Trip to Cape Coast

"Are you taking the tro tro?" Akos asks. "You should take the van"
I explain that the equivalent of 100 pounds each for a taxi for the weekend was a bit steep so we had decided to rough it instead (and tro tro is the ultimate in roughing it transport wise). Sounding increasingly worried she reminds me that 11 people died in the tro tro last weekend on the road that we are about to take. And that this wasn't an isolated incident. Having deliberated at length about it previously we were reluctant to rethink our financial priorities and change our plans, but much as I like Ghana, I would like to keep my chances of returning to Edinburgh as high as possible. I was not alone so, wallets feeling decidedly lighter, we stayed in our spacious air conditioned van (we had accompanied Emma, who was leaving, as far as the airport in Accra) and as we crawled through the traffic, were already starting to feel the benefits.

Unfortunately the van doesn't do anything to make the traffic any better and it took us a good 2 hours to get out of Accra and on the road towards Cape Coast. Had we chosen to we could have used the time to do a spot of shopping: people walk up and down between the rows of traffic selling food and drink, clothing and even shoes out of the boxes on their heads. They seemed to get most of their custom from the tro tros which don't stop for comfort or refreshment breaks, but we also had a lot of people approaching our windows. Mostly we just smiled and waved at them, unhelpfully buying nothing.

The van doesn't make the roads any better either. It may be that its suspension is better than that of the tro tros (which I have yet to travel on) but it still has some monster potholes and speed bumps to contend with. In fact (and you may empathise or snigger depending on who you are) if you are female and planning on travelling in Ghana any time soon, I would recommend a decent sports bra! And possibly a helmet.

We eventually arrived at our hotel late in the evening - about 9 hours after leaving Hohoe. It was basic but clean enough (just) though worryingly the large fan hanging over the beds, when switched on, appeared to be about to swing itself violently off the ceiling. I am also not sure that the loose and exposed cables hanging out above the shower would pass their safety check back home. The following morning, as we walked along the small street outside our hotel, we met some of the locals, one of whom was wielding some large knives and looked about three years old!

We started the day with a canopy walk and a short stroll through the rainforest, and spent the rest of the day (amidst numerous classes of schoolchildren and other tourists with the same itinerary) learning about Ghana's participation in the slave trade at Elmina and Cape Coast castles. We also attempted to explore the local surrounds though this wasn't easy as we were accosted frequently by people attempting to sell us things we didn't want or demanding money for one cause or another. The smell of fish and the heat were quite overpowering in Elmina and it was a relief to retreat to the van.

Back in Cape Coast we stopped for dinner and took a walk along the beach to work up an appetite first (I'm fairly sure it did not serve this purpose). The first hundred metres or so of beach contained a few budget hotels and some boats (the touristy bit!) and was followed by a stretch about the same distance which would have looked idyllic (sun, sea, palm trees etc), had it not been absolutely strewn with rubbish and screaming of the poverty that is typical of the area. It was inhabited it seemed by a family of pigs wandering freely in the sand and foraging amongst the waste.

The children on the beach mostly swimming in their underwear, though some swimming fully clothed or wearing nothing at all, came running over to talk to us or demand we take their photo. It was around this point that the sea pounced and we spent the rest of the evening soaking wet. And smelling of fish - yuk!

Sunday was spent en route back to Hohoe. We drove through the university before heading back - it seemed a bit out of place with its manicured lawns, smart buildings and smartly dressed students on their way to the on- campus church. Anyway, we arrived back in Accra a few hours later where we went to the market and spent more money than we had intended to. It is a very un- british way of shopping: you find yourself literally chased or dragged into the various stalls (unless you run fast in the other direction) by people overly anxious to rip off the tourists, who they will not accept are not loaded with spare cash.

"Just come and look at my shop...I want to show you something..."
"No thank you" I repeat firmly. 'Looking' is turning out to be expensive.
"Not to buy, just look....it is free...I give you a good price...I want to give you something to remember you by..."

There must be some kind of inter- stall etiquette since whilst you are looking at one, you seem to be relatively safe from other attacks, but once you leave you are immediately pursued again. I became more accomplished at bargaining as time went on: the trick I learned is to not care too much about the thing you bargain for and be prepared to walk away. Also to start with as ridiculously low an offer as they start ridiculously high. Not foolproof though: I fought hard for some material to what was a fairly good price and then found the guy shortchanged me in quantity. The hazards of being a white tourist :o(

We also stopped at the shopping mall which felt a bit more like what we are used to - especially when we wandered up to visit the cinema and food complex. Until, that is, the electricity failed and everything shut down. That wouldn't happen at home!