In terms of the general population, I think that Senegal might be the best looking nation I have been to. Everyone is tall, with fantastic bone structure and perfect posture. The men are broad shouldered and athletic, the women are slim and elegant, and everyone dresses to impress. And me, rocking a greasy quarter-mullet and a three day old t-shirt, I am not impressing anyone.
Dakar is a vibrant city, and you can feel the energy of the place everywhere you go. Having spent the morning fixing some electrical problems with the bike, and then having to fight my way through some heavy holiday traffic, I didn't arrive into Dakar until the evening, where the roads were busy and the restaurants were packed. I was getting nothing but radio silence from my first AirBnB host, so I booked another one as a backup. Thankfully she came through (though not until about 8 in the evening - anxious times) and after managing to coordinate with her via some sketchy wifi in a restaurant I got into the place just after 9. Also staying there was an Australian couple, Kev and Em, who are just starting year three of a sixteen month travelling extravaganza. They are doing it in a 4 wheel drive, so it was interesting to compare notes on how different that is to doing it on two wheels. I feel that as my bike does not have a latte foamer, my experience is somewhat tougher...
The first morning was spent on paperwork, a tedious but thankfully routine task to get my carnet stamped and my Guinea visa applied for, leaving the afternoon free to go and explore the Ile de Goree. This is a small island, a 20 minute ferry ride from Dakar, that has become a symbol of the slave trade from West Africa. While historians think that the actual number of slaves shipped from here was small, the small museum based in the Maison d'Escalves paints a sobering portrait of just how brutal those times were. Small, cell like rooms were used to house men, women and children, and the Door of No Return, while probably just symbolic serves a stark reminder that for most slaves this was the last they would see of their home soil.
The next day, Kev, Em and I spent battling through the markets (I had lost one of the rubber bits on my headphones and needed a replacement, and very much enjoyed the opening gambit of one hustler who wanted the equivalent of £20 for two replacement pieces), before heading out to see the African Renaissance monument, This is a gigantic bronze statue (a generous gift from the people of North Korea who apparently have nothing better to spend their money on) perched on top of a hill overlooking the sea. For 10 euros you can climb up into the head, but we didn't want to spend 10 euros so we didn't. We did however go to the most westerly point in mainland Arica, so that was something at least.
The morning was spent on a roadside oil change (it was absolutely filthy, will definitely change it sooner next time) and then I headed south. After a night in a beachside campsite (where I got to go in my first hammock of the trip) I followed the coast road down to Fadiouth, a small, car free island made entirely of shells and set in the middle of mangrove swamps. A few, relexing hours later it was back on the road, and after failing to see anywhere appealing to stay I decided to opt for my first night of stealth camping. Under the cover of darkness I pulled the bike off the road and went and hid in a bush a hundred yards or so away. As luck would have it, it turned out to be a perfect spot, though as the sun rose I didn't hang about and made a sharp exit for the Gambian border...
Dakar is a vibrant city, and you can feel the energy of the place everywhere you go. Having spent the morning fixing some electrical problems with the bike, and then having to fight my way through some heavy holiday traffic, I didn't arrive into Dakar until the evening, where the roads were busy and the restaurants were packed. I was getting nothing but radio silence from my first AirBnB host, so I booked another one as a backup. Thankfully she came through (though not until about 8 in the evening - anxious times) and after managing to coordinate with her via some sketchy wifi in a restaurant I got into the place just after 9. Also staying there was an Australian couple, Kev and Em, who are just starting year three of a sixteen month travelling extravaganza. They are doing it in a 4 wheel drive, so it was interesting to compare notes on how different that is to doing it on two wheels. I feel that as my bike does not have a latte foamer, my experience is somewhat tougher...
The first morning was spent on paperwork, a tedious but thankfully routine task to get my carnet stamped and my Guinea visa applied for, leaving the afternoon free to go and explore the Ile de Goree. This is a small island, a 20 minute ferry ride from Dakar, that has become a symbol of the slave trade from West Africa. While historians think that the actual number of slaves shipped from here was small, the small museum based in the Maison d'Escalves paints a sobering portrait of just how brutal those times were. Small, cell like rooms were used to house men, women and children, and the Door of No Return, while probably just symbolic serves a stark reminder that for most slaves this was the last they would see of their home soil.
The next day, Kev, Em and I spent battling through the markets (I had lost one of the rubber bits on my headphones and needed a replacement, and very much enjoyed the opening gambit of one hustler who wanted the equivalent of £20 for two replacement pieces), before heading out to see the African Renaissance monument, This is a gigantic bronze statue (a generous gift from the people of North Korea who apparently have nothing better to spend their money on) perched on top of a hill overlooking the sea. For 10 euros you can climb up into the head, but we didn't want to spend 10 euros so we didn't. We did however go to the most westerly point in mainland Arica, so that was something at least.
The morning was spent on a roadside oil change (it was absolutely filthy, will definitely change it sooner next time) and then I headed south. After a night in a beachside campsite (where I got to go in my first hammock of the trip) I followed the coast road down to Fadiouth, a small, car free island made entirely of shells and set in the middle of mangrove swamps. A few, relexing hours later it was back on the road, and after failing to see anywhere appealing to stay I decided to opt for my first night of stealth camping. Under the cover of darkness I pulled the bike off the road and went and hid in a bush a hundred yards or so away. As luck would have it, it turned out to be a perfect spot, though as the sun rose I didn't hang about and made a sharp exit for the Gambian border...
