I enjoyed my petit dejeuner, consisting on a big chunk of bread, butter and apricot jam, accompanied by a large cup of tea plus a new type of indeterminable Senegalese juice - this one was lightly sludge-coloured, and tasted like sawdust with a sweet kick; it was quite palatable. I wonder what it was.
Today was the day - I was going out in my very own pointy boat! They prefer the term 'la pirogue' but I think 'pointy boat' works better.
I was slightly worried about leaving the campement as it doesn't strike me as overly secure, so I was a bit disconcerted about leaving my things. I'd briefed Timmy the Goat to keep an eye out, but I wasn't overly confident that he had heeded my instructions, plus I'm not sure how 'possessions stolen due to negligence of resident goat' would hold up on an insurance claim. (And whilst we're on the subject - no Aviva, I will not give you my opinion on my shiny new policy, because you haven't sent it to me! I only went with you for the donation generated through easyfundraising anyway, and besides, that was last year - you're not offering any donation this year, but I was in a hurry, and you were the easiest option)
I therefore decided to take everything of value with me, into the pointy boat -it seems daft but I'd rather be safe - I left Yoga behind, snug in her case in my trusty orange tortoise - much as I cherish her and frustrating as it would be to lose her, she is replaceable, unlike my passport, though that's not impossible, but it's loss would delay me somewhat.
Whilst I was having breakfast, my chauffeur turned up - he was called both Felix and Felicien, depending on who was asking. Once we were ready, I clambered into the pointy boat and was given a very fetching orange life-jacket to wear. It clashed horribly with my red-check shirt but I wasn't complaining.
I had been asked to pay part of the cost of the experience beforehand so that the driver could go and purchase the fuel, so we set off, and after a few minutes, he anchored a few hundred yards away from the shore, detached the engine, slung it over his shoulder and swaggered towards the Senegalese equivalent of an Esso garage for pointy boats. I stayed sitting in the pointy boat, gathering my thoughts, delighted that I'd been able to sort out a pointy boat experience, although there's a man by the port who also wanted to sort out a pointy boat experience for me, but I've managed to avoid him thus far.
The risk assessment for this whole experience was on-going in my head, and I'm quite sure it wouldn't have passed muster had it been on a REN form for an international (Guiding joke which won't mean a thing to anyone else). There were two occasions on which Felicien stopped the boat, which was about five metres long, with a thoughtfully placed little platform for me to sit on - he started to move around the pointy boat and I wasn't quite sure what he was doing; it soon transpired that he was bailing water which had gently seeped in (without me realising) somehow, out of the boat and back into the river. This was not discombobulating at all. In these situations, when you are about an hour into a river, with only pelicans, cormorants and incredible fish nearby, you just have to pray and hope that all will be well.
Felicien and I spoke French the whole way - my French must be gently improving. I had a notification about an opportunity for a 'French-speaking Trainer' the other day - I wonder if I could.... actually no, I think there's a difference between making small-talk about incredible fish and delivering training. Although I could always improvise.
We travelled in the point boat for two blissful hours, surrounded by complete nothingness, just one huge body of water. We then reached the magical mangroves which we drifted through, with Felicien periodically trying to catch fish, but to no avail, which was bamboozling as there must have been a million fish in that water.
At one point, I looked ahead and noticed a series of surreal horizontal lines appear in the water ahead of us - in a split second, an entire shoal of fish jumped out of the water in formation, creating a perfect parabola which then re-entered the water; I have never seen anything like that before and it was spectacular. It happened on several more occasions and I found myself pointing with excitement each time, like a little toddler who's just learnt a new word.
Then there were the birds. Huge pelicans floated proudly in the water with that ominous expression to which pelicans are prone, in my limited experience of interactions with pelicans - the ones in St James' Park always look quite threatening and I once saw one eat an entire Japanese tourist.
The water was punctuated by cormorants who tended to be in threes and fours; one would spontaneously decide it was time to fly off, then the others would follow. They flew in a V-formation, as birds tend too - this always intrigues me as they have such small heads, but can organise themselves to fly in such a fashion, and with such speed - imagine if humans were trying to organise something like that: 'you go first', 'no, I'll go first', 'no, I think on balance that person three should go first', 'I disagree, I think person two should lead, as she hasn't led for a while'; it would need sixteen e-mails and a Gantt chart before we'd even moved.
When we were approaching the mangroves, a pointy boat passed in the opposite direction, but was still three or four hundred yards away. Felicien shouted greetings, addressing the other driver by name, and they had a short conversation at this distance. It was surreal. That said, everyone seems to know everyone here in Senegal and even if they don't - surely nobody knows everyone - they are all very polite to each other, with greetings a-plenty, either 'Bonjour, ca va? or 'As-Salaam-Alaikum', the Muslim greeting - 95% of the population here is Muslim and there are mosques on every corner - or a Wolof greeting, which I don't know how to spell.
My trip in the pointy boat was perfect, although despite applying layers of suncream and Deet spray and drinking copious amounts of water, I am a little sun-kissed and feeling a bit spaced-out, therefore I am going to go and check on Timmy the Goat then lie under a fan for a bit, then hopefully finish my book - I read over two-hundred pages yesterday which has never happened before. If the angry bleeping book machine in Woolwich library was a person, I'd send him a smug message to prove that I can read a book in less than three months.
Today was the day - I was going out in my very own pointy boat! They prefer the term 'la pirogue' but I think 'pointy boat' works better.
I was slightly worried about leaving the campement as it doesn't strike me as overly secure, so I was a bit disconcerted about leaving my things. I'd briefed Timmy the Goat to keep an eye out, but I wasn't overly confident that he had heeded my instructions, plus I'm not sure how 'possessions stolen due to negligence of resident goat' would hold up on an insurance claim. (And whilst we're on the subject - no Aviva, I will not give you my opinion on my shiny new policy, because you haven't sent it to me! I only went with you for the donation generated through easyfundraising anyway, and besides, that was last year - you're not offering any donation this year, but I was in a hurry, and you were the easiest option)
I therefore decided to take everything of value with me, into the pointy boat -it seems daft but I'd rather be safe - I left Yoga behind, snug in her case in my trusty orange tortoise - much as I cherish her and frustrating as it would be to lose her, she is replaceable, unlike my passport, though that's not impossible, but it's loss would delay me somewhat.
Whilst I was having breakfast, my chauffeur turned up - he was called both Felix and Felicien, depending on who was asking. Once we were ready, I clambered into the pointy boat and was given a very fetching orange life-jacket to wear. It clashed horribly with my red-check shirt but I wasn't complaining.
I had been asked to pay part of the cost of the experience beforehand so that the driver could go and purchase the fuel, so we set off, and after a few minutes, he anchored a few hundred yards away from the shore, detached the engine, slung it over his shoulder and swaggered towards the Senegalese equivalent of an Esso garage for pointy boats. I stayed sitting in the pointy boat, gathering my thoughts, delighted that I'd been able to sort out a pointy boat experience, although there's a man by the port who also wanted to sort out a pointy boat experience for me, but I've managed to avoid him thus far.
The risk assessment for this whole experience was on-going in my head, and I'm quite sure it wouldn't have passed muster had it been on a REN form for an international (Guiding joke which won't mean a thing to anyone else). There were two occasions on which Felicien stopped the boat, which was about five metres long, with a thoughtfully placed little platform for me to sit on - he started to move around the pointy boat and I wasn't quite sure what he was doing; it soon transpired that he was bailing water which had gently seeped in (without me realising) somehow, out of the boat and back into the river. This was not discombobulating at all. In these situations, when you are about an hour into a river, with only pelicans, cormorants and incredible fish nearby, you just have to pray and hope that all will be well.
Felicien and I spoke French the whole way - my French must be gently improving. I had a notification about an opportunity for a 'French-speaking Trainer' the other day - I wonder if I could.... actually no, I think there's a difference between making small-talk about incredible fish and delivering training. Although I could always improvise.
We travelled in the point boat for two blissful hours, surrounded by complete nothingness, just one huge body of water. We then reached the magical mangroves which we drifted through, with Felicien periodically trying to catch fish, but to no avail, which was bamboozling as there must have been a million fish in that water.
At one point, I looked ahead and noticed a series of surreal horizontal lines appear in the water ahead of us - in a split second, an entire shoal of fish jumped out of the water in formation, creating a perfect parabola which then re-entered the water; I have never seen anything like that before and it was spectacular. It happened on several more occasions and I found myself pointing with excitement each time, like a little toddler who's just learnt a new word.
Then there were the birds. Huge pelicans floated proudly in the water with that ominous expression to which pelicans are prone, in my limited experience of interactions with pelicans - the ones in St James' Park always look quite threatening and I once saw one eat an entire Japanese tourist.
The water was punctuated by cormorants who tended to be in threes and fours; one would spontaneously decide it was time to fly off, then the others would follow. They flew in a V-formation, as birds tend too - this always intrigues me as they have such small heads, but can organise themselves to fly in such a fashion, and with such speed - imagine if humans were trying to organise something like that: 'you go first', 'no, I'll go first', 'no, I think on balance that person three should go first', 'I disagree, I think person two should lead, as she hasn't led for a while'; it would need sixteen e-mails and a Gantt chart before we'd even moved.
We also saw a jellyfish, or 'La meduse', Felicien informed me, presumably after Medusa, the angry Greek goddess who had snakes for hair, a bit like a jellyfish I suppose.
When we were approaching the mangroves, a pointy boat passed in the opposite direction, but was still three or four hundred yards away. Felicien shouted greetings, addressing the other driver by name, and they had a short conversation at this distance. It was surreal. That said, everyone seems to know everyone here in Senegal and even if they don't - surely nobody knows everyone - they are all very polite to each other, with greetings a-plenty, either 'Bonjour, ca va? or 'As-Salaam-Alaikum', the Muslim greeting - 95% of the population here is Muslim and there are mosques on every corner - or a Wolof greeting, which I don't know how to spell.
My trip in the pointy boat was perfect, although despite applying layers of suncream and Deet spray and drinking copious amounts of water, I am a little sun-kissed and feeling a bit spaced-out, therefore I am going to go and check on Timmy the Goat then lie under a fan for a bit, then hopefully finish my book - I read over two-hundred pages yesterday which has never happened before. If the angry bleeping book machine in Woolwich library was a person, I'd send him a smug message to prove that I can read a book in less than three months.
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