my own section. The previous Political/Economic Chief had departed in early April; her successor would not arrive until mid-August. The Economic Officer was on a two-week holiday for my first two weeks. One of our locally employed staff political assistants was in DC on training. Another was sick my first week. An eligible family member hire left a few days after my arrival with no replacement lined up. The locally employed economic assistant position was vacant for over six months. Basically, in my normally eight-person section there were two of us, and I was brand new.

I liked this painted advertisement mural and am a bit sad I never did get to try Guini Cola.

Other staff at the Embassy basically fell into three categories: short timers who had little time to talk with me as they were leaving post the next day, the next week, or two weeks later; those about to leave on long summer vacations; and those frazzled individuals covering two or more positions due to the vacancies. No one seemed to have time for us. Now for myself, I had my job. A job that I was struggling to work out as issues immediately cropped up and I had little or no information to go on and few people to ask, but still, I had something to focus on. My daughter, however, arrived at the beginning of a long summer holiday knowing no one. Twelve school-aged children in the Embassy community had just departed; only C had arrived. The remaining Embassy kids all departed on six-week holidays within two weeks of our arrival. Every last one of them. Other Guinean and expat kids in our building also took off on long holidays. I felt bad leaving my daughter at home with a brand-new nanny who spoke little English, while C spoke little French.

Once school began in late August and the vacationing kids returned, C quickly began to make friends, but that rough beginning had already colored our experience. But it was only some of the many issues.

There were also the protests. We had demonstrations in Malawi too. There were several marches against corruption starting in 2018 and then many protests against the flawed elections of May 2019. In my experience, though, there were two big differences between the Malawi protests and those we saw in Guinea: In Malawi, the demonstrations tended to occur in the old town area, on the other side of town, or in the newer part of the capital where Parliament and government ministries were located (as well as the U.S. Embassy), i.e. away from our residences; the ones in Guinea, however, were more violent and much closer to home.

Police set fire to makeshift shelters in the ravine in front of Kakimbo after forcibly removing the squatters. The acrid smoke lingered for hours.

Just a week after arriving, protests erupted around the Bambeto traffic circle over the sudden arrests of several opposition leaders. Bambeto is just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Embassy and Kakimbo Towers. From our apartment, we could watch the scenes unfold down below as young protestors played a game of cat and mouse with Guinean security forces. As we heard gunfire, we received Embassy notifications that Kakimbo residents should stay away from the windows. C’s bedroom, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, faced that direction.

One might think that on the 23rd floor we would be just fine, and maybe so, but four weeks after our arrival, there were more protests around Bambeto with bullets piercing windows on the 15th and 17th floors. All in all, in our first four months in Conakry there were 11 protests that left at least 11 dead, hundreds injured, and more arrested. There was a time when a protest began on a Friday afternoon, and I was downtown at a work event. Due to traffic avoiding the main thoroughfare Rue de Prince, auxiliary roads became parking lots. It took my colleague and I nearly 2.5 hours to travel the nine miles from the Justice Ministry to the Embassy. All the while I was wondering about my daughter and nanny and if I would be able to get home. One protest day we were asked to stay away from the windows on both sides of the apartment as on one side police action involved firearms against demonstrations and on the other side police were setting fire to squatter homes in the nearby ravine.

C and I were also twice nearly blocked from entering the Kakimbo compound gates when protests erupted while we were out at school functions. We could also look down into the neighborhood behind us and, on one particularly vivid occasion, we watched the security forces in riot gear methodically moving through the winding streets, searching homes, launching tear gas, occasionally shots to the air, while we could also see persons, including children, fleeing. While I found the protests both disturbing and politically fascinating, I grew concerned with how C had become inured to the sound of small arms fire.

There was also the traffic. Oh, the traffic. It affected everything. It made shopping and work meetings held outside the Embassy or travel anywhere in or out of the city all the longer. Nearly every blog post I have written about Guinea includes a traffic-induced delay anecdote. Sometimes I found it amusing, but always I found it exhausting.

C was also struggling with some aspects of school. I had hoped the small American international school would be able to give her the individual attention she needed, but her mathematics skills, not strong to begin with and only eroded during the pandemic, were apparently too far behind for her to catch up.

It was a privilege to work on the issues that allowed me to attend the opening of the historic September 28 Massacre trial and the opening of the country’s first official shelter for trafficking victims.

It was all of this and more – the lack of domestic travel opportunities and expense of international trips (i.e. the $1400 I had to pay to change our flights to Belgium in August due to protests potentially blocking access to the airport), the lack of families in the Embassy community and the isolation that brought in general and more so as a single parent, the difficulty in finding activities outside school for C, including facing the strong likelihood of her spending several long, lonely summers, and, let me be frank, difficulties I faced in trying to keep up with all the aspects of my own portfolio of human rights and politics during a particularly fraught political period in Guinea. I had the opportunity to work on some truly fascinating issues and my little political officer heart hummed happily, but my stress levels and mental exhaustion were high. I worked extra hours in the evenings and on weekends and had trouble sleeping. The situation was untenable.

Though it was a dark time for me when this came to a head, I am glad that I reached out to folks, and I found a lot of support. Although curtailment is not talked about often, and almost seems like a dirty word, it is not uncommon. Someone in a position to know told me that there is on average a curtailment by someone, somewhere every single week. And when I shared my news with friends, I found that I knew at least a dozen people who had also curtailed at some point in their careers. Every single one of them told me that it was the right decision for them.

I do not regret C and I going to Conakry. I was able to see some amazing progress on some key issues in a country that is on the cusp of great possibilities. It remains to be seen whether the government and the people can surmount the current problems and emerge better on the other side, but the opportunities are there. For years the country has promised but not delivered a trial to hold accountable those responsible for a September 28, 2009 stadium massacre and yet on the 13th anniversary of the event the government did just that. I spent a lot of time on this issue. Trafficking in persons is also a major issue for political officers and I was able to meet with many government officials and civil society working to counter this. I also worked with a great team on the professionalization and capacity building of the country’s police force. The Guinean staff in the Political/Economic section were absolutely amazing, though I found wonderful Guineans throughout our Embassy working alongside us to improve their country. We made some great friends and, despite the short time, got out to enjoy some of the culture and beauty of Guinea.

At the end of the year, C’s school held a “winter” concert and a craft fair. As I perused the craft tables, I came across this beautiful wood carving of the Nimba, the symbol of Guinea. Versions of this goddess can be found around the capital, from a roundabout in the old town to statues in lobbies of hotels or at the airport. The Nimba is a symbol of the Baga people of coastal West Africa, with a large concentration in present-day Guinea. The Nimba represents the mother of fertility, who is a protector of pregnant women and who presides over agricultural ceremonies. The Nimba represents the joy of living and the promise of an abundant harvest.

Knowing that we would soon leave Conakry, I bought it — my sole souvenir from Guinea. It is very fitting that I carry this symbol of Guinea with me. It is a symbol of joy and promise and new beginnings. I hope for both Guinea and for me and C.

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Out and About in Conakry

One of Conakry’s many roundabout decorations

I must be honest up front: Conakry is not an easy city to get out and about in. There are the challenging road conditions – unpaved and/or unlined roads, too many vehicles that lead to major traffic jams, loose interpretations of road rules, and confusing street layouts (initially I thought this illogical, but then perhaps the road system is completely logical to some?), and a dearth of activities one might find in major capitals. This is not to say there is nothing to do in Conakry — I am sure there are things going on that I have not had the chance to pursue. For instance, Conakry is known for its music and probably has an awesome music scene. My French isn’t very good, driving at night in Conakry scares the sh*t out of me, and parking in Conakry is atrocious (i.e. usually only maybe 5% of actually needed parking – a figure I just made up right now). I am generally more into pursuits like visiting museums, strolling in parks or along avenues lined with buildings with beautiful architecture, or sightseeing. None of which are in particular abundance in Conakry. And I knew that before going there. Yep, I did.

But I lived in Malawi for four years, and its capital, Lilongwe, was not rich in my favorite free-time pursuits either. And I still really enjoyed my time there. Like in Lilongwe, I needed to find those things that did make Conakry interesting. First, I saw the many differences between it and Lilongwe. Conakry’s population is about twice that of Lilongwe – packed into a narrow peninsula. It is a lot more developed than Lilongwe as well. I do not have the actual stats, but I would say there are more streets in Conakry, particularly wider ones with center strips and street lights. There is just way more light in general. While in Lilongwe after the sun goes down, the city is fairly dark; in Conakry it is lit up like a Christmas tree at night. I can stand on my 23rd-floor balcony and see the lights dotting the peninsula. It’s a lovely view and another thing that makes Conakry different from Lilongwe. In Malawi’s capital, there are few buildings more than two stories tall. Though Kakimbo Towers, where I live, is by far the tallest building in Conakry (and in all of Guinea, and in most of West Africa), it is by no means the only high-rise. Apartment buildings of six, eight, or ten stories abound across the city. They are not all in good shape, some are only partially finished though people still live there, but they are there in greater numbers than Lilongwe.

Billboards with the President of the Transition are commonplace throughout the capital

Signs. I kind of have a thing with signs. I wrote about them in Malawi, where there were some, but they were nowhere near in abundance as they are in Conakry. There are billboards all over the city advertising products, upcoming events, and political slogans. The most ubiquitous signs are those that feature the President of the Transition, Colonel Mamadi Doumbouya, who led the overthrow of the previous president in September 2021. His visage stares out from the biggest billboards in the most prominent locations — sometimes even draped over the Palace of the People, where the country’s legislative body meets — as a constant reminder to the populace that he and his ruling government are keeping the country and its people in mind. Unlike in Malawi where political billboards seem to hang in place for months or even years until they weathered away, these featuring the current president are replaced every few weeks.

Just a small example of the incredible shop and service paintings

My favorite signs in Conakry though were the hand-painted ones. Many times they came without any text, which made me think the depictions were for those who could not read. The illiteracy rate of Guinea is quite high – according to several indices, it ranks among the lowest ten literate populations in the world with only around 45% of those above the age of 15 able to read. I only realized after arriving in Guinea that my nanny/housekeeper was illiterate when she only sent me voice messages and did not respond to messages I wrote. There were often hand-painted signs outside barber and beauty salons showing several hairstyles. Most police stations had painted signs of police officers (though usually they seemed to be portrayed with guns or wearing riot gear, so I do not know how that would help a citizen feel confident about going to the police). There were sometimes signs outside restaurants with paintings of some of the available dishes. There was a chair store with a painting of a chair — very helpful, I think! I wish I had been able to get more photos. I often planned to spend a day doing so, but many were on the sides of buildings that had little space to stop a car. I suppose I could have done it the Guinean way – just stop my car in the middle of the road and if it blocked traffic, then so be it – but I just did not feel comfortable with that.

The stunning Grand Mosque of Conakry. My photos could not really do it justice.

There were a few places to see in the capital. With the end of the rainy season, I really wanted to get out more. When a visitor for Washington came to Conakry and one of our locally employed staff offered to take him on out for some Saturday sightseeing, I asked if my daughter and I could go along. C and I were thrilled to have a chance to visit the Conakry Grand Mosque, the fourth largest mosque on the continent and the largest in Sub-Saharan Africa. The mosque can accommodate as many as 25,000 worshippers at a time. Although the mosque was officially closed for renovations, my local staff member had an in — his father is actually a high-ranking official at the mosque.

OK. Honestly, C was a little less enthused about our outing that day. As we drove up she perked up a bit, but as can be expected from a 10-year-old asked, “How long will we be here?” But once inside her tune changed. She could not quite believe the size. And though the outside of the mosque is lovely, it is the inside space that is truly breathtaking. Although the Grand Imam himself was not in residence, several of his staff were and they gave us a brief audience and a personal tour. That made the visit even more special.

Next to the Grand Mosque is the Botanical Garden, established in 1897 by the French botanist Auguste Chevalier. Though our guide told us that the garden is at least half its original size, with space cleared for the Grand Mosque and a cemetery, but it is still rather incredible that the garden still exists in the jam-packed chaotic narrow Kaloum peninsula. It is an oasis of greenery. At the front, there was still some construction related to renovations, with a pile of framed glass windows and wooden beams leaning against a large steel dumpster. Playing among all that were two monkeys. Wild monkeys in the center of Conakry! Our guide led us away from the entrance along a dirt pathway. Unlike other botanical gardens I have visited, there were no flowers, just trees (though happen to be a huge fan of trees). The whole place had a very untamed vibe. Not entirely uncared for, but minimally so. Though in a way, that was part of the charm. It was like being in a real forest and a little unbelievable as the area is hemmed in by busy roads. Yet, even in the center of the garden, the tall trees and thick underbrush made one feel far from the disorder just outside its walls.

On another occasion, C and I went to see acrobats at the Keita Fodeba Center for the Acrobatic Arts at work. Guinea has become a country where the circus arts are well known. I read that in the late 80s a French cinematographer wanted to make a movie about an African circus and upon finding there were none he helped to found one in Conakry and then filmed a documentary (Circus Baobab, 2001). Circus Baobab became a success, touring the globe, and has spawned other Guinean circuses. One of them, Amoukanama, performed on America’s Got Talent in 2022. The Keita Fodeba Acrobatic center has been recruiting and training street children and youth to train in acrobatics since 1998. The graduates of these Guinean circuses are able to work with major circuses, like Cirque du Soleil, around the world.

A month or so before the Community Liaison Officer at the Embassy had arranged for an Embassy outing to the Center, but C and I were unavailable that weekend. I asked a local friend when the troupe practiced, and he gave me the information. On a Saturday morning C and I set out in our car for the 28th of September Stadium. I knew and could see on the map the training center was located very close to the stadium grounds. Getting there turned out to be another matter completely.

Given the regularity of chaos on Conakry’s streets, it is perhaps no surprise that Google Maps is not the most accurate. It is amazing it works at all, but often the roads it sends one on may be closed for construction or aren’t really much of a road at all. We circled around and around the vicinity, but I struggled to actually get there. We were to be there at 10:30 am and we had left home around 10, giving us a good half an hour to drive the 5 miles from our apartment complex to the stadium. 10:30 came and went, as did 11, as I drove in circles nearby. We ended up on a narrow road — it would be two lanes except one side was basically parking. A two-way street with only enough space for one way. This led to some creative driving. We were blocked at one point by an oncoming driver choosing to force his way through. He signaled for me to just pull over to the right a little – of course, the right had a one-foot wide, one-foot deep drainage ditch. After getting out of that mess with the help of some bystanders (who thought the other driver in the wrong – a small win!), we came to a T-junction where the two-way road was also narrowed to one with the presence of a busy market and hundreds of pedestrians. Lucky for me there was a traffic cop there who assisted my successful push through there. Though at this point I could see we were very close to the stadium, Google Maps said we would have to go around again. No way! I saw a government with parking and banking on my diplomatic license plates, I asked and was granted permission to park there. A random person in the parking lot agreed to take C and I on foot the rest of the way.

Only a small simple sign indicates inside this building are where some of Guinea’s next best acrobats train

We crossed an expansive and dusty parking area around the stadium to a non-descript concrete building with a large steel garage-like door. We had arrived at the Center. Our guide took his leave and C and I stepped inside. There were a few cheap plastic chairs set up to the side of a large faded, well-worn mat. A few other foreigners were seated in some of the chairs. C and I sat in some empty ones. An older gentleman approached us to ask if we were from the Embassy and I said we were. Apparently, they had been waiting for our arrival to begin rehearsals! Some musicians took their seats at the back and began a drumbeat while other performers stood to their right to dance and chant. Then the acrobats began to take to the mat. We saw displays of tumbling, cartwheels and flips, the corde lisse or aerial rope, juggling, contortionism, and more. There was no air conditioning and no fancy equipment and that which they did have had most certainly seen better days. Yet the performers obviously put a lot of time and passion into their practice to become some of the best acrobats in the world. It was a stunning performance.

C and I tried to make the most of our time out and about in Conakry. It was certainly frustrating at times (perhaps an understatement), but generally worth it.

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The Fast(ish) and the Furious: Driving in Conakry

A typical Conakry traffic situation with cars going every which way however they want. I am just trying to go straight out of a roundabout…

I used to think traffic in Malawi was, hmmmm, how do I say? Interesting? My daughter learned all the bad words from sitting in the back seat while I drove around Lilongwe. Traffic in Malawi, my friends, was nothing compared to Conakry. I laugh now thinking back to it. How did I think Lilongwe was challenging? I have certainly been in locations where there was similarly interesting traffic – Hanoi, Delhi, Mombasa come to mind – but I was not a driver in those locations. Conakry really tested me. The State Department’s required Foreign Affairs/Counter Threat (FACT) course, lovingly referred to as “Crash and Bang” for its defensive driving and shooting components (though over the years the weapons familiarization portion has gradually been reduced), really came in handy in Conakry.

Conakry has more roads in general and wider, two-lane roads than Lilongwe. But Conakry is also more chaotic. There are more vehicles: more large trucks, more taxis (there really were not taxis in Lilongwe, but in Conakry, there are a plethora of these distinctive sedans painted in the red, yellow, and green colors of the Guinean flag), and motorcycles. So. Many. Motorcycles.

Just a wee road obstacle. Do not worry about this five-foot deep ditch on the side of the road with no barriers that can swallow your car. Not a problem….

Any city might struggle with the volume of vehicles in Conakry. But a city with poor infrastructure, where most two-lane roads have no lane markings, no shoulders, no crosswalks, no sidewalks, few traffic lights, and all kinds of obstructions on the road, really struggles with this. Add in drivers that seem to do whatever they want… If you want to stop suddenly in the middle of the road to let out or pick up passengers or just wait, go right ahead. Too tired to go up to the next roundabout to turn around? Just drive down the road against traffic, no problem! Basically, too many vehicles, haphazard traffic conditions, and a lack of road etiquette spell very challenging driving conditions.

I am sure accidents like this, right outside my residence, happen frequently. I am just surprised I have not seen more of them.

For instance, when I depart out of my residential compound when there is significant traffic (a very regular occurrence) there are guards who stop traffic to let us out. Though the guard may stop one lane of traffic, inevitably the car behind that one, or the one behind the second one, immediately decides this is BS waiting and pulls around the stopped vehicle. The guard usually then stops this car, but back in the line, someone else has decided they don’t want to wait in lane one or lane two and then tries to go around both cars. This road is about four lanes wide. Well, it would be if there were any lane markings, which there are not. But at times cars will build up to four across in one direction as each person tries to get ahead of everyone else. This then, naturally, causes difficulties for the traffic going in the other direction. On very bad days this can lead to a standstill. I called one of my colleagues once who informed me she had been sitting in her car “one minute from the Embassy” for approximately 30 minutes, barely inching forward. On another day my colleague and I were heading to the grand opening of an event, and it took us one hour to move three kilometers. Something that should have taken five minutes. When we finally reached the end, we could see no reason for the backup. It was just one of those special Conakry traffic days. (Luckily though things often start late in Conakry, and we were mostly on time)

Photo of a Conakry road. You might think I took this photo from the side of the road, but you would be wrong. I am in a vehicle, also on the road.

In the U.S., some drivers facing a similar predicament, might just drive on to the shoulder and skirt around those blocking the lane. Except there are often no shoulders. Or the auxiliary lane is cut off from the rest of the road by a two foot wide, five foot deep cement ditch with zero protective barriers to stop a car from driving into them. There are some areas where the road is paved between the two to allow drivers to get onto that side road, but you may end up driving for awhile before you can get back on. These ditches are so deep that informal mechanics use these to conduct under carriage work – having a car carefully use a paved crossing to maneuver their car so that tires are on either side of the drainage ditch and the mechanic gets into the ditch to work on the underside of the car.

I guess one positive of Conakry traffic is it is hard to get up any real speed. With so many cars jostling for space on the road, pedestrians darting across at any location, speed bumps, dips, and random obstacles on the road, when most accidents occur they are generally scrapes and fender benders. When my daughter and I were returning from tennis at her school one day, we got caught in a traffic jam that turned the 6.6 kilometer (4.1 mile), 15 minute drive into an over an hour ordeal. Inching along and jockeying to keep ahead of cars and motorbikes that take any hesitation as a sign of weakness and an opportunity to pull ahead, it was maddening. Due to some road construction we were diverted onto a makeshift road, though one better than 90% of the roads in Conakry. Although the state of the road was good, there were simply too many cars on it trying to get out a narrow opening to another road. A driver in a taxi next to my car decided that he was going to forge ahead and cut me off. Instead he scraped against my car and got stuck. Traffic police, who I had not noticed at all before, suddenly appeared and tried to get the driver to back up. That only led to more scraping against my vehicle. The police tried to get me to back up, but I was completely hemmed in by the taxi and a horde of motorcyclists right on my bumper. I had a few inches to my right alongside a barrier and the police directed me to slightly turn that way. This gave the taxi the chance to get off my bumper and he sped away. The police pushed in my bumper and gave me the thumbs up sign. And here is the amazing bit: I didn’t yell. I didn’t say one bad word. I just returned the thumbs up sign and drove home. It was all just so inevitable.

Creative driving in Conakry. On the left: the guy hanging outside the back of the truck and furniture for sale placed directly on the roadside; on the right: I have to get this large ungainly wooden thing home so I will just strap it to the top of my taxi.

There is a lot of creativity to driving in Conakry. I have got to hand it to some folks for their ingenuity, but some things just are just downright dangerous. See the guy hanging out the back of the panel van? I cannot say he is the only person I have seen doing this. And the large piece of furniture strapped haphazardly to the top of that taxi? Yawn, so commonplace. And I 100% know that these kinds of innovative means of transporting goods and people is not, by any stretch of the imagination, limited to Guinea. There just seems an extra layer of hutzpah added here. For example, when I lived in Indonesia in 2007, I watched a father place his slightly sized son, maybe 10 years old?, on the back of a motorcycle holding on to newly bought large television set, still in its box, and then motor off. I feared for the kid who could barely wrap his skinny arms around the box. One speed bump would surely knock him backwards as his little bum sat on the very back of the seat and he was not anchored to his father in any way, just holding on to the unwieldy box. However, one day in Conakry, at a particularly messed up under-construction intersection, I saw a motorcycle swerve between my car and the one in front of us. The passenger, a middle aged woman wearing a bright orange patterned west African style dress, perched on the back of the bike clutching a large unboxed television. As another car roared into the fray, trying to maneuver in front of me, the motorcycle swerved again and the woman nearly lost her balance on the bike and her grip on the television. As she grabbed for the television she let forth a string of curses aimed at the car, gesticulating angrily with her head and a few fingers of one hand. Hutzpah.

For some reason the city has opted to start construction on many of the roads in Conakry all at the same time. This is not just my complaint, I have heard it from expats and Guineans alike. No doubt the roads could use a facelift, it just does not make much sense to do it all at the same time, that only contributes more to the gridlock. Much of the construction is on the main roads forcing drivers to take to the side streets, which are often in worse shape. Side roads are often unpaved. They are generally more narrow and are hemmed in by pedestrians, businesses or homes, pop-up markets, and random piles of stuff. The stuff could be mud, garbage, construction materials (not for roads, but for buildings), whatever. There are often more speed bumps (or what is left of speed bumps), more potholes (some that could swallow up cars), just more life and obstacles in general.

On my first drives in Conakry, the GPS led me down a side street that may have once been two lanes but was at the time in the throes of a busy market with hundreds of hawkers and customers milling around and motorcycles zipping everywhere they wanted. It had easily become a single lane. The road ended in a T-junction that I needed to turn on to, except the majority of the end of the road was blocked by a three to four foot pile of garbage. Motorcycles were easily getting by, but for me to squeeze through I needed half my car to go up and over. This was my introduction to Conakry driving. Wowsers.

Some roads are just dirt, but not just dirt. They are rocky strewn hills. Seriously, I think the Guinean government could make a pretty penny having Ford and Chevy film their tough truck commercials making their way down Conakry side streets.

Burning tire barricade ahead means a protest is starting

In addition to just the every day fun on Conakry roads and the construction, there are also the protests that can throw a spanner in the works of a commute. On many protest day we had advance warning and telework was an option. With protests often happening in and around the Bambeto traffic circle, I had a bird’s eye view of the demonstrators and police doing their delicate dance of throwing rocks then running and the thumbs and smoke plumes of tear gas or the cracks of firearms. But sometimes protests are a bit more spontaneous. Driving home twice from my daughter’s school, myself and all my fellow drivers heading in a certain direction were confronted by the sight, smell, and burning taste of black smoke from a burning tire barricade blocking our way to Bambeto. I watched as vehicle after vehicle made u-turns (often in the middle of the street without looking, thanks guys!), but I actually needed to continue forward to get into my residential complex. The route is also the most direct to the airport and to one of Conakry’s major thoroughfares, the Rue Le Prince.

My daughter and I did make it home but many others were stranded in massive traffic jams. Three people from the Embassy were stuck in traffic for SIX hours. Two people missed their flights out of the country.

Every drive in Conakry is an adventure. Getting behind the wheel is not for the faint of heart. But you know what? I am so glad that I did it. I found there were many expats who opted not to drive at all. And I throw no shade, none, I get it. I just did not want to be at the mercy of the Embassy motorpool schedule or needing to hire some driver. I am not afraid to drive in Conakry. There were some white knuckle moments for sure. I was often annoyed. But there were also days I found a great sense of satisfaction for getting myself from Point A to Point B by driving my own car. I can say that sometimes I even enjoyed myself.

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Adventures in Conakry Grocery Shopping

Heading to the local supermarkets can tell you something about a place – the prices, the availability or scarcity of certain products, and unexpected items. The first time to the supermarkets in a new country is eye-opening. Having previously written about grocery shopping in Shanghai and Malawi, I knew I would want to write about my food acquisition adventures in Conakry.

First things first: Guinean currency. When nice and crisp, the bills are beautiful and colorful. They also have lots and lots and lots of zeroes. One US dollar is equal to about 8600 Guinean francs, so you find yourself carrying around a lot of cash. The coupon holder I used to carry my large stacks of Malawian kwacha once again made its appearance as my wallet. Although there are more denominations of Guinean francs than Malawian kwacha, the smaller bills are few and far between. In my experience, most people use only the 5,000-, 10,000-, and 20,000- franc bills. If what you owe is between those, it usually just gets rounded up or down.

Even after six months, I am constantly getting confused about the currency. I advertised something for sale on an expat site listing it for 20,000 francs and the response was overwhelming. Well, no wonder. Here I was selling a brand new, never opened digital scale for a little over $2. I had meant to advertise it for 200,000!

On my first ever grocery trip my tally came to 3,029,725 francs! That is $350 and it made sense for a first-time shopping trip to get everything from cleaning supplies to condiments and spices to fruits, veggies, and meat, but wow, looking at all those numbers kind of threw me.

I find grocery shopping in Conakry both a tedious exercise and a bit of a scavenger hunt game. Due to the traffic, I generally only go out to the store once a week on Saturday mornings, unless it is “Sanitation Saturday” — that is the first Saturday of the month when, by order of the government, the roads are supposed to be clear of traffic so the city can conduct street cleaning. Each week I go to at least two supermarkets – the A to Z Express and the Coccinelle on Rue de Donka – because I cannot get everything I want at one place. Like in Malawi, the supermarkets I frequent are run by Lebanese and Indian proprietors. I find A to Z Express to be better for meat and cheeses, frozen foods, and freshly baked bread. I go to A to Z Express first (pass the North Korean Embassy, then take the first exit on the roundabout, then take a U-turn at the first opportunity, then skirt into the A to Z Express parking lot). After A to Z Express, I head back up the Rue de Donka towards home, take the second exit from the roundabout, past the Shell station, and then into the Coccinelle parking lot. Coccinelle is better for fruits and vegetables. The selection is often limited, but this is the place to get imported favorites like broccoli and berries.

For these imported goodies one does pay a very pretty penny.

There are locally grown fruits and vegetables that are plentiful in Conakry’s roadside markets. One can easily find potatoes, cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, carrots and lettuce, and oranges, avocados, apples, pears, grapes, pineapples, bananas, mangos, and watermelon. I have been pleasantly surprised and impressed with the quality and variety to be found alongside Conakry’s streets. My nanny/housekeeper volunteered, nay, insisted, that she could get these fruits and vegetables for me. This seemed easiest at first, but sometimes I would forget to ask her. After a while, I decided I could stop at these stands myself whenever I saw them and had a yearning for fresh produce. But I bought a pineapple at one that was not so great, and my housekeeper used that to point out that if I wanted the good stuff at the best prices, then I should send her. Most of the time I do, but every so often I cannot seem to help myself as I pass a makeshift stand with some delicious-looking fruit and figure — I can drive around Conakry all by myself, surely I can buy some fruit, right?

Fruits and vegetables that are not widely available domestically are imported from Europe and can cost quite a lot more than prices at home. In the photo above I have two capsicums – one red, one yellow – for 94,600 francs ($11), a head of broccoli for 139,750 francs ($16.20), a small container of raspberries or blueberries for 95,000 francs ($11), and a small container of strawberries for 175,000 francs ($20).

Roadside fruit stands in Conakry

Here are some other crazy prices I have paid for imported items:

  • 2 nectarines for 130,350 francs ($15.12)
  • 6 pears for 145,750 ($16.91)
  • 0.19 kg of cherries for 104,500 francs ($12.12)
  • 2 pomegranates 298,750 francs ($34.66)
  • 8 small apricots 243,000 francs ($28.19)
  • 300 g of Philadelphia cream cheese 137,000 francs ($15.89)
  • 1 kg of frozen breaded chicken breast 251,000 francs ($29.12)
  • 4 slices of deli chicken 112,000 francs ($13)
  • 1 pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream 160,000 francs ($18.56)

The upside is that presently U.S. diplomats serving in Conakry receive an additional cost of living adjustment to help defray these costs.

Prices were just one part of the Conakry shopping challenges. Similar to in Malawi, there were a few items that I was so excited to find in town and then after a month or so the items disappeared from the shelves and I never found them again. For instance, I found frozen rosti, sort of like American hash browns. They were so, so good. And then they were no more. More painful to me though was the Diet Coke tease as I may have a wee bit of hankering for the caffeinated beverage. (I don’t drink coffee) Before arriving in Guinea I had checked in with my social sponsor about the availability of Diet Coke or Coke Light. She told me that I would have no problem finding it. And I didn’t, for the first couple of weeks. Then it was nowhere to be found. I used to be a Diet Coke purist, but things were getting dicey. Luckily, I found some Coke Zero, sometimes. And the small Employee Association store at the Embassy sometimes had (and I have no clue why) Spar supermarket brand “American diet cola” and “American cola zero.” Whatever it took. But in the last couple of weeks even those had become scarce. When we first arrived, we also found Dr. Pepper, my daughter’s favorite soda, but that too has disappeared from the shelves.

Cheese, glorious cheese – this could be anywhere in Europe, but no, its in downtown Conakry

On occasion I have sought out other shopping locales. Prima Center is basically Conakry’s only mall. It is open-air with some small shops, and restaurants (including a frozen yogurt place!). It is anchored by a Walmat-ish supermarket that is, at least for me, more miss than hit. I found Diet Coke there back in the early boon days and, very surprisingly, Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Prima also has a pretty good selection of cheese. But those were really the only items that drew me to Prima.

I had also heard rumors of and seen on my Google Maps the “American Food Store.” One day I decided to stop by, which turned out to be harder than expected. The store is located just off Rue de Donka but on a side road that is blocked from entry right in front of the store. To reach the store one has to turn off Rue de Donka several blocks before in order to access the side road. When I visited the grille gates were down over the windows and there was a one-foot wide and several-foot deep ditch directly in front of the store. Frankly, it looked abandoned.

The parking, or I guess what best passed for parking, was a dirt and rock-strewn square lot behind the building. Several cars were already haphazardly parked leaving me an overgrown grass area sandwiched between a partially crumbling cement wall and a narrow dirt road. As I struggled to get into the space, I considered just giving up and driving off. Yet I am glad I eventually managed and headed into the store.

Looks can be deceiving. The seemingly abandoned American Food Store has surprising goodies inside and the Prima Shopping Center supermarket looks fancy from outside, but the there are often empty shelves.

It was a little slice of Americana inside. Though September, the store was decorated for July 4th. Maybe it is American Independence Day every day at the American Food Store? The shelves were also full of quintessential American brands such as McCormick pure vanilla extract, Domino sugar, A1 steak sauce, and Pillsbury cake mixes and icing. My daughter C was happy to see items like Caprisun juice pouches, Swiss Miss hot cocoa, and Hershey’s syrup. Despite these goodies, I only went once. The traffic, having already stopped at two supermarkets, and the parking issue were enough to keep me away.

Ultimately, I found Guinean supermarkets stocked better than expected but shopping still presented many challenges that took quickly took the fun out of the adventure and turned it into a tiresome chore. Thank goodness for the mini-mart located in our housing at Kakimbo Towers as it let me quickly pick up staples like milk, cheese, eggs, bread, and the like without having to deal with the traffic or supermarkets. The shopping in Conakry was okay, but not a highlight.

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Maf Village and Sierra Leone

Shells galore on Tokeh Beach, Sierra Leone

When I had to cancel my previously scheduled two-week Christmas-time R&R (for reasons which will be revealed in the not so distant future), I wondered if I would have any getaway at all at the end of the year. I had a bunch of use or lose leave (we can only carry over a set amount of leave in a given year to the next and any that is over that is forfeited if not used or donated by the end of the year) and a hankering to spend it somewhere other than my apartment. I played with ideas of traveling to Senegal or Cote d’Ivoire for a week but frankly, I did not think I was up for that level of planning and time away. As luck would have it, friends of ours in Conakry asked if we were up to join them for a trip to Maf Village and on to Tokeh Beach in Sierra Leone for a few days. It was just what C and I needed. Some time with friends, a chance to see a bit more of Guinea and venture into a neighboring country, but without a big investment in time. Driving across borders in West Africa. Oh boy, an adventure!

Early on December 19 we met up to begin our caravan. Maf Village is in Maferiyah, Guinea, just over 50 kilometers (30 miles) southwest of Conakry. As all distances in Guinea are, this too is misleading. One might think that drive would take no more than an hour given some stop and go traffic in the capital. Unfortunately, one would be quite wrong. It took about three hours to drive that distance.

Light of sunrise at Maf Village

The problem is mostly Conakry, which as far as traffic and roads go is rather a mess. And that, my friend, is a major understatement. Yet truth be told, I hardly remember the first hour getting out of Conakry, probably as I was so excited about the prospect of this getaway, and perhaps, I am getting used to the madness? We took the N1 (National Road 1) from the heart of Conakry until it met the N4 just outside of Coyah, in the Kindia Region. Here there is major construction underway that one day will likely make this drive more pleasant but for the time being only made the road more narrow, crowded, and chaotic.

The Maf Village bar where we watched the World Cup final

I lost sight of my friend’s car, and the GPS told me to make a left that I should not have, right there smack in the middle of the chaos zone where motorcycles, taxis, passenger cars, semis, construction vehicles, and pedestrians vied for right of way in an unmarked dirt zone that served as the temporary alternative roadway. Luckily my friends called me to tell me of my error right away, but it would prove difficult to turn around in that area. Except I summoned my inner Guinean Driver and turned around where I wanted and got back on track quickly.

Once we turned on to the N4 it was as if we had been transported to another country. The road is paved; there are painted lanes and shoulders, and a glaring lack of potholes. What wizardry was this? The last bit of our drive to Maf Village went by quickly.

Maf Village is a lodging and activity location. This is where schools have field trips. There is the swimming pool and guided hikes but also horseback riding, a game room, an obstacle course, Guinea’s only bowling alley, exotic animals such as a monkey, ostriches, peacocks, and some baby crocodiles, and a large garden where they grow a significant amount of their own food.

In many places, Maf Village might not be all that, but in Guinea, it is the bee’s knees. It offers a respite from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

We only had one night at Maf Village. We enjoyed some lunch and then the kids swam in the pool and I had a pedicure at the newly opened (and nicely air-conditioned) spa. Then we all gathered in the bar area to watch the World Cup finals. We were rooting for Argentina and it sure was an exciting match. It was really great to be with friends and a few others yelling at a tv and cheering.

Following the game we took a walking tour of the property to see where they raise animals and grow crops and for some reason have a pair of ostriches. We then had dinner and the kids played ping pong afterwards.

Approaching the Guinean-Sierra Leone border and, are you kidding me, Sierra Leone has toll plazas?

The next morning, I enjoyed the sounds of songbirds in the early morning light with a hint of a plateau in the distance through the Harmattan haze. It had been a long time since I had heard birds like that, since perhaps my wonderful yard in Malawi. We have an amazing view from our apartment in Conakry, but we have no yard, I rarely hear birdsong. I hear the train, the call to prayer, cars and trucks honking on the road, heavy machinery from the nearby construction site, and dance parties from below, but not birds and insects. I closed my eyes and listened. I had a good ten minutes before the spluttering of a motorcycle sliced through.

We had breakfast, packed up, and started our drive to the border with Sierra Leone. I have to tell you I was pretty excited, giddy even. I tried to think of the last time I had driven across an international border. Sure, I had this past summer from Belgium to Luxembourg and back, but driving across EU borders is not the same. Then there was when I served in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, and crossed back and forth the border to and from the U.S. But not the same as self-driving across a border in West Africa.

Tokeh Beach looking toward Freetown

The border was a little confusing. Makeshift rope barriers guarded by a single guy are all that keeps one from just driving across without going through immigration (well, and the threat of being caught). Signage in the building could leave most wanting, but as there were no lines to speak of and we stood out, we were quickly met by people wishing to help us. But we needed to ascertain if those people were official or not. A man who looked a bit dodgy but did have a badge on around his neck that he flashed at us, led us through the door marked “Do not enter. Officials only” and into an office where we all sat down in front of a desk. There sat a man with a computer, passport scanner, and camera. Seemed official enough as he scanned our passports one by one, asked us a few questions, typed up some information, then stamped us out of Guinea. I could not recall having ever sat down at immigration before.

We went back out to our cars. The guy lowered the rope to let us drive through to the other side where we parked and did the same thing on the Sierra Leone side. Once again, we were approached by a person who did not appear to be official but turned out to be. She also led us past the windows and into her office. Here though there were no computers or scanners, just two large ledger books. One was labeled in large capital letters in black permanent marker “Non-Citizens Incoming” and the other “Non-Citizens Outgoing.” I was surprised by the technology available on the Guinean side that the Sierra Leones did not have. After getting our Sierra Leone entry stamp we then had to have our “lassez passer” documentation for our vehicles checked. Then we were free and clear to continue to Tokeh Beach.

The road from the border nearly all the way to Tokeh Beach, about an hour outside of Freetown, was amazing. Paved, lane makings, shoulders, and mostly pot-hole free. We drove through two toll plazas where we paid 4 Leones (less than a quarter) to continue.

Finding Tokeh Beach Resort took a little extra effort as we got close the map lost its accuracy. But a wrong turn and some discussion with a local had us following said person as he lead us on a motorcycle taxi. Our initial reaction to Tokeh Beach Resort was not great. After the long drive and the fancy website, we had been expecting more, but it turned out a to be a very nice place to stay.

Sunset and sunrise at Tokeh Beach

There is another place to stay on Tokeh Beach ironically named The Place and it is really a nice-looking place, but it is popular and noisy. Tokeh Beach Sands on the other hand is quiet. I am a fan of quiet. We enjoyed the food, had great company, and just soaked in the sound of the waves on the powdery white sand beach. The sand is so fine that it squeaks as you walk across it. The pool turned out to be in the sister Tokeh Beach Palms about a 10-minute walk down the beach. No worries, the kids played in the surf for hours on end. I read. I wrote in my journal. I walked on the beach. I watched the kids and the waves. I thought about driving the hour to the chimpanzee sanctuary but then thought better of it. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was already where I wanted to be.

The electricity is only on at the resort from 6:30 PM to 7:30 AM. You do not really need it otherwise. Sure, the bathroom was poorly lit/had no window so using the restroom or taking a shower during the day may involve some fumbling about in the dark or finding a large katydid on the faucet as you turn it on (as my daughter C found out. Great lungs for shrieking that one. C, not the katydid), but otherwise we were fine. The power overnight let us run the A/C so we could sleep and charge our devices.

This might not be a great commentary on the 2021 dream…or is it? A dream destroyed or a dream battered but hanging on? Hmmmmm… I just loved the composition.

After two glorious days of doing nearly nothing by the water, it was time for us to pack up and make the drive back to Conakry. Though this time we would do the reverse, thus going from good roads, to great roads, and then crappy roads the closer we got to the Guinean capital, the 48 hours of white sand and ocean waves must have done the trick because despite, the seven hours it took us to get home, I still felt content when we got there. Neither the long drive nor the tedious border crossing nor the stop-and-go crowded mania of the Coyah-to-Conakry interchange construction brought me down. Not even the special gift I got from Sierra Leone — a bizarre allergic reaction to a likely mosquito bite that left six inches of my left forearm swollen and super itchy — dampened my spirit. (Though once in Conakry I drove straight to the Embassy Health Unit to have that forearm thingy looked at and acquire some topical Benadryl). The adventure was worth it.