Country number: 173
Territory number: 213
When? May 2019, second leg, coming from Angola, going on to Gabon
How? Car and on foot (!)
Everyone I told I was going to São Tomé e Principe
São Tomé Island, at 854 square kilometres, is the largest island of São Tomé and Príncipe and is home to about 96% of the nation’s population. It is tiny: about 30 miles long (North-South) by 20 miles wide and is a typical tropical island, with lush vegetation rising to volcanic peaks, more Caribbean than Atlantic. The sand is squishy and rock strewn, so my hike along a string of beaches is hard work, even though they are beautiful. They’re fringed with palm trees, fishermen in overcrowded boats are casting their nets in the small bays, pursuing shoals of sardines,and at least twenty falcons are wheeling, after the same prey. It hasn’t helped that it’s rained all night, so the humidity is super high, as you would expect from a country straddling the Equator, and I didn’t get to bed till two in the morning after my late flight.
And I’m not prepared. The itinerary said exploration of the small capital, followed by a tour of the west coast. Nothing was said about walking, so I thought I’d aim for semi-elegance, for a change, and I wore a dress and flip flops. They’re not ideal for clambering over boulders. My guide Agostinho says we’re visiting the city at the end of my trip. This is still Africa.
Agostinho is relentlessly chirpy and a mine of inaccurate and irrelevant information. He doesn’t like to say if he can’t understand me, so he just says ‘Yes’ and carries on talking, at breakneck speed, so it’s hard to follow his broken and thickly accented English. Attempting to cover all bases he occasionally doubles his nouns. ‘That ship – boat sank delivering Chinese cargo’. ‘That’s a mosque – church over there. ‘
Wagner is driving and they’ve brought a picnic lunch, which we are eating by the Lagoa Azul (Blue Lagoon). I’ve been for a swim, which at least has cooled me down, and I’m drying off, sitting on a creaky old boat under a baobab. The ants have already found me. And my hair is a yellow ball of frizz.
Past sixteenth century churches and ramshackle colonial houses on stilts to my lodge. My bungalow is beautifully appointed (as they say), has a view out to the sea in the west and I’m sharing it with some tiny crabs and more ants. Tiny blue birds flutter in the banana plants. The information booklet says there are snakes around, but not to worry. They’re harmless.
I’m sitting on a pile of sawn logs waiting for Agostinho and Wagner. There are flies buzzing all around me – I’ve tied my cagoule round my ankles to keep off the worst of the mosquitoes – and I’m muddy and wet. I was actually expecting a walk today, as the itinerary said I was hiking in the primary forest of the Obo National Park and visiting a pretty waterfall – Cascata Sao Nicolau. It didn’t say anything about slippy steep uphill paths or wading through six tunnels in water a metre deep, while bats dive bomb me.
Agostinhoe’s idea of motivation is to maintain a constant distance of 20 metres in front, never stopping so I can catch up or rest. Though it’s probably safer to keep a distance, as he’s happily slashing away at the undergrowth with his machete. Occasionally he uses it to point at birds I can’t see, way up in the canopy, instead. Flycatchers and orioles and the odd distant monkey. Cloud sits on top of the trees Jurassic Park like. Piri piri is growing wild across the path and heaps of giant African snail shells line the way. The locals suck out the snails live and toss away the remains of their feast.
‘Many bats in this one’, Agostinho says encouragingly, as we approach the fourth tunnel. We’re following the water channel down from the top of the mountain, after climbing up to the waterfall. It’s covered with old paving slabs between tunnels, many of them rickety booby traps. ‘Careful ‘, warns Agostinho unnecessarily, each time I approach a gap. It’s an African assault course. It would be ideal for I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. When we got to the top Agostinho offered me the choice of going on further and then returning via the way we came, or descending using the tunnels. ‘I will call the driver to meet us as we will arrive at a different point to where we left him,’ he says. He doesn’t tell me how long the tunnels are or how deep the water is. You can’t even see the light at the end of some of them. I’ve borrowed some plastic shoes from the lodge to wear while wading (Agostinho told me there would be a few metres of water) and I’m using my phone torch to light the way, trying not to think about what else might be lurking in the chilly depths.
I’m not wildly keen on sitting alone in the jungle – too many noises to feed the imagination. But I rebelled when we arrived at what I thought was the end of my overland trial and Agostinho said he couldn’t reach Wagner on the phone; he probably didn’t have a signal. He said it was another 30 minutes’ walk back to base camp, and I’ve learned to at least double Agostinho’s time estimates, so I sent him off to find the car on his own.
The track up and back follows the old colonial road through the cocoa plantations. (Cocoa represents about 95% of agricultural exports and I’m told that the chocolate is world-renowned.) There are decrepit plantation houses and the way is still cobbled at times. At others it’s just a muddy track.
Back on the tarmac (of sorts) we drive as far south as the road goes this side of the island, to a winding fishing village hugging the shore. A long line of sacking sails flutter. The houses, all at sea level and perilously close to the water are a motley assortment of wooden shacks. Most of the villagers are on the streets and we’re getting a mixed welcome. They’re still unused to tourists.
I’m eating lunch with an African tasting menu that has so many courses I’ve lost count. It’s all blobs of tuna and mango and baked banana with bacon. As well as chocolate, of course.The dishes are so tiny I fear I may still be hungry by the end, but the waiters keep on coming and I’m almost replete when they’re done.. And then, as Agostinho explains, we get proper lunch – beans, rice and more fish. And two more desserts. I think I’ve already had four, but I’m not sure what counts as which.
I’m in a converted sugar plantation house. It’s not quite as grand as those in the USA or St Kitts, but it’s been very nicely done out with wooden floors and periwinkle louvred doors and plenty of nick-knacks. And the dining room certainly has pretensions with its open kitchen and views across the bay. There are Philip Jackson style sculptured figures in the gardens and a gallery stuffed with modern art.
We’ve almost done a Round the Island Tour from the far side of the south west to the far side of the south east and reached Sao Joao des Angolenes (there’s no linking road through the south) The islanders believe there were indigenous people here (the Angolenes), when the Portuguese appeared, though the Portuguese claim the island was uninhabited – they arrived in the north. Wagner has dressed up for the day, military style, in his old army beret, which attracts much attention from the children who come running to meet us at each stop. They gather round staring into the car and then sycophantically hand me flowers, smile and pose for photos. I fall for this scam the first time, when we visit an old cocoa plantation and buy them all lollipops. (I’m being a very bad tourist this trip.) They all lose interest the second they’ve laid hands on the goodies. Two boys are enterprisingly playing draughts with bottle tops, turned up or not turned to denote the two colours. Agostinho has plenty of tales about the wickedness of the Portuguese owners of the various plantations and their cruelty; they’ve been immortalized in place names such as Wicked Person Bay. The old mansions are fascinating with their deteriorating cement arches. The most interesting halt is at Agua Eize, where there is a whole village of at least a century old and still charming (through probably very uncomfortable) painted wooden workers’ houses, still inhabited by the locals. The cobbled streets lead up to the remains of the once very magnificent hospital, complete with ornate staircase entrance; the smaller hospital for the local population is still to be found on the hillside behind it.
I escaped the worst of the rain today, but it’s poured down all afternoon and shows no sign of ceasing in the evening. It could have been worse. It’s the end of the wet season (Agostinho says the rainy season lasts until the end of May and he seems to be expecting it to cease entirely on June 1st) and the forecast said it was going to rain every day. Agostinho also says it rains a lot more in this area. The veranda that serves as the restaurant would be gloomy if it wasn’t atmospherically lit by candles. The bats have followed me. They’re swooping overhead as I eat my dinner.
Agostinho turns up at eleven this morning. He says that’s plenty of time for the tour of the capital I still haven’t had. Admittedly I hijack the tour at that point by asking if I can see the Pico Cão Grande I’ve seen pictures which suggest it shouldn’t be missed. It’s a 30 minute detour further south but Agostinho says that’s no problem. It’s worth the trip, a landmark needle-shaped volcanic plug peak that erupts from the jungle, rising dramatically over 1,000 feet above the surrounding terrain, and is crowned with cloud, like something in a science fiction film.
Wagner drives back to São Tomé town at leisurely speed and then it’s time for our fish restaurant looking over the bay lunch. Again, they both take their time eating and enjoying themselves until I tap my watch. I finally get a whistle stop tour of the capital’s crumbling charms. The Portuguese founded the city in 1485, and São Tomé still retains much of its original flavour. There are peeling villas, four hundred year old churches, the pink president’s palace ( a smaller version of the Casa Rosada In Buenos Aires, no photos allowed I’m told – too late), the heavily renovated in the last century cathedral, a couple of Art Deco buildings and monuments and two bustling and adjacent markets , one colonial and jam packed, one of Taiwanese concrete construction ( the Taiwanese have now been ousted as a presence in the country by the Chinese ).
Finally, São Sebastião Fortaleza, a museum combined, at the entrance to the port. It contains both religious art and colonial-era artefacts and is decorated with those blue and white azulejos. We emerge to find married Wagner flirting shamelessly with an attractive lady on the street corner. Now I know why he sports the beret.
I’m flying to Gabon this afternoon on Afrijet. In his inimitable style Agostinho has told me that their planes are old, only hold about 20 people and are often overbooked. In the event it’s an ATR that is nowhere near full and has capacity for 66. Perhaps I should take everything else he has told me about São Tomé with a pinch of salt.
The official name of the country is the Democratic Republic of São Tomé and Príncipe.
It consists of two archipelagos around the two main islands: São Tomé and Príncipe, located about 140 kilometres (87 miles) apart
The official language is Portuguese.
As of 1 January 2017, the population of São Tomé and Principe was estimated to be 196,548 people.
It is the 172nd largest country in the world in terms of land area with 964 square kilometres (372 square miles) and the second smallest country in Africa.
The islands were reportedly uninhabited at the time of the arrival of the Portuguese sometime between 1469 and 1471. The Portuguese brought Jews to settle first but most of them died. Gradually colonized and settled by the Portuguese throughout the 16th century, they collectively served as a vital commercial and trade centre for the Atlantic slave trade. Cycles of social unrest and economic instability throughout the 19th and 20th centuries culminated in peaceful independence in 1975.
The economy of São Tomé and Príncipe, while traditionally dependent on cocoa, is experiencing considerable changes due to investment in the development of its oil industry in the oil-rich waters of the Gulf of Guinea.
To see more of my photos of São Tomé e Principe visit this page.