To Timbuktu (and back)

Flying into the Timbuktu airport is pretty cool. Flying into the Timbuktu airport while sitting in the jumpseat in the cockpit of the airplane… That is more than cool. That is so amazing there just aren’t words for it.

So, this is how it started… Laura and I boarded our flight in Mopti. The flight consisted mostly of us and a group of around 15 travel agents from various parts of Europe, doing a whirlwind tour of Mali. As the plane started to taxi to the runway, to the tunes of Jimmy Buffet, the captain came on. First a voice in French, doing all the obligatory announcements (I assume, since I don’t speak French). Then, a different voice, and not just English, but decidedly American. Doing the same obligatory announcements, but this time in that lounge lizard-style voice our pilots do so well. I asked the flight attendant where the pilot (or co-pilot) was from, and he confirmed America. So I asked if we could say hello after the flight.

About midway through the 45 minute flight, the flight attendant came back and said we could see the pilot. But only one at a time. Having the aisle seat, I went first. I went up and met the co-pilot, Noah, from Connecticut. I sat in the jump seat, and we chatted about how he ended up in Mali (dearth of pilot jobs in the US), what it’s like to live in Mali, etc. Soon, the descent procedure was starting. Noah asked if I wanted to stay in the cockpit for landing. “Is that allowed?”, I asked. Noah just looked at me and said “This is Africa.” So there I was, sitting in the cockpit, looking out the windshield (is that what they call them in planes?) as we made our descent into Timbuktu. I was absolutely giddy. With a set of headphones on, I could hear all the descent calls and landing checklist, but hoped my mic wasn’t live as I whispered all sorts of exclamations to myself.

Upon landing, I asked Noah if he was this geeky about his first landing in Timbuktu. His experience beat mine – he had to deal with a herd of goats crossing the runway.

OK, now a little about actually being in Timbuktu… It’s a small town with a big town attitude. The town is covered in red dust, and if you took away the electrical lines and the cars, you would think you had stepped back in time 1,000 years. Homes are made from mud brick, or sometimes sandstone and mud. There are still giant yert-like tents within the city (and also in the desert outside the city) where some people permanently live. The tallest building was 3 stories high, and that was the exception. There is a strong influence from Morocco, which shows in the beautifully decorated doors and windows of even the most modest homes. People dress in all sorts of manners – jeans & t-shirts, men in long pant & robe sets with full “I’m heading out into the desert on my trusty camel” style turbans, women in the colorful, traditional Mali dresses, and outfits hand-made of local cotton dyed in indigo.

We hired a guide, Mahmoud, who met us at the airport with a car. We dropped our bags at our hotel – Colombe II – and set out for a walking tour of Timbuktu. We saw three mosques (only from the outside, non-muslims can’t go in), houses of famous explorers who “found” Timbuktu, and a museum or two. We went for tea at an artisan market, which is really an opportunity for a salesguy to have a captive audience for a half hour or so while the tea is brewing. But it was a welcome break from the heat, so it was ok with us. We bought a small watermelon from the market and ate it with our tea.

After parting with Mahmoud for the day we found ourselves an entourage – two boys, around 10 years old – that followed us from our hotel to the post office to a museum to the internet café. They didn’t want anything, just a chance to speak English to a few strange Americans and hang out for a while. I guess when you’re living at the end of the world, the tourists are the entertainment.