Senegalese Cuba (and the first of many long journeys)

So, we left Dakar at 9am for the "four-hour" journey to the UNESCO protected colonial town of St Louis. We'd barely gone five minutes before hitting traffic on the main highway out of Dakar! The three lanes all bottleneck into one, and this causes huge tailbacks. There are beggars and salesmen along this highway as well - newspapers and water mainly, but also CDs, shirts and other bric-a-brac.

Once we'd got out of the city limits we expected a four hour trip, but we arrived in St Louis after six and a half hours - battered, sweaty, hungry and tired (the norm for most of our trips so far, but definitely worth it - Africa is amazing). Along the way you pull into the side of the road, under the shade of trees, and women and children run up to the van, pushing their arms through open windows, holding bags of peanuts, fresh from the ground and delicious, water or fruit. They even sometimes have eggs and pepper, Pete!

St Louis is Senegal's second biggest city, but the area we were staying was not busy at all. We were staying on the island at the edge of the city, close to the sea but surrounded by a penisula. This "old" part of the city has been deemed a special heritage sight and it's easy to see why. Originally a French town, there are hundreds of examples of French architecture in the narrow streets. The best way I can describe it is like an African Cuba - just from what I have seen in the movies. Latticed windows, pink and yellow paint, small blocks of houses, shops and restaurants, and a strong sense of community. You shall see what I mean in the next blog!


We stayed in the north of the island, in a place called Cafè des Arts, which wasn't a cafe and didn't have much art. But I am being cruel; the place was comfortable and we had our own bathroom - a neccessity when you need more than one shower a day, or more than four in Mr Webb's case!

St Louis is more about the smells and sounds for me than anything else. As soon as the sun rises the stench of rubbish, thrown over the low wall next to the river, begins to spread, and the fishing community is very prevalent, with an equal stench of rotting fish. You do get used to the smells, but the amount of rubbish is shocking. I spotted small mountains of clothes, food containers, general household waste, plastics, even a dead dog (not kidding at all; covered in flies by the water's edge).

On top of these piles are usually where the herds of roaming goats spend a lot of their time; apart from when they are trying to find shade in the narrow maze of streets. The sounds I mentioned before are a combination of goats bleating, birds (seagulls and eagles) schreeching as they circle for scraps of fish and, later in the evening, the mosques blaring out the evening prayers from loudspeakers attached to the side - sometimes for hours at a time.

But I didn't mind either the sounds or the smells too much at all. We sat on the roof for the first evening, watching the sunset and having some homecooked octopus and rice, before a nightcap of mint tea (great stuff). I think that was the moment I realised we were truly in Africa, and the adventure was about to start.