Dakhla, Morocco

The camp owner in Mauritania organised a taxi for us to go to the Moroccan border, or so we understood, but it turned out we were being taken all the way to Dakhla, the first big Moroccan city in the Western Sahara. We transferred from the small city taxi to a large sept-place at a dusty transport hub at the main road junction. Luckily we were in the middle seat and there were just six of us. The young driver bought cartons of cigarettes from a store and stuffed them in the passengers' bags. He also had plastic bags full of the gowns the men wear and was obviously in a position to make some money on the side from selling these goods in Morocco.

The guide book and travellers we met told us about the numerous police check points in the Western Sahara and the need to get photocopies of your passport made. To this we had to add, our mothers' name, our fathers' name, our occupation, and our visa numbers. We had about eighteen copies of these ready for the police. The copies could be left with the police so that the taxi could continue on its way without having to wait for everything to be hand written in the huge logs at the check points. We thought we would take the bus on the Moroccan side and the copies would be used by the bus driver for the police. We still have every copy made as we only had to get out of the taxi once to show our passport and state our occupation. Maybe the taxi driver gave the police a steady supply of cigarettes!

The road to the border was a newly sealed smooth one and the ride was very comfortable. The two men behind us were a bit cramped, not having any leg room and the old man in front had swollen legs that were covered with festering sores. He seemed the most uncomfortable. The taxi was driven into a huge shed at the newly constructed border post where a scanner checked it for contraband, along with every other vehicle passing through. We had to find a shady spot to sit and wait.

The section of No Man's Land between the borders was sandy and rocky in places. Maybe both countries couldn't agree on who should pay what to have the road sealed! We didn't need visas for Morocco and once again the border guard had no idea where NZ was and had to check with his superiors. It shows that not many New Zealanders travel this part of the world.

We had a smooth ride to a brand new hotel complex that had Wifi, a tiled courtyard with a fountain, huge palm trees, a garden, and waiters in the restaurant dressed in white shirts with black aprons. The hotel, built about 3 stories high wrapped around the semi-circular courtyard and seemed so out of place in the middle of the desert. The other passengers washed their face, hands and feet and headed for the prayer room and then ate in a small area sitting on the floor.

The driver dropped us off at a hotel that Anette had recommended. It was very comfortable and in a quiet part of town not far from the bus offices we needed to continue our journey. It had free Wi fi which we were able to use from our room and a hot water shower. The head-scarfed lady at reception did not speak much English so with a bit of French we were able to communicate. The teenager receptionist who came on at night spoke excellent English.



There was still a coolish wind blowing and lots of people had only their eyes peering out of their veils or scarves as the wind blew lots of fine sand and rubbish about. We had definitely arrived in a modern place. No thatched mud houses here. Tall apartment blocks painted in their favourite pink colour. The footpaths were paved and used by pedestrians and not cars or stalls. There were no open drains or smelly sewers. The street lights all lit up at night and there were traffic lights that the drivers obeyed! We walked along the corniche and watched some of the locals taking their pet dogs for a walk on a lead, things familiar to us at home! John came to Morocco in 1975 and it was not as modern as any of this.



We found a busy local restaurant to eat in the evenings and enjoyed the grilled chicken, beef kebabs (called brochettes), and real salad, with delicious flat bread that didn't taste anything like a baguette (air bread, we nicknamed it). Along the street were dozens of cafes. All the seats at the small tables face the footpath and the men oogle the men as they go past. They sit for hours with their green tea and mint or small glasses of coffee and catch up with their mates. The cafe is the man's domain while the kitchen is the woman's.

One evening, after dinner, we walked past a pool room and a group of about five teenage boys came up pointing at us, shouting and jeering. It was really strange behaviour and felt uncomfortable. When I gestured what, they swore, " f... you" and went back to their game. We were at a loss to explain why they did this. We were both covered up in the important places, and wondered if they thought we were Americans and were expressing their displeasure at what had happened to Osama Bin Laden, or if there had been some other event that we had not known about that could cause such a negative reaction to tourists.

The parks at this time were busy with women and children enjoying the cool of the evening to play football or just run around. We saw babies in strollers for the first time for many months, no one was carrying goods on their head or babies on their back. A few women were all in black but most were wearing multicoloured scarves and dressed beautifully. Several young girls were wearing jeans and tops without anything on their heads. Most of the younger men were in Western dress with the older men preferring the gown and embroidered cap.

We were able to Skype our daughter and heard that the family cat of nearly 20 years had died. He had a great life but was showing signs of senility over the last couple of years.

Bought a bus ticket for the government run air-conditioned bus to Marrakech the day before we needed to head out. We were asked if we had photocopies of our passports, well that's what we think the conductor asked us. So we were ready with our unused copies from Mauritania. At the first stop we showed the policeman the copy but he wanted our passports. At this check point a young policeman in his green and red uniform accompanied us and we never stopped at any other check points until Marrakech 22 hours later.

Nouadhibou, Mauritania

Left Nouackchott by Global bus. Lamir from the guesthouse had told us Global was the best company with air conditioned buses so, on his advise, bought a ticket the day before. Even though everyone had a seat number there was still a stampede at the door to get seats. The bus was what we have used as a commuter bus in our country, with hard backed upright seats with minimal cushioning but a whole lot more comfortable than the sept-places and minivans that we had been using to this point. It left at four in the afternoon which was a good time as we would be driving parallel to the coast through the desert. The air con was inefficient but we were able to catch some of the breeze through the driver's window. The road looked newly constructed and was very smooth. We heard that the original road ran along the beach at low tide.

The moon was quite bright so we were able to see huge herds of camels and see the herders' tents. There were large rectangular blue PVC 'pillows' of water beside each tent community which we deduced would have been filled with water from tankers plying the main highway and probably the only way the nomads could get water while on the move. They could be easily rolled up and carried by camel when empty.

We arrived in the dark at just before midnight at the Global bus office and had no map and no idea where we were. Of course we expected to be chased by taxi touts but there were only enough cars for the families who had ordered them and we were left alone on the side of the road. We had no choice but to flag down any lights coming towards us and hope they were a taxi or would give us a ride to the campement we wanted to stay at. Someone did stop and after dropping off his two passengers took us to the camp where we wanted to stay.

Even though it was after midnight there were women and children sitting on mats on the floor eating food. They found a male to take us to our room.



We were lucky enough to get the largest room with three narrow thick foam mattresses on the carpetted floor. The other six rooms were rather cell-like. The bathroom was a long walk across the sandy car park and we had a key for this as the locals from the shops nearby used the other two unlocked toilets and showers. There was even a gas water heater to have a hot shower. At one end of the rooms was an open kitchen with a gas cooker where we could cook if we wanted. In the morning we met Rina from Japan and Axel from Sweden.



Rina was planning on a year in Africa and had been to Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco first. She planned to take the longest train in the world, 2.3 kms long. The train carries iron ore from Zouerat to Nouadhibou and has only one passenger carriage which gets really crowded. If you ride in the empty ore bins it is free and we met a young French guy who did this. He got covered in dust from the ore and it went all through his pack. Each time the wagons slowed they clunked and crashed so he couldn't sleep and at night he froze even with all his gear on. We would have liked to have gone to the Adrar area too but the summer temperatures can get to the high 50's so we decided to add it to the bucket list. Axel planned to do the same trip but we never saw him again as he headed off to stay with a Senegalese family he had met in town.



There was nothing else in our room except for the three mattresses and a small table but it was warm at night and cool in the day. There were two wooden shutters that covered the window holes to keep the sand out and let light in, as well as one light bulb.

The kitchen walls were covered with copies of photos of groups who stayed here in the heyday of 1997 when there was a huge camel herders' tent in the yard. The tent has gone and looks like nothing has been done to the place since then.

Some of the houses and shops on the outskirts of town built from recycled wooden crates or pallets.

The wind was cold and we put on jackets for the first time in about three months. The local men dressed in their blue or white traditional gowns with western clothes underneath. The gowns were billowing in the wind and to stop being blown off or blown along like a parachute kite, this man had to wrap himself up tightly.

I was not feeling well with a cough and runny nose and needed to rest and stay warm. John went for a walk to check out the port and fishing. The seas are overfished but Mauritania has given licences to European fleets. There are dozens of partly submerged ship wrecks rusting away

amongst the trawlers in the bay.

On the shore there are racks of drying fish.



We were able to find a pretty fast internet shop and a nice place to eat rotisserie cooked chicken with chips. The people we met who had come to Mauritania all said there was not much here and not a lot ot do. We had not planned on spending too much time here and would have liked to have spent more just appreciating the gentle nature of the people.

It is noticeable after Senegal how pale skinned the people are. The only worker in the camp was black. He had come to Mauritania from Mali, but ran out of money so the owner gave him a job cleaning the place and running errands for the women in the family house at the front of the camp.

Mauritania has outlawed slavery several times but it seems people are still slaves here. Read more http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2011/06/the-country-where-slavery-is-still-normal/241148/

Nouakchott, Mauritania

We were definitely in the Western Sahara Desert. As soon as we started towards Nouakchott we could see the sand dunes changing colours. In some places the dunes looked red or orange and then they would fade to a peachy colour. In the lower area where a lot of the locals were living in small communities the sand would be grey or white.

There were many structures like this where the bottom half of the wall was made of brick or concrete to protect from the wind and blowing sand. Some people were sitting around inside while others were lying down.

Other communities had tents rather than permanent structures. We were surprised there were so many small communities in such a hostile environment. There was very little distance between the settlements. Some buildings were made of wood and looked like they had pulled pallets or wooden boxes apart to make small huts to live in.

This community had quite a large town centre and the driver and the Senegalese passenger got out here to wash their face, hands and feet and pray. The Senegalese guy spoke slow clear French so we were able to chat with him easily in our bad French. He had been back to St -Loius to have some teeth pulled and was heading for Nouakchott for a few nights and then onto Nouadhibou where he coaches a senior football team.

It was quite hot during the drive and there was not much activity in the desert. The sheep, donkeys, and goats stood in what little shade they could find under the trees and very few people were out and about. The camels wandered across the road and seemed to have the most energy as they looked for food. 75% of the land is desert or near-desert and this is increasing. As wood become scarce. dried animal dung and kerosene are being used for cooking.

The driver took us to a guesthouse that Swedish Anette had recommended near the main city market. We were given a huge room with a shared bathroom at the back of the main building, which was a cafe/ restaurant. There were lots of mosquitoes so we asked for a room with a net. Said, the owner arrived with some hooks and a net and proceeded to set it up over the bed. This is the last area that we know we will be in, where we can still catch malaria. So, after a year of avoiding it, we do not want to get it now.

We had to go to the market to change some Euros into the local currency called ouguiya (UM). It has been so wonderful travelling in the CFA countries where they all use the same currency. The market was pretty modern compared with others we have been to. It was clean and well organised.

Nouakchott is about 50 years old and the streets look newly sealed with lighting that works and footpaths that can be used by pedestrians. Some small streets are still sandy and there are no obvious open drains.

Mauritania is a Muslim country and it is illegal to bring alcohol into the country. Some of the tourist hotels have alcohol and a beer is about 8 Euros. The women wear coloured head scarves rather than black veils and we were surprised to see quite a few of them smoking. After Senegal, we welcomed the peaceful gentle approach of the Mauritanians. There were no touts hassling us and the locals left us alone.

The guesthouse cafe was busy with locals coming and going from about eight in the morning until late. Some men arrived for coffee with their laptops because there was free Wifi. There were also tables outside where they sat and watched everyone go by. We met a man called Lamir, he was a friend of Said and spoke excellent English. We chatted to him, when he was about, and learnt a lot about Mauritania. He said you can say what you like about the government and the king and there was a free press. He had worked for various non-government organisations and was a translator. He brought his friend along one night who was a lawyer. He had studied in Russia and and also did a lot of work for NGOs. In no time his rusty English improved. I showed them my books on NZ and they were most interested in all the different kinds of sheep we have
and also did a lot of work for NGOs. Later in the evening Lamir brought his wife, Tisnet, in to meet us. He invited us to visit he and his wife but John had already bought tickets for the bus the next day which was a shame. His wife made beads but couldn't speak any English at all.

Mauritania has about three million people of which 60% are Moors (Of Arab and Berber descent). It is like the buffer country between the northern Arab world and the southern Black African world. The men wear a light blue or white robe over western clothes and favour the white turban like headdress. There are no brightly coloured robes like we have seen in the other West African communities.

We tried some of the local fish that the cook went off to the fish market to buy especially for us. He also had a large group of locals book in for dinner so he got red fish for them. Like all the coastal countries, overfishing is a problem and Mauritania has sold fishing rights to EU fishing fleets.

Saint - Louis, Senegal

Getting out of Dakar was easier than we expected. We could have got in the first sept-place but the last two seats were in the back which has no leg space and is pretty uncomfortable. We waited for the next one and John got a front seat and I sat behind the driver. The driver was very careful and drove at a comfortable pace. We have heard so many people talk about the terrible drivers they have had and so far have only experienced one bad driver who fell asleep at the wheel in Togo.

The vegetation is getting noticeably drier as we head north towards the desert areas. The trees are getting smaller and more sparse as the big trees have been felled for boat-making, building, and firewood. There are lots of horse/donkey carts carrying people and goods from place to place.

We were lucky to have met a young Brit who told us about the jazz festival in St-Louis. There are no tourist offices as we know them. If there is such an office, the staff don't speak English and they only sell guided tours. They do nothing to promote tourism in other parts of the country other than where they are. This means we never saw any posters about the festival so didn't know that it would be on while we were in St-Louis. Once we knew, we decided to look for accommodation online and found a place available five kilometres away by the sea.

The transport depot was on the outskirts so we took a taxi to the island of St-Louis. It was the first French settlement in Africa and the capital of the vast French West Africa until 1958 when the capital moved to Dakar. Today there are still many 19th century colonial buildings in various states of renovation and decay.



When we arrived in town we got some money from a bank and while I looked after the bags, John headed off to see if there was any reasonably priced accommodation in town. Unfortunately there wasn't so we had to taxi out to Hydrobase to the resort place we had booked.

The place had a pool, tennis court, restaurant, souvenir shop, a library with only one English book, free Wifi, and lots of bungalows. We were the only guests and got a room with air con, hot water and a sea view. We didn't need the air con as the wind off the sea was cooling but we did enjoy the hot shower which we rarely get. The restaurant served a three course set menu. I had terrible hayfever so dosed up on antihistimine and paracetamol that we had brought from home. We decided to stay in and eat and were the only diners other than the French owners. What a treat, crab entree, zebu main and creme caramel and chocolate mousse. It is the low season and with over 130 rooms this place must get packed in the high season.


To get into the town the receptionist, who spoke very good English, suggested we take a taxi but we decided to walk towards the fishing village and take a local bus. They are pretty basic inside, with seats for 20 but we had a few standees and lots hanging on the outside, and colourful outside.



The fishing village was chaotic. There were trucks dripping with fish blood and pieces of fish scattered across the sandy road. Young men were dragging nets through the water as boats were unloading. Women were processing fish for smoking and lads loading ice tubs and fish onto the trucks. The bus had to stop several times to wait for the horse and carts carrying people to and from the African Quarter opposite St-Louis Island. The streets were sandy and washing was hung from one side of the street to the other along the side roads. There are all sorts of dwellings thrown together with materials found about the place. Whole families seem to live here full time on the shore amongst the boats and in the middle of the village where the action all happens. The best constructions along the shore are painted concrete shelters where men in their billowing white robes sit, sleep, pray or drink tea while gossiping with their mates.



These lads were keeping afloat with a sack full of plastic bottles and playing to the crowd as they walked over the bridge.



These Talibe boys were competing with the street cats for the food given by the shop owner. So far we have seen Talibe boys in Burkino Faso, Mali and Senegal. They were officially banned by the president of The Gambia, we were told, but it seems they do exist there too. Senegal has an estimated 50,000 Talibe boys. The young boys are pretty good and will leave you alone if you say no to them, but the older boys can be pretty aggressive. We have often seen the older boys bully the younger ones when they have been given money or food. The religious leaders feel that begging teaches the children humility. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11265339 Check this link for an article on the Talibe boys.)



The Bou El Mogdad, built in the 1950s, used to trade between the villages on the Senegal river until a dam was built. A local travel agent bought the ship back to St-Loius and now it is used for cruising, which apparently feels like being on a boat from an Agatha Christie novel.



The main bridge is lit up at night and has a rotating centre section to allow ships to pass. At present it is being rebuilt with aid money from the EU.

We were able to get tickets for the jazz festival from the tourist office and after eating, yet another terrible shwarma, it seems standard to fill them with fried chips and not much else, we hung out near the square where the marquee was set up for the concert.

At what we thought was a reasonable time we went in to find we were the first to arrive. I was still unwell so we needed to find somewhere out of the cold wind. The first act didn't start until 9.30 and then there were still hardly any people. They were the Serrano Collina Technojazz Ensemble and were followed by Chico Correa group. We didn't much like the technojazz. By the end of the concert the marquee was barely a quarter full. A young local drummer with a beehive stack of dreads appeared as a guest percussionist and he was wonderfully talented with his African drums.

The second night we saw Michaela Rabitstch, a trumpeter singer, from Austria. She did a great job and was so impressed with the local percussionsit that she invited him to join her for a few numbers as well. There were still only a few people in the audience. She was followed by a Dutch pianist who accompanied a Mauritanian woman. Her name is Malouma and she is a celebrity in Mauritania and famous for her Sahel Blues style of singing. She is also a politician and a campaigner for womens' rights. She played a traditional harp and it would have been great if we knew what she was singing about. However she did get the crowd clapping with some of her tunes. John described it as screeching. Her website mentions that she is not afraid to sing about some of the taboos. As well as these shows in the marquee there are other acts at some of the locals cafes and bars and they begin when the marquee shows finish after midnight!

We have an annual jazz festival in our area and it is an enormous affair which has grown and evolved over the last 49 years. They will celebrate their 50th anniversary next year.

We haven't seen a lot of graffiti for a long time, and the street buildings and blank walls were covered in it. Some were comments about the president while others looked like comments promoting political groups. Most signs were written with black spray cans while a few were colourful works of art. Sengal is renowned for its 'sous-verre' or reverse-glass painting and I would have liked to have bought a sample or two but they would be too heavy and fragile for the kind of travel we are doing.

On the 17th of June we will have been in Africa for a year and it is also when our travel insurance runs out. We spent some time looking for a way to get ourselves covered until we return to NZ on 25th July. The Southern Cross Travel Insurance we had, only has one year policies that cannot be extended and their month by month options are very expensive. We really need to be covered if we get ill in Morocco or UK and we remembered meeting a young lad a few years ago who had insured with a company through Lonely Planets, so we did that and got a far better deal with comprehensive cover than we could have got with anyone else. http://www.worldnomad.com/

We had an early start to leave St Louis and head for the Mauritanian border at Rosso. We had to taxi to the gare routiere and wait for a sept-place to fill. We got the most comfortable seats and while we waited a lot of Talibe boys came begging for food or money. One little lad spent a long time chatting to me with sign language. He seemed about seven or eight and was so delightful, I could have taken him home. He had about a cup and a half of rice and a couple of small biscuits in his tomato paste tin. A couple of times some of the bigger boys tried to steal his booty but he fended them off. There was a kind lady with a stall who lined a few of the young boys up on a bench seat and gave them something to eat. There are dozens of needy people going round and round the vehicles begging, blind women, mothers with babies, old men, disabled people on crutches, and young girls.

The farms outside of St-Louis, on the way to Rosso were a sea of green with rice, sorghum, millet, peppers, tomatoes and other vegatables. There were sprinklers and channels supplying the crops with water and looked so fertile after the sandy desert areas we have been to.

At the Senegal border crossing the policeman didn't know where NZ was and wouldn't exit stamp me out of Senegal. He kept asking where it was and short of getting out my map and showing him he didn't believe our explanations. I was getting a bit exasperated as we knew the border on the Mauritanian side was closed from 1pm and it was already 12.15. Luckily a pot-bellied officer with a lot of brass buttons and braided epaulettes arrived and rescued me. He knew where it was. The policeman put John's details in his EU departures book and couldn't find a book for me. He had a book for locals, one for African member states, and finally put me in his departing diplomat book.

Our guide describes Rosso as a fly-blown place and I think they were describing the touts. We had a line of them following us to show us the money changers so they could get a tip. We knew we had to take a ferry across the river to the Mauritanian customs but the touts and their cohorts managed to distract us away from the free ferry and then proceed to try to find us a paying pirogue with one of their mates. John changed some Euros and we shooed them away and rested until the 'flies' had gone and then joined a group of locals to cross the river. By now the post was closed on the Mauritanian side and a policeman wanted to take our passports. I played the 'I go with my important passport' role as we knew the office would not open for two hours. Eventually we were taken to a room and a translator found who told us we had to pay to have our passport stamped. We knew it was coming so were not surprised. We refused, adding we had paid too much for our Mauritanian visa anyway, and we sat on our bags and said we would wait it out. Luckily another pot-bellied officer with brass buttons and braids appeared, stamped us in and let us go for no charge. Waiting with us was a Sengalese man who coached football in Mauritania and was heading to our next destination of Nouakchott. We managed to negotiate a ride in a Mercedes taxi for the three of us and headed off away from the flies!

Mauritania marks our 12oth country visited!

Dakar, Senegal

Caught a minivan to the Seleti border with The Gambia. The immigration officer had no idea where New Zealand was and wouldn't stamp me into The Gambia until he had phoned head office and got a reply. He could see that I had already had stamps from my entry in to Basse Santa Su in the east of the country but he still wasn't convinced that I was able to get in without a visa. Some of the border guards we meet are pretty basic and they have so much power. John was using his UK passport so he had no problems.

When we arrived back at the guesthouse in Fajara, everyone we knew there was so surprised to see us as they had assumed we'd continued to Dakar by boat. Elizabeth had returned to Netherlands the day before and planned to return to see her boyfriend Famada again in January. Alfred had found a better place to rent for his bakery and was overseeing the renovations and was pleased to have been able to find the place had accommodation so that he could live on site. Mouctar still hadn't got his computer back from the police and was spending his time reading up on information for his studies. He said his country did not have a good record with human rights so he was unable to ask them for help to get his confiscated things. Fleur and Wendy had a couple more weeks in Fajara before taking a two week break and then heading back to Netherlands.

There was a new lady at the guesthouse from Alabama. Lesley was working for the United Nations in development. She told us how she had been a pilot for the UN in the Sudan and was shot down. She had to give up flying as she had a heart problem so was working in nutrition and maternal health. She had spent time in Haiti after the earthquake and told us about how the begging children would hang onto the vehicle as they were desperate for money. She is currently visiting schools to analyse the food given to the children. There are concerns that there is a increasing number of obese people in Gambia. As soon as her research is finished in Gambia her and her husband plan to move to China where they will set up a business.

We headed off early in the morning to catch the first ferry across to Barra. We had to make an early start so we would not arrive in Dakar too late at night. We crossed at the Karanga border into Senegal and were pleased that I had opted for a multiple entry visa for Senegal so making it easy to enter for the third time.

The ferry waiting area was jammed with people and when they opened the gates there was a crush of bodies. There was nothing separating the passengers boarding from the vehicles loading so it was a frantic chaotic rush to get a place on the ferry. People jammed between the trucks and cars on the deck as all the indoor seating areas were already overcrowded. There were people on the stairs and under the stairs.

A second ferry headed into dock as we pulled out and all the local fishing boats were getting ready for a day's fishing.

he back seat with one other in the sept-place ( 7 seater) that took us to Dakar. There was not much leg room but we were thankful that the guy in the back was not overweight. Fortunately the road was in pretty good condition and only had to spend about two hours dodging potholes and driving on the road edges.

Passed through the salt pans of Kaolack and through Saly. The landscape is pretty dry and other than mangoes, cashews and baobabs there were no other crops. The village houses are square mud ones with thatched or corrugated iron rooves.

We expected it to be chaotic on our arrival at the gare routiere (transport depot) in Dakar and were pleasantly surprised when we had an easy time getting a taxi and finding our guesthouse. This was probably because it was a Sunday and also because we were not arriving late in the city.

The guesthouse was on Ave Pompidou and well known for its persistent touts. The manager gave us a huge room with a lounge and we could have slept five or six people. It was pretty comfortable with an area that would have once been an apartment kitchen.

We tried the local Lebanese restaurant called Ali Babas and found the falafel sandwich to have more fried chips than falafel. Even the hamburgers here are full of chips and have very little meat. Not at all nutritious or appetising. As we only eat twice a day I look forward to a nice evening meal. When we are sitting in vehicles all day we don't need to eat as much as we are not burning it off. However we still manage to put on weight...even in Africa!

Dakar was noticebly different from some of the other west African cities we have visited because even the small side streets here are paved or sealed. Lome, Cotonou, Ouagadougou, Bamako and Banjul all have sandy side streets. We ate at the Alliance Francaise, the French Cultural Centre, but it was pretty expensive and my meal was well charcoaled. We found a huge supermarket with all kinds of goodies. There were trays of instant mixed salads, hot pizzas, and cooked meats so we were happy to prepare a meal in the room than suffer more shwarmas.

At the Alliance Francaise was a band rehearsing, so we decided to have a seat and listen to them playing. It turned out to be a selection heat for a show similar to the Pop Idol shows that are plaguing the world at present. There were some very talented guys singing and only three women. The audience were hilarious. Sometimes we couldn't hear the singer because they were singing along and whistling and calling out the singers name. Some of the audience would dance in front of their seats. We were not sure if they liked the song more than the singer. The songs that got the most response were Senegalese ones. One talented young lad, with a red tinted curly 'Mohawk' hairdo, did a Frank Sinatra song in the local language with a fast beat and some ballet twirls.

Ave Pompidou is well known for its torture by touts. From the terrace of our guesthouse we could watch the same hawkers coming by regularly throughout the day. At night a lot of them sleep on the street beside their merchandise. In the main square, a tee shirt seller tried to get into John's shirt pocket, as his accomplice, the sunglasses seller tried to distract him. I pushed the tee shirt seller away with a thump on the shoulder and John kicked his mate in the bum. We have inner pockets in our pants that have zips, where we keep the day's spending money, so don't worry about the pickpockets being able to get any money from us and we also wear our passport pouches under our shirts and carry money in pouches buttoned inside our trousers. We try not to carry our daybags with us in the streets as they make you a target. It is wearing having to respond to the peddlars and beggars everytime you walk in the street. We have no photos of Dakar city as we didn't feel comfortable carrying a camera around.

The main reason for being in Dakar was to get a Mauritanian visa. We had to drop our passports off on the Monday and pick them up on Tuesday. They were pretty expensive ,NZ $123, for 14 days. We enjoyed our walk from the embassy to our hotel where none of the street sellers or peddlars bothered us as we were away from Ave Pompidou. Even the stall holders in the market left us alone. Interestingly we didn't pass any sheep, cows, donkeys or goats on our city walk. On the outskirts of the city we did see places that looked like feeding lots for sheep and goats. Two or three car tyres were stacked up and filled with feed for the animals and it looked like buyers came to these places to buy their animals when they wanted them.

From here we are headed for Saint Louis and the jazz festival.

Cap Skirring, Senegal

Ziguinchor is where we had hoped to catch a boat to Dakar but when we went to buy the ticket we discovered that the boat was being serviced and not due to sail for another ten days. We were looking forward to a change of transport as well.

We checked into a nice guesthouse with a garden and got free Wifi so we could do some catching up and look at other travel options. At the guesthouse we met Terry from the UK. He had interesting stories to tell about his African experiences. He had a local wife with two children but they were no longer on speaking terms. He had come to spend time catching up with his sons who speak more French than English, and had organised British passports for them. He also had an ex wife in Zimbawe with a child and another ex in the UK with two adult children. He had sold his house and was using the money from that to travel and it was nearly at an end.

We also met Laurent from France. He had a hotel in Guinea Bissau and a boat that he used to run fishing charters. Unfortunately his boat got stolen so he was in Senegal looking at what kind of business he could get into here but spent most of his time drinking pastis, a French aperitif, and chasing a local lady. Both he and Terry kept us entertained. Terry was able to tell us where to find good places to eat as there is not much to see or do here. We were able to find a bar to watch Barcelona and Manchester United in the Champions League Final. Unfortunately the power went off at the beginning of the second half and we missed Barcelona's two winning goals.

As we had some time we headed for Cap Skirring on the coast. We had a good trip by sept-place and the road was in excellent condition with a lot of it through the lagoons. A lot of the mangroves were planted in straight rows and we wondered why they were farming them.

We had to visit several guesthouses along the beach front outside the village of Cap Skirring before we found a place to stay. Some of the places were renovating and looked like construction sites. One place wouldn't give us a room without air conditioning even though the weather is cooler and we weren't going to pay for something we didn't need. Finally we got a place that suited us. It had a separate bathroom and a wee covered alcove with a cooking area. It also had a lovely garden.

Looking from the beach to the hotel which is in the middle.

The beach was quite nice and absolutely deserted. The little stalls on the beach were open but no one was buying anything. The beach restaurants were all closed as it is the low season. Many of the hotels owned by mostly French and Swiss people are closed as well.

We walked into the town every night for a meal as we couldn't find anywhere on the beach to eat. The only restaurant open in the town would organise food for us each evening. We would order food with the owner and go to the internet shop. The restaurant owner would rush off to the market and a bar down the road and get our food ready for when we got back. He would also give us a free dessert so we enjoyed his grilled chicken, fish kebabs, steak, and John got addicted to the prawns.

We enjoyed our days on the beach without any touts or 'bumsters' like The Gambia. We read a few books and I improved my Sudoku solving skills and John his computer Spider Solitaire percentages. There was a small room off our unit where we could cook so we enjoyed having a big breakfast rather than having the usual bread and jam fare.

There is a huge Club Med resort at Cap Skirring and we never saw anyone on the golf course they owned that ran along the side of the town.

The sky was grey in the morning and we got our first taste of the wet season thunder and rains. The guesthouse's thatched dining area flooded as the roof needs replacing but we survived a night without any leaks.

The Cap area has lots of foreigners with businesses, mainly Europeans. In the wet season they head back to Europe where it is warming up and then they return for the peak seasons when the rains stop.

We wanted to go onto St Louis but discovered that they are having a jazz festival over the time we want to be there. We spent a bit of internet time trying to find some reasonably priced accommodation there.

The cheaper slower option to a sept-place is this minibus!

After a relaxing time in the Cap we returned to Ziguinchor where we would catch up with Anette from Sweden, whom we had met in Bamako. After Ziguinchor we plan to spend a night back in Banjul, The Gambia and then head onto Dakar.