Today I’m headed back to N’zerekoré. But first, some breakfast. I hobble from the guesthouse into the central part of Bossou, my legs tight and sore, to find that it is market day. These markets don’t begin particularly early, and at 9 AM most people are still just setting up. I find coffee no problem, at a nice, shaded café. The food options are surprisingly limited. There are no beans for sale anywhere. I’m used to this being the typical breakfast food. Instead, there is bread and butter, or rice with leaf sauce. I opt for rice with leaf sauce. It’s very good. Sweet potato leaf sauce is the best.

There is a site I’d like to see on the way back to N’zerekoré that will require a bit of a detour. Lonely Planet suggests “Instead of heading straight back to Lola, consider taking he seldom traveled rocky track east to Gbakoré where you’ll enjoy gorgeous views of Mt. Nimba. About 4km before Gbakoré the road crosses a natural bridge cut through the rock by the Cavally River. It’s a magical little spot, ideal for a picnic and a swim.”

Before leaving I am sure to get phone numbers from Ngan, who manages the institute, and Francois, who manages the hotel and arranged the guides. I update the Google Maps profiles for each of these locations to make sure people know what services are available here. I also leave a review on the Google Maps page for Mount Richard-Molard with information for how to find guides in Bossou. I hope no one else has to go through the fiasco at the Lola Prefecture that I did.

Then I head east out of town, on the same road that took me through Selinngbala, the village where we started hiking yesterday. Shortly after Selinngbala the road passes into a section of the natural reserve, and the forest is grand and lush. But then just as quickly, and for what I can tell, still in the reserve, I come across a section that has clearly been grazed and burnt. UNESCO mentions that “The need for land for agriculture and cattle breeding has strengthened the traditional practice of clearing by fire. These anthropic fires occur regularly in the protected area, constituting an important administrative challenge.” I would attest to this assessment.

It is surprisingly easy to find the bridge. Though I do get a bit lucky. There is only one fork in the road between Selinngbala and the highway, and there are no villages. I see only one person the whole time, but it happens to be right before the fork, and he tells me to go left. Then the road goes, of course, right over the bridge.

This is the second “bridge of god” I’ve seen in Guinea, after the one near Dalaba. This bridge is, I have to say, far cooler and more fun than the first one. For one thing, the creek and surrounding forest is totally pristine. No trash, no soap in the water, no one doing laundry and leaving the plastic detergent bags on the banks of the creek. There are light trails but it is otherwise untouched. Secondly, the creek itself is bigger. There is a lot more water here, and some pools that are deep enough to have a nice swim in. The stream near Dalaba was much smaller and on a steeper course, no obvious swimming holes, and the water was not inviting anyway. Here the water is very clean and cool, and there are some perfect sitting rocks, some in the shade of the trees and the bridge, some more in the sun. And finally, the bridge itself is much bigger and more impressive here. It’s wider and longer, and you can float in the gentle current and drift along underneath. It’s an absolutely delightful spot, and one that I never would have found on my own. Thank you, Lonely Planet.

I sit on a rock and eat some bread and avocado and a couple bananas after my swim, and then check the weather app. Earlier today I’d checked, and it seemed like the skies were going to be clear all day. But now, all of a sudden, it is saying that there is a 90% chance of rain in N’zerekoré by 3 pm. It’s already 1:30 or so. Ugh. I have about 60 km back to town. I’m not particularly interested in staying in Lola. So, with a bit of urgency, I pack up and get going. I hit the paved road before long and make good progress, nervously watching the sky grow gradually darker. I pass a lot of oil palm orchards and seed oil extraction worksites.

One the outskirts of Lola, while riding down a slope, I notice an old cannon by the side of the road and take a quick photo. I don’t think anything about it. I’m taking quick pictures constantly, it’s what you do as a tourist, and specifically, a bicycle tourist. A moment later I am waved down by a couple of men in camouflage fatigues. “Did you film this site?” One says angrily. “I didn’t film, but I did take a picture,” I respond. “Open your phone.” he commands. I comply and show him the offending picture, in which nothing is visible besides the rusty old cannon and a field of dirt behind it. He snatches the phone from me orders me “Viens!” (Come!), and I am ushered, up a severely eroded gravel driveway towards a couple buildings.

This is evidently some kind of military installation. I wouldn't have even known had they not flagged me down. Now I'm seeing more of it. We walk by three rifles arranged in a kind of tripod, with the center rifle pointing straight into the sky and the other two as support legs. A moment later we come upon a circle of perhaps 15 men all dressed in fatigues, in the shade of a mango tree. Some sit in plastic chairs, others stand. The circle opens into a semi-circle to face me. The guy who caught me, a younger guy, tells and older guy that I was taking pictures and hands him my phone. I am ordered to produce my visa, which I do, and open the phone. It’s a bit stressful. There is no room here for me to be smoothly defiant and ride off like I do with the typical roadside stops. I’ve done something that is, however vague and inconsequential a transgression, not technically permitted. As I arrive at this circle, I lean my bike against the mango tree in who’s shade everyone sits and I attempt to at least make one thing clear, “I am a tourist, I’ve been in Guinea for more than two months. It’s beautiful, I love Guinea. I just climbed Mount Nimba yesterday.” Everyone just glares at me and then the old guy drags me over the coals. The tone is distinctly aggressive.

Him: “Where are we?”

Me: “Just outside Lola.”

Him: “But where are we! WHAT IS THIS PLACE?”

Me: “It appears to be a military installation or base of some kind.”

Him: “Do you have authorization to take pictures here?”

Me: “I didn’t know it was a military installation.”

Him: “What is THIS?!” (Pointing at the cannon in the picture)

Me: “It appears to be some kind of armament.”

Him: “Don’t talk like that ‘appears to be,’ what IS it?”

Me: “It’s a cannon.”

Him: “And your phone, it has GPS, does it not, you have your maps and such.”

Me: “Yes for navigation.” At this point I’m trying to think… am I being accused of being a spy? And at the same time, if this man believes that the location of this military installation, whatever it is, is in any way secret? Perhaps it is a matter of pride: the Guinean military might not want pictures of their rather paltry bases getting out. I can only speculate what the logic is here. In fact, it may be as simple as a show of strength, an assertion of dominance.

Then he launches into a sputtering diatribe about how I had better be careful, and if I ever return to Lola, I have to check in at the Prefecture. This last bit is blatant bullshit, and clearly an impromptu proclamation. It does succeed, however briefly, in giving me a certain sense of dread about my existence as a tourist in this country. This feeling does not last, but it lingers for a moment.

Ultimately, leniency— I guess that’s the right word— prevails. The men watch as I delete the photos and then empty them from the recently deleted album. I’m a bit shaken. I’m sure they can see this, and I’m sure that this is the desired effect. They’ve accomplished what they intended to by dragging me up here-- intimidation, putting me in my place. The same guy who caught me walks me back down to the road. There is a glint of something like compassion in his eye as he shakes my hand and sees me on my way.

I continue through Lola, suddenly much less in the mood to take pictures. It’s a damper for sure. I’m tempted to say it could have been worse, but I’m not sure who would have been served by making it so. That being said, you just never know in Guinea. This episode causes me to reflect on the fact that I am I am within 50 KM of two countries that within the last 20 years experienced horrific civil wars that affected Guinea profoundly. I need to remain aware of what this country and society have been through in living memory. In fact, almost the entirety of Guinean history, if you get into it, is traumatic. I’m here at a comparatively good moment, but stability like this is a relatively recent development. There is no telling what seasoned army officers, such as those I’ve just interacted with, might have been through.

Considering all of this, it is amazing how warm and generous Guineans are, as a whole and the hospitality that permeates Guinean society. A few hostile soldiers at a border post that was in a war zone only 15 years ago is not broadly indicative of my place as a tourist in this country.

With all of this in mind, I don’t read too much into this. While it is tempting to interpret this interaction as a bellwether of some kind, it’s really, upon any reflection, not. The main takeaway here is exactly what it appears to be on face value, and just as simple: don’t take pictures of military installations in Guinea. There’s not a whole lot more to construe from this incident.

While I’m passing through Lola one of the soldiers from the circle that grilled me zips by on a moto. He waves at me, smiles, and chirps a greeting. Pretty obvious he’s not ultimately mean spirited.

The skies continue to threaten as I pass through Lola, and for the last 30 km to N’zerekoré, but the rain never comes. Besides the military stop it is a pretty uneventful ride. I stop in a cashew orchard and eat every ripe fruit in sight, leaving the nuts in a little pile. I get back to N’zerekoré at about 5, and go straight back to the Mission Catholique, which definitely won me over as a wonderful place to stay. The same room I was in before is available, and I happily move back in.

My legs are very sore. It’s interesting how different activities work different muscles. I haven’t experienced serious soreness from even the longest days of biking on this trip. But that hike up, and particularly down, Mount Nimba was a different story. At sunset I hobble down to the same intersection where there are lots of delicious food vendors, chewing on chicken feet along the way. It’s a nice little routine I’ll settle into for a couple days, before heading north, back into the dry, dusty, hot Sahel.