Mali was beginning to feel like a vacuum, sucking the life out of us, ever so slowly. With our patience wearing thin, we started to reconsider our trip to Timbuktu for the 3-day “Festival in The Desert,” still ten days away.
We mulled. We hummed. We Hawed. In the end, we decided its Bamako or bust. We signed a chicken-scratch contract with a tour operator for an all-inclusive package, so by doing this, we kissed our deposit goodbye. I attempted to get a refund, but as you can imagine, that didn’t go over very well. Instead, I was told to make arrangements for the balance – not gonna happen. My favorite part was when he said, “This isn’t some contract we signed in the streets,” when in fact, that’s exactly what it was. Oh, the irony.
So, with our bags packed, we boarded another bus for Bamako. This time we were treated to Mali’s Top 40. Ear plugs, anyone?
