Zebrabar to Gambia
I had breakfast on the terrace of Zebrabar overlooking a stretch of water which is partly the river estuary. It is a stunning piece of water just less than a kilometer across, *and on the other side a sandbank with green foliage. There were curlews and black heron looking birds pecking on the shore. I should know the name of the black bird but I did not have a bird book and others here can have fun identifying them when the photos appear. Sitting there taking in my surroundings the stress and the heat of the desert crossing began to ease. The beauty and the difference of this place made me feel the 10 days riding the bike in temperatures over 40C may have been worth it.
White pelicans seen from the terrace at Zebrabar.
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A fisherman casting his net
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A local fishing boat, the one used for the boat trip below.
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These lizards wewe about 50cm long and a colony lived next to my chalet.
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It's a west coast ride so you got to expect the odd sunset, tjis one from Zebrabar
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The charity workers, from Belgium, were taking the boat late morning going down the *the stretch of water in the direction of the river flow. Before heading off I got a bottle of water and caused some alarm with the local kids as I appesred to pour it into a rucksack. The kids had never seen a CamelBack drinking rucksac before and were amazed. Of course they were keen to have the empty bottle. The boat was a traditional one, but with a motor, and crewed by 2 local lads, one of them, Jimmy, with learing difficulties and he hadled the throttle and guided the boat with great skill. As we went along the other guy pointed out wildlife as we came across it and gave the name (in French) of course. There was lots to see. One of the most striking things were the fish, which swam along at the speed of the boat and jumped out of the water in shoals. I had my camera at the ready and skillfully took many pictures of the sea just after they dived, but they were fun to watch.
The birdlife of course was the main atraction, with many wading birds, heron, egret, great egret and more exiting were the white pelican and also flamingos. Seeing these birds in the wild in such a rich habitat was a real delight. If you were a bird that eats fish, this was a great place to be, as the water was teeming with fish. This abundence of fish had been noticed by other birds and further along we saw both osprey and African Fish Eagles. There were lots of these elegent birds of prey. I was wondering if any of the osprey had come down from Scotland, as I had visited the hide in Boat of Garten, in the highlands, a number of times. They would have travelled some of the same route as me, but I guess it is easer flying than riding, but they may not agree.
Great egret and heron I believe.
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A closer view of pelicans
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We stopped at a place where the sandbank was narrow and had no vegitation and on the other side was the Atlantic. *We moored the boat and walked over to the waves and had a swim. The waves were strong and reminded me of those on the SW coast of France bear Biarriz. If you are not ready when the wave breaks you can get knocked over, and sometimes even when you are ready. It was refreshing though and set us up well for the return journey. We saw 2 additional things on the way back, one a pied kingfisher, with a fish he had just caught, and a large reptile. The reptile was about a meter and a half, with it's tail in the water and his body in the reeds. It was difficult to see clearly but it's head went to a point. In an attempt to flush the reptile back into the sea, one of the guys jumped off the boat onto the land but the reptile disappeared into the reeds. The French name being quoted, sounded like "Vorane" but I did not get the spelling. Another puzzle for the animal detectives reading this. The picture of the pied kingfisher will have to be included in additional photos when I get home.
Back in UK as I puzzled over my packing and picked up my binoculars and put them down again, seen as an unnessary weight, and indeed they may get damaged or lost. However at the last minute, knowing there was a chance of seeing interesting birds, I squeezed them in and I'm glad I did, even just for this one boat trip.
The next day I was again invited to join the charity workers as they visited some of the charity sites and going into St Louis. On the way to the first visit the taxi driver spotted a large group of pelicans and we stopped to gaze and these hundreds of magnificant birds. The visit was to a family the charity supports. We left the road and headed off a sandy track, negotiated with some skill by the taxi driver. We were greeted warmly on arrival by the head of the family and then by his wives, introduced as the first and 2nd wife. Then there were the kids, I lost count but they were around 20.*
A different family, this was the taxi drivers, but you get the idea.
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The second wife doing the tea ceremony, at the first family, getting complicated, hope you are keeping up.
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All happy and smiling and keen to have their photo taken. In the past the charity workers have taken pictures had them printed and returned to the family in book form. This book was displayed proudly and is clearly treasured and well thumbed. The compound was simple and a mat had been placed and a tea ceremony was started. Some of the elder children were working in the kitchen, which was a fragile shack with a wood fire. The house was brick built and had 3 rooms, one for each wife and an extra room for the kids to sleep on matresses on the floor. It felt quite a privilege to get to see how local people live and be welcomed in this way. I realize I was trading on the good will of the charity workers but there was a general feeling of being welcome.
The track to the school.
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After the tea ceremony we went to the school a kilometer treck through the sand. The school looked impressive, with a walled and fenced compound and a brick built one room classrooom. There was only one teacher as the other 2 had moved on and not been replaced. The teacher clearly had two classes going as one half of the kids had their desks facing one blackboard and then others faced the opposite way.*
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In discussion the teacher mentioned that a programme to feed the kids one meal in the morning had recently ended. I asked if this had pmpaced the school. He said that the numbers had reduced by about 20 pupils since the ending of the food. I then asked what value the programme was per year and he said 500,000 SFA which is about £700. If these values check out this seems a very small amount to ensure around 50 kids have a meal a day and are encouraged to spend the day at school. I said I would discuss with the charity and see if I could help.
Visiting the school was a quite moving experience to see efforts to provide basic eduaction to these young people. The charity workers complemented the teacher on the commitment he is showing to the children but he said it is what these children deserve. Returning to the compound the charity workers had come with full suit cases and had lots of clothes to give to the family which caused great excitement. I felt a bit mean, having nothing to give.
We then drove to St Louis, to the old town, crossing the bridge designed by a man more famous for a tower, a M. Eiffal.*
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Someone described it as like the tower but lying down. In fact it is more elegent than that with a number of curved spans, and cleary has lasted well. The buildings in the old town are elegant if a bit tatty now. This was one which had been restored and open to the public.
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It has the look of the photos I have seen of Havana, but without the old classic american cars parked outside. There were a number of guys pounced on us offering to show us their shop. The charity ladies had some things to buy and I took an interest too. There were some carved wooden animals, jewellery, *masks etc. I kept my hands in my pockets but the others bought a few things. I then saw a few things I liked and now *had an idea of prices.*
I'm hoping for sponsorship from the Irish Pub in Mainz, Germany. Thanks for the tee shirt lads.
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I felt the others were a bit charitable to the traders(well they would be) and I bargained for a few things but can not say what, as some of the recipients may read this. Later I helped the others with a few deals to fill their empty cases.
The next day I decided to move the bike for the first time since arriving at Zebrabar. I wanted to move into the shade, something I should have done earlier. I got the keys and it turned over but would not start. Up to then it would start on the first revolution, all the way through the desert, now it would not start even after 5 or 6 tries. This was not good but it had worked fine before so could not be serious, at least that's what the logical side of me said. I pondered over reasons, and considered the side stand switch being faulty. In the end I left it 10 or 15 mins and tried again, this time with a bit of throttle. It fired once and felt a bit relieved. Next time it tried to start and the 3rd time it fired up and ran well enough. I was relieved but realised I was in a pretty good place if assistance was needed. I moved the bike and checked oil and tyre presures etc. before leaving in a day or so.*
Some bike servicing at Zebrabar.
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That evening I was again on the terrace doing a bit of writing when I heard familiar voices and looked around to see the Irish 4x4 lads. This was a surprise as I expected them were ahead of me, maybe in Dakar. It turned out they had had a long day in Naochutt with the mechanic who turned out not to be as good as he seemed. They had left for the border the day after and believing Diama was open they drove the road through the forest. They said it was really bad and some struggled in the cars with the deep potholes. When they got to Diama they were not allowed to cross and had to retrace their steps and go to Rosso. Their story of Rosso was also pretty bad and we compared notes.
The Land Cruisers surrounding my chalet.*
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The lads were very relieved to have got to Zebrabar and decided to stay 2 days. I therefore delayed my departure to share a further day with them. The lads parked the vans all around my chalet and my bike. It looked like a little village, particularly at night with all the lights on. The vans are well equipped with petrol cookers and low current electric fridges, keeping supplies cold. They came well stocked up and it was good to get a cup of tea with milk. We compared notes and I was shocked to find one of the vans was only doing 15 MPG about 19l/100km. That is a lot of petrolh
So after the lads 2 nights at Zabrabar we packed up to go. One of the lads had partied a bit late the night before and had slept out on a bed on the terrace. He was still sleeping as the vans were packed and he got a shock when he did awake to find himself pinned by a ratchet strap to the bed. In the end we all moved out along the sandy track to the road. In then realized a couple of disadvantages of travelling with vans on a bike on a track, dust, fumes and of course going slowly reduces the cooling and I get hot. I reaized that as the lads would always favour tracks then it was best I made my own way. In the end this is what I did later in the day. Before then we stopped for lunch and one of the guys got a nasty shock as he felt a tickle on his toe as he stood in sandles. He looked down to see a 1 meter snake passing over his almost bare foot. He gently withdrew the foot and the snake became agitated and rushed away. I was glad I was wearing biking boots as I went behind a bush.
The lads had found a track instead of a road to the Rose lake they were aiming for so I took this as my trigger to reluctantly part company and strike out on my own again.*
The track, a good one, but very dusty and hot at 30 - 40km in 35C in warm biking gear.
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I headed back to the road and off towards Dakar, which was my destination after all. I had the rough location of a place used before by riders visiting Dakar. I came in on normal roads missing the motorway I was aware had been built. It was the usual aparent chaos I was getting used to on entering an African city. I don't find it too hard riding in these conditions but you need to keep your wits about you and moderate your speed appropriatly. I always remember the other vehicles do not want to hit you either. Having hard metal luggage seems to also offer a level of intimidation and therfore protection. I rode into Dakar standing the footpegs in honour of the rally which used to finish here and the end of my Basingstoke to Dakar rally. As the only competitor I claimed victory. In the old rally, just finishing was seen as a triumph, but those guys guys did not see much tarmac.
I drove to where I believed I would find the Club de Voile de Dakar, the Dakar sailing club which has been a good place for riders to stay while visiting Dakar. Despite searching for over 30 mins I could not find it but thought I'd found the next best thing, when I came across the Club de Voile d'Or. However this was not a welcoming place, the receptionist seemed to wish she did not have to speak to me. They had rooms but they cost more than I had on me in cash and I did not want to go searching for a cash machine as it got dark. I asked about camping and was told it was possible. The camping guy was summoned but he took his time in coming. When he arrived he was as sullen as the receptionist. I asked to see the camping spot and was shown a piece of the roughly paved car park. I pointed at the bit of sand to the side and was told I could use that if I liked. I gave the guy a note to pay for the space and he made no attempt at giving me the change. I had to ask him 3 times over the next hour before he finally looked in his wallet and found the change in slow motion and I had to practically take the money out of his hand.*
The good thing about this place was it had a bar on the beach and they served me up with an omlett and chips after I had a refreshing swim. I returned to the tent, being used for the 1st time. As I dressed outside the tent, I heard a commotion and I thought something had fallen over in the tent. However I then saw something scampering away. It was a rat, the size of a cat, and the sound was the rat bouncing of the tent as it ran or was being chased away. What a great spot to camp. Not that this was the first time I was on a campsite with rats but was not looking forward to the night ahead. I did hear various noises during the night but nothing which made me go out and investigate, but I was up early and packing. I had decided to leave this place and in fact Dakar and try and get into Gambia. I would probably have to come back to Dakar to get a Mauritania visa, but hopefully I could stay at the other club that time.
Of course it was Monday rush hour in Dakar as I left, so I weaved the bike through the traffic. The taxis are the ones who will risk a collision but then they are covered in dents and one more may not matter so I kept a weather eye out for them. This time I found the motorway and it made the exit easier but soon I was back on normal roads. Travelling through Senegal has one special feature, speed bumps. These are not your gentle humps which encourage you to moderate your speed these make you slow down to a crawl to get over them without damage. On a bike like mine you can go over faster than cars but still they do delay progress. One of their additional joys is that only some of them are marked. Some are unmarked and the same black colour as the tarmac. If there is not a vehicle in front of you these black bumps can remain invisible until the last minute. All adds to the excitement of foreign travel.
I hit one of the unmarked speed bumps while taking this picture and holding the handle with only one hand.
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It is prudent to let this lot pass before proceeding. First the cattle then the goats.
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The route I was taking to the ferry to Banjul was not the shortest one but I had been warned about a piece of road between Fatick to Kadlack, described as a "car killer" and I did not assume I'd be immune on a motorbike. I took a route via Diourbel instead and it was fine. Approaching Kadlacki was always aware it had an unsavoury reputation so made sure not to stop. The road out of Kadlack started fine but I had been told by and English guy I met that part s of were not great. I found how "not great" when the tarmac ran out about 60km from the Gambia border, english understatement. My heart sank*and I looked at the expance of piste ahead of me.*
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I did not want to go back, so off we went. The middle of it was rough and I found it better to use the sides. I was only doing about 30kmh and if this lasted to the border it would take me a further 2 hours. I*took a rest now and then and ocasionally the tarmac would return abut the piest came quickly back.*
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After about 20 km of this I came to a village and the tarmac returned, good tarmac with no potholes. I convinced myself that with this good tarmac we could not return to the rubbish. I continued out of the village and was delighted that I had good tarmac, which continued till the border.*
The border was a more relaxed affair than some I had experienced. The Senegal side was easy and painless, visiting the police first, then customs. The customs guy wanted to keep my pass avant as it would be out of date when I return but I fudged it by saying I may come back earlier and he let me keep it. I thought it may help on re-entry to Senegal. I noticed that even on the Senegal side the officials were speaking english to me and not french, *what a change. At the border I met 2 dutch guys, who did not have a Senegal visa and were not being allowed in. They said they were on bicycles and I assumed they were cycling up the west coast. However the truth was a bit different. They were on vacation in Gambia and hired a couple of bikes to have a look at Senegal. Their problem now was that if they had to return, then it would be dark before they arrived at the boat. They seemed pretty cheerful about it anyway and we had a good chat. They let me know the correct rate for Gambia currency before I approached the money changer. I wished them well and went over to the Gambian side.*
Here one customs guy interrogated me asking if I had guns or sprays or knives. I admitted to a knife and he asked why, and accepted that camping was a good reason. Had he seen the knife he may not have been impressed. The officials were all speaking english of course and while not beligerent they were a bit slimy, not asling for anh money but encouraging cadeaux. They did not get much. One guy wanted to be my facebook friend and send him emails, he'll be disappointed.
So formalities done I headed for the ferry to Banjul. I had a few fixers approach, chatting me up in english, but I simply asked the security guard where I buy a ticket. Ticket in hand I approached the guy controling the gate and he gestured that I should bring the ticket to him. Getting of the bike I approached and he then told me to bring the bike and quickly. I was not sure why there was an urgency, but when I eventually got through the gate I realised the guy was trying to get me on the boat before the deluge, the passenger deluge. Before I could approach the ferry a side gate was opened and hunderds of people gushed out, like out of factory gates, or the Harrods sale. There was no way I could get in front of them so I trailed along behind.*
This number of people swamped the remaining space on the ferry, even on the vehicle deck. I was encouraged by the loading staff to push forward but there were people in front, and baggage. There were 2 bundles of firewood on the deck in front of my wheel which the staff got moved and I was able to stop the bike. But a further car wanted to come in behind me and I have to forward as far as possible. I ended up, on a downslope, inches behind a van and truck. There was no way I could get off the bike so I braced the bike onto the sidestand and held the front brake. This was the only secure way of negotiating the ferry ride with the bike, not a comfortable way however. It was hot and humid. The journey got more interesting when the truck in front rocked back and forward. It was carrying gravel and wondered what may happen if it rolled back say 6 inches and collide with the front of the bike. I sensed the bike would come off worse. The driver noticed the movement and seemed to apply the brake a little more and the rocking eased. We continued like this until the ferry docked. The journey seemed to take about 45 mins but may have been shorter but it was a long time to keep the front brake pressed.*
The bike and the truck, the camera makes it seem further away but it was only inches.
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People crowded around the vehicles on the ferry.
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I was glad when we docked and made my way to a hotel I had marked on the gps. When I arribed I was not impressed either bu the welcome of the state of the accomodation. The fsct that there were monkeys in the trees in the grounds was not ewnough to sway me to say. After some searching I found a holiday complex, a bit tired but acceptable and I parked up. The english theme continued and I found english plugs in the room, and an english supermarket in the grounds. One bonus was a restaurant next door serving spaghetti bolognaise for 3€ and a beer for less than a euro. A good place to recharge the batteries again. As I travelled I had been thinking (there is a lot of time to think riding a bike) and wondered if there was a Mauritanian embassy here, and would it issue visas. If so I could get my return visa here and avoid returing to Dakar. We would see in the morning. For now the spaghetti and beer awaited...
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I had breakfast on the terrace of Zebrabar overlooking a stretch of water which is partly the river estuary. It is a stunning piece of water just less than a kilometer across, *and on the other side a sandbank with green foliage. There were curlews and black heron looking birds pecking on the shore. I should know the name of the black bird but I did not have a bird book and others here can have fun identifying them when the photos appear. Sitting there taking in my surroundings the stress and the heat of the desert crossing began to ease. The beauty and the difference of this place made me feel the 10 days riding the bike in temperatures over 40C may have been worth it.
White pelicans seen from the terrace at Zebrabar.
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A fisherman casting his net
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A local fishing boat, the one used for the boat trip below.
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These lizards wewe about 50cm long and a colony lived next to my chalet.
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It's a west coast ride so you got to expect the odd sunset, tjis one from Zebrabar
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The charity workers, from Belgium, were taking the boat late morning going down the *the stretch of water in the direction of the river flow. Before heading off I got a bottle of water and caused some alarm with the local kids as I appesred to pour it into a rucksack. The kids had never seen a CamelBack drinking rucksac before and were amazed. Of course they were keen to have the empty bottle. The boat was a traditional one, but with a motor, and crewed by 2 local lads, one of them, Jimmy, with learing difficulties and he hadled the throttle and guided the boat with great skill. As we went along the other guy pointed out wildlife as we came across it and gave the name (in French) of course. There was lots to see. One of the most striking things were the fish, which swam along at the speed of the boat and jumped out of the water in shoals. I had my camera at the ready and skillfully took many pictures of the sea just after they dived, but they were fun to watch.
The birdlife of course was the main atraction, with many wading birds, heron, egret, great egret and more exiting were the white pelican and also flamingos. Seeing these birds in the wild in such a rich habitat was a real delight. If you were a bird that eats fish, this was a great place to be, as the water was teeming with fish. This abundence of fish had been noticed by other birds and further along we saw both osprey and African Fish Eagles. There were lots of these elegent birds of prey. I was wondering if any of the osprey had come down from Scotland, as I had visited the hide in Boat of Garten, in the highlands, a number of times. They would have travelled some of the same route as me, but I guess it is easer flying than riding, but they may not agree.
Great egret and heron I believe.
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A closer view of pelicans
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We stopped at a place where the sandbank was narrow and had no vegitation and on the other side was the Atlantic. *We moored the boat and walked over to the waves and had a swim. The waves were strong and reminded me of those on the SW coast of France bear Biarriz. If you are not ready when the wave breaks you can get knocked over, and sometimes even when you are ready. It was refreshing though and set us up well for the return journey. We saw 2 additional things on the way back, one a pied kingfisher, with a fish he had just caught, and a large reptile. The reptile was about a meter and a half, with it's tail in the water and his body in the reeds. It was difficult to see clearly but it's head went to a point. In an attempt to flush the reptile back into the sea, one of the guys jumped off the boat onto the land but the reptile disappeared into the reeds. The French name being quoted, sounded like "Vorane" but I did not get the spelling. Another puzzle for the animal detectives reading this. The picture of the pied kingfisher will have to be included in additional photos when I get home.
Back in UK as I puzzled over my packing and picked up my binoculars and put them down again, seen as an unnessary weight, and indeed they may get damaged or lost. However at the last minute, knowing there was a chance of seeing interesting birds, I squeezed them in and I'm glad I did, even just for this one boat trip.
The next day I was again invited to join the charity workers as they visited some of the charity sites and going into St Louis. On the way to the first visit the taxi driver spotted a large group of pelicans and we stopped to gaze and these hundreds of magnificant birds. The visit was to a family the charity supports. We left the road and headed off a sandy track, negotiated with some skill by the taxi driver. We were greeted warmly on arrival by the head of the family and then by his wives, introduced as the first and 2nd wife. Then there were the kids, I lost count but they were around 20.*
A different family, this was the taxi drivers, but you get the idea.
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The second wife doing the tea ceremony, at the first family, getting complicated, hope you are keeping up.
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All happy and smiling and keen to have their photo taken. In the past the charity workers have taken pictures had them printed and returned to the family in book form. This book was displayed proudly and is clearly treasured and well thumbed. The compound was simple and a mat had been placed and a tea ceremony was started. Some of the elder children were working in the kitchen, which was a fragile shack with a wood fire. The house was brick built and had 3 rooms, one for each wife and an extra room for the kids to sleep on matresses on the floor. It felt quite a privilege to get to see how local people live and be welcomed in this way. I realize I was trading on the good will of the charity workers but there was a general feeling of being welcome.
The track to the school.
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After the tea ceremony we went to the school a kilometer treck through the sand. The school looked impressive, with a walled and fenced compound and a brick built one room classrooom. There was only one teacher as the other 2 had moved on and not been replaced. The teacher clearly had two classes going as one half of the kids had their desks facing one blackboard and then others faced the opposite way.*
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In discussion the teacher mentioned that a programme to feed the kids one meal in the morning had recently ended. I asked if this had pmpaced the school. He said that the numbers had reduced by about 20 pupils since the ending of the food. I then asked what value the programme was per year and he said 500,000 SFA which is about £700. If these values check out this seems a very small amount to ensure around 50 kids have a meal a day and are encouraged to spend the day at school. I said I would discuss with the charity and see if I could help.
Visiting the school was a quite moving experience to see efforts to provide basic eduaction to these young people. The charity workers complemented the teacher on the commitment he is showing to the children but he said it is what these children deserve. Returning to the compound the charity workers had come with full suit cases and had lots of clothes to give to the family which caused great excitement. I felt a bit mean, having nothing to give.
We then drove to St Louis, to the old town, crossing the bridge designed by a man more famous for a tower, a M. Eiffal.*
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Someone described it as like the tower but lying down. In fact it is more elegent than that with a number of curved spans, and cleary has lasted well. The buildings in the old town are elegant if a bit tatty now. This was one which had been restored and open to the public.
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It has the look of the photos I have seen of Havana, but without the old classic american cars parked outside. There were a number of guys pounced on us offering to show us their shop. The charity ladies had some things to buy and I took an interest too. There were some carved wooden animals, jewellery, *masks etc. I kept my hands in my pockets but the others bought a few things. I then saw a few things I liked and now *had an idea of prices.*
I'm hoping for sponsorship from the Irish Pub in Mainz, Germany. Thanks for the tee shirt lads.
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I felt the others were a bit charitable to the traders(well they would be) and I bargained for a few things but can not say what, as some of the recipients may read this. Later I helped the others with a few deals to fill their empty cases.
The next day I decided to move the bike for the first time since arriving at Zebrabar. I wanted to move into the shade, something I should have done earlier. I got the keys and it turned over but would not start. Up to then it would start on the first revolution, all the way through the desert, now it would not start even after 5 or 6 tries. This was not good but it had worked fine before so could not be serious, at least that's what the logical side of me said. I pondered over reasons, and considered the side stand switch being faulty. In the end I left it 10 or 15 mins and tried again, this time with a bit of throttle. It fired once and felt a bit relieved. Next time it tried to start and the 3rd time it fired up and ran well enough. I was relieved but realised I was in a pretty good place if assistance was needed. I moved the bike and checked oil and tyre presures etc. before leaving in a day or so.*
Some bike servicing at Zebrabar.
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That evening I was again on the terrace doing a bit of writing when I heard familiar voices and looked around to see the Irish 4x4 lads. This was a surprise as I expected them were ahead of me, maybe in Dakar. It turned out they had had a long day in Naochutt with the mechanic who turned out not to be as good as he seemed. They had left for the border the day after and believing Diama was open they drove the road through the forest. They said it was really bad and some struggled in the cars with the deep potholes. When they got to Diama they were not allowed to cross and had to retrace their steps and go to Rosso. Their story of Rosso was also pretty bad and we compared notes.
The Land Cruisers surrounding my chalet.*
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The lads were very relieved to have got to Zebrabar and decided to stay 2 days. I therefore delayed my departure to share a further day with them. The lads parked the vans all around my chalet and my bike. It looked like a little village, particularly at night with all the lights on. The vans are well equipped with petrol cookers and low current electric fridges, keeping supplies cold. They came well stocked up and it was good to get a cup of tea with milk. We compared notes and I was shocked to find one of the vans was only doing 15 MPG about 19l/100km. That is a lot of petrolh
So after the lads 2 nights at Zabrabar we packed up to go. One of the lads had partied a bit late the night before and had slept out on a bed on the terrace. He was still sleeping as the vans were packed and he got a shock when he did awake to find himself pinned by a ratchet strap to the bed. In the end we all moved out along the sandy track to the road. In then realized a couple of disadvantages of travelling with vans on a bike on a track, dust, fumes and of course going slowly reduces the cooling and I get hot. I reaized that as the lads would always favour tracks then it was best I made my own way. In the end this is what I did later in the day. Before then we stopped for lunch and one of the guys got a nasty shock as he felt a tickle on his toe as he stood in sandles. He looked down to see a 1 meter snake passing over his almost bare foot. He gently withdrew the foot and the snake became agitated and rushed away. I was glad I was wearing biking boots as I went behind a bush.
The lads had found a track instead of a road to the Rose lake they were aiming for so I took this as my trigger to reluctantly part company and strike out on my own again.*
The track, a good one, but very dusty and hot at 30 - 40km in 35C in warm biking gear.
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I headed back to the road and off towards Dakar, which was my destination after all. I had the rough location of a place used before by riders visiting Dakar. I came in on normal roads missing the motorway I was aware had been built. It was the usual aparent chaos I was getting used to on entering an African city. I don't find it too hard riding in these conditions but you need to keep your wits about you and moderate your speed appropriatly. I always remember the other vehicles do not want to hit you either. Having hard metal luggage seems to also offer a level of intimidation and therfore protection. I rode into Dakar standing the footpegs in honour of the rally which used to finish here and the end of my Basingstoke to Dakar rally. As the only competitor I claimed victory. In the old rally, just finishing was seen as a triumph, but those guys guys did not see much tarmac.
I drove to where I believed I would find the Club de Voile de Dakar, the Dakar sailing club which has been a good place for riders to stay while visiting Dakar. Despite searching for over 30 mins I could not find it but thought I'd found the next best thing, when I came across the Club de Voile d'Or. However this was not a welcoming place, the receptionist seemed to wish she did not have to speak to me. They had rooms but they cost more than I had on me in cash and I did not want to go searching for a cash machine as it got dark. I asked about camping and was told it was possible. The camping guy was summoned but he took his time in coming. When he arrived he was as sullen as the receptionist. I asked to see the camping spot and was shown a piece of the roughly paved car park. I pointed at the bit of sand to the side and was told I could use that if I liked. I gave the guy a note to pay for the space and he made no attempt at giving me the change. I had to ask him 3 times over the next hour before he finally looked in his wallet and found the change in slow motion and I had to practically take the money out of his hand.*
The good thing about this place was it had a bar on the beach and they served me up with an omlett and chips after I had a refreshing swim. I returned to the tent, being used for the 1st time. As I dressed outside the tent, I heard a commotion and I thought something had fallen over in the tent. However I then saw something scampering away. It was a rat, the size of a cat, and the sound was the rat bouncing of the tent as it ran or was being chased away. What a great spot to camp. Not that this was the first time I was on a campsite with rats but was not looking forward to the night ahead. I did hear various noises during the night but nothing which made me go out and investigate, but I was up early and packing. I had decided to leave this place and in fact Dakar and try and get into Gambia. I would probably have to come back to Dakar to get a Mauritania visa, but hopefully I could stay at the other club that time.
Of course it was Monday rush hour in Dakar as I left, so I weaved the bike through the traffic. The taxis are the ones who will risk a collision but then they are covered in dents and one more may not matter so I kept a weather eye out for them. This time I found the motorway and it made the exit easier but soon I was back on normal roads. Travelling through Senegal has one special feature, speed bumps. These are not your gentle humps which encourage you to moderate your speed these make you slow down to a crawl to get over them without damage. On a bike like mine you can go over faster than cars but still they do delay progress. One of their additional joys is that only some of them are marked. Some are unmarked and the same black colour as the tarmac. If there is not a vehicle in front of you these black bumps can remain invisible until the last minute. All adds to the excitement of foreign travel.
I hit one of the unmarked speed bumps while taking this picture and holding the handle with only one hand.
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It is prudent to let this lot pass before proceeding. First the cattle then the goats.
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The route I was taking to the ferry to Banjul was not the shortest one but I had been warned about a piece of road between Fatick to Kadlack, described as a "car killer" and I did not assume I'd be immune on a motorbike. I took a route via Diourbel instead and it was fine. Approaching Kadlacki was always aware it had an unsavoury reputation so made sure not to stop. The road out of Kadlack started fine but I had been told by and English guy I met that part s of were not great. I found how "not great" when the tarmac ran out about 60km from the Gambia border, english understatement. My heart sank*and I looked at the expance of piste ahead of me.*
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I did not want to go back, so off we went. The middle of it was rough and I found it better to use the sides. I was only doing about 30kmh and if this lasted to the border it would take me a further 2 hours. I*took a rest now and then and ocasionally the tarmac would return abut the piest came quickly back.*
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After about 20 km of this I came to a village and the tarmac returned, good tarmac with no potholes. I convinced myself that with this good tarmac we could not return to the rubbish. I continued out of the village and was delighted that I had good tarmac, which continued till the border.*
The border was a more relaxed affair than some I had experienced. The Senegal side was easy and painless, visiting the police first, then customs. The customs guy wanted to keep my pass avant as it would be out of date when I return but I fudged it by saying I may come back earlier and he let me keep it. I thought it may help on re-entry to Senegal. I noticed that even on the Senegal side the officials were speaking english to me and not french, *what a change. At the border I met 2 dutch guys, who did not have a Senegal visa and were not being allowed in. They said they were on bicycles and I assumed they were cycling up the west coast. However the truth was a bit different. They were on vacation in Gambia and hired a couple of bikes to have a look at Senegal. Their problem now was that if they had to return, then it would be dark before they arrived at the boat. They seemed pretty cheerful about it anyway and we had a good chat. They let me know the correct rate for Gambia currency before I approached the money changer. I wished them well and went over to the Gambian side.*
Here one customs guy interrogated me asking if I had guns or sprays or knives. I admitted to a knife and he asked why, and accepted that camping was a good reason. Had he seen the knife he may not have been impressed. The officials were all speaking english of course and while not beligerent they were a bit slimy, not asling for anh money but encouraging cadeaux. They did not get much. One guy wanted to be my facebook friend and send him emails, he'll be disappointed.
So formalities done I headed for the ferry to Banjul. I had a few fixers approach, chatting me up in english, but I simply asked the security guard where I buy a ticket. Ticket in hand I approached the guy controling the gate and he gestured that I should bring the ticket to him. Getting of the bike I approached and he then told me to bring the bike and quickly. I was not sure why there was an urgency, but when I eventually got through the gate I realised the guy was trying to get me on the boat before the deluge, the passenger deluge. Before I could approach the ferry a side gate was opened and hunderds of people gushed out, like out of factory gates, or the Harrods sale. There was no way I could get in front of them so I trailed along behind.*
This number of people swamped the remaining space on the ferry, even on the vehicle deck. I was encouraged by the loading staff to push forward but there were people in front, and baggage. There were 2 bundles of firewood on the deck in front of my wheel which the staff got moved and I was able to stop the bike. But a further car wanted to come in behind me and I have to forward as far as possible. I ended up, on a downslope, inches behind a van and truck. There was no way I could get off the bike so I braced the bike onto the sidestand and held the front brake. This was the only secure way of negotiating the ferry ride with the bike, not a comfortable way however. It was hot and humid. The journey got more interesting when the truck in front rocked back and forward. It was carrying gravel and wondered what may happen if it rolled back say 6 inches and collide with the front of the bike. I sensed the bike would come off worse. The driver noticed the movement and seemed to apply the brake a little more and the rocking eased. We continued like this until the ferry docked. The journey seemed to take about 45 mins but may have been shorter but it was a long time to keep the front brake pressed.*
The bike and the truck, the camera makes it seem further away but it was only inches.
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People crowded around the vehicles on the ferry.
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I was glad when we docked and made my way to a hotel I had marked on the gps. When I arribed I was not impressed either bu the welcome of the state of the accomodation. The fsct that there were monkeys in the trees in the grounds was not ewnough to sway me to say. After some searching I found a holiday complex, a bit tired but acceptable and I parked up. The english theme continued and I found english plugs in the room, and an english supermarket in the grounds. One bonus was a restaurant next door serving spaghetti bolognaise for 3€ and a beer for less than a euro. A good place to recharge the batteries again. As I travelled I had been thinking (there is a lot of time to think riding a bike) and wondered if there was a Mauritanian embassy here, and would it issue visas. If so I could get my return visa here and avoid returing to Dakar. We would see in the morning. For now the spaghetti and beer awaited...
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