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Travel Journal – July 13–22
In this chapter:
- A little philosophy
- Mechanical troubles return
- A visit to the dermatologist
- An argument with a “cop”
July 14, 2026 – Random Thoughts
EXPATS!!
A topic that often comes up on online forums is this: why do we call people who move to France immigrants, while French people who move abroad so often describe themselves as expats?
It’s true that the word expat has taken on a much more positive image over the years, whereas immigrant has become almost a pejorative term. Yet that wasn’t the original meaning of the word.
In the corporate world, an expatriate was someone sent abroad by their employer for a fixed period under a specific expatriation contract. Those contracts usually came with a number of benefits: company housing, children’s school fees, relocation allowances, regular flights back home, special insurance… and, back then, salaries that could easily be two or three times higher than those paid for the same job in France.
When I was a child, that was the only meaning the word had.
I still remember a French friend being asked one day:
“Are you going back to France this summer?”
He replied:
“No, I’m not an expat.”
In other words, he was working under a local contract. His employer wasn’t paying for flights home, so taking the whole family back to France was simply too expensive.
Today, however, the word has largely lost its original meaning and is commonly used for almost anyone living abroad, regardless of their employment status.
That brings me to another thought, inspired by the photos in this post.
People often criticize immigrants for not integrating enough into their host country.
But is that really such an unusual behavior?
These photos were taken during an annual barbecue organized by the French community in Turkey. Once a year, we spent the whole day together. We dug one—or sometimes several—earth ovens, depending on how many lambs we were roasting, and shared a long meal that lasted well into the evening.
Having lived abroad for many years, I’ve noticed that this is almost universal.
Whatever their nationality, people naturally tend to gather with others who share the same language, culture, traditions, and references.
It’s simply human nature.
Children generally escape this pattern more easily. Through school, games, and friendships, they’re immersed in the local culture every day and often grow up with two cultures rather than one.
For adults, it’s usually more complicated.
In France, I’ve also known several immigrant families who deliberately chose to live outside neighborhoods where most of their compatriots had settled, precisely because they wanted to integrate more fully.
Ironically, when I was a child, there was a neighborhood everyone called “the ghetto.” Not because it was poor—but because almost everyone living there was French.
My parents were among the few French families who lived elsewhere (although, to be fair, there were still five French families in our apartment building).
In the end, the desire to be around people who resemble us is something shared by every community.
That doesn’t mean integration is impossible.
It simply reminds us that human behavior is often far more complex than political slogans or quick judgments.
Before criticizing others, it’s sometimes worth asking ourselves how we behave when we become foreigners.
And to finish with a little game…
Can you spot me in these old photos?
July 18 – The Troubles Continue…
Well… it seems my bike has decided I was getting a little too bored. 😅
The overheating problem is back.
But this time, I may finally have found a real clue.
The temperature warning light comes on… yet the cooling fan remains stubbornly silent.
What’s really puzzling is that yesterday it worked perfectly. It was running when I arrived. It was running again when I left.
Today… nothing.
I’m beginning to think the fault has been intermittent all along and has finally decided to become permanent—which, ironically, should make it much easier to diagnose.
The big question now is: why isn’t the fan kicking in anymore?
The mechanical investigation continues.
At this rate, I’m going to end up with a mechanic’s diploma… even though all I wanted to do in the first place was ride a motorcycle across Africa! 😄🏍️🌍
(And just to remind everyone… I hate mechanics.)
Oh, and because bad luck never comes alone, the temporary filling my dentist put in doesn’t seem to be doing its job very well. I can still feel hot and cold on the tooth.
So… another visit to the dentist is now on the agenda.
I’m starting to go around in circles.
July 19 – Have I Finally Found the Culprit?…
I think I’ve finally identified the most likely suspect.
When the first coolant leak appeared, I blamed the water pump seals that had been modified in Nigeria.
To be fair, the drain hole and the overflow hose from the expansion tank are located right next to each other, making it difficult to tell where the coolant was actually coming from. Since those seals had been modified, they became my prime suspects.
Then the story unfolded like this:
1. First overheating incident while idling, with coolant overflowing from the expansion tank. I blamed poor bleeding of the cooling system after reassembling everything. At the time, I noticed that the fan hadn’t started—but since it usually worked, I never considered the possibility of an intermittent fault.
2. I dismantled everything again because of a stripped screw in the engine case… and bled the cooling system once more.
3. Another overflow some time later. Once again, I blamed trapped air in the system and performed another complete bleed.
4. Fourth incident. This time there was no overflow. I saw the temperature warning light come on and immediately shut the engine down. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to check whether the fan was running.
5. After waiting about a minute, I restarted the engine. Everything worked perfectly and I rode back without any problem. When I arrived, I could clearly hear the fan running.
6. Yesterday I carried out two idle tests. Both times, the temperature warning light came on without the fan starting… completely overturning every theory I’d had up to that point.
7. A member of a BMW G650 XChallenge forum suggested disconnecting the coolant temperature sensor. According to him, this forces the ECU into limp mode, making the fan run continuously as a safety measure.
I tried it…
…and the fan immediately started.
That strongly suggested the temperature sensor was the culprit.
Nothing is certain yet, of course, but all the evidence now seems to point in the same direction.
There’s another clue as well.
For some time now, the bike has had a habit of stalling repeatedly during the first minute after a cold start.
From what I’ve been able to find, a faulty temperature sensor sending incorrect data to the ECU could also explain that symptom.
So…
I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
July 20 – And the Saga Continues…
(Yeah… not the most original title, but after a while… 😄)
When I tell you this really isn’t my lucky streak…
Earlier today I scratched the back of my leg and noticed I’d made it bleed. Looking more closely, I found a small skin lesion about 1.5 cm (half an inch) across.
The problem is… I’d already noticed that very same lesion six months ago, in exactly the same spot. Back then I took a photo… and then completely forgot about it. 😅
I compared it with the old picture.
No doubt about it—it’s the same one.
Well… six months is starting to feel like a long time.
Looks like I’m about to add yet another doctor to this week’s schedule.
At this rate, I’m going to earn a loyalty card for the medical clinics in Yaoundé. 😮💨
July 21 – The Goat… Episode I-Lost-Count
Every day brings a new surprise.
The first piece of good news is that Alain—the friend with whom I rode around Africa 25 years ago—has ordered all the parts I need. They should be arriving soon.
Today I had an appointment with the dermatologist.
I rode there on the bike. As planned, I left the coolant temperature sensor disconnected, so the fan ran continuously. The ride went perfectly. I stopped at the dermatologist’s office (I’ll tell you more about that later), restarted the bike, ran a few errands…
Still no problem.
Then, at the very last restart…
Nothing.
The fan refused to run again.
That changes everything.
If the fan no longer works even with the temperature sensor disconnected, then the fact that it started the other day after unplugging the sensor was probably nothing more than a coincidence.
So I spun the fan blades by hand, turned the ignition back on…
…and the fan immediately came back to life.
That now makes an intermittently failing fan motor the most likely explanation—probably depending on the position in which it stops.
At this point, that’s by far the most convincing theory.
So I’m done wasting time.
I’m ordering a brand-new fan.
As for the dermatologist… her diagnosis was a bit like ChatGPT’s when I “consulted” it yesterday: she wasn’t completely certain.
She prescribed a fairly standard treatment for ten days.
If the lesion doesn’t improve, it could turn out to be a superficial basal cell carcinoma.
Yes, technically that’s a form of skin cancer—but it’s one of the least aggressive types and is usually very easy to treat. If that’s what it is, a simple minor surgical procedure should remove it completely.
This journey is definitely turning out… differently from all the others.
Still, there’s no point complaining.
I’ve met some wonderful people, I’m staying in a pleasant place, I went back today to my favorite little Breton restaurant, and tomorrow I should be seeing my French-Cameroonian friend again.
So, all things considered…
Life is good.
In fact, I’ve almost reached the point where I just laugh about it all.
Now I’m simply wondering what the next surprise has in store for me.
July 22 – A Day Without a Banana Peel?
As I’m riding through Yaoundé, one eye on my coolant reservoir, another on the temperature warning light, and the third one (yes, I have three eyes) on the traffic, a man suddenly jumps in front of my motorcycle and orders me to stop.
I refuse and try to keep going.
He grabs my handlebar and shoves it, nearly making me lose my balance.
I stop—more or less by force—and, for once, I completely lose my temper. I hate being pushed around like that.
Actually, it’s only the second time I’ve gotten angry in Yaoundé traffic. The first was when a woman gently nudged my bike with her car’s bumper, sending me sprawling against the car next to me. Fortunately, we were standing still. My aluminum panniers give the bike a backside that’s just a little too generous for the streets of Yaoundé…
So I start arguing with this guy.
He shouts back that he’s with the municipal police.
“Excuse me… WHAT?”
This guy? Dressed in rags—or close enough—and he’s supposed to be a police officer?
He then flashes a laminated ID card hanging around his neck.
“Municipal Impound Service.”
I’m still not calming down.
“The impound lot? That’s not the police!”
So we keep arguing for a few more minutes while a growing crowd gathers around to enjoy the show.
Then my adrenaline finally starts wearing off.
As my self-control returns… so does my secret weapon:
Humor.
I burst out laughing.
“Come on… how was I supposed to know you were a police officer? You’re not even wearing a uniform!”
He opens his vest and proudly shows me an old T-shirt with the city’s logo printed on it.
Well…
Fair enough.
I shake his hand warmly.
“Listen, I honestly thought you were trying to rob me. I had absolutely no idea you were with the municipal police.”
He relaxes too.
Then he asks for my papers.
You’re going to laugh…
I don’t have a single one with me.
Luckily, I have photos of every document on my phone.
He reminds me that I’m supposed to carry the originals.
He’s right.
He glances very quickly through the photos—more as a formality than anything else—and hands my phone back.
In the end, we part with a handshake.
He’s still a little annoyed… but I can see the beginning of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth.
Looking back, that little shouting match actually did me some good.
Sometimes a good argument gets the blood flowing.
That evening, my friend Alain delivers another piece of bad news:
BMW no longer supplies the cooling fan.
Damn…
(Well… to be honest, that’s not exactly the word I used.)
So I’m left with two options: repair mine—which should be possible—or find a used one on eBay.
I’m not thrilled by the second option.
If I’m going to replace it, I’d much rather fit a brand-new one. My bike isn’t getting any younger, after all.
I call a biker friend in Yaoundé to get the contact details of his mechanic, hoping he might be able to repair it the next day.
Then I start browsing eBay.
I find several used fans.
Prices range from €70 to well over €100…
…before shipping.
Looking closely at the photos, I finally spot the original manufacturer’s part number:
SPAL VA69A-A101-87A – 12V.
And then…
An idea pops into my head.
What if…?
Step one:
Make sure my fan carries exactly the same reference.
I grab a flashlight—it was already dark by then—and contort myself into impossible positions to read the tiny label.
First piece of good news:
It’s exactly the same part number.
Step two:
Forget BMW.
Search directly for the SPAL part.
A few minutes later…
Bingo!
I find the exact same fan.
Brand new.
€63.
In other words…
Cheaper than the used ones on eBay.
And, to top it all off…
Free shipping!
Better yet, dispatch is promised within 24 hours.
Has my guardian angel finally decided to stop teasing me?
I’m not getting my hopes up just yet…
That little rascal is far too sneaky to trust completely.
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