Kayaking from Sweden to Africa: 1001 Ways to Fail (Chapter Nine)
PART TWO: THE REST OF THE STORYPART TWO: THE REST OF THE STORY
CHAPTER NINE
SEEING THE EFFECTS OF THE YUGOSLAV WARS
The only sign that I had reached the Yugoslavian border were the two seemingly uninhabited houses on either side of the river. I suppose that was the border guard, but I didn’t see any living soul around.
Later in the afternoon, I reached some settlements. On the right side was the community Batina. I saw a Yugoslavian flag on the left side of the river. In hopes of finding a border guard, I headed to shore, where I landed the kayak.
Kayaking from Sweden to Africa: 1001 Ways to Fail (Chapter Ten)
PART TWO: THE REST OF THE STORYPART TWO: THE REST OF THE STORY
CHAPTER TEN
THERE AND BACK AGAIN
After my experience in Belgrade, I decided to take myself back home to Sweden and leave the kayak someplace safe in Yugoslavia. I could pretty quickly scrape up the money to return to my kayak and continue the journey when I got back in Sweden.
I put the kayak under lock and key at a hotel in Novi Sad and kissed her goodbye.
“Take care of yourself, girl. I’ll be back.”
Hitchhiking from Sweden to Africa (Chapter Two)
A LOST BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY
Africa. The next day, I hitchhiked on. I stopped in British-colony Gibraltar. When I saw a ferry that went to Morocco, I thought, Africa! I decided to head in that direction, thinking it would be fun to see another continent. Anyway, the ferry was cheap.
Hitchhiking from Sweden to Africa (Chapter Three)
HUGGING A GOAT IN THE SAHARA
Algeria. I decided to head east. After Morocco, there is Algeria. I thought, Ok! With an excited smile, I crossed the border.
I came into the city of Oran, the capital of rai music. It sounds like Arabic reggae. They sing about life, love, and in my taste, just damn good music. Some of the artists playing on the cassette tapes that I managed to get ahold of back then are very famous today, like Cheb Khaled.
Hitchhiking from Sweden to Africa (Chapter Four)
AN INDELIBLE MARK ON MY SOUL
Libya. It took eight days to get to the oasis of Djanet. Here, we could at least wash off the dust from the goat shit that had dusted up not only our bodies but our faces, nostrils, and ears. A few more days later, we made it to the border checkpoint. A no-man’s land spanning 30 kilometers (19 miles) separated Algeria and Libya. On the Algerian side, I was warmly welcomed by soldiers who gave me cigarettes and Coca-Cola. They told me that they hadn’t seen a European in the two years that they had been there. The outpost was only a cargo container. How on earth did they manage to get it there in the middle of the cold Sahara…?
On the Libyan side, I was registered by an old gentleman who spelled my name in Arabic based on how I pronounced it. Upon entering Libya, I was immediately arrested by a mustachioed man dressed in an air force uniform.