Once again we rose early for our seven o'clock breakfast. We were served toast and coffee with a plate full of quatered oranges, and John's marmalade which we have carried with us since we left Accra. Mandy was bored of carrying it in the rucksack so we left it with the catering lady. After digesting our breakfast for a little while we donned our rucksacks and walked to the Tro Tro Station only to find the first Tro Tro full so we found a shared taxi, when finally the driver had filled the car with enough people. In this case seven including him, we set off, for about three miles until we broke down, the driver and a couple of passing locals got under the bonnet and each had a go at sucking on the petrol pipe and spitting the petrol away in unceremonious fashion until the car eventually sputtered back into life wth a bit of jump starting and such like. We eventually got to a little lakeside village called Agordeke, where we had read there was a ferry to Kpando in East Volta. There were many people lying about under the shade trees and on the gravel shore some of them buying the occasional snack or drink from the little cluster of local traders. There was a large canoe, not unlike the fishing boats we had seen at Jamestown pulled up on the shore with the very appropriate name, Who Knows, Tomorrow, scrawled on its bow. We waited about two hours. Noone here has a watch and they seem to be totally unaware of time. This is hell on earth for Mandy who feels that every minute is important, but it suits me just fine! I could easily subscribe to the "when it happens it happens" brigade. Finally, at 11:00a.m. after a two hour wait it was time to board the "boat" and we suddenly realised that the Good Ship " Who Knows Tomorrow" was actually the ferry. Forty people, all their baggage, a goat and a motorcycle, somehow got onto the boat. I found it amusing watching big fat Ghanaian ladies in their tightly wrapped exotic fabrics and black and gold handbags clambering up makeshift ladders from the shingle shore into the boat, where we all sat on planks slid into position across the hull with our feet dangling in the bilge water. As we settled down into our places the crew handed out about twenty life jackets, to those who shouted the loudest, with orders that if you had one you had to wear it. The twin outboards burst into life and we set off from the shore. Mandy was acutely aware that her life was in someone else's hands once again and noted that many of the other passengers were deep in prayer. The crossing took about two hours and we disembarked at Kpando , found a taxi and prided ourselves with how good we were getting at this travelling malarky . Pride comes before a fall and all of a sudden our taxidriver was embroiled in a massive argument with some muslem guys, and a couple of police officers. We knew that the row was connected with us in some way but other than that had no idea what was going on. Eventually we were asked to leave the taxi and show our passports to a uniformed policeman and a rather cool looking Detective who reminded me of Shaft! That done everything seemed to be sorted and we were on our way to Hohoe, the regional capital. Taste Lodge was recommended by the good old Bradt guide, and our taxi driver took us right to the door. We received a fantastic welcome from Florence the Landlady and her Number One Man, Francis, who reminded me a little of Lenny Henry! It seemed a very quiet place, the whole staff were more than welcoming and straight away organised drinks and a sandwich and sorted the room for us, a double with ensuite at 30 Cedis a night. Bargain!

That evening we had dinner and a couple of drinks, John even found Ghanaian Guinness at 7.5%, wow, and then there was a short power cut, for which our hosts were most apologetic, finished our drinks and went to bed at the late hour of 10.30.