Our usual practice is to stop the bikes for a rest and rehydration break every 50km or so. On the last break, we stopped the bikes under a canopy of mopani branches and parked them on the soft carpet of leaves. Kids are scampering around everywhere picking the fruit, and passing adults stop briefly to smile and shake hands before moving on.
We were intrigued by some distant African music so decided to investigate. After dropping a GPS pin to ensure that we could find our way back to the bikes, we set off into the forest on foot. Walking along faint leafy trails under trees, we followed a winding path for perhaps half a kilometre before emerging into a small village where preparations for a wedding ceremony were underway. The men were all congregated under the largest tree discussing men's business, and the women were busy attending to the bride in an open-sided kraal. People stared in amazement as we walked out of the forest, but there were cheery grins all round.
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The city of Bissau is evidently much wealthier than its nearby neighbours. Construction is to a generally higher standard, and the Portuguese influence is pervasive. More than just language; it also extends to the architecture, cuisine, and daily life.
Our welcome to Bissau came in the form of a veritable giant of a man in a policeman said uniform who strenuously waved us to the side of the road. This gentleman made Ty look like Melody in flat shoes, and had a chest like a Brahmin bull. He strutted across the road to us, traffic weaving around him in deference to his sheer mass. As soon as we switched off the bike engines, he threw us an almighty parody of a salute, complete with heels clicked together, and boomed out "hallo boss" in a basso profundo voice that could be heard in the next province.
We were a bit worried about his intentions, but his smile was as big as his stature. He just wanted to say hello in English, envelop us in a smashing handshake, and then say "allez" (go).
