Well, its been a nice ride…

…no, I’m not referring to the terrifying journey across the Middle Atlas Mts by bus in which Jess and I were certain we would careen off the cliff (more on that from Jess’ post); it is almost time to leave Africa for France for our summer camp jobs (we're teaching english to french kiddos for 6 weeks).

A week or two ago I would have welcomed a night in France and the extra income, but it will be damned hard to leave Morocco. I finally feel like Jess and I are getting the swing of things here and starting to have some qualitative experiences with locals. We met an awesome guy in the Dade’s  Gorge and didn’t want to leave (again, more on this from Jess’ post) and are now in Essouaria at a riad-home of another cool Moroccan. We are definitely not having our best experiences in cities, and I’m glad we decided to have our last stay in Morocco in a smaller place than Fez or Meknes. We hope to get back to Morocco after we get back to France in May, after Jeremy’s (Jess’ brother) wedding.

Upon arrival to our current Riad, we were invited to dine with our host and he taught me how to cook using the tangine.  I’ll practice a few more times and write another blog post on the details :). Another awesome thing is that since the rare rain in Morocco the last few days, Essouaria fisherman could catch lungfish for a short while, which we used in our tangine. The fish was amazing…it was very tender and creamy like eel but with a very light fishy taste. In the tangine with onions, garlic, tomato, preserved lemon, a medium pepper, olive oil and a chili spice mixture for fish, it was one of the best things I have had in months. I’m amazed at the depth of flavor we got with very little fat, zero stock, a pinch of salt, and lovely local veggies and spices.

Jess and I had a walk through the souk here and it is a wonderful gathering of color and smell. I feel like this is the experience I was hoping for in Morocco. The medina (usually the old fortified space in a city) seems vast and one can easily get lost, but unlike what we experienced in Marrakech, it is fairly easy to navigate. I’m hoping to get some pigeons later and make tangine again with our host. I might even see if the butchers can find some camel for us!

Only three more days! I’ve gotta get back to it and make the most of the freak’in awesome town and country. More soon!

Marrakesh to Ait Ouffi

My first attempt at creating a weekly blog post has quickly failed. Sorry. But in all fairness the last 10 days have been a wild ride – from arriving in Marrakesh which is so different from what we expected it to be, to getting lost in the Medina, to getting sick to taking an adventure up and over the Atlas Mountains and somehow landing ourselves in the most beautiful chateau-like house by the good grace of a new friend, it’s been a long week!

Marrakesh = Maz’ll catch ‘ya

We arrived in Marrakesh on a Monday night (I guess that was Feb 25), expecting to land in the middle of a crazy large, crowded city with tall buildings that felt super urban. Instead, we drove into an area that appeared out of a rural agricultural land, with buildings not more than 4-5 stories high, palm and olive trees everywhere. The snowpeaked Atlas Mountains rise sharply in the background, reminiscent of Denver, although the mountains are much closer, and the call to prayer ringing out from the mosques is a stark difference.

For Morocco’s main urban draw, Marrakesh is a puzzling place. It’s urban and the traffic stinks, but it’s incredibly green and lush. The Medina, with its 7km of walls, separates the Nouvelle Ville (the new city) that was built by the French.

Our single day wondering in the Medina left us with a frequent, “Aannnd, we’re lost” refrain. Winding-unnamed streets lead one to easily lose any sense of direction. And this is just a warm up to Meknes and Fez! Oy. But the Djemma el Fna is exciting – an open air circus, and we certainly didn’t shy away from being tourists. There are snake charmers (see exhibit A), monkeys, dancers, storytellers and anyone and everyone trying to sell you something (or rip you off, depends on how you look at it). Marrekesh is fun, but we had our sites on the High Atlas, and the oases towns on the southern side of them. A fever and bad bout of digestive troubles for me threatened to ground us again, but I’m working on being the winner in that battle.

The High Atlas

It takes no time at all before you’re out of the city and into the country. It took us only 2 hours on a big bus to climb high up (on the most windy, tiny roads you could imagine a big coach fitting, but they do) and reach the pass through the mountains. Squarely in Berber country, the people look weathered, but are so incredibly friendly.

Berber Music

Coming from the cafes and grillades (places where you get grilled meat – whatever’s cooking is hanging outside) I’m serenaded with Berber music – the boutique owners are kind to give me the musicians name and album so I can find it. Love.

$50 for Independence

This excursion to the mountains was our ‘splurge’ trip. We decided to rent a car and stay 2 nights in a nice hotel for some pampering. It’s amazing what a different feeling it is to have your own means of transportation. For $50/day we had our own little car that can take us wherever we please. So nice. With no understanding of how many litres of gas to put in the car, we filled it up (gas is REALLY expensive here) so we had a mandate to drive as much as possible. FREEDOM.

Budget Traveling 

We suck at it. Not only do we suck at finding good deals, but we suck at being ok with it. Since St. Louis Senegal, every place we’ve stayed has had some plumbing problem, or something essential that hasn’t worked. Thus the pamper trip. Oh well. But it seems that just a little more $$ gives you a lot more value more. It doesn’t always happen that way (hello everything Mauritania), but in our High Atlas adventure it worked.

Dadès Gorge

Is truly Gorgeous (yes pun intended). Our bus from Marrakesh took us to the town of Ouarzazate, and from there we drove through the Valley of the 1000 Kasbahs into a canyon. I can’t get over the contrast of the deep terra cotta red earth and the vibrant green gardens that are tiered along the river and up the sides of the canyon. Ancient crumbling castles are perched on every high places, tucked into villages and built right into the rock. The valley of 1000 kasbahs is also home to the Valley of the Roses – thousands and thousands of Damascus rose bushes make this area a pink carpet in May and rose products are sold everywhere. Throw in some happy goats meandering the hill sides, plus the almond and peach trees that are blossoming and it’s a perfect high desert paradise.

We rocked the Kasbah

Upon arrival at our fancy hotel (Auberge Chez Pierre, you must stay here if you go), we exclaimed, “oh we’re so tired” and had a nice tea and chat with the owner, Ismail. I was still recovering from fever-meets-digestive-problem and we must have looked really pathetic because when we showed us our room he said, “You stay here tonight and then tomorrow I take you to the riad, it’s quiet, and there will be families and children here, so you must relax.” We kinda saw this as an inconvenience, until we saw the “riad,” which we’ve now named our own Kasbah. “It’s for making the babies!” exclaimed Ismail and pretty much the entire staff at the hotel. Um… (that’s all I have no response).” How on earth we were blessed with such fortune I have no idea. We planned to stay 2 nights and stayed 4, and I’m still bummed we left. I'm campaigning for our return in June.

We got rocked by the Kasbah

We went exploring through the nearby villages and walked into an ancient Kasbah. All was well, minus the animal stench, until we were climbing the stairs and noticed the gaping holes in them. Time to turn back! I don’t want to die in a crumbling mud structure. Apparently in the old days the way to conquer a Kasbah was to divert the water from the river and just wait until the Kasbah dissolved. You’d think for citadels they’d come up with a better protective solution…?

Desert Rain

Makes everything crazy beautiful. One of the reasons we stayed an extra day was because it rained (apparently for the first time in 4 months). There’s so much silt and clay that when it rains it seems like the mountains come down on themselves and the roads get blocked. On the plus side, the reds become more red, and the greens become more green. It’s beautiful. I don’t know if the Moroccan flag is green on red because of the colors of the land here, but it would make sense. The red of the earth is SO red and the green is SO green. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the water running off the mountains is deep red.

We almost died – no really.

We’ve taken a lot of bus rides in Morocco. I mean, I don’t know how many kilometers we’ve traversed but it’s well over 2500 since crossing the Mauritanian border. The buses here go REALLY fast, and feel like a rocking freight train hell bent on getting to its destination as fast as possible. Hairpin turns on crazy mountain roads that plummet hundreds of feet into nothingness don’t stop bus drivers from taking blind corners quickly – while passing – all while the driver is happily singing along to the music. Yeah, we almost died while rounding one of those corners when a truck came around the bend. We actually hit the side of the mountain, swung out towards the pathetic excuse for a guard rail and stopped. I realized my final thought would have been, “Really??!!” Jon’s was, “You’ve gotta be f#$^in kidding me.”

I am so grateful that we were able to spend four days in the Dades Gorge. Our friend, Ismail, made us feel so at home in such an incredibly beautiful place. I almost don’t need to go anywhere else. I’d be happy hunkering down right there the mountains, surrounded by lush green wheat gardens, snowy-capped mountains, red, wind-swept earth and people with the kindest faces. Tanamirit Morocco (that’s Berber for thanks, Morocco).

Sidi Ifni & Weekly Fireflies

I’ve decided to start a new weekly wrap-up, which will hopefully encourage regular blogging on at least my part (I can’t speak for Jon). So this first ‘weekly’ is a recap of our last few days in the former Spanish enclave of Sidi Ifni, and some impressions and observations from the last week. Departing from Dakhla was a welcomed move – not that Dakhla was unpleasant by any means, it’s just a very sleepy coastal town that presented itself with a mixture of West African/Mauritanian and Moroccan/Arab/Berber cultures. In other words, not really having a grasp on any of those cultures at this point, we were mostly just confused. Personally, I was also ready to move beyond the vast stretches of bleakness and see some landscape. I’ve read and heard that Morocco is a dramatically beautiful country and I wanted to see it for myself.

A 9-hour bus ride brought us to the city of Laayounne – home to about 200,000 Moroccans. Not much to say about it, other than it was refreshing to be in a somewhat urban environment. This fashionable town even has a Vegas-style neon-lit fountain. Cool. We spent one night there and boarded a bus at 7:30am Goulmim – described by our Rough Guide as a ‘drab administrative town.’ The bus ride was the most interesting yet (excluding the beautiful dunes of Mauritania), with the desert giving way to sweeping plateaus, plunging cliffs into the sea, and lush inlets carving valleys from the sea into the desert. The 7-hour ride brought us to Goulmim in the early afternoon, with an easy change to a ‘grand-taxi’ (bush taxi) for the hour-long ride to Sidi Ifni.

Not more than 15 minutes out of Goulmim we found ourselves winding through the colorful hills and lush valleys of the Anti-Atlas. Such topography! I was stuck again on the middle seat of a car filled with too many people (there were 4 of us in the back seat of a regular Mercedes sedan – one of whom was a…well-proportioned woman). An adventure!

The Spanish built up Sidi Ifni as a military garrison in the 1930’s when they colonized the area. The town is set high above on a cliff, with a nice beach and steep stairs leading down to the water. It’s famous for its art deco architecture – which honestly not knowing much about architecture doesn’t seem very impressive (I think I got spoiled in Greece!) – but it must be unique to Morocco. It’s lovely nonetheless. We opted for a hotel on the beach, rather than up high, which has essentially given us the chance to get a nice workout every time we want something (food, water etc).

Jon’s healing another wound, similar to what was on his feet, so I took the day Saturday while he tended his wound and headed 10km north to the beach of Legzira. Just a few hotels nestled into the cliff, Legzira is a rocky beach famous for the red archways carved away by the sea. It was nice to find a private little cove where I could sunbathe, and then explore the rocks. I had planned to walk the 10km (6 miles) back to Sidi Ifni, but the tide never really went low enough to cross one of the rocky sections. Luckily I didn’t get too far before figuring this out! A kind Englishwoman and her Moroccan husband gave me a lift back to Sidi Ifni, thankfully before I felt too dejected walking alone on the hot, exposed road back to town. It was nice to have a little solo adventure for the day. A non-date-day as a friend recommended – nice for coming back and sharing stories with your travel partner.

Staying an extra day here allowed us to check out today’s Sunday flea market – the produce section of which made the Portland Farmer’s market pale in comparison, at least when it came to quantities of things. I’ve never seen bigger piles of oranges and carrots! It also allowed us to enjoy the phenomenon that is Saturday night in Sidi Ifni. Apparently everyone gets dressed up to walk the town starting around 8pm – who knew there were actually so many people here!

Tomorrow brings an 8-hour bus ride to the grand city of Marrakech! Very exciting.

Here’s some other weekly thoughts:

Are they arguing or just talking? I may not know a lot about this culture, but one thing I’m convinced of is that Arabic is a language for making one’s self known. People are always talking loudly, and very unabashedly in the presence of others. Whether it’s on the cell phone, or like the larger woman and her young son who talked over each other the whole way to Sidi Ifni – I’ve decided that the most important thing when learning Arabic is to speak forcefully. Maybe they’re just talking about puppies?

Solo vs Couples Traveling: My non-date-day solo adventure to Legzira highlighted the stark contrast in the experience one has as a solo female traveler vs a couple traveling together. From taking breakfast in a café where I was joined by a kind gentleman who gave me a lift to Legzira (yes, I’m very trusting…); to the willingness of anyone to talk to me – it was interesting see how people treated me differently without Jon there.

“Camping Cars” – French for Retired RV Tourists: There are lots of them – easily over 100 are parked in the two ‘camp grounds’ right next to our hotel. They are all French. Not much else to say, it’s just curious.

Coffee: FINALLY good coffee, freedom from Nescafè. Give me a noss noss (Arabic for half half – half coffee half steamed milk) and I’m a happy girl.

Olives, dates, oranges and argan: The presence of any of these during a meal is fabulous – and this is where argan oil comes from – a highly prized oil used in western beauty products. Here it’s mixed with almond butter and honey for a delicious bread dip. Yes please.

Cliffs: I can now safely say that the majority of the entire Saharan coastline is a very steep cliff. We saw everything from Nouakchott to Sidi Ifni – it was far.

Part 2: Senegal to Morocco: Impressively Bleak

The road out of the Mauritanian side of Rosso was rough. There were so many impressions of the road to Nouakchott and the next 3 days were so strange and interesting, I’ve decided to share them as the fleeting thoughts I jotted down as we traversed Mauritania. Read on for the story of Senegal to Morocco. Scrub turns to beautiful orange sand dunes, camels, goats, people with flowing robes of blue, white and black and turbans to guard from the desert. The real desert – the Sahara. Skeletons in the sand – cars, cows, this place claims everything. Close call passing a car, our extra passenger starts shouting match with driver – so much more dangerous! Major insults being past back and forth - woah this is a different place! Lasted a long time; they’re pointing fingers in each other’s faces, yelling. But, then they made up, passenger bought snacks for everyone and then proceeded to invite us to stay at his home. Huh. Maybe Mauritanians are really nice, but just direct? Incredible desert sunset. Can’t believe I’m in the Sahara. Nightime arrival. So. Tired. Dusty. Hot. Africa – Arab Africa – it’s a different place.

Nouakchott

We paid our driver a bit more than the regular taxi fare to drive us across town and stop at a bank plus deliver us to the Auberge Sahara (on the road to Nouadhibou). Thierno offers to come in the morning for breakfast and to help us get to Nouadhibou. WOW. This guy is amazing. Thank you Senegal.

Auberge Sahara great for meeting travelers, but not so clean. Our room littered with cigarette butts. Gross. Mama Africa across the street had excellent plates (I recommend the beef) for cheap. We went back there for lunch. Upon paying for the room, I asked the group of gentlemen in the office what the best way to get to Nouadhibou would be and the owner, Mohammed Sidi, said, “oh well, if you want you can come in my car, and if you’re not pressed for time, I’m accompanying 15 French RV’s for a night of camping in the desert and then we’re going to Nouadhibou. If you want to camp with us I’ll loan you a tent and then drive you all the way to the Moroccan border the next morning.” Wow. 30euro buys us transport (with A/C!) to the desert and to the border, meals, a tent, and the experience of witnessing an entourage of French RV tourists. We didn’t sleep – too worried about the potential for bed bugs, while getting eaten by mosquitoes and trying not to breathe in the everlasting scent of stale cigarettes.

Nouakchott -> Nouadhibou

The road = flat, expansive nothingness. Blue sky on the left signals reflection of the ocean, yellow on the right signals reflection of the desert. Again with the fiche – we used 4, with the potential for 3 more but since we were with Sidi who apparently knew everyone on the road, we didn’t have to use as many. This land is like a painting – orange sand dotted with flecks of green brush. Camels – more of them than people here. Wind blowing ripples in the sand dunes like mist – incredible. And this is just the side of the road. Camping in the desert – not so glorious as it sounded. It’s the uninteresting part of the desert. French RV tourists are kinda… unincorporated or unaware of their surrounding culture. Spent most of our time hanging out with the Mauritanians, drinking tea, chatting. The soldiers are really nice. Wished we’d planned to stay here longer.

Nouadhibou -> Moroccan Border

Nouadhibou = under-developed, spread out, strange town we couldn’t figure out. French RVs stayed near an expensive hotel (that we ended up staying in for too much – despite being told it was a 4-star hotel we’d get for cheap…some other kinds of 4 stars I guess, and it was NOT cheap), inconveniently out of the town center. How the heck do we get a taxi? Where to eat? Why are ouygias (the currency) so darn expensive?? I do not get this place at all. People are aloof, not open like in Senegal/Mali. Got to have lunch in a home though. No one wants me to take their picture. So glad we’re not staying here longer. Up side was getting to tag along with the RV tourists for their music/cultural night, their ride and tour of the world’s longest train – the iron ore train that travels 650km east into the desert, and a trip to the market. We got a big chunk of shea butter for $.35. YES. Nouadhibou is still strange. It’s surrounded by beautiful ocean, but the developments are in the center of the land, not on the water. Massive amounts of undeveloped space, littered with trash. I know the people are nice here, but how do you access them? At least we tagged along with the auberge owner and got a ride to the Moroccan border, nice!

Travel tip: On both sides of the border of Mauritania and Morocco there are 4km of no mans land. This means that if you don’t have a car – you must take a taxi or bus through the checkpoints on either side, and then past each “Poste Police”. You cannot walk across the ‘no mans land.’ Since it doesn’t belong to any country, the “road” is barely a path beaten into the rock – and it’s 4km long. It is also apparently heavily mined, which is why you can’t go on foot. Coming from Mauritania, basically you’ll have to cross 2 sections of 4km areas to actually get into Morocco. I imagine taxis can be expensive: it’s a niche market. We’re happy we had a ride. On the Moroccan side, our auberge host’s wife runs into another tourism friend, who, like Thierno, befriends us and helps us make the crossing. He is dressed in a billowing sky blue boubou with a white turban and has the kindest face. We have Moroccan breakfast – flatbread with olive oil and jam, and mint tea together. Yay.

 Western Sahara

The differences between where we’d been and where we arrived were stark and noticeable. #1: No trash. None on the Moroccan side. #2: Actual buildings, meaning, real structures that probably have working plumbing and aren’t crumbling. Combined with the trash, Jon points out this is a country that pays attention to detail. #3: Open and friendly border guards and police, all with a smile ready to help you get through. Basically we weren’t met with the skepticism that said, “why are you coming to Mauritania, no really, whatever you say we won’t believe you…”

Not surprisingly, the beginnings of Western Sahara are the same as northern Mauritania. Impressively bleak. I was delighted at the presence of any kind of topography, a pile of rock here, and a distant sandune there – anything calling out – I’m interesting look at me! But for the most part the drive presents itself with the challenge of simply appreciating the flat and expansive nothingness.

Dakhla is a small but developed town on a spit of land, like Nouadhibou, surrounded by blue/green ocean that changes color depending on the direction of the sun. Apparently the bay creates a haven for kite surfers. Perhaps another trip. I’m intimidated by Moroccans thus far, and thrilled when I meet Senegalese in town. I realize how little I know about Moroccan culture – good thing there’s time to learn. The food is good and cheap, and the weather is great. We’ve stayed in Dakhla a few more days to help Jon heal another small wound, which is getting better Allhumdililaay. This sleepy town is a nice intro nonetheless. It’s easygoing, no one hassles us, and we met THE guy with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. He is so happy, and it makes us happy. His name is Ibrahim, although we call him Aladdin. I am happy to be here – and very much looking forward to the beauty that I know awaits in this North African country.

450km to Layounne tomorrow. Then to Essouira and Marrakesh.

What are your strangest travel experiences?

Senegalese Taranga to Mauritanian Spirit

I’ve been trying to come up with a clever phrase to describe the experience we’ve had in the last week – and it’s been a challenge. Rifs on the movie title Extremely Loud Incredibly Close come to mind – extremely hot, incredibly dusty; extremely kind, incredibly strange – but the one that seems to fit the best is one that the writers of Rough Guide: Morocoo coined: impressively bleak. St. Louis, Senegal to Dakhla, Morocco has certainly been one of the more curious experiences I’ve had in my (short) life. I’ve divided this into 2 posts because it was just getting so long. The first part is Senegal to Mauritania. The Second is Mauritania and into Morocco. Enjoy!

Dakar -> St. Louis

We woke up early after only a couple hours of sleep on Feb. 10 after going dancing in Dakar with our hosts Dieyna and Abdou and the two LC students who are studying in Dakar, the same as I did 10 years ago. Senegalese night clubs don’t get going until 2am so we didn’t get home until about 5am. It was a fun night, but exhausting – nonetheless I was happy to get my fix of live mbalax and people watching.

We headed by taxi to the Gare Routière Pompière to take a bush taxi to St. Louis. The 150km ride was long but not horrible (I am SO tired of sitting on the middle bump!) and we arrived at the St. Louis Gare Routière in the late afternoon. We took another taxi 12km to the Zebrabar – a campement outside of the city that’s beachy and is right on the River Senegal in the Parc Nationale de la Langue de Barbarie. The accommodations were cheap, but the meals were outrageously expensive. Bummer.

2 days later we headed to St. Louis to stay in the heart of Ile Nord – the old colonial center of St. Louis (which was the colonial capital of all of west Africa in the 18th – 19th centuries). I think I’ve decided to rename St. Louis to Stinky Louis because frankly, this town is rank. The combination of fishing village, trash, river and ocean, not to mention very old plumbing is well – really smelly. If it weren’t for the decidedly charming city center, great bars, actual coffee and friendly people – I don’t think I’d want to spend much time in St. Louis.

Another 2 days later we prepared to say goodbye to Senegal. Although we were ready, Senegal left us with its best. Our last night we had a fantastic meal at a tiny restaurant aptly called Restaurant Taranga, where we ate for a total of 4000cfa ($8) with beverages. Nothing fancy about this place, but the owner was over and above kind. A good laugh at a local boutique, and a nice chat with the door guard for the hotel left a smile on my face and a thought of ‘oh geez, I do love this country.’

St. Louis -> Rosso Border Crossing

I will not lie in saying that given the lonely planet thorn tree forum reviews of this place, I was downright nervous. But before I could act on my nerves, we had to wait almost 2 hours before leaving. We were convinced to take a Ndiaye Ndiaye (big white bus – 25 seats) to Rosso instead of a sept places. We realized as soon as we bought our ticket and boarded that there was no way the bus was leaving ‘toute de suite’ (right away). I knew that these buses didn’t leave until filled, but for some reason I let the driver convince me that we’d leave right away, when really, ‘toute de suite’ in African transportation lingo means ‘sometime today.’ Awesome.

Travel Tip: Don’t confuse Rosso with Ross-Berthio. They are different. When we stopped in Ross-Berthio I was concerned we should get out and I asked the gentleman sitting next to me if this was our stop for going to Mauritania. He said no, and that he was going in the same direction. Ahh, we should share a car! I said. Best. Move. Ever. Our new friend Thierno Ba, gave us one last parting gift of Senegalese Taranga and essentially took us under his wing for the rest of our journey. Not only did he make sure no one took advantage of us, made sure we were always headed in the right direction, and he paid for all our fares, which was incredibly generous.

I can see why people have trouble at Rosso. There are certainly grifters waiting for anyone looking the slightest bit confused, and there are no signs or any indications of how to get from the Gare Routière to the pirogue; or how much it should cost. The single best tool (aside from the fiche) was a sincere and hearty “Asalaam Malekum” coupled with a smile to greet anyone looking official. This and any wolof you might know does wonders for softening officials; and people trying to grift you for that matter. Aside from the extreme heat, all in all it wasn’t a bad experience. The river is a scene, with kids diving and playing in the seafoam green water. It’s a nice last display of the Senegal that’s all out in the open and in your face; the Senegal that teases, and vexes, that’s easy and hard all the same; the Senegal that’s continually fascinating. I smiled as we crossed the River and I looked back to say goodbye, not sure of the next return, if ever.

If you’re reading this and preparing to cross the border, see our lonely planet post for details. Border Travel Tips.

Rosso

I knew we had arrived into an even more arid place, when dust and sand billowed from the taxi seat as we got in to connect with the bush taxis to Nouakchott. Our cab driver was especially proud that the passenger door was held together by a rope – “C’est uniquement comme ca en Afrique!” he exclaimed with a big smile (It’s unique in Africa!). It’s things like this that you just have to laugh at and call it good. I couldn’t even be worried that I would fall out if the door swung open – there’s a rope there of course it will catch me!

The kindness of our new friend, Thierno, was overhelming in that without having someone speak Arabic or Wolof, connecting from the Rosso Gare Routière to Nouakchott would be difficult. The drivers of the various modes of transport descended on him like vultures, all tugging and pulling. This is a culture of in-your-face dealings. Thierno says they all just want money – perhaps it’s true? People at the border seemed really kind. Getting a coke, we were overpriced, even though there’s a fixed price for everything. Boo. We finally decided to take a 4-seat Mercedes car instead of a shared taxi – more expensive but much more comfortable. We paid for all 4 seats (even though were 3), and then the driver decided to take another passenger. Awesome. This should be interesting.

Next stop: Nouakchott.

How to: Senegal Travel Tips

Ok, maybe the title is a bit presumptuous. Certainly I couldn’t tell you how to do everything in Senegal. But, below is a brief report for current and future travelers looking for tips on how to travel around Senegal and do some of the things we’ve done on our trip; plus some cultural tips. Taxis: Yellow and orange taxis are a great way to get around Dakar. Negotiate your fare before you enter the taxi. Always greet a taxi driver with the customary, “Asalaam Malekum,” it’s just nice and will win you negotiating points. We stayed in the neighborhood of Nord Foire, near Yoff, and the fare for going all the way to downtown Dakar (Place de l’Independence) was 2500cfa. Going from SICAP Baobab to downtown costs 1500cfa, just to give you an idea of the distances and associated fares.

Car Rapide: These are a fun way of getting around Dakar if you have more time. They go slower as they make stops and have set routes. Nord Foire to the University costs 150cfa. You can ask the driver hanging off the back “Fo dem?” (where are you going?) or just say the place you want to go with enough inflection to justify the question. Sometimes you may have to take a couple of car rapides to get where you want to go. Best to ask a Senegalese for help.

Waxale (waa-hall-ey): Bargaining in wolof – your greatest tool in doing business in Senegal. A very loose rule of thumb is that you’re going to pay 1/3 – ½ the price the vendor gives you, depending on what you’re buying of course. And, naturally, everything does have a set price, so often times it’s good to know in general what things cost. For example, if you’re buying wax cotton fabric, you’ll buy 6 meters at a time. Qualities vary, but say the vendor quotes you 10,000cfa for the package. Your starting price should be around 2000, knowing that in the end you’re going to pay 4000-6000 for the entire 6 meters. That’s $8-12 at the time of writing.

Excursions

Lac Rose: Lac Rose is a naturally occurring pink salt lake about 40km outside of Dakar. Apparently it’s saltier than the Dead Sea, and like in the Dead Sea you can float. There’s a small salt village on the south side, and from the north side you can walk across the dunes to the beach. There are a couple of ways to get to Lac Rose: taxi/hired car or a combination of bus/sept places (bush taxi). The bus/bush taxi option requires a couple of changes, one in Rufisque and another in Keur Massa, then you have to walk up to 5km unless you can get a taxi that is reasonably priced. But know that you’re probably going to have to pay the driver to drive back to Keur Massa (with or without you).

We hired a taxi for the day for 20,000cfa ($40). We may have been able to get a better price, but the taxi was arguably the nicest taxi in Dakar, and the driver, Lamine, was quite friendly. He picked us up at the house, drove us to Lac Rose, and waited the entire day while we walked around the lake, swam and had a meal. Yeah, it was an expensive day, but it was nice to get out of Dakar.

When you arrive, there will certainly be people on hand to sell you anything and everything you want/need/don’t need – including piroque tours, dune buggies, and touristy gifts. They’re persistent so be firm if you don’t want anything. People in the salt village are very friendly if you’re open and interested in chatting with them.

There are campements and a hotel around the lake where you can stay if you want to spend the night. Otherwise the hotel is nice for taking a meal or snack and then swimming/floating in the lake.

Casamance

Aside from the far eastern corner of Senegal, the Casamance was the one area I didn’t get to see when here as a student in 2003, so I was excited to be able to go. Beginning with the Sine Saloum river just north of the Gambia, Senegal becomes a lush, green expanse of river-meets-ocean mangrove forests. This landscape extends all the way down through Guinea-Bissau, Guinea and into Cote d’Ivoire. Our trip took us from Zinguinchor on arrival, to a beachy place between Cap Skiring and Diembereng and then back to Cap Skiring.

It is possible to take buses/bush taxis down from Dakar, crossing the Sine-Saloum region, the Gambia and the River Casamance. Crossing the Gambian border aside, I’ve heard this trip can take almost 24 hours, given the number of river crossings, and just the snail-like pace it would take to drive that far south in Senegal.

We opted for the ferry. Purchase tickets at the same place where you purchase tickets for Goree Island in downtown Dakar. You’ll need your passport and cash. You can buy return tickets at the same time. Ferries leave Tuesdays and Fridays at 20h (8pm) and arrive around 10am. Return ferries leave from Ziguinchor Sundays and Thursdays at 15h (3pm) and arrive in the early morning in Dakar. It takes 14 hours one-way. You should buy tickets in advance. The base price for a stripped-down airplane-like chair is 15,000cfa/pp one-way. However, for 18,9000cfa/pp you can get a bunk bed in an 8-person cabin. You will need to reserve at least a week in advance to get a bed. There are also cabins for 4 and 2 people, but they were quite expensive. Given the fact that Jon was sick on the way down and I on the way back, getting a bed is the best option. In the seated area, people tend to arrive early, lie down across 2-3 seats and stay there all night. We were pretty much without our seats on the way down, which was a real drag.

We also recommend bringing sandwiches, beverages and snacks. If you need to eat on the boat, buy a sandwich (1200cfa) when you get on, as they’ll sell out, forcing you to eat in the (very expensive and not tasty) restaurant on board.

Ziguinchor – Cap Skiring/Diembereng: on arrival at the Port, you’ll be descended upon by taxi drivers. We paid 1000cfa to get from the ferry to the Gare Routiere (bus station). From there, we bought seats in a sept place/taxi brusse (bush taxi) for 1700cfa/pp to go to Cap Skiring. Given the fact that it’s a 2 hour drive, I thought that was a good deal, You don’t bargain for these prices, they are pre-set and the drivers won’t try to oversell them. Be sure to ask for seats “devant” or “au milieu” so that you don’t have to sit in the way back, it’s crowded back there. We also paid 500cfa/pp for our luggage. You’ll have to wait for the taxi to fill up, but if you don’t want to wait you can buy the other seats. There are also minibuses and Ndiaye Ndiaye (25 seaters that pack in about 40 people), I don’t know what the cost is and they go a lot slower ‘cause they make stops.

We got picked up in Cap Skiring by our hotelier, Augustine. Hotel Oudja is situated between Cap Skiring and Diembereng, and was about at 20 minute drive. The hotel was nice, a bit overpriced I think, but we did have the whole place to ourselves the first night, which meant having a private beach. Not bad. We spent an afternoon in Diembereng, which is a big village right on the edge of where the southern bank of the River Casamance meets the ocean. It was an expensive taxi – 6000cfa round trip. Diembereng is a sweet town and the locals rival Malians in terms of kindness and how open and welcoming they are. We ended up hanging with our taxi driver a bit, and I think he was so excited about us being Americans that he offered to take us to his village of Bouycotte, which was on the way back to the Hotel. It was the best spontaneous adventure as we got to meet his father, and take a walk into the palm forest to try palm wine. Cool. We ended up hiring the same driver to take us to Cap Skiring, where we spent 2 nights at the Hotel Balafon. Balafon is situated right in town off the main drag – great for getting a taste of the village, plus you’ll get to meet some locals. There’s a fantastic restaurant on the road between the hotel just before you get to the main drag. Can’t remember the name, but it’s chef is a Senegalese who must have studied in France. Their house-made pasta is some of the best we’ve had – period – be sure to try the crab ravioli. For 4500cfa a plate, or 11000cfa for two people with drinks ($22) – that meal was a steal. We ate there both nights.

On Sunday we woke up early to take a sept place back to Ziguinchor. It took about an hour for the car to fill, but that’s why we built in enough time so as to not miss the ferry. You have to board the ferries about 3 hours in advance – a Senegalese inefficiency, but at minimum they close the gates 1.5 hours before departure. Don’t be late!!

Overall, Casamance was a beautiful change of scenery and pace, but it was a very expensive excursion. 4 days including transportation cost us more than our entire time in Mali and Dakar combined. Ouch.

St. Louis

As with all trips, you can choose your transportation method depending on how long you want to spend on the road. The large buses cost about 3000cfa for the supposed 4 hour journey (I would imagine it takes much longer though). Minibuses are around 4000 and the sept place/taxi brusse is 5000cfa/pp plus 1500cfa/pp for luggage. It took us about 3.5 hours from Gare Pompiere, Dakar to the Gare Routiere in St. Louis, which isn’t quite in the center of town.

We stayed at Zebrabar, 15km south of Dakar on the river Senegal. It’s a nice place that has a variety of accommodations. Food is expensive which makes up for the money we saved in staying here. It seems like the real deal here is to camp and bring your own food. We’re moving into town for a couple of days before taking overland transport to the Rosso border crossing and into Mauritania.

Hope this has been helpful to anyone taking these trips in Senegal!

Comme ci, Comme ca

When I first started taking French in the 4th grade, this is one of the first phrases we learned. It’s a greeting, like when you say, “bonjour, comment allez-vous” (hello, how are you?). You can answer, “Tres bien, merci” (very well thank you) or “comme ci, comme ca” (so, so), or casually, and what everyone really says is “ca va” (it’s going). But, honestly, when do you ever say, oh it’s going just so so. I mean, even if things aren’t going well, you always say, oh yes things are fine, thank you. It’s a double standard. I’ve come to realize that we hardly share our full presence, but rather manufacture what we think might be socially acceptable. And so, since for most of you my only presence these days is of an online nature, I refuse to give you just a perfect, rosy picture; rather I choose the honest one. And really, things are comme ci, comme ca, a little this, a little that. So so. Not bad, not great. Mangi fi (That’s wolof for I’m here).

It’s a double-standard that mirrors perfectly to the Senegalese experience. One that, after such a long time, I forgot about. I mean, when you get back from a 4 month study abroad experience people want to know, “so? How was it?!” and really, what are you supposed to say? “It was fine, it was great!” And after saying that for 10 years you forget all the ups and downs.

I keep saying you, but really I mean me, and really, I mean to say that as per my last post, Senegal really hasn’t changed at all, I just forgot a lot of what it was like here. I’m so truly thankful that we have been invited into the home of friends – friends who have made us family, who have shown us the true meaning of Senegalese taranga (hospitality). Friends who want nothing more than to share our company and be together. There are many Senegalese who exude this cultural quality – who truly just want to be open and talk with us, and chat a bit. But they are too often mixed in with those who abuse the notion of taranga and slyly invite you to a seemingly jovial conversation only to really want something from you – primarily something monetary. It makes us skeptical, more closed off, and so well, it’s just so so.

During our last few hours in the Casamance, Jon and I sat and had a cup of coffee (Nescafe thank you) in a little local restaurant. The owner was so kind and welcoming. We had a lovely little chat and were getting ready to leave when a very kind woman came up to us and like so many Senegalese wanted to know about us, know our names and chat. But she quickly devolved into desperately trying to sell us something, which after much persistence simply became her asking us for money so she could buy rice, and she then became angry when we wouldn’t dole it out. Ugh.

It’s a similar picture as today when we journeyed to Lac Rose (see Jon’s post), and were essentially followed by a guy who wanted to sell us a tour (any kind of tour!!) juxtaposed with two women, who originally came out on the road to sell us something but instantly changed their minds when I started speaking wolof with them. They kept saying (in French), “wow, you are so open, the tourists never speak to us, they just ignore us, wow.” I have thoughts about that, but what could have been another frustrating please-just-stop-looking-at-me-like-a-dollar-sign moment turned into a spontaneous natural science lesson on the lake, and the economics involved in harvesting salt. Penda and Fatou were so kind, and as we got to talking, were not at all interested in selling me anything, just happy to be connecting. Comme ci, comme ca – like this, like that.

Senegal is a mixed bag, I guess is the point. It will always be a special place for me, one that was a true place of learning and growth during some pretty formative years of my life. One where I will always have friends, incha’allah, and incredible stories to recount. But life is hard here. When we arrived I thought I was just used to being in West Africa, but no, really, things are tough. People live leanly, and I know I have it good. I don’t know if it’s a product of globalization, of the Senegalese being too easily influenced by French and American pop culture (they know more about Kim Kardashian than I ever care to), or being stuck somewhere between a developed country and a very underdeveloped country that brings out these stark contrasts in people’s cultural behaviors. Maybe it’s all three.

When it comes down to it, I’m happy that we came here. If anything for me it was an incredible opportunity to share this place with Jon, and to relive some great memories. I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to being a tourist in St. Louis for a couple days and then getting on the road for our epic overland journey across Mauritania and Western Sahara. The good with the so so right?

I’m going to follow up with some travel reporting – some how-to’s of where we’ve been, as a future resource. We’ve noticed that in the process of trying to find travel information on other people’s travel blogs there is often a lot of rambling (ho ho just like mine!!), but little in the way of practical information – as in go fetch the bush taxi here to save you 3 hours kinda thing. Until then, I hope each of you is well, and allowing yourself the full spectrum of your experiences and presence, the good and the not so good. I think it’s good to take time to feel what we feel and not shy from it when it’s not perfect.

What do you think?

Ciao ciao.

10 years later...

Almost to the date, I landed in Dakar once again. I was sad to leave Mali, and was actually a bit nervous to come to Senegal – would I remember how to get around, would it be very different? But as we flew over the peninsula, and got to see the entire city and surrounding water, I was so excited. Now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel strange, or unfamiliar. It feels like it did 10 years ago, except I don’t have to relearn everything. Plus, being in Senegal is so much easier than Mali. I didn’t even realize the apparent not-so-subtle differences. I didn’t realize how underdeveloped Bamako is, and just how developed Dakar has become. More services, more construction, infrastructure, it’s all around more modern. Bamako, while a major city, has a provincial feel, like a never-ending village. It’s not a bad thing, just my observation. I suppose that coming to this part of Africa feels normal at this point. There are certainly things that make me say, “WOW,” but I understand the daily rhythms and so it just feels like a regular place to me.

We have been kindly welcomed into the home of a friend of mine I met while studying here in 2003. He and his wife have embodied the Senegalese notion of Taranga or Senegalese hospitality. They have opened their home, fed us, and toured us around the city in the last week. It has been such an amazing gift, we are often left wondering how we could ever properly say thank you.

In the last week, it’s also been wonderful to do so many things I never did during my entire four months the last time. Believe or not, I never went to the beach, not even to walk, while I was here last time. Taking strolls along the ocean, visiting the fish market and enjoying the proximity of the sea has been a lovely shift from the stark dry desert of Mali (although I really did enjoy that it only took a few minutes for my hair – and everything else – to dry in Mali).

We visited my old neighborhood, SICAP Baobab, and walked the still-familiar path from the Baobab Center (where I took classes), past the boulangerie and the cabine telephone – which is now a boutique because everyone either has a cell phone or home landline, why would they ever need to go to a telephone center – past the 500 year old Grand Baobab, the namesake tree of the neighborhood, around another corner, past more familiar homes and shops and to the little soccer (sand) field, just opposite the home where I used to live. It was wonderful to walk down memory lane, and I cannot wait until Monday night when we have dinner with my host family.

We’ve marveled at Dakar’s new features as well – the world’s now largest statue, made entirely out of bronze, costing the country more money than it would have taken to lift the shanty town at its base out of poverty. We strolled the sparkly new shopping mall filled with European shops – all boasting huge sales, and then played a game of cosmic bowling in the most beautiful bowling alley I’ve ever seen. Everything so shiny and new – presumably because they are too expensive for the majority of Senegalese to enjoy. Just like the huge sculpture that costs 3000cfa – more than many people’s daily wage ($6 USD) to ascend to the top, former president Abdoulaye Wade’s blatant waste of money almost mocks the Senegalese people, giving them something that links them to the western world they seem to long to be a part of, yet keeping it out of reach in a resentful way.

Honestly, I feel the same way about Senegal as I did 10 years ago, and I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I recalled the email I wrote to friends and family on May 21, 2003, just a couple of days before I was leaving from my semester abroad here in 2003, and want to share it, as it continues to sum up feelings I have about being here, and what it might be like to leave again.

“But what a country. I'm not sure what I'll do when greeting people doesn't include an inquisition about the family, friends, uncles, brothers and sisters. And what to do when there's no ferno at every corner with a pot of attaaya brewing. What to do when visiting friends isn't a short two minute walk down the street past the telecenter and to the right. and What to do when I can't bargain for the price I want (things are too expensive in the states anyway).

I will always think of all the little children that are everywhere, who look scared, then curious, and then so excited with their big dark eyes when they see me coming. It's images of mothers with babies on the back and a bucket on the head that will always remain. It's traffic jams with 10 yellow and black taxis coming from every direction trying to go everyother direction, and no one is moving. It's carts and wheelbarrows full of mangos and oranges, next to little stands that sell peanuts and cookies for 25Fcfa. And it's the constant sound of buzzing and humming coming from the small, dimly lit 'coutures'-the tailor shops-always busy making boubous and dresses, and something for an american or two wanting to bring home a bit of Africa.

In this whirlwind of rough political and economic times all over the world, Senegal keeps moving. As always things change and Youssou N'Dour comes out with another album, but Senegal is always still Senegal. It's just amazing, and I am so grateful to have lived here.”

I suppose the only difference there is that Youssou is now the Prime Minister and I can’t go hear him sing at his Club Thiossane for $4. The oranges now cost 75cfa (500cfa to the dollar). Oh well.

Jon and I are planning to head to the Casamance on Tuesday, an overnight ferry ride (we’re still being cautious about inland travel). The Casamance is the region of Senegal below the sliver of a country, The Gambia, and is lush, green, and inhabited by the Diola people. It’s also home to tropical beaches, more fresh seafood, and a slightly different culture. I’m looking forward to seeing a new part of this fascinating little South Dakota-sized country.

Until the next time, ba beneen jerejef waay (until next time, thanks!). Bisoux ciao.

A perfect picture.

I’ve found the perfect picture to represent my initial travels to Africa. I have no idea what this plant is; it is quite beautiful, but those thorns are pretty nasty looking. In Mali I have felt so amazingly welcome by everyone I meet. People are jovial, animated, and so open that it takes a while to get used to just genuine people. Everyone laughs and is comfortable with who they are. The weather is warm, the nights perfect, and I’ve never felt so in touch with the moment. Even in these tough times, people remain hopeful and revel in their profound sense of community.

Then there are the thorns in my experience…in addition the rather scary political unrest which kept us confined to Bamako and spending hours at a time not understanding what everyone is saying, today I had to go to a clinic because the sores on my feet. I have for the past week been nursing ever reddening wounds caused by popped heat blisters. Every day it got a little worse until I could barely walk without great discomfort. I’m also really tired, but I don’t know if that is due to infection or if it is just that more tiring to have to walk gingerly and still have it be painful. This the third day in a row I wake up and don’t wan to get out of bed because I know that first step will make me gasp, so we went to get some antibiotics and painkillers. The doctor took no time at all in telling me that I obviously had an infection, and he was surprised that we did not just have antibiotics on hand (I have Cipiro, but that is a total reset for serious sickness). The nice thing is that the visit, antibiotics and painkillers came out to 20,000 CFA ($40) total! However, being constantly tired and in pain every step I take is certainly not the way I wanted to spend my last few days in Mali.

Sore feet aside, it makes me so sad that Malians have to go through this problem which is not their own. Jess told me earlier that due to the threat to large gatherings, the tradition of colorful and dance filled weddings which usually happen throughout Mali on Sundays will be subdued, small, and intimate affairs…very un-Malian.

I have no reason to stay, but I do not want to leave this place yet. I do not speak the language, have infected feet, am covered in red dust and flies constantly during the day and buzzed by mosquitoes at night; I have to boil water to drink it, can’t eat a lot of the food, pay too much for most things by local standards, and am constantly at a loss for why things are happening around me, but the people is where it is at. Mali is awesome because it is full of Malians. If you can’t get past the little things that annoy, you’ll never get to the real things that matter.

frustration...

We are not long for Mali. Every day our options for exploring the country shrink and I feel more confined. This is such an unfortunate circumstance…no visiting villages, no travel South, no music, a feeling that we can go no where outside the city without the minute chance of being abducted or put in harms way. The funny thing is that you would never know what is happening by sitting in the mango grove and having tea until someone tells you that there are check points on every bridge to make sure that dangerous people don’t enter the city. Ironically, we have heard that the only arms being seized are leaving the city, not entering it. I guess that should make us feel a little more secure. I think we could stay in Bamako for quite some time and never be in danger, but I’m starting to ask myself if there are greener pastures elsewhere. Jess and I are still enjoying the food, which gets cooked for us every day (thanks Salli) for like $4. I am really enjoying the national dish of Mali, cheb, which is a rice dish with veg and some meat or fish. I have had one alcoholic beverage here (Flag, the most common beer here, which taste pretty much like every countries most common beer; inoffensive and easy to drink) and have had no want for another; people just don’t drink here and I don’t miss it. I’ll save the drinking  for Europe.

We went to the grand market on Monday, which was pretty cool. We went to the actual practical market and also the artist market. While the regular market was a little slow, the artisanal market was absolutely dead. We were told that we were the first tourists there in over 6 months, and the desperation was palpable. Every seller would tell us that “looking is free” and they will make us “best price”, then throw everything they could at us. Jess and I very much overpaid for some items (gifts for family) and felt pretty good about it. It was pretty sad, but even when sellers did not close the deal with us they were gracious and wished us well.

Luckily, by the market was a pharmacy where I bought ibuprofen. I have had ongoing problems with my feet: First they cracked and bled, then I got some kind of heat blisters trying to wear shoes to protect the cracks which quickly burst and left open sores, then I tripped and bruised my right foot. Ironically, the plantar fasciitis I suffer from is nearly none existent here. I’ve actually run out of band-aids trying to cover the sores so that the swarms of flies don’t get them infected…really annoying. At least I’m toughening up my feet!

I can only imagine that we will leave in the next couple of days unless a compelling reason to stay presents itself. This is definitely not the way I wanted to see Mali, but I am still really glad we came here.