Part III - The Routine
The next week was spent following the Dakar, hopping from one airport to another across the western portion of North Africa. Television journalists from around the world travel together while covering the race itself.
The routine goes something like this: in the early morning your plane leaves some forsaken stretch of nowhere, flies for an hour and a half eastward, and lands on another equally forsaken stretch of nowhere. It will be near what the locals swear is a major town, but you've never heard of it before… and if you don't go on next year's Dakar, you'll never hear of it again.
You get out of the airplane, unload your own baggage and set up your little one-man tent in which you now live. You watch your baggage constantly, because everyone on the continent has been waiting for your arrival for a year and would like nothing better than to steal it.
Every person you meet is a thief. They hang around the camp, occasionally get chased away by the soldiers that line every African airport, and beg for handouts. If you turn your back for a moment everything you own will simply disappear. So you set your tent up as close to the group as you can and head to the other side of the plane for a late French breakfast.
The food is always the same: fruit, French bread, jam, butter, dry cereal, pound cake, coffee and water. Not as bad as it sounds. In fact, after the first week it's actually pretty tasty. Of course, after your first week on the Dakar a number of things change… raw horse flesh sounds appealing, every female is beautiful and showers seem overrated.
By now it's around 930 am Greenwich Mean Time (which the entire Dakar operates on from beginning to end) and the sun is starting to get hot. Everyone gathers under the wing of the airplane and shady seats are at a premium. Everyone around is speaking French with the exception of an occasional Englishman or Portugese camera crew. Your clothes are dirty and it's not noon yet. Planes are constantly coming and going - you are, after all, at an airport - and the sound is deafening.
For Speedvision, our job was to shoot an open to the day's program, a close, and a short feature on a competitor or facet of the Dakar which would interest an American audience. So we start searching for stories and shooting before lunch, which we eat very late because we're anxious to get the day's shooting done before the heat of the day hits in earnest. After two or three hours most of our shooting is done and we've been cooked medium rare by the African sun. Scott and I head back to our airplane, find a shady spot to sit under the wing and see what's left over for us from lunch. An hour later we're back to work, this time editing our material inside the television production studio which is contained inside another nearby airplane. It's hot inside despite the attempt at air conditioning, and our editor speaks only a few words of English. We spend about an hour editing the day's work and getting our tape ready to be fed via satellite back to the States for Speedvision. By 3 or 4 pm we're done and can rest, socialize with the other international TV crews, or search the airport for a shower. Two hours later we're back to work.
The "World Feed," the international 30-minute television program that's fed to all affiliates around the world, goes out at 6 pm sharp and I have to watch it so that the material Scott and I shoot will not duplicate theirs and so that we can match their day's theme. It's immediately followed by our satellite feed to Speedvision which I also have to monitor to ensure that it is properly sent and that our day's work is not wasted.
By this time its nearly 7 pm and time for dinner, which is held at a huge outdoor venue and is the biggest single gathering place for competitors, journalists and staff members at the Dakar. The food - all French - is better than expected. 1500-2000 people eat at the bivouac every night and seats are hard to come by. Entertainment includes African dance groups, special music and a big-screen showing of the day's World Feed of the race which all the competitors crowd around the watch with great interest. Cars, trucks and motorcycles come and go constantly as crews work on their vehicles and late competitors straggle in. After dinner, its time to go back to work.
By now it's nearly 9 pm and we're all dead tired, but night time is the only time you can catch the competitors for any interviews - all daylight hours are spent racing. So Scott and I grab our camera and equipment and wander through the pit area adjacent to the airport, hoping to find an American competitor for an interview or something of interest. We shoot for another hour or two and usually quit before 10 pm, saving our tapes for editing the next day. A late night snack is available back at the airplane near our tents and we spend the late portion of the evening socializing with journalists from around the globe.
You hit the sack around midnight, sleeping inside a small tent with airplanes and vehicles of every sort imaginable coming and going all night. On a good night you'll get five hours of restless sleep, after which a Frenchman comes around yelling for you to get up because the plane leaves in an hour and breakfast (le petit dejeuner) is ready. You pack your tent, sleeping bag and luggage on board the airplane and get ready to do it all again. Such was our routine across Senegal, Mali, and Burkina Faso.
CONTINUE Part IV: Another Libyan Crisis
The routine goes something like this: in the early morning your plane leaves some forsaken stretch of nowhere, flies for an hour and a half eastward, and lands on another equally forsaken stretch of nowhere. It will be near what the locals swear is a major town, but you've never heard of it before… and if you don't go on next year's Dakar, you'll never hear of it again.
You get out of the airplane, unload your own baggage and set up your little one-man tent in which you now live. You watch your baggage constantly, because everyone on the continent has been waiting for your arrival for a year and would like nothing better than to steal it.
Every person you meet is a thief. They hang around the camp, occasionally get chased away by the soldiers that line every African airport, and beg for handouts. If you turn your back for a moment everything you own will simply disappear. So you set your tent up as close to the group as you can and head to the other side of the plane for a late French breakfast.
The food is always the same: fruit, French bread, jam, butter, dry cereal, pound cake, coffee and water. Not as bad as it sounds. In fact, after the first week it's actually pretty tasty. Of course, after your first week on the Dakar a number of things change… raw horse flesh sounds appealing, every female is beautiful and showers seem overrated.
By now it's around 930 am Greenwich Mean Time (which the entire Dakar operates on from beginning to end) and the sun is starting to get hot. Everyone gathers under the wing of the airplane and shady seats are at a premium. Everyone around is speaking French with the exception of an occasional Englishman or Portugese camera crew. Your clothes are dirty and it's not noon yet. Planes are constantly coming and going - you are, after all, at an airport - and the sound is deafening.
For Speedvision, our job was to shoot an open to the day's program, a close, and a short feature on a competitor or facet of the Dakar which would interest an American audience. So we start searching for stories and shooting before lunch, which we eat very late because we're anxious to get the day's shooting done before the heat of the day hits in earnest. After two or three hours most of our shooting is done and we've been cooked medium rare by the African sun. Scott and I head back to our airplane, find a shady spot to sit under the wing and see what's left over for us from lunch. An hour later we're back to work, this time editing our material inside the television production studio which is contained inside another nearby airplane. It's hot inside despite the attempt at air conditioning, and our editor speaks only a few words of English. We spend about an hour editing the day's work and getting our tape ready to be fed via satellite back to the States for Speedvision. By 3 or 4 pm we're done and can rest, socialize with the other international TV crews, or search the airport for a shower. Two hours later we're back to work.
The "World Feed," the international 30-minute television program that's fed to all affiliates around the world, goes out at 6 pm sharp and I have to watch it so that the material Scott and I shoot will not duplicate theirs and so that we can match their day's theme. It's immediately followed by our satellite feed to Speedvision which I also have to monitor to ensure that it is properly sent and that our day's work is not wasted.
By this time its nearly 7 pm and time for dinner, which is held at a huge outdoor venue and is the biggest single gathering place for competitors, journalists and staff members at the Dakar. The food - all French - is better than expected. 1500-2000 people eat at the bivouac every night and seats are hard to come by. Entertainment includes African dance groups, special music and a big-screen showing of the day's World Feed of the race which all the competitors crowd around the watch with great interest. Cars, trucks and motorcycles come and go constantly as crews work on their vehicles and late competitors straggle in. After dinner, its time to go back to work.
By now it's nearly 9 pm and we're all dead tired, but night time is the only time you can catch the competitors for any interviews - all daylight hours are spent racing. So Scott and I grab our camera and equipment and wander through the pit area adjacent to the airport, hoping to find an American competitor for an interview or something of interest. We shoot for another hour or two and usually quit before 10 pm, saving our tapes for editing the next day. A late night snack is available back at the airplane near our tents and we spend the late portion of the evening socializing with journalists from around the globe.
You hit the sack around midnight, sleeping inside a small tent with airplanes and vehicles of every sort imaginable coming and going all night. On a good night you'll get five hours of restless sleep, after which a Frenchman comes around yelling for you to get up because the plane leaves in an hour and breakfast (le petit dejeuner) is ready. You pack your tent, sleeping bag and luggage on board the airplane and get ready to do it all again. Such was our routine across Senegal, Mali, and Burkina Faso.
CONTINUE Part IV: Another Libyan Crisis