I covered myself in suncream and have cracked open my new Jungle Formula spray, which I meant to take to India but found behind my bed a couple of weeks ago - it must have slid off as I was packing.
I sprayed my arms and feet with the Jungle Formula - I'm not sure if it's meant to make your feet look all wet and soggy and grim, but it did. It took me a while to do this as it was all slimy - I'm glad I'm not a spider because eight legs would take ages to cover in suncream and insect repellent. That said, I've never seen a spider trying to use such products - I'm not sure how they'd get the lid off for starters.
I then read the small print which said 'do not mix with other products such as suncream' - well, it was too late for that! It also says - 'up to 3 hours maximum protection' then 'use once a day only' - well how does that work? There were 24 hours in a day last time I checked. Maybe the scent sends a secret message to malarial mosquitoes in their little mosquito heads which says 'she is a diligent traveller and has had this spray on for three hours, therefore she must not be bitten' - yes, that's probably it.
What's the worse that can happen combining these things - I don't know actually. It's a bit like the Doxycycline which helpfully advises 'do not expose skin to sunlight whilst taking this medication - I'm in Equatorial Africa - there is going to be sun and there are going to be mosquitoes.
I had my breakfast as planned - I was encircled by tiny, aggressive cats, but all was well. I had to gobble my breakfast due to the hotelier suddenly informing me that the taxi driver was coming earlier than planned, which of course he then didn't; I sacrificed one piece of banana bread to the feline friend I had 'breakfasted' with yesterday.
The taxi took me to the gare routiere as planned. The hotelier had offered me a taxi all the way to my destination but at a cost of the rest of my entire budget for the trip, so I had politely declined, asking him to organise to take me just to the gare routiere. African bus parks are places of complete intrigue which have to be experienced to be fully understood. I'll do my best here, but you really need to visit one. They are best described as epitomising organised chaos. I know - 'organised chaos' is such a cliché and such an over-used term, but then, that's why we have clichés, because everyone understands what they mean; they aptly describe something. My life is in a constant state of organised chaos; somehow most things happen at one point.
You arrive at the bus park and the chaos is palpable - hawkers with everything from bananas to those stupid wireless headphones which have come into fashion - to me they look broken, or like someone forgot to finish making them before they hit the market. Then there are small children tugging at your clothing and holding their hands out in the hope of a few CFA - that is very hard to see.
Once I'd found the sept place for Fatick, the changing point for the next destination, I bundled into the back-back-back of the Peugeot 505 and my trusty orange tortoise was shoved into an aptly-available space right behind me in the back-back-back-back. As the vehicle gently filled-up, two boys poked their heads in through the window and were singing - 'pourquoi chantent-ils?' / 'why are they singing?' I asked the lady beside me - 'pour l'argent' / 'for money'.
One of the passengers was - I think - being helped to top-up his phone from a mobile phone guy with a t-shirt; another purchased nuts wrapped tightly in a plastic bag; water in those sealed plastic bags was everywhere. Whilst personal space is non-existence, there's a certain respect when the vehicle is ready to start the journey; the hawkers withdraw and the journey begins. I say it begins - the driver drove to just outside the exit, then promptly got out and went to speak to someone - I didn't think too much of this until I realised that he hadn't put the handbrake on and the vehicle gently rolled backwards. No-one was remotely perturbed by this, not even the driver, who didn't seem fussed that the vehicle, containing seven passengers wasn't where he had left it. My tiny blue Renault Clio Chloe often doesn't seem to be where I left her, but that's because I get lost in multi-storey carparks and rarely remember where I've left her - I know - it's wrong on every level.
There wasn't a whole lot of conversation this time - the older lady who was wedged against me didn't seem to like the look of me - to be fair, some people don't - but I had a window seat and was quite happy soaking up the journey. 'When you rush so fast to get somewhere / you miss half the fun of getting there'.
I was saddened that the entire landscape from Mbour to Fatick appears to be strewn with rubbish. It makes Mount Everest look quite tidy. There doesn't seem to be provision for getting rid of rubbish - anyone who finished anything in the sept place or subsequent bus just threw it out of the window. I just can't accommodate that - it is utterly ingrained in me to take rubbish home with me - they tell me on the tube every day - 'customers are requested to take litter home with them', so I always scoop up a bag or two. I commended a woman for carrying her dog up the escalator on the Bakerloo line the other day, heeding the instruction that 'dogs must be carried'. I hadn't been able to find one.
I had dozed off in the sept place, when it stopped abruptly by the side of the road - 'Madame - ici c'est Fatick'. I jumped out, grabbed my bag, then after fending off multiple moped drivers who were happy to take me wherever I wanted to go, I walked around the corner to the bus park. I'm glad I speak enough French to say 'no, I don't want to hire an entire vehicle and pay for seven people, thank you, one place is fine'. I waited with a couple of other people who were heading for Foundiougne. I was worried that it would take a while for five others to appear to fill a sept place. As has often happened when I'm travelling in Africa, people often appear in droves, from nowhere. 'La bus, elle va au Foundiougne' came the phrase - so we can't even fill seven places, but we can fill a bus. I wasn't complaining, I bundled into a bus with a disproportionate number of others, with my poor orange tortoise shoved underneath the front bench, closely guarded by the woman next to me who seemed friendly initially, but that soon faded. I fear that my trusty giant orange tortoise might be on the way out - she is struggling, the poor old thing, from years of being dragged all over the world, starting with a Duke of Edinburgh Expedition, inadvertently spotting llamas in the Ashdown Forest, in 1996, from which she never really recovered; she's been to Five World Centres; to numerous camps and Brownie Holidays; on hundreds of flights to every continent, except Antarctica, which is very cold; she has been on boats of every description, on the back of donkey carts, shoved into the tiniest of spaces in bush taxis. Goodness - if she could talk, her blog would be much more interesting than mine. But she is ailing and I'm not sure how much longer she will remain in this life. She is a simple but perfectly-formed creature, with one main pocket, which sub-divides thanks to a trusty drawstring. They don't make 'em like that any more.
After the usual Tetris-style bus-passenger-packing routine, we were off, stopping periodically to put even more passengers into an ever decreasing space. On arrival at the port, there was a piroque to meet the bus and I climbed in - 'piroque' - what a fantastic word - it is a simple 'pointy boat' which takes you from one place to another.
I quickly located my lodgings, which is the simplest yet - hello bucket shower, it's been a while! After a doze with the fan pointing directly at me, I wandered into a nearby restaurant and asked if they were serving food. Well.
Bonjour Madame, c'est possible de manger ici?'
'Tu veux manger?'
'Oui merci'
'Non, c'est pas possible'
'Hello Madame, is it possible to eat?'
'You want to eat?'
'Yes please'
'No, it's not possible'.
The big sign outside which said 'restaurant' had suggested otherwise. She went on to explain that the restaurant would open later and that they cooked to order, so I could order now. I sat and had a drink overlooking the river whilst perusing the menu. I didn't understand most of it, so went for a poisson a bole - poisson was enough for me - you know what you're doing with a poisson, so I ordered that and have just enjoyed it, with a spot of white rice and indeterminable vegetables - legumes - what a great word.
I've got a short queue of people wanting to organise trips for me in pointy boats, so I will have a think and organise something low-key whilst I'm here, although it would be extremely easy to sit by the river sipping Coke in the day, then beer in the evening, doing very little besides sharing my thoughts and reading. I finally finished that wretched book! It was page 216 whe something tangible actually happened - surely that was about two-hundred pages too late?! Now I can move onto the next book I have been trying to read since February 2018 - a spot of non-fiction about what drives people to extremism.
Darkness fell fairly rapidly and the mosquitoes arrived en masse, unprompted, but I am awash with Jungle Formula - even I wouldn't go near me.
I sprayed my arms and feet with the Jungle Formula - I'm not sure if it's meant to make your feet look all wet and soggy and grim, but it did. It took me a while to do this as it was all slimy - I'm glad I'm not a spider because eight legs would take ages to cover in suncream and insect repellent. That said, I've never seen a spider trying to use such products - I'm not sure how they'd get the lid off for starters.
I then read the small print which said 'do not mix with other products such as suncream' - well, it was too late for that! It also says - 'up to 3 hours maximum protection' then 'use once a day only' - well how does that work? There were 24 hours in a day last time I checked. Maybe the scent sends a secret message to malarial mosquitoes in their little mosquito heads which says 'she is a diligent traveller and has had this spray on for three hours, therefore she must not be bitten' - yes, that's probably it.
What's the worse that can happen combining these things - I don't know actually. It's a bit like the Doxycycline which helpfully advises 'do not expose skin to sunlight whilst taking this medication - I'm in Equatorial Africa - there is going to be sun and there are going to be mosquitoes.
I had my breakfast as planned - I was encircled by tiny, aggressive cats, but all was well. I had to gobble my breakfast due to the hotelier suddenly informing me that the taxi driver was coming earlier than planned, which of course he then didn't; I sacrificed one piece of banana bread to the feline friend I had 'breakfasted' with yesterday.
The taxi took me to the gare routiere as planned. The hotelier had offered me a taxi all the way to my destination but at a cost of the rest of my entire budget for the trip, so I had politely declined, asking him to organise to take me just to the gare routiere. African bus parks are places of complete intrigue which have to be experienced to be fully understood. I'll do my best here, but you really need to visit one. They are best described as epitomising organised chaos. I know - 'organised chaos' is such a cliché and such an over-used term, but then, that's why we have clichés, because everyone understands what they mean; they aptly describe something. My life is in a constant state of organised chaos; somehow most things happen at one point.
You arrive at the bus park and the chaos is palpable - hawkers with everything from bananas to those stupid wireless headphones which have come into fashion - to me they look broken, or like someone forgot to finish making them before they hit the market. Then there are small children tugging at your clothing and holding their hands out in the hope of a few CFA - that is very hard to see.
Once I'd found the sept place for Fatick, the changing point for the next destination, I bundled into the back-back-back of the Peugeot 505 and my trusty orange tortoise was shoved into an aptly-available space right behind me in the back-back-back-back. As the vehicle gently filled-up, two boys poked their heads in through the window and were singing - 'pourquoi chantent-ils?' / 'why are they singing?' I asked the lady beside me - 'pour l'argent' / 'for money'.
One of the passengers was - I think - being helped to top-up his phone from a mobile phone guy with a t-shirt; another purchased nuts wrapped tightly in a plastic bag; water in those sealed plastic bags was everywhere. Whilst personal space is non-existence, there's a certain respect when the vehicle is ready to start the journey; the hawkers withdraw and the journey begins. I say it begins - the driver drove to just outside the exit, then promptly got out and went to speak to someone - I didn't think too much of this until I realised that he hadn't put the handbrake on and the vehicle gently rolled backwards. No-one was remotely perturbed by this, not even the driver, who didn't seem fussed that the vehicle, containing seven passengers wasn't where he had left it. My tiny blue Renault Clio Chloe often doesn't seem to be where I left her, but that's because I get lost in multi-storey carparks and rarely remember where I've left her - I know - it's wrong on every level.
There wasn't a whole lot of conversation this time - the older lady who was wedged against me didn't seem to like the look of me - to be fair, some people don't - but I had a window seat and was quite happy soaking up the journey. 'When you rush so fast to get somewhere / you miss half the fun of getting there'.
I was saddened that the entire landscape from Mbour to Fatick appears to be strewn with rubbish. It makes Mount Everest look quite tidy. There doesn't seem to be provision for getting rid of rubbish - anyone who finished anything in the sept place or subsequent bus just threw it out of the window. I just can't accommodate that - it is utterly ingrained in me to take rubbish home with me - they tell me on the tube every day - 'customers are requested to take litter home with them', so I always scoop up a bag or two. I commended a woman for carrying her dog up the escalator on the Bakerloo line the other day, heeding the instruction that 'dogs must be carried'. I hadn't been able to find one.
I had dozed off in the sept place, when it stopped abruptly by the side of the road - 'Madame - ici c'est Fatick'. I jumped out, grabbed my bag, then after fending off multiple moped drivers who were happy to take me wherever I wanted to go, I walked around the corner to the bus park. I'm glad I speak enough French to say 'no, I don't want to hire an entire vehicle and pay for seven people, thank you, one place is fine'. I waited with a couple of other people who were heading for Foundiougne. I was worried that it would take a while for five others to appear to fill a sept place. As has often happened when I'm travelling in Africa, people often appear in droves, from nowhere. 'La bus, elle va au Foundiougne' came the phrase - so we can't even fill seven places, but we can fill a bus. I wasn't complaining, I bundled into a bus with a disproportionate number of others, with my poor orange tortoise shoved underneath the front bench, closely guarded by the woman next to me who seemed friendly initially, but that soon faded. I fear that my trusty giant orange tortoise might be on the way out - she is struggling, the poor old thing, from years of being dragged all over the world, starting with a Duke of Edinburgh Expedition, inadvertently spotting llamas in the Ashdown Forest, in 1996, from which she never really recovered; she's been to Five World Centres; to numerous camps and Brownie Holidays; on hundreds of flights to every continent, except Antarctica, which is very cold; she has been on boats of every description, on the back of donkey carts, shoved into the tiniest of spaces in bush taxis. Goodness - if she could talk, her blog would be much more interesting than mine. But she is ailing and I'm not sure how much longer she will remain in this life. She is a simple but perfectly-formed creature, with one main pocket, which sub-divides thanks to a trusty drawstring. They don't make 'em like that any more.
After the usual Tetris-style bus-passenger-packing routine, we were off, stopping periodically to put even more passengers into an ever decreasing space. On arrival at the port, there was a piroque to meet the bus and I climbed in - 'piroque' - what a fantastic word - it is a simple 'pointy boat' which takes you from one place to another.
I quickly located my lodgings, which is the simplest yet - hello bucket shower, it's been a while! After a doze with the fan pointing directly at me, I wandered into a nearby restaurant and asked if they were serving food. Well.
Bonjour Madame, c'est possible de manger ici?'
'Tu veux manger?'
'Oui merci'
'Non, c'est pas possible'
'Hello Madame, is it possible to eat?'
'You want to eat?'
'Yes please'
'No, it's not possible'.
The big sign outside which said 'restaurant' had suggested otherwise. She went on to explain that the restaurant would open later and that they cooked to order, so I could order now. I sat and had a drink overlooking the river whilst perusing the menu. I didn't understand most of it, so went for a poisson a bole - poisson was enough for me - you know what you're doing with a poisson, so I ordered that and have just enjoyed it, with a spot of white rice and indeterminable vegetables - legumes - what a great word.
I've got a short queue of people wanting to organise trips for me in pointy boats, so I will have a think and organise something low-key whilst I'm here, although it would be extremely easy to sit by the river sipping Coke in the day, then beer in the evening, doing very little besides sharing my thoughts and reading. I finally finished that wretched book! It was page 216 whe something tangible actually happened - surely that was about two-hundred pages too late?! Now I can move onto the next book I have been trying to read since February 2018 - a spot of non-fiction about what drives people to extremism.
Darkness fell fairly rapidly and the mosquitoes arrived en masse, unprompted, but I am awash with Jungle Formula - even I wouldn't go near me.
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