And the end of spring break!

Whew! I haven't been the most loyal blogger. I apologize if I've left anyone feeling bereft. This is how my little vacation wound down, and I will fill you in on Kaolack very soon.

Day 5:

Minnesota has shaped the way I think in many ways, and without going into any deeper personal or sociological analysis, I’m just going to state that and that it has given me a certain practicality about the effects of weather on everyday life. For instance, when women in catalogues sport barely-there skirts with big winter boots, my reaction is more naturally, “What season could it possibly be where this makes sense?” and the cuteness is lost on me. This engrained weather-consciousness is also what causes me to be filled me with silly delight every time I get that first realization that I am “indoors” and “outdoors” at the same time. The first time I experienced this “Not in Kansas anymore! We don’t need walls!” feeling was at an already really cool, unique restaurant in Siem Reap, Cambodia (which also marked somewhere near the top on the list in my head of restaurants with the best som tom, which is important, because most restaurant just didn’t measure up to those cherished street vendors). It wasn’t until after the meal, when I stood up to leave that I realized there was no roof and some walls were missing. What?!?? What about snow and rain and hail and unbearable temperatures? I realized that night that open-air establishments make me absurdly happy, for some reason.

So I hopped out of bed bright and early and jumped in the pool (above which there was no roof) for a morning swim before investigating the hotel a little in the quiet morning hours. I found my way through the doors of a peaceful garden courtyard of flowers and colorfully-painted benches, nestled right in the middle of the hotel, where I caught some quiet time watching horses and talibe wander by as women swept the streets on the other side of the Crayola-blue metal gate.

As we were about to head out in search of lunch, we were invited by the friendly hotel staff to join them around their ceebujen dish, of course, because this is Senegal and you can’t pass someone who is eating or preparing food without being invited or simply yelled at to “Come eat!” People here are wonderfully hospitable (“Teranga,” which means hospitality in Wolof ((I think. It could be Seerer or Poular or something else)) is seen on restaurants and every sort of establishment here, as it’s what the Senegalese are apparently known for). And with that, we were off to the other Saly stop.

From there we called the folks who owned a campement in La Somone, a city we still wanted to visit after all the “wandering in the desert” adventures. With simple directions of “a left after the third speed bump,” we were on our way to the peaceful winding down of the week. Strolling down the main road, counting speed bumps, it hit me that we had walked, so, coming up to the main road from the coast instead of starting on the road, we didn’t know how many “dos d’ans” (the French’s much better word for “speed bump” is “back of a donkey”) we had passed before beginning our counting. All it took was a bit of broken Wolof questions to find we were very close.

It was a great little place, both for its beach with shell-stocked sand and the town itself, which ended up being my favorite of those we visited. The couple who owned it were rather quiet and peculiar and intriguing. They are people I think I’ll end up having to write about.

Wanting to go to a nearby bird reserve the next day, I asked directions from the campement lady, who again measured distance in speed bumps, with “the big baobab” as a point of reference. This last bit was funny just because all baobabs are “big,” and Senegal is covered in baobabs. The lagoon was completely beautiful. We even got the opportunity (because our guide was some guy with access to a boat who could tell us nothing but matter-of-fact untruths about bird species, as Renee corrected him under her breath) to uncomfortably disturb the flocks who were gathered on sandbars. Absolutely contented with staying at a watching distance from the birds, floating through a salty, blue lagoon, lined by mangroves, was a lovely afternoon to bookend our spring break.