Beautiful day of riding, until my rear tire ripped through. Remarkably similar to what happened to me outside of Labé. In both cases I was 50-60 km down a paved road from a major city, and easily able to get there by moto. Only difference is I was not expecting it this time. The first time I knew my tire was on thin ice, but hoped it could last for another 60 road kilometers. Today, there was no indication my tire was degraded or anything at all before it happened. I might have run over something sharp. Idk.

Bit of a bummer because I was definitely enjoying the ride. On my way out of town in Macenta I stopped at a café. The people were, as usual, extremely friendly and stoked that I could speak Malinké. I’m definitely making progress figuring out how to modify words and conjunctions to rejigger my Senegalese Malinké into Guinean Malinké, as well as picking up new vocabulary. The coffee was, as always delicious. I befuddled everyone when I asked for a mug of hot water with two of the little espressos, which I mixed together to make something that very strongly resembles my American notion of coffee. Or at least it’s an americano. And it’s damn good, but people are always confused when I make it, which I’ve been doing for the last week or two.

For breakfast, there was a lady just straight up dishing mafé tiga (rice with peanut sauce). This is decisively not a breakfast food in Senegal, or northern Guinea. But as I’ve gotten farther south in Guinea I’ve noticed more and more rice ladies serving their food for breakfast. I am A-ok with this. I'd still prefer bean sandwiches, but today I very much enjoyed my mafé tiga breakfast.

About 10 km south of Macenta, I entered the Forêt Classé de Ziama, which is one of Guinea’s only formally protected natural reserves. And it did not disappoint. The park is centered on a section of mountains/highlands, and the road climbs through them on the way to N’zerekoré. Absolutely one of the prettiest rides I’ve ever experienced. And I was there relatively early, around 8:30, in time to experience the mist rising from the forest that had been rained on all night, and the lingering cool air. This reserve gives a taste of what the Guinean rainforest was like until, well quite recently really, within the last century, when the impacts of human activity accelerated, the population began to grow exponentially, and vast swaths of forest, literally most of the country’s forest, were cleared for agriculture, logging, charcoal production, and other purposes.

Absolutely epic. Riding through the park is one of the highlights of this trip. It is possible to go on a guided tour into the park. There are supposedly still elephants. Just seeing more of the rainforest would be enough for me. Maybe I’ll do that tour sometime, but it would be at least a day to arrange and execute so it’s not going to happen on this trip.

So the countryside is really beautiful this morning, and the villages are extremely friendly. It was fun to stop in each village and figure out what ethnic group it might be. I was looking forward to a roadside lunch in one such village, but when my tire ripped the only option was to zip to N’zerekoré. It stinks I couldn’t finish the ride, but, like last time, this could have happened in a much worse place, and I will be able to get a new tire in town.

N’zerekoré is one of the major provincial cities in Guinea. It might even be the 2nd largest city in the country, though if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Guinea, it’s that no one, truly no one, actually knows what the second biggest city is. Is it Labé? Kankan? N’zerekoré? Kindia? Some even claim it may be Gueckedou, which swelled rapidly during the last couple decades with refugees from Sierra Leon and Liberia, (as well as merchants flocking to the economic opportunities of selling things to all the refugees), to at least a quarter million, which would certainly put it in the running for 2nd biggest city in Guinea.

What I do know is that based on initial impressions I quite like N’zerekoré. It is extremely diverse. There is an interesting phenomenon I’ve noticed here in southern Guinea: The vast majority of villages and local ethnic groups are Christian— with the important exception of “Mandingo” villages, which speckle the landscape all the way to the Liberian coast. The Christian population, which dominates the countryside, includes many different ethnicities, such as Toma, Kpelle, Temne, Mende, and Ziallo. Meanwhile the cities are full of people from other regions of Guinea, merchants and businessmen etc., who are mostly Muslim Because of this the cities are disproportionately Muslim compared to the indigenous populations of the surrounding countryside.

Guinea is estimated at 85% Muslim overall, though like most things about Guinea this is only an educated guess. It’s not clear to me that this estimate takes into account the refugees from Sierra Leon and Liberia that crossed the border through the nineties and early 2000s and who numbered between 500,000 and 1 million people, mostly Christians. This would tick the portion of Christians up a few percentage points, given that the population of Guinea is, even today, only about 13 million (quite a low number when you consider that Guinea is slightly larger in area than the United Kingdom).

But there is much ambiguity about how many of these people went back to their countries of origin after the wars ended. Many just went into the Guinean bush and started villages. The land and environment here is virtually the exact same as across the border in Liberia, for example, and many of the surrounding villages would have been the same ethnic groups as on the other side of the border. People who did this, however, might not have been counted officially as refugees, since they wouldn’t have ever checked in at an official refugee camp. Which gets to an interesting question about who is a refugee. Do you have to register with an international body to be a refugee? Or at least to “count” as a refugee. Legally, or at least practically, the answer appears to be yes.

All of which is to say that while N’zerekoré certainly has a unique character, it still feels similar in important ways to other large Guinean cities. The grand mosque is still the biggest and most prominent building in town, and the calls to prayer are as obtrusive here as anywhere.

To my delight the lingua franca remains Malinké. I had no idea that Malinké extended— beyond scattered Mandingo villages— this far south. Even in villages I stopped in along way, whether the people be Temne, Toma, Ziallo, or Kissi, they could mostly communicate in Malinké.

Lonely Planet lists a few hotels in N’zerekoré. It also makes mention of the “Mission Catholique,” which has “simple but spotless rooms with mosquito nets… in a nice quiet location behind the church.” The Lonely Planet guidebook who’s pages I photographed is from the early 2000s. Since then, the Guinean Franc went through at least one, though I believe two, significant currency devaluations. It’s also been 20 years. So, it’s hard to tell from the prices listed in the book what things are actually going to cost today. But the mission was listed at about 1/3rd the price of every other hotel in town. So I figured I’d check it out, and had my moto drop me off in front of the “Eglise Saint Marie.” I walked my bike through the church grounds and into a big grassy courtyard behind, and had to agree with Lonely Planet. It’s a very nice spot, and somehow rather quiet and calm despite being right in the middle of the city.

I was welcomed at once and quickly shown a room. It’s easily, by a significant margin the cleanest hotel room I’ve ever seen in Guinea. Cleanliness is godliness? It’s also quite large, featuring a bit of a fore room seating area with a nice coffee table, a large, comfortable bed, and a nice sturdy desk by the back window, which has a nice view. The room also has a large bathroom.

I figured they were showing me the more expensive room first, and I’d I’ve to ask to see a cheaper one. I had to hold back a gasp when she told me the price. 100,000. That’s $11.11. I’ve paid two and three times that much for far, far dingier rooms. Then comes the kicker, not only is there running water, but the water pressure is… excellent, in the sink, shower and toilet. Beyond this, N’zerekoré, being a major city, has electricity most of the time. Many hotels I’ve stayed in, like last night, are at the mercy of shoddy electric grids that turn on for only a few hours each evening or run big noisy generators that cancel out the modicum or peacefulness that might otherwise exist in the hotel.

I think this is the best value hotel I’ve ever stayed in, anywhere. I can’t think of an exception. The only one that comes close, is the hotel two nights ago in Gueckoudou (at the risk of sounding like I am succumbing to recency bias). My hotel in Kindia was the same price, with the same amenities (in fact because of the hydro plants nearby, Kindia had power basically 24/7, though it would still cut out occasionally), but the hotel was a bit dingy, and the room was small and stuffy. This room is amazing, and spotless clean, and the grounds of the church are quite pleasant.

There is a German couple who’ve parked their enormous former German army diesel vehicle thing on the church lawn. It's a Mercedes crossed with a small tank. I chat with them for a while. They are attempting to drive all the way around the world but have been largely stymied thus far by Covid border regulations. They are waiting for a special permit from the local consulate of the Côte d’Ivoire to cross the border. They already have the visa, which they could only get in Conakry, and went to the border, but were told they must report to the consulate here in N’zerekoré to get a special permit. African bureaucracy is almost always inane and inefficient and frustrating, but the Covid border policies seem especially so. It's given license to the worst tendencies of bureaucracy.

Anyway, this German couple is very nice, and their rig is unbelievable. They speak basically no French but seem to get by somehow. They say they’ve mostly been parking their truck in the bush a little ways off of the road, or in little villages. They like to avoid cities because, as one might imagine, driving the rig through narrow roads and crowded streets is a bit stressful, but do it when necessary. These are the first white people I’ve seen since Labé.

N’zerekoré has good mangos, and I’m excited to see what the street food game is like tonight at the hour of Iftor (sundown/break-fast). Hopefully I can get my bike worked out, catch up on writing, and rest up tomorrow, and get on with the adventure on Saturday.