Don't get me wrong, I liked Cameroon the last time I was here. That's why I decided to come back. Having said that, Douala "International" Airport is not the place you want to arrive just after midnight on a balmy Wednesday morning. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happens after my flight from Nairobi is cancelled and I'm rescheduled some 12 hours later. The upside is a little trip down memory lane sipping a Tusker in Nairobi. The last time I did this (quite recently) I was about to start camping (the excitement was intents, ahem), but this time I must be in one of the best hotels in town.
After making it from Nairobi, common sense dictates spending an uncomfortable night on a bench in said airport rather than venturing into the dark negotiating the touts and god knows what else. This airport is so ropey that you are surrounded by the hawkers before you have cleared customs or got your Lois Vutton matching travel bags from the carousel! An albino tout directs me to the safest part of the place, yet it still remains one of those "WTF am I doing here?" moments, with the mosquitos buzzing around my ears and some local fellahs looking at me, and whispering far more often than they should be. How rude.
I survive the night and it's a pretty smooth transition into Douala, to a shared taxi rank and the 70 minute journey to Buea, on the edge of imposing Mount Cameroon. We only get stopped five times by the security forces, which it is a personal best (for least times searched). Having stayed there before, I almost negotiate the way to my accommodation. Sadly, I get it wrong by one and almost end up asking the former President of Cameroon if he's still doing bed and breakfast. My host catches site of me beforehand and I avoid immediate deportation. She hasn't changed a bit, especially the laugh. The rest of the day is a three year recap, or rather a recap of three years, followed by oodles of sleep. I'm glad to have made it.
After making it from Nairobi, common sense dictates spending an uncomfortable night on a bench in said airport rather than venturing into the dark negotiating the touts and god knows what else. This airport is so ropey that you are surrounded by the hawkers before you have cleared customs or got your Lois Vutton matching travel bags from the carousel! An albino tout directs me to the safest part of the place, yet it still remains one of those "WTF am I doing here?" moments, with the mosquitos buzzing around my ears and some local fellahs looking at me, and whispering far more often than they should be. How rude.
I survive the night and it's a pretty smooth transition into Douala, to a shared taxi rank and the 70 minute journey to Buea, on the edge of imposing Mount Cameroon. We only get stopped five times by the security forces, which it is a personal best (for least times searched). Having stayed there before, I almost negotiate the way to my accommodation. Sadly, I get it wrong by one and almost end up asking the former President of Cameroon if he's still doing bed and breakfast. My host catches site of me beforehand and I avoid immediate deportation. She hasn't changed a bit, especially the laugh. The rest of the day is a three year recap, or rather a recap of three years, followed by oodles of sleep. I'm glad to have made it.
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