Our feet hit the ground in Vogan, a rural Togo town known for its market, and just our luck that Friday was market day. We sampled the local fare, including tofu, some sort of cornbreadish substance, and fresh coconut water (which is kind of a gross version of the real deal H2O and not to be confused with tasty coconut milk). I also binged on a West African chain of ice cream called Fanchocos and Fanmilks.

When we found the "fetish market" section where exotic animals are sold for voodoo spells, a kid immediately offered up a squirming chameleon. The selection was impressive: discounts on monkey heads and porcupine spines, rebates on jaguar pelts and warthog tusks, and money-back guarantees on alligator teeth. Nervously, I scanned the vicinity for a voodoo doll resembling myself, but fortunately no Togolese witchdoctors have made an enemy of me yet.

Walking across the Benin border was a breeze, but don't tell any criminal masterminds you may know. And then we caught three motos from the highway, shuttling us to Ouidah, self-proclaimed city of the slave trade. We arose bright and early to walk the 4k beachbound road where slaves were escorted in chains onto ships. Symbolic African animal statues now line the walk along with other attractions. We passed the site of the nation's annual twin festival. We saw an abandoned stilt village on the marsh (the preferred architectural style in Benin). Finally we reached the Point of No Return where slaves, many of whom seeing the ocean for the first time, were whisked away to colonies spanning New England to Brazil.

I grew emotionally attached to one particular python over the course of our five minutes there, nicknamed him Severus, and briefly envisioned an elaborate escape plan. Were I only to liberate Severus from his oppressors and this Clockwork Orange-esque prison, he could once again realize his snakey dreams. But then as I stuffed him into my shirt, I considered Severus' drug rehab fees and the costs of separation anxiety therapy. Not to mention a curse would befall me due to the protective magic of the corn-grain-covered bike parts.

Next up after Ouidah, we arrived at Awale Plage in Grand Popo, something that easily belongs in Disney World. The staff all dresses like pirates with red bandannas and the grounds have bizarre topiaries, trellises, ornamental vegetation, and giant chess boards that give it the distinct feel of Alice in Wonderland. Unfortunately a group of Cotonou high schoolers had booked the very last room, so rage welled up inside our hearts as we watched them check in. The resort referred us to the new apartment complex next door. We arrived at a building that cannot be called anything but a castle. We waited at a wooden table in a huge empty room until the proprietor arrived. He sat down with us as if us staying one night was some kind of important business ordeal requiring mountains of signatures and paperwork. We were the only guests that night so we slept at the top of the castle, ready to defend it from invaders. The next day Luis and Doug used bathrooms in other unlocked rooms, only to be walked in on by touring guests.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .