Voyage

Imagine the progeny of an arranged marriage between a covered wagon and a roller coaster:

Crawling up hills, plunging down the other side with the vehicle in neutral and motor shut off to conserve fuel, whipping through blind chicanes, the mismatched tires cling desperately to the terra infirma beneath. Four guys are on the roof, on top of the baggage, on top of the cargo net, strategically splayed so as to minimize their already vertiginous position. Pre-deadly passing manoeuvers test the limits of luck. The road is alternately Jarlsberg and Texas Chili, turning to Rocky Road during the rainy season. Inside the vehicle, the heater is on full blast to keep the engine a precious few degrees cooler, the stick-shift is actually a stick for shifting, the children are calm but don’t pack well, the bidon-cum-gastank fumes in the trunk, and dust settles in every fold like dry snow.  Miniscule motorcycles without mirrors ignore everything, one passenger in a helmet, the next in headphones, the third in a headwrap.  The baby is bareheaded.

This is overland travel in Guinea.

Plus, fuel is about $5/gal.