Senegal - Border and St Louis

The border between Mauritania and Senegal, specifically the Rosso border crossing, is according to legend one of the most corrupt crossings in Africa, so I was somewhat apprehensive as I escaped the chaos of Nouakcott and headed south. Stories tell of swarms of hustlers and touts in league with shady customs officials, fleecing travellers for hundreds of euros and delaying them for days on end if they don't cough up.


The closer I got, the more ominous the signs; I started to be literally chased by guys in cars helpfully telling me that if I didn't have insurance I would have 'big troubles' at the border (and coincidentally that they had a shop nearby and could sell me some at a very reasonable price). I'll take my chances thanks.

The one ace up my sleeve was a golden nugget of information I picked up from a British couple in Nouakcott - avoid the border at Rosso (hell on earth) and instead go via Diama. I arrived there late afternoon and....flew through the border in about half an hour! I even managed to duck the insurance question at customs (thanks to someone cutting in front of me at exactly the right moment) and was frankly in something resembling a state of shock as I rode to St Louis. This was very nearly torpedoed when I was stopped by the police, but I managed to blag my way through by waving my travel insurance and doing my best impression of an honest and earnest expression.

As I crossed into Senegal, what was noticeably different was the scenery. Gone were the bone dry expanses of sand of the Mauritanian desert, to be replaced by lush green wetlands, teeming with birdlife. Even the villages I drove through, and the people I saw, were more colourful and vibrant. The other thing that was noticeable was how hot it is now getting. I remember driving through the Moroccan Atlas feeling cold and wishing for warmer weather; well now I have it and it is getting pretty toasty. Things aren't so bad when I am riding - a 60mph wind tends to take the edge off - but when I stop, or when I lie in my tent unsuccessfully fighting off the mosquitos, I wonder which is worse.

The following day (after buying some legit insurance) it was off to Parc National des Oiseaux du Djoudj for some twitching. My favourite bird was definitely the pelicans, and as they flew low over the water in close formation I couldn't help but think of the dambusters theme tune. The flamingos were less obliging and stayed too far away to see properly. Selfish.

The evening was spent touring the streets of St Louis, an old French colonial town with more than a hint of New Orleans about it (and the former capital of Senegal); tomorrow I am bound for the current capital...