Dakar: Part I

So, fun fact (which we knew before leaving): Dakar opened a new airport about 45 minutes outside the city and closed the one inside the city for commercial transportation. After we landed and haggled with cabs for a while, we made it to our basement apartment Airbnb, which did not have an address or a paved road, solely because our driver was kind enough to call our host. Now we’re finally in a truly foreign land! Though still very modern, we found that not knowing French (or Wolof, the local native language) has put us at a bit of a disadvantage. Or, put another way, it amped up the wanderlust. We were totally safe at all times though — and just a few blocks from the American embassy (we really wanted to run in dramatically and scream that I needed asylum, but I figured that might not be well received).

(Example of problems with not knowing French and our questionable translation app)

After putting our things away, we walked down to a restaurant by the beach, where we had some great seafood and spicy vegetables. Lots of motioning to order, “oui,” and “bon jour.” (We eventually picked up “c’est bon” as a key phrase that has made the rest of Dakar way easier.)

The next day, we slept in, then went to get coffee. While there, we had delicious chocolat (one of Nasheed’s go-tos, really in life) and a French-style omelette. Still channeling my Rome-Florence-Lucca, I of course thanked the waitress with a very proper “Grazie!”. Face palm. Taking advantage of the consistent Wi-Fi (our apartment had it but it was a bit slow), we also booked a tour to Lac Rose (the Pink Lake), which is about an hour outside the city. Our guide, Jonathan, had a scarily good American accent; he was a product of American high school in Senegal. It was great learning about the political and economic conditions of the contrary from him—very much a people-to-people experience. Their president is only a little dictatorial (think personally vengeful but overall rules fairly) but very good at stimulating economic growth, the country is resisting losing its identity by not selling out to McDonalds and Exxon, and according to him, the Senegalese are afraid of the sneaky Nigerians. Lac Rose was gorgeous. Note: it’s pink NOT because of the color of the salt concentration (which exceeds that of the Dead Sea), but because there are microorganisms that turn pink as a result of their photosynthetic reactions. We met some people milling the salt from the bottom of the lake by breaking it up with spears, pulling it up with baskets, and shoving it onto their boats. It’s a really physical endeavor.

Next, we went for lunch around the lake and has yassa poulet, a Senegalese staple. I had some buoye juice, which comes from baobab fruit. It’s a kind of banana pulpy drink. Nasheed had Coke in a glass bottle (as she did with most meals I’ve described). Then, back to Dakar.

After a nap, we walked down to the King Fahd Hotel, where we saw a mixed racial wedding and guests dressed to the nines. There was also a small mishap involving a currency retrieval, but I’ll leave that story for Nasheed to tell. We then wandered by the American embassy, where we got a stern yelling for trying to take a picture of the flag flying high (Nasheed can’t resist patriotism). We then went to dinner, different restaurant, same spot near the beach. We split a steak au pouvre and I ordered a gigembre, which is a ginger juice. Really tasty. Then, back to bed. Next up, we move to a very different part of Dakar (a 5-Star hotel), and will be exploring some cultural sites over the next few days before we head to Bangladesh.