I didn't sleep very well - I think because the fan in my shack sounds like a combine harvester. I learnt about them early on when we used to see one doing its thing in the local field - for years, I thought 'combine harvester' was one word - in fact, there have been multiple moments of disappointment when the realisation that certain things were not words in their own right, dawns - 'width restriction'; 'Prime Minister' (don't let's get started on that one - although when one of my plethora of Rainbow units wrote to their MP who happens to be the now PM's brother after Parliament Week telling him all about what they like and dislike about their local area, mainly requesting more parks and sparkly unicorns, they did receive a reply in acknowledgement); anyway - other words synonymous with this multi-word thing include 'War Memorial' and probably, most confusingly, 'cupboard-under-the-stairs' - I was in my mid-twenties when I realised that that is actually four separate words - that was shattering.
I'm surprised the fan kept me up - I live in Plumstead where the night sky is punctuated with search helicopters most nights. As I wrote in my veritable 'Ode to the Plumstead People' which wasn't even placed in 2016's Plumstravaganza Poetry Competition (although I did come third in 2015, so mustn't complain) - 'And my friends, it has to be said / Plumstead doesn't feel right without a chopper overhead'.
I was just about to upload last night's blog in the trusty restaurant I have frequented since arriving, when I decided to do a spot more editing as it all felt a bit jumbled - there is so much to share! But just as I was editing, the electricity went off and the place was plunged into immediate darkness - no lights, no gentle hum of background music, and ultimately, no router. All the local insects from across the vicinity gathered on poor Yoga's luminous screen which didn't aid the editing process one bit.
It got late - I'm always wary of being in an unknown place, alone, in pitch darkness. Fortunately, having done this before, I know to always have a torch in an accessible place, along with a mixture of other vital equipment, including my 'toilet pocket' which contains loo roll (folded, obviously - an actual roll would be a bit bulky, plus a handy anti-bac hand-sanitiser spray which slides very neatly into one's pocket and is also very useful when walking #DogFriend.
After a broken night, I struggled to get up. Once I did, having untucked my trusty mosquito net which had protected me all night (along with a sneaky additional coating of Deet spray) it was bucket shower o'clock! One realises when there is no running water, quite how much water one actually uses. There's something oddly refreshing about tipping a cup of water over one's head. I'm glad I had my hair cut shorter before I travelled - longer hair and a bucket shower would be more complicated. They bring you huge bottles full of water; the place has taps, a sink and a toilet as though there may have been running water once, although they may be for show. I'm definitely making good use of my borrowed universal sink plug too.
Post-bucket shower, I headed over to the reception area for the longest most leisurely breakfast ever - it lasted for around three hours. So much of this life is spent dashing from place to place like a thing possessed, that it was very liberating and also very hydrating to be able to sit for three hours munching a big chunk of bread with butter and apricot jam, peacefully devoid of angry cats, although I am coveting the resident goat Timmy as my own (although I think biblically I shouldn't covet my neighbour's goat), sipping a huge Thermos full of tea, plus a cup of indeterminable purple Senegalese juice.
It was here that I made a new acquaintance - Tidiane - he works for, that's right - the Ministry of Tourism for Senegal / 'Agence Senegalaise de Promotion Touristique' - he's a photographer and has been tasked with driving around Senegal taking pictures. I told him all about the blog and he may well be reading - 'Bonjour Tidiane!' He said he would put a link onto their website - www.visitezlesenegal.com - but I suggested he take a look first.
The big question is this - why aren't there many tourists in Senegal? I was delighted to find some postcards in the reception of this quirky restaurant I've started to frequent - I purchased three and am wondering if - by the state of them - anyone else has ever purchased any before as they seem to have been there since Senegal was established and are very grubby (apologies to the recipients in advance - although I'm likely to see you in person before they arrive).
Senegal is utterly beautiful and awash with beautiful beaches and peaceful rivers. The sense of peace is something else. Travelling around using public transport is easy, particularly with a bit of French - just go to a bus park, ask around until you find something heading in your direction, then bundle in and off you go. Once you're there, whatever you want can be arranged via your hotel or guesthouse or campement. I'm going on a trip in a pointy boat tomorrow after breakfast, to explore the mangroves - very exciting.
I think generally at home if people are heading 'on holiday' to Africa, they will be going to South Africa, Morocco, Egypt, Tunisia, Kenya, Botswana; but there is so much more to this continent - 53 countries, all with their own unique culture and character; local languages which even differ from one village to the next; local dishes, local drinks, as well as Coca Cola, which can be found in seemingly every village in Africa if you look hard enough. When I was in Mali in 2002, I went to a bar with a Coca Cola sign and ordered one - 'moment, Madame' - I think watched the vendor cycle to the neighbouring village and back, a crate of Coca Cola lashed to the back of his bicycle. I think that's possibly the only village that didn't have Coca Cola at that time. The lodgings are as complicated as you want them to be - if you're good with bucket showers, and throwing a bucket of water into a toilet bowl (human flush - it's all in the wrist action), then there are places for you; if you want an international hotel with all the trimmings, there are also here, albeit a bit more infrequently; but those types of places will organise transport for you to anywhere in the whole country and probably beyond. They've got fancy buses, uniformed staff and great big locked gates at the front. There are plenty of mid-range places too which are somewhere between the two. Lonely Planet is useful, as are other sites. Booking.com seems to have every type of hotel imaginable in most countries in the world; that said, Foundiougne was a bit of a struggle and involved a bit of trawling. I didn't used to book accommodation ahead of time and instead used to cherish arriving, then finding somewhere. That was 19-year-old adventurer me. Thirty-something adventurer me prefers to pre-book, safe in the knowledge that there is a bed waiting for me, even if it's a bit tricky to find (see earlier entry about trying to find the place in Saly and the angry taxi driver); it also means that you are less likely to end up inadvertently staying in a brothel.
So this is me doing my bit for tourism in Senegal - come and see it for yourself. But this does beg the question - why did I come here? Why did I choose Senegal? 'Do you know anyone there?' people asked - 'No, not yet', I replied. But I do now.
No comments:
Post a Comment