Once again, I am in a terminal in Charles De Gaulle, surrounded by my sleeping peers. This time around, I am older, tanner, and possibly wiser. Who knows? I am also bored and tired. Usually, I would sleep, but I’m feeling antsy. I figure a long layover is the perfect opportunity to catch up on writing.
Let’s start with Thursday. We were rousted from our beds at some ungodly hour (by college standards) and were out of the house by 6:30. We were on our way to Goree Island, Senegal. Bill hired us a fancy white bus with “Discovery Tours” painted in blue on the side. It had air conditioning. How novel. To go north, we had to cross the Gambia River, and so we had our third and final trip on the ferry at Barra. You can buy almost anything on the ferry, from flashlights to toothpaste to baobab ice. There wasn’t any baobab ice that we could find, so we settled for wanjo ice, which was not nearly as satisfying. Another classic ferry fare is cake. Cakes in The Gambia are a bit different from cakes in America. They’re more like very sweet, crumbly bread. I had some dalasi that I wouldn’t be able to spend much longer, and it was my birthday. I bought myself a cake.
Off the ferry, we continued our journey in the lap of luxury. Really, air conditioning. It’s crazy stuff. We crossed the border into Senegal, our bus momentarily mobbed by girls selling cashews and boys trying to hit on us. Senegal seemed green to me. There were a lot of trees. The Gambia doesn’t have many trees. My eyes drank it up, responding to a thirst I hadn’t known I had. Pulling into Dakar, the capital of Senegal, we exclaimed over the tall buildings, the well-maintained roads, and the public art. We were certainly not in Kanifing anymore. I don’t know how I’ll respond to America when I get back. I have very mixed feelings on that front.
We ditched our bus and hopped on another ferry, this one taking us to Goree. Goree Island has a sad history, having once housed a hub of the slave trade and a fort or two to keep itself in business. Now, it is a favorite tourist destination, full of color, beautiful views, and overpriced art. A lot of the artists squat in the old fortifications, which I love. I think I have a bad habit of romanticizing poverty, but still. Turning things of war into homes and art studios? Fantastic.
Thursday evening, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday morning were spent on Goree. I didn’t end up buying any art. I’m indecisive and nothing really jumped out at me. I had changed a fair amount of my remaining money to CFA, but I have a lot left. I guess I’ll try to change it back to dollars when I’m in the States.
The dominant languages on Goree are French and Wolof. Senegal was a French colony, which explains the French. In high school, I chose to learn Spanish. Not helpful. The Wolof tribe is the one that seems to have taken over, which explains the Wolof. During our stay in The Gambia, I chose to learn Mandinka. Not helpful. I couldn’t really talk to anyone, so I kept largely to myself. I was also spending a fair amount of my time writing the draft of my final paper. Bill extended the deadline to Sunday, much to my (and others’) relief. I turned in something that obviously wasn’t the final product, but it was still something I felt was well written and said what I wanted to say. You can’t ask much more than that from a first draft.
The views on Goree were gorgeous. I took pictures. They’ll be online eventually. I think my parents might enjoy vacationing there. Neither of them speak French, but it’s so pretty I think it would be worth it.
We had to be out of our rooms by 2:00 on Sunday. Bill didn’t think to tell us this important detail until sometime after noon, and I didn’t get back to the hotel until 1:45 or so. Packing, needless to say, happened in a rush, but I’m pretty sure I got everything. I had wanted to take a thorough shower before hanging out in airports and on planes for 24 hours, but that didn’t work out. I did get a decent rinse, but it was a race against the clock. We caught the 4:30 ferry back to Dakar, and from there we hired another air conditioned (!) bus to take us to Hotel L’Ocean, where we had deposited the bulk of our luggage so we wouldn’t have to drag it to Goree. I stuffed my souvenirs and non-essentials into my suitcase, loaded it onto the bus, and said my mental farewell to Africa.
A short bus ride brought us to the Dakar airport. I volunteered to take Lauren’s drum as my second checked item, as she was already at her limit. She was in The Gambia all spring semester, and decided to stay on an extra few weeks while we were there. She had lots of stuff, and I only have one suitcase. Besides, I like Lauren. She’s pretty cool, and she let me borrow her guitar an awful lot. I was quite a sight, lugging two drums (Lauren’s and the small one I bought), my carry-on, and my suitcase. I am much less of a sight now that I’ve ditched the suitcase and one drum. I suppose I still look a little odd. I decided to wear the pants I got tailored, as they’re comfy and warm and I think they look cool. Perhaps they don’t look that cool to people who think I’m wearing pajama bottoms.
Our plane from Dakar left at 11:00 PM. We landed in Paris at 6:20 AM, right on time. It’s almost 8:00 now, and our plane leaves at 10:30.
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