The Stamp Of Timbuktu For Several Days Aboard An Old River Boat With Squawking Chickens And Mosquito Netting, They Churned Up The Niger In Pursuit Of An Odd Prize: A Hard-won Imprint On Their Passports.

BAMAKO, Mali — Just how long does it take to get from here to Timbuktu? Three hours by plane, or five days by riverboat is what Marcella and I were told, here being Bamako, Mali. ``Maybe one week by boat,'' said the Malian travel agent, ``if there are difficulties.''

Difficulties? He refused to elaborate, but other survivors told us their own nautical horror stories. ``I was sure I was going to die from an acute attack of malaria,'' recounted friend Tim. ``For three days I sat on a porous reed mat next to an overflowing toilet, hounded by bleating sheep and squawking chickens. Death seemed preferable to continuing the voyage.'' A Frenchman rambled on about drinking brackish river water while marooned on a sandbar. A local Peace Corps volunteer whispered scenes of engine failure, wading through leech-infested pools, and such cruise souvenirs as bacterial infections and intestinal parasites.

Despite these daunting travel tales, we obsessed over having Timbuktu, or ``Tombouctou'' as they say in Mali, stamped into our passports. Ultimately, what lured us to the harbor instead of the airport was the incomprehensible mental image of sailing into the Sahara.

And so we found ourselves onboard the 37-year-old riverboat General A. Soumare for a seven-day voyage. Starting in the factory town of Koulikoro, the Soumare was to follow the Niger River to the desert crossroads town of Gao, about 840 miles downstream. Scheduled stops ranged from tiny, out-of-the-way villages to the ancient cities of Mopti, Dire and, finally, Tombouctou.

``C'est vraiment luxe, non?'' said the chief steward as he flung open the rusting steel door to our ``deluxe'' cabin. Marcella quickly scanned the buckled linoleum floor for cockroaches and rats, flipping lumpy mattresses for signs of bed bugs and fleas. I snapped on electrical switches, bringing to life an emphesymic air conditioner and sputtering refrigerator big enough for one bottle of beer.

``Checks out in here,'' I yelled, twisting corroded spigots in the bathroom. ``OK in here, too,'' she replied, then said to the bewildered steward, ``yes, this room is definitely deluxe.'' Mali is a desperately poor country, and despite the broken chairs, torn curtains, and insect-encrusted windows, we appreciated the relative extravagance offered.