I don’t leave today until after lunch because I tell Moussa, my old Senegalese friend here in Kankan, that I want to check out a gold forge. Kankan, being the major city of haute Guinea, is a way station for a lot of the gold produced in the region. There are gold mines nearby that have been active since *at least* the days of the Ghana empire— which was founded in the 4th or 5th century AD— and remain productive today.

The biggest of the gold mining areas near here is in the vicinity of Siguiri. I’m not going to make it to Siguiri on this trip, but I am interested in the culture and economy of gold that flows through Kankan. It’s been an integral part of Malinké life for a long time. I am in luck, because Moussa’s brother-in-law is a gold seller, and he takes us to the forge where the powder is transformed into ingots. I never get to see the process all the way from powder to ingot, but it is amazing to see people hammering away at little sheets of gold worth about $10,000.

The ride to Kouroussa, which I begin after a lunch of Togolese food (which happens to be the same as Southern Guinean food, apparently), is uneventful. Kankan has a lot of sprawl and it takes almost an hour to clear the city. It’s a decent paved road the whole way. One highlight is seeing the Niger River again, which is much larger here than it was in Faranah, having taken several tributaries since then. But it’s still dry season for most of the watershed upstream from here, and I have to imagine what this river looks like when it’s really pumping.

Kouroussa strikes me immediately as a charming provincial city. I am greeted in town by a statue of René Caillé, the French explorer who was the first European to return alive from Timbuktu. His voyage overland across West Africa began in Boké, where I was last month, and passed through many of the places I have visited on this trip, such as here in Kouroussa. I want to read more about his travels when I get the chance.

Down the road I come across another friendly statue/monument, this one of the Guinean author Camara Laye, who was born here. Laye’s books “L’Enfant Noir,” and “Le Regard de Roy,” are widely considered some of the great novels of the French African colonial period. I’m ashamed to say I have not read either, but you see them quite often at booksellers in Senegal. There is also a library next to the monument named in his honor.

I also come across, on my way to the hotel, the old French railroad station, comprised of several beautiful old stone and brick buildings. These buildings are now occupied by some people and a couple businesses such as a palm wine bar and are falling apart.

The hotel I am planning on staying in, called the Tando, turns out to be full. There are a bunch of workers for the road building company staying here. No worries, there is another hotel. However, this one, La Paillote, is not correctly located on Google Maps, so I set to asking people. I get pointed in one direction. After going in that direction, I ask someone else where to find the hotel Paillote. A man and a woman discuss amongst themselves, and then the woman says she’ll lead me there. I wish they would just point me along, because when they lead me, it typically means they are expecting money, but I can’t dissuade her. So, I follow her, and we end up back at the Hotel Tando. The name is plastered across the front. But this woman, even in the town of Camara Laye, cannot read. I actually looked it up recently and Guinea is either the 2nd or 3rd least literate country on the planet. This surprised even me.

So, I keep asking around and finally find La Paillote. I like the location, it is right near the center of town, where I am looking forward to a bowl of rice. So, I walk into the compound and look around. The reception is nowhere to be found. I wait and ask a guest sitting at a nearby table. He tells me he left a little while ago. I keep waiting, pretty annoyed at just how much time I have wasted simply trying to get a hotel room tonight. Makes me wonder why I do this and don’t just camp. Though there are many practical and comfort related reasons for this, but in this moment I wonder. Another guest walks by and I ask if he knows where the reception is. He has his number and calls. Now he’s on his way, and between 5 and 10 minutes later a guy shows up on a moto. I greet him. He asks me what I want, in a fairly hostile tone.

It’s simply flabbergasting sometimes just how poor the hospitality industry is here. It’s especially bizarre when compared to just how welcoming and desperate for my attention most people are the rest of the time. I’ll bike through a village and every single person there greets me effusively. The men, sitting at a little café or under a tree beg me to come chat with them. I mostly don’t because if I did, I would never get anywhere, but the point is that people generally are very welcoming and happy to greet a stranger. Unless they are getting paid to do so, apparently.

I tell the man that I am thinking, just maybe, about a hotel room. He sighs heavily and goes to retrieve the key. On the walk to the room, I apologize for bothering him, the sarcasm falling on disinterested ears. Then, the cherry on top of this whole bizarrely frustrating night is that this hotel room is an absolute dive, possibly the dirtiest room I’ve ever seen. There are ants walking about with impunity eating something on the floor. The shower doesn’t work. Nor does the light in the bathroom. Yet somehow it’s a 200,000 room, $22.22. More than I've paid for large spotless rooms with working utilities in larger, nicer cities. The guy will not budge on the price, despite my vehemently pointing out the glaring defects of the room. The other hotel being full gives him great leverage.

This hotel is in hot competition with the one in Kissidougou for the worst hotel of the trip. It’s a little bit infuriating. Other than this, Kouroussa continues to be a lovely city. I easily find a wonderful bowl of rice and some goat meat in town. No bananas unfortunately. And, despite the crappiness of the hotel I sleep like an angel.