Relaxing Guinea-Bissau style

Yesterday we decided to head out into the countryside a little, to a restaurant/hotel situated on the banks of a coastal inlet about 80 km from Bissau. It was an interesting trip. The highway was surprisingly smooth, allowing us to make good time. I’m not sure what would account for such good infrastructure, even assuming it is limited to the capital and immediate environs (which I’m sure it is). Normally, the existence of paved roads speaks to the presence of major natural resource interests (notably oil), but there’s none of that here. The only natural resource of note is cashew nuts – and these are omnipresent.

The view from the van was almost exclusively of cashew trees, growing in loosely organized groves that dominated the countryside. They’re an attractive tree, about average size, with yellow and red fruits that look a great deal like smallish bell peppers. The cashew nut itself is a fat green crescent that protrudes from the bottom of the fruit. Although a single tree probably grows about a hundred fruits, that translates into about a hundred cashew nuts. That’s only a few handfuls of nuts. Imagine how much land it must require to grow cashews in any kind of commercial quantity. The fruit itself is not used for much. Though you see it in the markets, it’s hard to imagine who buys it, since almost every Bissau-Guinean has access to his own. It is fermented and used to make alcohol, but apparently that’s about it. This is surprising, especially considering that the fruit itself has a relatively pleasant, sweet taste. At the very least, I’m sure it makes a nice juice.

The hotel we went to yesterday had a grove of cashew trees (naturally), which gave me a chance to wander through, to touch, taste and smell the operation first-hand. To make the alcohol, a tree is hollowed out and tipped at an angle, making a kind of trough that looks a little like a playground slide. Here the fruit is collected and pounded with wooden poles, letting the juice run to the bottom of the trough. The pulp and husks are tossed aside into a stinking pile. It’s a decidedly low-tech affair.

Low tech is not incompatible with the good life. Yesterday was all about seafood, pulled from the waters with simple hand nets. Prawns the size of my forearm were grilled with onion and lemon. Three towering plates of oysters, at least ten pounds apiece, were trotted out with plastic buckets. The sauce was a simple but piquant mix of lime juice and chili peppers. Even I, no great fan of seafood, ate with abandon. It boggles the mind to think of what this would have cost in New York or London. Not for the first time, it occurred to me that Guinea-Bissau could be a wonderful vacation destination, if only it wasn’t so destitute.

Low tech is also a good thing when it comes to treating my sinus infection; the antibiotics are easily obtained over the counter. They don’t do anything to make me feel less crap, however, so I’d best be off to bed.