Good morning Abidjan

We arose after a rather troubled sleep for me (Derv slept like a log) and facing the prospect of a barren fridge, headed off for some breakfast. We went to a nice little bakery called Paco, in the quartier Plateau 2. The compound is in the little bit in the middle of the lagoon called le Plateau. It’s the administrative quarter and strangely reminded me of Sarajevo (odd comparison, I know) in that there's a sense that the development was once there and had started to flourish and then was somehow frozen in time and had become dilapidated. There are certainly a number of high rises, but the 'Mini Manhattan' label is somewhat misleading. But it is geographically similar in that you have the sort of Presque-ille Plateau (Manhattan) then on right Cocody (Brooklyn) and to the left Youpougon (New Jersey). Anyway, we enjoyed a nice breakfast of croissants/pain au choc, and for Derv some congealed Nescafe. Needless to say, my stomach has been feeling somewhat sulky and at times despondent. But I did make the acquaintance of a rather friendly (and large) lizard who sprinted over, stopped, looked around, did 2 or 3 push-ups (honestly!) and then disappeared again. They all seem to do it. They're very sporty people the Ivoirians, from what I can tell. Not just their reptile-folk. On the way from the airport the first night I saw lots of different groups of teenage/young men running up and down and training etc. I suppose maybe they all hope to be the next Etto or Drogba. After breakfast, Dervla's friend/fathers' driver Traore, came to pick us up and we drove to Treichville (there is no NYC homologue at this point). All the separate little bits of Abidjan are connected by a handful of bridges and very long straight roads. Well actually 2 bridges. We spent the afternoon doing various errands and picking up supplies in the Lebanese-owned supermarket Hyatt. Its one of the pricier ones and you can get most of the same stuff as in France. I even saw a (white) 'dame d'un certain age' with a little lap dog in her hand and I swear for a second I thought I was in Paris. Needless to say we have been getting rather a lot of attention due to our (well my) undeniable whiteness. Its entertaining that people think that Derv and I look similar (me with my bluish-hued skin, freckles and red hair; her with her practically black skin, and brown hair?!). I would like to say at this point that during the course of the day I saw not one, but two local people (in completely different parts of the city and at different times of the day) wearing Republic of Ireland jerseys. I did a double take but sure enough there it was! The second one was a rugby jersey but was most definitely bedazzled with shamrocks. Very strange. Between that and the Hyace van decked out in the Tricolour (albeit upside down) I could be forgiven for thinking I was at home. Another observation is that there are a lot of giant signs interspersed on the big highways advertising skin whitening products, with freakish looking women and discreet descriptions of 'tein embellie'. I mean I really do have to laugh at the fact that women across the UK and Ireland wander the streets in a state of perpetual orangeness in a an attempt to look tanned and exotic, while here the women are attempting the exact opposite. The grass is certainly oranger or whiter on the other side. Finally, on our 'premier appercu' of the city, we detoured via Yopougon (New Jersey) where Derv lives and works. It has a completely different atmosphere to the other parts of the city and feels like a collection of different villages grouped together. Its just across the lagoon but some people have never left Youpougon (or Youp Ville!) and haven't ever crossed over to the other side of the city. You can imagine that the stares were on overdrive as we passed through. Derv says she's not that conscious about sticking out, but I think it’s a combination of desensitisation to the attention on her part, and the fact that there were two of us. Its not in anyway threatening, but person after person we passed on the road did double takes, the kids got excited and laughed and pointed, and generally we provoked a great deal of curiosity. We went for 'une sucrerie' (in this case a fanta and coke) in the Maquis behind Derv's apartment. The Maquis are basically bars or cafes that are outdoor and basically composed of a few tables and chairs (if you're lucky) and sometimes food prepared in a barbecue pit-type scenario. So we had a drink in the 'Espace de Machoirons a Piqué’ (catchy, isn’t it?) with the owner, M. N’datcha who told me all about the machoirons (a type of fish found in the lagoon and in the sea). He even showed me a video on his phone (the extended version with director's commentary) of said machoiron being roasted on a spit (piquet). That particular Maquis was surrounded by various different bits of wood nailed together to form walls, but with plenty of gaps in between. A group of boys aged between maybe 6 and 12-13 were hyper excited by our arrival and hovered around outside (well the whole thing is outside cause there's no roof, but you get me). They were so cheeky and cute and kept asking us questions. Then they'd be shooed away by M. N’Datcha, despite their pleadings of 'allez Tonton, on veu voir les blanches!!') Here they say Tantie and Tonton for Madame and Monsieur, by the way. Slowly they'd re-appear and hide behind the door, trying to sneak a look through the gaps between the planks, and again be shooed!