Basingstoke to Dakar

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.

* *


A fisherman casting his net

* * *


A local fishing boat, the one used for the boat trip below.

* * *


These lizards wewe about 50cm long and a colony lived next to my chalet.

* **


It's a west coast ride so you got to expect the odd sunset, tjis one from Zebrabar

* **


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.

* * **


A closer view of pelicans

* * **


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.

* * *


The second wife doing the tea ceremony, at the first family, getting complicated, hope you are keeping up.

* * *.


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.

* * *


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.*


* * *


* * *


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.*


* **


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.


* **



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.

* * *


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.

* **


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.*

* * **


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.

* **


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.

* * *


It is prudent to let this lot pass before proceeding. First the cattle then the goats.

* * *


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.*


* * *


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.*


* **


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.

* * *


People crowded around the vehicles on the ferry.


* * *


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...



*

This really is fantastic stuff. You're a braver man than me.

Well....after reading this for 30 mins i'm still not sure if ya a mad Irish man or a brave guy who i envy..... Great to see someone take so much time to write a long report...funny and informative.....well done Jim and thanks....

Great to hear that you made the goal in one piece. We think that there is a book in this trip ... look forward to it.
Stay safe, be well, enjoy, and keep up the great blog.
Cheers
G&L

Gambia and back to Senegal

Thanks for the comments, brave or mad? Well I struggle with the first of those as all I feel im doing is dealing with what is in front of me and not trying to get ahead of myself and let the imagination run riot. As for the latter quality, I'll leave others to judge, there are arguments for and against.

So some words but no pictures. I do have pictures, and will upload them but for now the words will have to do.
___________________________________________________________________________________________

Gambia was not part of my plan before I left but in considering the timings I did believe I could get further than Dakar. I thought of Mali but it is quite a way to Bamako but I *didn't give the Gambia much thought. However the Irish lads I met were hoping to get here and I also met a missionary in Zebrabar who had been down here in his Dominator, 2 up with his son. It encouraged me it was possible if things fell into place. He was also the guy who said the road was 'not great' of course. Anyway I'm glad he encouraged me and let me borrow his guide book. The morning after arriving I started to check on the situation with the Mauritanian embassy here in Banjul. I found there was one and then wondered if they issued visas. The helpful Scottish lady looking after these apartments called the embassy and they said they did. So I gathered my papers, passport, copy of passport, 2 id photos, and they had a form for me tofill in. The cost was 47€, a bit more than in Rabat, but worth it to have a visa before arriving at Rosso again.*


The embassy is in the Seregambia district just behind a GT Bank, if anyone needs to find it. It is really a residence and quite informal. You bang the rear door and the gardner opens it and shows you up to the embassador's secretary. She is friendly speaks english and explains the process. We fill in the form, an english version of the Rabat form. She checks that I need a 2nd visa and that my single entry one can not be converted to multiple entry. She then says she will proceed with things and if it is agreed I should go to a the Keystone bank near the American Embassy and pay 47€ into a specific account. We agree I will call her at 1:30, if we get the go ahead then I should pay the money at the bank and return to her to collect the visa and passport. When I call she appologises that the embassador is not back from lunch, the same is true at 2:15 and now there is not enough time to go to the bank before the embassy closes at 3:00. (All this detail may sound boring but I could not find much info on the web when I searched, so this may be helpful to others doing what I am doing or travelling South to North). So we agreed we would leave it to the next day. Later she called my apartment and told me the visa was agreed and I should go and pay the bank in the morning and then come to collect. The only thing to do then was to try out the pool I had descovered at the back of the building. It was empty as was most of the apartments. A Dutch couple I met said it was because of the ebola scare, and their holiday was cheap and the flight was nearly empty.


They were an interesting couple, both bikers, and interested in my trip. They told me stories of touring Scotland 2 years ago and claimed it rained every day, not ideal as they were camping. They had toured around a lot of europe and were fun to talk to and easy company. That evening I passed on the pasta and had some local white fish from the same resturant. It was excellent and good value.


The visa story continued in the morning with a visit to the bank. I took a local taxi, which are very cheap, and although I did not know how long the bank would take, the taxi waited, on his own time. In the bank, I was directed to the Foreign department up stairs as I wanted to pay in Euros. There was some confusion over dollars and Dalasis (local currency) but once sorted, *I was told I would need to pay in Dalasis and they would convert to Euro. So I went down to their ATM, but both my Viza Debit and a Maestro card were declined. So I crossed the road to a GT bank and it seemed to work but would only give me a max of 29 notes. Since the 1 Euro equates to 55 Delasi this is not a high max from a cashpoint. The other strange thing is the largest note in circulation is the 100 Delasi note, and they are big notes. So you end up with wallets bulging, like you just won a poker game. Anyway I got the money and went back and completed the payment at the bank. Then off to the embassy again in the same taxi, in a vintage Renault 5, which started after turning over for about 15 seconds. The secretary recieved me in her office and began the paperwork. I had assumed this was done but she completed in front of me and went off to see the ambassador. This took a while and when she returned she said it was all done but... they needed to photocopy the visa and they were having a powercut and no generator. Would I like to wait. After about 30 mins she came out to me, still no power. I knew this because I had turned on the light in the waiting room just to check. Anyway she had a possible solution, if I liked she would give me the passport, with the visa, and if I went looking for a copy shop with a generator, then I could get it copied and bring the copy back to her. She stressed the importance if bringing the copy back. So this is was what I did, and I left the embassy the proud owner of a Mauritania visa. Getting back to the apartment I celebrated with a dip in the pool. This adventure travel is tough going!*


However, it is probably a good time to reflect on how exhausting the days are on the bike in this heat and heavy bike gear. Maybe I could have used lighter gear but I also wanted good protection. I suppose I could have used offroad armour like Forcefield and a light jacket, but this trip was going to cover a range of temperatures. I suspect it will be chilly in northern Spain on my return end of November. The combination if heat and tricky roads means the riding days are tyring. I'm not complaining but just saying you need to take this into account and I may not have allowed for it enough, but I'm trying to now. I find I can do a few long days and seem to maintain concentration and then rest up and be ready for the road again. Some would suggest riding less each fay, but that is not always possible, because of finding a place to stay. This would have been tricky in the desert as I was not brave enough to just pull over and set my tent up in the sand. Anyway, doing long days and resting up seems to work for me.


So now I had the visa I decided do a bit of bike maintaineance the next morning. For those interested, check and clean the throttle bodies, I thought I may need a 7mm socket so set off to the local shops to see what I could find. I was not hopeful but it gave me a chance to check out the neighbourhood. Each side of the road there was industry of some kind. Banboo furniature, selling large green melons, fresh coconut, etc. I found a small store with some tools painted on the side. I approached half smiling at the thought they may have what I wanted. There were 3 lads, teenagers, at the counter and a kid about 10 on thr chair inside. I asked if they had any spanners. They looked uncertain but eventualy found a large open ended spanner and offered it. I declined saying ineeded a small spanner, and the 10 year old said big "spanners are best" I smiled and explained that they were not "best" if the nut was small. My *comments did not seem to dent his faith in big spanners. They directed me to another place, quite some distance away, but I decided to begin the work and hopefully manage without the 7mm socket.


I started the work the next morning and it attracted a lot of interest around the bike. The security guard and some of the male staff of the apartments were keen to know if the bike was broken and what was I doing. Aparently the bike has been discussed a lot when i am not there. People asking how it got ghere, was it for sale etc.This work required the removal of much of the panneling around where the tank would normally be on a motorbike. On my bike the tank is under the seat. Finally I got to the point where I needed to remove the recessed 7mm screws and with the help of a leatherman and an 8ins socket I was able to remove the screws without too much difficulty. The part I wanted to clean, the throttle body, was quite clean but I was able to remove some deposit from the valve. *I was concious that this was not the best environment to be doing this work as the carpark was partly sand and quite dusty with cars coming in regularly to the supermarket, so had to work quickly and keep the throttle body covered at all times. I*reassembled the parts and fired up the engine and all seemed well. One thing I needed to consider is the effect on the engine of the quality of the local fuel which will not always be the same quality as in Europe.


In the afternoon I went out of town to a bird reserve about 10 miles away which was well recommended on the interent. It was good to be on the bike again and it seemed to running smoothly, but maybe it was because it was not loaded down. The area of the reserve was marked on my map, there was a GPS point for it but I had great trouble finding it the entrance. When I finally pulled the bike in and parked up I found an empty building which I'd assumed would sell tickets. However it was empty but out the back there were 3 people lounging in hammocks and my arrival did not disturb them. When I asked about a ticket one of them went to the empty building for a ticket and charged me about 50p. I expected some guidance, even for someone to offer to be my guide, but nothing. I asked where I should go and they vaugely pointed at a track. I locked my helmet in the topbox and the jacket to the bike and went exploring and the lounging resumed. I wondered about the security of the bike but was pretty sure these guys did not have the energy to even wander over and look at it, never mind steal it. The birt reserve was a puzzle. I could see it had been sponsorod by world bodies as a significant reserve, but as a visitor it was a disappointment. It was like birdwatching in a jungle. *You could hear birds but not see them. There was a narrow path which I followed to the sea and while I saw a few birds in one clearing, the most interesting sighting was of a family of mongoose scampering along the path. When I got to the sea the only bird I saw was a curlew. It was nice to see it, these were pretty common on the farm I used to live on in Ireland as a child. I returned to the bike which was as I left it, the lounging continued, and I headed back to the city.


I was getting quite comfortable in these apartments and decided I needed to move on. I would miss the bustle of the main road leading past the apartments with all the businesses it supported. The constant beeping of the taxis and general bustle of people going about their business. I resolved to try one of the coconuts I has seen the guy preparing and selling each day. It cost about a third of a pound and was prepared with the top 3rd of the fibrous cover removed and then a small circular cap of the nut shell was removed to reveal the white of the coconut. The white membrane was unbroken and the coconut milk was contained inside. I removed a disk of the membrane with a knife and it was soft, pliable and easy to eat, not the hard pith we get on coconuts in UK. The milk inside was quite rich and there was over a litre of it, I drank some but the richnesss was quite filling.


The next morning I packed slowly, checking email and phones. Packing the bike again caused interest and was approached and queried on my trip. People were very surprised that I had ridden all the way from UK to Gambia and in little over 2 weeks. In a way it put the journey in perspective a bit for me, having to explain about the journey. I did meet one French guy who had ridden his Honda Transalp down but down but meeting someone who had done this journey seemed a rarety to the locals. *It made me reflect that I had not met any other adventure bikers on the trip. I wonder if recent concers with terrorism and ebola was reducing the numbers. I finally got away late morning and headed east up the Gambia river. I was planning to stay in the *Tendaba camp about 150km away. The journey was pleasant, there were a number of security checkpoints but mo6se were dealt with without issue. One guy looked closely at my passport and noticed my 2nd name is the same a famous premiership footballer so we joked about it and he returned the passport with a smile. Perhaps I should keep a picture of the footballer in my passport holder to ease my way through future borders, Rosso?


The GPS took me to the door of the camp and I arrived as late lunch was being served to a large conference of locals. After the lunch was concluded I was allocated a room. There was some confusion as different prices were being quoted by the manager and the guy who showed em to the room. The managers price was of course highter. The rooms are simple circular chalets awith a concrete floor and a concrete bed base with a mattress. I had electricity, with plugs, which Zebrabar did not provide and a basic shower room. It would do. I had a shower and a wander around. It is in a great location right on the river with covered seating areas out into the river. There was not much birdlife to see as the tide was in and the river was full. The river is very tidal, even here 150km from the sea. At the camp reception I discused the possibility of a boat trip to the mangroves. He said that should be possible as there was a boat going out in the morning and I should be able to join. Wandering past the large bar I saw a group with birdwatching gear and approached. They were English and had just arrived from the east of the Gambia where they had been at another camp also birdwatching. They were discussing going out this evening and I cheekly asked if I may tag along. The guide was not too keen but he said he'd discuss with the birdwatchers. I was told by the guide they agreed but he then asked me for a contribution which was 2 days room cost. I could not pay that, because I had come with a limited amount of Delasi, but we agreed a lower figure with some difficulty. I joined the party and we left in a minibus.*


The people were friendly and interested in my bike journey. The birdwatching visit was to a local lagoon and we saw quite a lot. The guide and some of the birdwatchers were very skilled, spotting birds at some distance and also recognising calls before the bird was spotted. The highlight for me was a striking blue roller. I was pleased to have it identified as this bird had flown across my path on the way to the camp. Dinner for the birdwatchers and I was at 7:30 and I joined one of their tables. The discussions was very pleasant end they were ticking on a list the birds they had seen. So far on the trip they had seen over 250 different species, but they were aiming at reaching 300 before the trip was over. As dinner concluded the checking of the days sightings became a bit more formal and each bird on the list was called out and a yes/no on the days sighting agreed. I was feeling a bit out of this and maybe should have left them to it, but the other tables were busy, so I stayed reading my kindle. After the checking most of the birdwatchers went to their rooms and the guide approached me. He explained in very clear language that my staying at the table was not appreciated as this was a private group. I was surprised at his atitude . He then went to say he was refusing to let me join the boat in the morning. I had arranged this boat trip through the camp earlier and the camp explained that it was normal practice for them to slot extra passengers into these trips, however in this case the guide was not allowing it. The guys from the camp argued with the guide but he would not budge. He said the birdwachers had paid a lot for this tip and he did not want them compining I was getting the ride on the cheap. I do wonder if there may have some grumbles from some of the birders, as they are a bit intense and not known for sociability. As this was the only boat trip tomorrow I would have to stay one more day for the trip.


The next day was a bit cooler with some early cloud cover. I had breakfast and wandered out to the seating area in the river. One of the birdwatchers who had been ill was there. He had decided not to risk the boat until he was sure he was fully recovered. He was a nice chap from the north east and we spent a pleasant hour chatting, he was clearly sociable. Later I took the bike out and explored some of the roads to the national park. The roads proved to be heavily sandy and I had a few 'moments' before deciding not to risk the bike or me further and return to the tarmac. On the way back to the lagoon I had viewed the night before, I was amused to meet a guy on a bicycle with about 4 chickens on each handlebar, cycling along. Stopping a the lagoon again, I saw a group of yellow back pelicans, some standing in the water and others flying around. Beautiful birds. When I got back to the camp I carried out a modification on the bike I've been thinking of for a while, to move or remove my handlebar deflectors. I'm hoping it will increase the cooling of my hands and up my sleeves as I ride along. While doing the work a guy came over to chat. He was a bit older than me and very interested in the bike and watched carefully as I did the work. Was able to rotate the deflectors and hopefully this should help for the return journey.*


That evening I confirmed that there was a boat I could join in the morning and I decided to stay the extra night as I would want an early start from the camp when I left. Well the boat in the norning did not happen and was posponed for a further day, so I decided to leave. We resolved the price of the room to the lower figure and I ended up paying about £7 a night for my stay. While packing the bike the old guy came over again to chat and wish me well. Just as I was about to leave I noticed that my handle bar bag had been left open slightly and had been infested with tiny ants, hundreds of them. What to do, I didn't have time to clean them out as I wanted to get away but equally I did not want them being blown on to me as I rode along. So I swept off the ones outside and closed the waterproof zip, removed the bag and put it under an elastic net on the topbox. I'd deal with them later.


I left the camp and continued down the road following the Gambia river. It is a very good road and I'm sure put in to support the tourist trade. My intention was to return to Senegal via another route again crossing the Gambia river. I was led to believe that the crossing was a bridge, but I must have misunderstood because it was a ferry, with the usual hustle and bustle surrounding it. I rode past the long line of trucks and made my way to the front and was directed where to get a ticket. I did have a moments concern as I'd filled the bike with most of my Delasis and did not have much left. Then I remembered how cheap the Banjul ferry was and in fact the ferry cost the equivalent of about 30 pence. Having got my ticket I moved forward to see the ferry approach. It seemed to be come across sideways and I assumed, fighting the current. However it continued to approach the jetty still pretty sideways. In fact it crashed into one of the guide posts in the water with quite a crash and ended up with only the corner of the ramp touching the jetty. Clearly nothing could get off and it stayed like this for quite some time until some movement began. It took about 15 minutes to get correctly alligned and for the trucks to start to come off. I wondered if the co-pilot was driving or maybe the apprentice. What surprised me was there did not seem to be any concern around me but I was thinking, should be an interesting crossing! When the trucks started moving it was slow, the first truck too 5 mins to negotiate the ramp, the others not much quicker. I was looking at my watch as I had a long day planned, to return to near Dakar to see the Lac Rose that the Irish lads had discussed. The other thought I had was that some of the road I would use was also described as "not great" by the friendly missionary, so I had been warned.


This time I was at the front with the other bikes ready for loading and got on board and parked to the right near the ramp. However this would not do for the guy in charge and he pointed over to the left, as a car was coming in to that space. So I reversed up and parked on the left. Then he said I should come back and park in the gap in front of the car. Now no biker enjoys moving around on wet and greasy ferry decks and this was pushing it, but anyway I moved safely across and was much better parked than on the Banjul ferry. People were crouded around on the car deck and chatting. A soldier came over and stood mear me and we talked during the trip, watching my bike when I moved to take photos. The ride across was fine if slow and the boat was moored on the other side without incident. In this case the ramp is set in from the river and may not be so impacted by the currents.


When I got off the other side the other bikes and I were weaving through the pedestirians and hawkers on a rough road. We quickly came to the border with Senegal, now the Rosso border is with Senegal, so my pulse raced a smidgen. In fact it was a breeze and cost a total of the 5,000SFA for the Senegal Passavant. That is all it should have cost at Rosso. Anyway I got the all clear and was back on the "road".*It did not improve, in fact the road was as bad if not worse than the road to the Banjul ferry. What was different is there much less tarred sections so it was an unrelenting piste with a very bumpy middle bit (the old road worn away) and the sides which were smoother but sandy. I checked how far to the next town where I knew the roads improved, it was 75km. As I was doing about 25km on this piste, it could take some hours, if it was all like this. However there was no option but to press on. I then looked at the air temp guage and it was hovering near 40C. With going slow I was not benifiting from the cooling of the wind and was not helped as there was a following breeze. I carried on for a while but did not feel great. So I stopped in a shade of the tree and considered what I could do to change things.*


When I was in Banjul I had my bike jacket cleaned at the apartments and had taken out the armour before hand. For those not aware BMW jackets are a series of layers and have for instance 3 zips down the frodnt. The removal of the armour had reminded me that there was an inner mesh jacket insite the BMW Ralley suit. I decided to remove the outer jacket and I'd wear the mesh jacket containing the armour, crucially the back protector. Now the level of protection was less but it was a case of balancing risk. Continuing with the full jacket was exhausting me and this seemed a greater risk. So I set off with the mesh and was considersbly cooler and in fact it semed to make my bike handling more nimble. The road went on like this for about 30km. There were a number of vehicle breakdowns, with people standing to the side, or lying under busses or trucks, I was not surporised. I bottomed the bike a few times, hitting the centre stand hard but no damage and did not fall.


Eventually we returned to tarmac and picked up speed. It was still areound 40C so I rode for a while with just the mesh to continue to keep cool. The road and the ferry had cost me time and I needed to press on. I was particularly keen to get past Kaulack as it a bad reputation and was pleased to exit the other side still heading north. Of course now back in Senegal I had the joy of the speed bumps, the ones that make you slow down to a crawl, in every village and some villages have many, and many are not marked so only spotted at the last minute. But I made progress through the afternoon. I stopped at one point to buy oranges from a young girl, standing by the roadside at a speed bump. When I stopped I was surrounded by a number of sellers but baught from the one I'd seen first. I only had a note and probably paid too much but was looking forward to an orange later. I pressed on to the road which led to the Lac Rose (Pink Lake). I was hoping it was a tarmac road as I'd left the Irish guys heading for the lake on a piste but this was marked as tar on my map. When I got to the junction, there was a reassuring sign and a tarmac road but this petered out into the roadworks for the extention of the Dakar motorway. There was a rough track but it was not clear it was heading in the right direction. I turned around and instantly put Zebdabar into the GPS and it said I'd be there just as it got dark. Not perfect, as it was further than I wanted to ride but possible.


I started to ride and began to consider what I was doing. I seemed to be giving up too easily on a potentially beautiful place. I turned around as I realised there must be another road to the lake. There was one from the outskirts of Dakar and I took the motorway to join it. There was no junction from the motorway to the road so I passed by and came off at the next junction and looped around to find the road. I found the place where the road was supposed to start, which was narrower than I expected, and quickly degenerated into what seemed like allyways and rough ground, I was not convinced this was right. Just as I was about to turn around, I spotted another biker, not on a little bike something a little bigger, but he had stopped and was waving me forward. Now I was not sure following this guy would be a good idea but he continued to wave and I wondered if he knew the way. Well I followed him on one of the most tortuous urban rides I ever did. It was quite short but we went througd road works, sandy sections through the pedestrian sections of barriers and still my guide remained 75 meters ahead waving me on. What was partially reassuring me was we were following thr exact track on my GPS and eventually we came out on to the road, a proper road. My spirits lifted. The GPS said I'd be at the lake at 6:30, little did it know.


This road continued until the junction for the road to the lake. My hear sank. The road began with sand, lots of it. I hoped that it just began with sand and then went to a piste which was managable. Turning into the sand I did not like the feel of it. The bike weaved and danced and the front wheel seemed to have a mind of it's own. I nearly dropped the bike a couple of times and the sand was getting deeper and this road continued for 16km to the lake. After just over a kilometer I decided this was too dangerous and began to turn around, now turning around in deep sand is tricky but I got it around and now all I had to do was get back on the road without getting stuck or droping the bike. I was remembering a quote on sand riding, "momentum is your friend"(Tim Cullis) and kept the speed up. I did not get buried but the front wheel hit something in the sand and I was sure I was going down, but just held it and got back on the road. Again I put in Zebrabar in the GPS. With all the messing about the arrival time at Zebrabar was later and I had a fair bit of local road to navigate and had to accept I'd be riding at night. I headed off.*


The road was good and I made progress but the light was going and eventually it was dark with still some way to go. It became difficult to see things at the side of the road, goats and donkeys were wandering around. The villages were the worst. *I pressed on but then the new road ended and what was left was pot-holed not good in the dark and then I saw the familiar colour of piste as the road ran out, or at least turned to piste. Time to turn around and adopt plan C or was it D? I searched the GPS for hotels in Dakar, found a Novotel which seemed attractive and there were others so I retraced my steps to the motorway. I knew I was running low on energy and decided to stop and eat one of the oranges, biting into the skin and devouring the lot in a couple of bites. What do they say about always cleaning fruit before eating. It was now really dark and donkey and horse carts do not have lights, unless the driver has a torch he waves at you. There were a few carts. I may be labouring this but it was a bit stressful. I found that following cars was a reasonable strategy but difficult to find one at your speed so I followed the slow ones and in this way I got to the motorway.


I been considering my options again and probably trying to avoid the hefty bill at the Novotel and thought of the sailing club I camped at, a week ago on my way to Gambia. I was not going to camp again with the rats and cats but they also had rooms and I had Senegal money. The GPS had the location and off I went. The guy at reception was the surly guy who I had paid for the camping last time but when I asked for a room he brightened a touch and had someone show me to room, after I had paid in full first. The room was fine, basic, but aircon and a shower and I hoped the wifi would work. I brought the bike around and began onloading. I had picked up some bread and water at the petrol station and once I had a shower feasted on sardines and a slightly sweet bread. Quite a day. On reflection I realise that I should have gone for the Dakar option when I found the sand road but good decision making is a challenge when you are tired, but there is a lesson there if it can be learned. So what about the ants you ask...well I took the bag into the bathroom and emptied the contents into the sink so I could flush the ants down with water. I was astonished to find there were no ants, how had they got out, then I realised I had a cable going into the bag to run a phone charger and they must have climbed out the hole. Obviously did not want to cross into Senegal or got fed up of the rough road.

Great report to say the least

Riveting stuff... on the edge of my seat here!

Inspiring stuff, excellent read too

great stuff

keep it coming

Some photos of the last week or so, more to follow later today.

OK, no words this time some photos of the Gambia and the return to Dakar.


This little fellow was by the pool in the apartments in Gambia, eating a pink flower.




A pretty butterfly in the bird reserve near Banjul.




There were lots of termites nests, this one was about 4 meters high on the side of the road in Gambia.




These goats had carved out a nice niche for themselves, out of the sun, at the entrance to the Tendaba Camp.




The Irish Crossing sign at the entrance to Tendaba.




What it looked like, a depression in the road lined with concrete.




For the birdwatchers a little challenge....




Good to see this sign at the Camp.

...and the bird was a Hammer Kopf (? Spelling).*




A tranquil place to sit at Tendaba.




How to transport 8 chickens on a bicycle!




One of the delightful sand tracks in Gambia.




This little fellow crawled out of the river onto the pontoon, near where I was sitting. I seem to remember a David Attenborough where these were described a similar to the first creatures to come on dry land and grow legs. I was not scared of him I just lifted my feet onto the bench because it was more comfortable.




I'm told there were probably Hooded Vultures, I kept on the move just in case they were hungry.




The gentleman who came to chat to me while I adjusted my handguards and came to see me off from Tendaba.

Gambia and return to Senegal photos.

Rice planting in Gambia.



Sunset over the Gambia river.




The bike waiting to go on the ferry back across the Gambia river.




The ferry comming to dock, sideways, and never quite straightening up.




The bike on the ferry, it looks surrounded but it was in a much better place than on the Banjul ferry.




This was after the bad road finished and I got back to tar, seems I had time to think about using the camera again. A couple of yoked bullocks.*




**

Dakar and Goree island

Strange how my aim on starting this trip was to get to Dakar and I ended up visiting it twice. This second visit was better than the first, staying in a room at the Club de Voile d'Or. I slept well afther the memorable day returning from Gambia and went down for my complementary breakfast. It was clearly the new girl's first breakfast so she was heavily coached by the 2 mature French ladies who explained that they expected orange juice, jam with their croissants etc. Listening in to the coaching session I piggybacked on their improved breakfast and asked for the same additions. The setting is great, overlooking the beach and I'm beginning to think it's not the worst option for a few days in Dakar. At less than £40 for a room and breakfast it's not bad value with Dakar prices so high. As well as that the bike seemed secure as there is a locked gate and a security guard. One thing I had forgotten from my tent experience is that there is a military barracks next door and in the morning the training includes singing. It sounds like a scene out of one of the French Foreign Legion films of them singing as they march. The singing is not half bad either.*


When I had collapsed into my room the night before I planned to have a relaxed morning and move on to Zebrabar. As I had a good restful night, helped with air conditioning I wondered if I should use my time here and visit one of the places I had considered when planning the trip which was Goree Island, in Dakar bay. This island had a history of being a collection point for slaves before shipment to the Americas, *either directly or via a European port. Now that I had the time and a reasonble place to stay in Dakar I decided on that plan and went to reception to book my room for another night. It was a plesant surprise to find that the miserable female receptionist who had greeted me the week before was replaced with a pleasant smiling lady, who was also helpful. I discussed the trip to Goree and she explained I could get a taxi outside and should only pay 2,000 SFA. She also warned me to be careful of my rucksack as there were pickpockets around.


The taxi driver wanted 2,500 SFA but with the info from the lady got it for 2,000, unless it should be 1,000 and she gets a cut. Well it was not a great taxi and going slowly caused it to shudder, the windscreen of course was cracked and it was pretty tatty inside. Then when you saw the roads, they were comperable to the bad roads I had ridden on the Gambia trip. When we got to the terminal it was a modern affair and allquite efficient. I was approacked as son as I got out of the taxi by guys wanting to be my guide, who I ignored. Baught my ticket for 5,000SFA, had it scanned and entered the departure lounge. Then the guides became a bit more subtle as some of the passengers, mainly female approached and started chatting. Is this your first time, very historic island, etc. I declined them and the ones on the boat determined to find my own way. One sign on the boat amused me as it forbid the use of tom tom drums. A sign I've never seen on a ferry before, either cross channel or on the ferries in Scotland. So it there are any tom tom players looking for a ferry to play on, head for UK. As I got off the boat more guys approached, and when I thought I was through them, *this one guy was persistent but I was not to be stopped, when he explained that I had to go to the tourist office to his right and get a tourist ticket, it was mandatory. A bit sheepishly I complied.


I then had a scout around and tried to see where the guides led the tourists and *asually wandered that way too, hovering near the ones speaking in English, aparently looking the other way. Describing it now it seems a bit comical but that is what I did and picked up some info along the way. The most powerful sight was La Mason des Esclaves which was used to house slaves prior to shipment. The conditions were cramped of course and must it must have been a miserable and hopeless place to be interred. I found the little slot windows in the cells, which looked out to sea, showing the slaves where they were heading, particularly moving. Upstairs there was an exhibition of the whole slave trade, including the list of prominent European ports involved in the slave trade where Liverpool featured as the most important one for UK. Not too much of this was new to me but being in a place like this made it more powerful. A bit like my first visit to Dacau Concentration camp...actually walking through a gas chamber is a whole lot more real than any reading or viewing you may do.


After La Mason I wandered back to the port and towards the fortress I had seen as we arrived in the harbour. The fortress was now a museum set in this 270 degree building with gun turrets and cannon. The exhibition was a bit tired but some of it interesting. Two things caught my eye one was a gecko who had decided he was important enough to be exhibited here and a carved bust of the king of Dakar in the mid 1800's. Going in to the museum was interesting as there were 2 guys sitting on a bench making tea. I offered a 1,000 note for the 500SFA entrance and they took it asked if I'd like tea, which I declined, but did not volinteer the change. They said I should go inside I and I'd get it later. I suppose the brushing off of the guides and helpers had made me a bit suspicious but I suggested I'd quite like the change now. So off one of them went, was a way for a while, so I started to look at the exhibits, but he came to find me with the change. In fact on reflection I think the guy was just going to have his tea and then get the change and in this case I was the rude european. Hard to strike the balance between cautious and being open to friendliness I think this time I got it wrong.


On my way to the museum I had bought a couple of things off a stall and was then followed by a guy wanting to sell me a carving. He wanted 15,000 for it and was offended when I offered 1,000 for it, but not offended enough to stop him following me all they way to the door of the museum. When I came out he was still there, as I thought he might. The best price was now 12,000 and 1,000 was still an insult. Feeling generous I doubled my offer to 2,000. We had now walked for about 5 minutes and were back at his stall. He tried to interest me in other things and picked up another carving which I quite liked, but I kep the focus on the original carving. The price came down to 10,000, so I headed back to the harbour with the guy following holding the 2 carvings. I heard 9,000 mentioned, then 8,000 and I increased my offer to 2,500. You will gather I was enjoying this!*


Many minutes went by with him telling me how good the carving was and that it was in teak and very skilled work and in the end I said it was too expensive and walked away back to the harbour and the ferry which was just arriving. He shouted after me to come back and I beckoned him up to me and said I'd *pay 3,000 as a final offer, walked away again and he called me back and we finally agreed. Of course this was not the end of it, he still had the other carving, it of course was of a "better quality" and more expensive than the first. So I told him I would give him 5,000 and he had to give me the 2,000 change and I'd take the one carving. We were now in the harbour and he said he did not have the change with him, so I pointed out the bars who would have change or he could give me the other statue for the change and keep the whole 5,000SFA. *No, this was impossible he said, so I demanded my change and I'd take just the one. Giving me the change clearly pained him so in the end he gave me the 2 carving and kept the 5,000SFA. *So who got the best of the deal, who knows, but I got 5,000SFA of entertainment out of it over about 30 minutes. Of course buying presents in Dakar which need to be carried 3,000 more miles may not be the wisest move.

And.........more required please, very enjoyable

I'm heading for Rosso tomorrow and then Mauritania, South Sahara etc so no more updates for a few days. There be something to tell once I get to a decent WiFi, which I expect will be Layonne. Thanks for the interest.

Eh well I dunno if you are enjoying your trip. But I am Deffo enjoying reading along with you

Enjoyed your shopping anecdotes, rang a few bells You might think about posting carvings/gifts home... OUT of most African capitals is reliable and inexpensive enough, though generally avoid the provincial post offices. Safe travels, keep it coming

Dakar and back to Zebrabar

Back at the club is was able to use their intermittent internet and later had dinner in the evening. The prices are reasonable and it is a pleasant environment just by the sea. When eating my meal I noticed a commotion at another table also by the edge of the beach. I looked over the wall to the beach and saw a rat comparable in size to the one which had bounced off my tent a week before. It was reassuring in a strange way to verify that the size that I remembered was correct. I've certainly seen smaller cats.The time of day was almost the same and I wondered if it had a regular track at this time in the evening and my tent just happened to be in it away.


The next day I had planned to pack up promptly, get some euros from the bank and ride 250km to Zebrabar, not a heavy day, or so I thought. I headed for the local bank and got some money out with a card and went in and asked for euros in exchange for SFA. This bank told me they did not do exchange but the next bank did. So I left the bike at the first bank spoke to the security guard and asked him to keep and eye. I had parked the bike right in front of the main door. The next bank said at first it was no problem, the lady asked a colleague by phone what the rate was and I gave her the correct money and my passport. She went away but came back to say they had said no, but no explaination. However she said I should go to counter 1. I asked if I would be able to get the euro there and she said yes. Counter 1 was in fact an office and I tried the door but it was locked. *I then noticed a robed gentleman who looked like he was waiting for the same office, I confirmed he was waiting so I waited too, and waited. If it was not important I would have left but I had come to the conclusion that it would be wise maybe essential, to have euros in my wallet for Rosso and for travelling through Mauritania and Western Sahara. Finally the door opened and a client came out, as did the bank official. The bank official sauntered off and another 20 mins went by and he did not return. I gave up. There were a number of banks on this street so I went to the next. I was immediatly seen by an efficient lady and explained what I wanted. She understood and asked for my passport and something else. Then I understood she was asking for an airline ticket. I laughed and explained I was on a motorbike and did not have a ticked. She then explained that she could not help me. She seemed to point at other banks in the street and I was not sure if she was encouraging me to try elsewhere or saying the answer would be the same in the others. I went to another bank. They had a queue, and hand written tickets and a broken ticket innumerator. There were a dozen people in front of me and I was not given a ticket, well no ticket at first but eventually was given one. *I'm sure they understood the system. Finally after 20 mins or sothey indicated it was my turn. The young man had the same request for an airline ticket and it dawned on me this was a strict rule. He however suggested that I could get the money from a Bureau de Change in the centre of the city.*


So I went back to the bike and my friendly security guard and explained what in needed to do. He told me which way to get a taxi. Now any time I been on a street in the city I have been turning down taxis but now that I need one there were none to be seen I waited about 20 mins. While waiting a guy came over on his scooter and asked what I wanted. When I explained I needed to buy euros and go to the Bureau he made a call and handed me his phone, the guy on the phone was prepared to give me SFA for Euro, but not the other way around. The scooter guy motioned for me to get on the bike and follow him but I declined, he then gave me his card and said if I needed help in Dakar to call him. He rode off and I wondered if I had missed out on an offer of help. When the taxi arrived the security guard came over to explain to the taxi driver where I needed to go. When I got into the taxi I was frustrated at the wasted time, I should be on my way to Zebrabar already with the euros in my pocket. Then I realised that this whole task of getting euros was all a part of the trip and I should relax and take it all in. There would still be time to get to Zdbrabar, and if not I could stay in Dakar one more night.


The taxi ride proved to be one of the experiences of the trip. Not that anything spectacular happened but it was an opportunity of seeing a parts of Dakar I had not visited including going to the centre of town. The traffic was awful and I began to realize that it would have been a hard ride on the loaded bike to negotiate these streets. Watching the taxi driver it became clear that despite the bad conditions this was a guy who knew his way around and was skilled at getting through. He even upset a policeman by mounting the central island of a roundabout to get past a truck. He also turned around in one road because the traffic seemed blocked and choose the another road. As he was on a fixed fee there was no advantage in extending the journey. We went down back streets through markets but eventualy got to the Bureau de Change. The transaction was very easy and only a little more expensive than the bank. The taxi driver had waited for me and we headed back. There was initially some bad traffic and hawkers came up to the taxi to sell me things. The most optimistic guy was the one selling home made internal TV arials, an overland biker was not part of his target market I suspect but he tried. A girl was selling what were called in Ganbia "squeezies". They are sealed transparent bags of chilled water that you bite the corner off and and drink the contents, very refreshing. The taxi driver bought 2 and handed one to me. I think this was acknowledgement that we had shared an experience together in this hot taxi. Getting the euros had taken 4 hours from start to finish.


Arriving back to the bike all was as I left it and the Security man asked if I got what I wanted. Very quickly I was off and away with 250km to go, and a wad of euros in my pocket which felt comforting. As I already mentioned, the speed bumps in Senegal do slow progress and it was around 18:00 when I got to Zebrabar. This time I chose a simple cabin without toilet facilifies but at a modest £10 per night. I parked up had a shower and joined the dinner table. There was only one other guest, apart from the owners family, a young German girl in Senegal for 6 months at a college to improve her French. It was interesting to hear her perspective on living in a muslim culture. She said she could not go out on her own because of the attention she got. Her best offer was to be a guys second wife. I don't think she was too impressed. She seemed an experienced traveller and able to cope with it all. I retired early after the days events and resolved to have a quiet day tomorrow.


The next day was quiet and I caught up on some washing and internet and managed a swim. That evening I met a new guest who I had heard was interested in birds. In fact when I met the Spanish gentleman he was particularly interested in osprey. He works on a bird reserve in the north of Spain and is running a project to reintroduce osprey into Spain. It was interesting that I had mentioned osprey already in this ride report, comparing our journeys south, following a similar route. In fact I learned from the specialist that Senegal is a favourite winter location for the osprey from Scotland. So some of the osprey I had seen earlier were likley to be from Scotland. The specialist had booked a boat for the morning to see if he could see any osprey. As I had been down the river a couple of weeks ago I was able to show him pictures I had taken confirming there were osprey on the river. I suggested joining him and we spent a pleasant morning trying to get close to the osprey. These osprey seem particularly nervious of humans approaching, and when we got within about 300 meters they would fly away. This was particularly frustrsting because the specialist was trying to get a clear view or picture of them so he could tell if they were tagged on the legs and maybe view the tag to see where they came from.


That evening we chatted more as he was easy company and he showed me some GPS tracking they had done of birds released in Spain, showing their track south. Sadly the many of the early *Spanish batch have not made it successfully and it seems this is common with first time birds that there is a high mortality on the journey south. Once they have done the journey one time they seem more capable and manage it better. Later we resolved to return to the search the next day, this time going over to the island opposite Zebrabar and watch the osprey fish in the see and hopefully make some identifications. I decided to go into St Louis that afternoon on the bike to get some money, a few groceries and petrol. Aitor was interested in St Louis and asked if he could come with me as he was concerned at the mileage on his rental car and he did not want to use it. I declined as I was concerned at having a passenger with no bike gear, including helmet, negotiating the sandy road in and out of Zebrabar. However we came up with a compromise where he drove past the bad bit of the track and I would take him on into St Louis. We were doing fine until we came to the officious policeman as you approach the town. He pulled us over, he pulled almost everyone over. He came to me and pointed at Aitor and said he had no helmet. Now few people in Senegal wear helmets but he said it was an infringement. It all took a while to understand what he wanted as he would disappear to deal with another taxi or truck he had stopped. In the end it was a fine which Aitor paid and we were then unsure if we could continue the journey with Aitor on the back. Again he let us stew before coming over and saying, "no problem". So off we went still breaking the law, apparently.*


When we crossed the Eiffal Bridge we stopped at the prominent hotel and there were adventure bikes parked outside, the first I had seen on the trip, apart from on the boat. These were the real things, Yamaha XTs, KTM 990 etc. They were Spanish and I had a Spanish speaker with me. In fact they had good english and were keen to chat. We compared notes on the route. Their experience of Rosso was similar to mine which was reassuring for me. If these 4 tough looking Spanish guys were dealt with in a similar manner to me then maybe I should not feel I had not handled Rosso in the best way. The problem was Rosso, not me. These guys had another serious issue in that one of the bikes had a major engine problem where the timing chain had slipped and destroyed the engine. It could not be repaired in time and they were having to sell it, in fact that evening, as they hoped to return tomorrow. *They would then have to convince the customs it was a genuine sale and be allowed to leave. They suggested that I join them if I liked and it was tempting. To have company through Rosso would be a bonus. However, I had a few reservations, I wondered if the sale would go ahead, if the Rosso customs would buy the story, they were also planning to leave at 7 the next morning, which would mean a 6 start for me. Also the bike had not been checked over and it just seeemed too much of a rush. I asked the guys to let me know if they were really going in the morning and I would consider what to do. We looked at each orhers bikes exchanged complements and had a good biking time.


Aitor and I had a wander around part of St Louis, I got my money and we came across a bridge with a lot of people watching the river. In fact what was going on was a spectacle, with large rowing boats, with about 40 people standing up in each paddling up the river. It was wonderful to watch, the energy and commitment and the colour were a delight. We felt fortunate to come across this event and it was one of the highlights of the trip. We returned to the bike, said goodby to the Spanish guys and headed back. Just before the policeman I stopped for petrol and Aitor walked ahead, just in case we would get done again. As I passed the policeman he indicated he had seen Aitor pass and knew what we were up to, but again said it was no problem. He had got his money and that was the end of it. Ariving back at the camp in the dark I resolved not to go with the spanish guys, to stick to my schedule and stay one more day which would allow me to check the bike over and prepare properly and I suppose do my own thing.


That evening at dinner there were new guests, two Peace Corps volinteers from the US. I did not understand how the Peace Corps operated and was interested to learn that they worked in an area for 2 years, living with a local family and were taught the local language, not french as I might have thought, but the African language specific to that area. They then were given tasks to focus on, economic development or farming, and they were expected to develop projects to make progress in these areas. The living with a family was also good to learn about, eating with their hands, the very limited diet of the host family. One of the volinteers described eating millet and peanut oil almost daily in her host family and the struggle it was to adapt to such a limited diet. As the Peace Corps is funded by the american goverenment and these volinteers I met were from excellent universities it was an enlightening insight for me into this arm of US foreign policy.


The next day chasing the osprey was hard work trying to stay in cover but move close enough to see them well. They did fish in the sea, though we did not see one dive. We saw them perched eating fish and got a couple of good views, but did not identify any rings. Back at the camp I started to get ready to leave. The first thing was to check the bike over. Nothing too much this time as I had given it a good shakedown in Gambia. Checked oil and tyres and topped up as needed. We had a visit from one of the local monkeys, whicg i was excited to see but can be aggressive and do steal food from diners. I paid my bill yhat evening as I planned to leave at 07:30 in the morning for Rosso.


NOTE: When writing these reports I ideally like to interlink photos to the relevant part of the text. However operating with a tablet has made this difficult, at least for me, so forgive the block of text followed by the photos.

Dakar and back to Zebrabar

Back at the club is was able to use their intermittent internet and later had dinner in the evening. The prices are reasonable and it is a pleasant environment just by the sea. When eating my meal I noticed a commotion at another table also by the edge of the beach. I looked over the wall to the beach and saw a rat comparable in size to the one which had bounced off my tent a week before. It was reassuring in a strange way to verify that the size that I remembered was correct. I've certainly seen smaller cats.The time of day was almost the same and I wondered if it had a regular track at this time in the evening and my tent just happened to be in it away.


The next day I had planned to pack up promptly, get some euros from the bank and ride 250km to Zebrabar, not a heavy day, or so I thought. I headed for the local bank and got some money out with a card and went in and asked for euros in exchange for SFA. This bank told me they did not do exchange but the next bank did. So I left the bike at the first bank spoke to the security guard and asked him to keep and eye. I had parked the bike right in front of the main door. The next bank said at first it was no problem, the lady asked a colleague by phone what the rate was and I gave her the correct money and my passport. She went away but came back to say they had said no, but no explaination. However she said I should go to counter 1. I asked if I would be able to get the euro there and she said yes. Counter 1 was in fact an office and I tried the door but it was locked. *I then noticed a robed gentleman who looked like he was waiting for the same office, I confirmed he was waiting so I waited too, and waited. If it was not important I would have left but I had come to the conclusion that it would be wise maybe essential, to have euros in my wallet for Rosso and for travelling through Mauritania and Western Sahara. Finally the door opened and a client came out, as did the bank official. The bank official sauntered off and another 20 mins went by and he did not return. I gave up. There were a number of banks on this street so I went to the next. I was immediatly seen by an efficient lady and explained what I wanted. She understood and asked for my passport and something else. Then I understood she was asking for an airline ticket. I laughed and explained I was on a motorbike and did not have a ticked. She then explained that she could not help me. She seemed to point at other banks in the street and I was not sure if she was encouraging me to try elsewhere or saying the answer would be the same in the others. I went to another bank. They had a queue, and hand written tickets and a broken ticket innumerator. There were a dozen people in front of me and I was not given a ticket, well no ticket at first but eventually was given one. *I'm sure they understood the system. Finally after 20 mins or sothey indicated it was my turn. The young man had the same request for an airline ticket and it dawned on me this was a strict rule. He however suggested that I could get the money from a Bureau de Change in the centre of the city.*


So I went back to the bike and my friendly security guard and explained what in needed to do. He told me which way to get a taxi. Now any time I been on a street in the city I have been turning down taxis but now that I need one there were none to be seen I waited about 20 mins. While waiting a guy came over on his scooter and asked what I wanted. When I explained I needed to buy euros and go to the Bureau he made a call and handed me his phone, the guy on the phone was prepared to give me SFA for Euro, but not the other way around. The scooter guy motioned for me to get on the bike and follow him but I declined, he then gave me his card and said if I needed help in Dakar to call him. He rode off and I wondered if I had missed out on an offer of help. When the taxi arrived the security guard came over to explain to the taxi driver where I needed to go. When I got into the taxi I was frustrated at the wasted time, I should be on my way to Zebrabar already with the euros in my pocket. Then I realised that this whole task of getting euros was all a part of the trip and I should relax and take it all in. There would still be time to get to Zdbrabar, and if not I could stay in Dakar one more night.


The taxi ride proved to be one of the experiences of the trip. Not that anything spectacular happened but it was an opportunity of seeing a parts of Dakar I had not visited including going to the centre of town. The traffic was awful and I began to realize that it would have been a hard ride on the loaded bike to negotiate these streets. Watching the taxi driver it became clear that despite the bad conditions this was a guy who knew his way around and was skilled at getting through. He even upset a policeman by mounting the central island of a roundabout to get past a truck. He also turned around in one road because the traffic seemed blocked and choose the another road. As he was on a fixed fee there was no advantage in extending the journey. We went down back streets through markets but eventualy got to the Bureau de Change. The transaction was very easy and only a little more expensive than the bank. The taxi driver had waited for me and we headed back. There was initially some bad traffic and hawkers came up to the taxi to sell me things. The most optimistic guy was the one selling home made internal TV arials, an overland biker was not part of his target market I suspect but he tried. A girl was selling what were called in Ganbia "squeezies". They are sealed transparent bags of chilled water that you bite the corner off and and drink the contents, very refreshing. The taxi driver bought 2 and handed one to me. I think this was acknowledgement that we had shared an experience together in this hot taxi. Getting the euros had taken 4 hours from start to finish.


Arriving back to the bike all was as I left it and the Security man asked if I got what I wanted. Very quickly I was off and away with 250km to go, and a wad of euros in my pocket which felt comforting. As I already mentioned, the speed bumps in Senegal do slow progress and it was around 18:00 when I got to Zebrabar. This time I chose a simple cabin without toilet facilifies but at a modest £10 per night. I parked up had a shower and joined the dinner table. There was only one other guest, apart from the owners family, a young German girl in Senegal for 6 months at a college to improve her French. It was interesting to hear her perspective on living in a muslim culture. She said she could not go out on her own because of the attention she got. Her best offer was to be a guys second wife. I don't think she was too impressed. She seemed an experienced traveller and able to cope with it all. I retired early after the days events and resolved to have a quiet day tomorrow.


The next day was quiet and I caught up on some washing and internet and managed a swim. That evening I met a new guest who I had heard was interested in birds. In fact when I met the Spanish gentleman he was particularly interested in osprey. He works on a bird reserve in the north of Spain and is running a project to reintroduce osprey into Spain. It was interesting that I had mentioned osprey already in this ride report, comparing our journeys south, following a similar route. In fact I learned from the specialist that Senegal is a favourite winter location for the osprey from Scotland. So some of the osprey I had seen earlier were likley to be from Scotland. The specialist had booked a boat for the morning to see if he could see any osprey. As I had been down the river a couple of weeks ago I was able to show him pictures I had taken confirming there were osprey on the river. I suggested joining him and we spent a pleasant morning trying to get close to the osprey. These osprey seem particularly nervious of humans approaching, and when we got within about 300 meters they would fly away. This was particularly frustrsting because the specialist was trying to get a clear view or picture of them so he could tell if they were tagged on the legs and maybe view the tag to see where they came from.


That evening we chatted more as he was easy company and he showed me some GPS tracking they had done of birds released in Spain, showing their track south. Sadly the many of the early *Spanish batch have not made it successfully and it seems this is common with first time birds that there is a high mortality on the journey south. Once they have done the journey one time they seem more capable and manage it better. Later we resolved to return to the search the next day, this time going over to the island opposite Zebrabar and watch the osprey fish in the see and hopefully make some identifications. I decided to go into St Louis that afternoon on the bike to get some money, a few groceries and petrol. Aitor was interested in St Louis and asked if he could come with me as he was concerned at the mileage on his rental car and he did not want to use it. I declined as I was concerned at having a passenger with no bike gear, including helmet, negotiating the sandy road in and out of Zebrabar. However we came up with a compromise where he drove past the bad bit of the track and I would take him on into St Louis. We were doing fine until we came to the officious policeman as you approach the town. He pulled us over, he pulled almost everyone over. He came to me and pointed at Aitor and said he had no helmet. Now few people in Senegal wear helmets but he said it was an infringement. It all took a while to understand what he wanted as he would disappear to deal with another taxi or truck he had stopped. In the end it was a fine which Aitor paid and we were then unsure if we could continue the journey with Aitor on the back. Again he let us stew before coming over and saying, "no problem". So off we went still breaking the law, apparently.*


When we crossed the Eiffal Bridge we stopped at the prominent hotel and there were adventure bikes parked outside, the first I had seen on the trip, apart from on the boat. These were the real things, Yamaha XTs, KTM 990 etc. They were Spanish and I had a Spanish speaker with me. In fact they had good english and were keen to chat. We compared notes on the route. Their experience of Rosso was similar to mine which was reassuring for me. If these 4 tough looking Spanish guys were dealt with in a similar manner to me then maybe I should not feel I had not handled Rosso in the best way. The problem was Rosso, not me. These guys had another serious issue in that one of the bikes had a major engine problem where the timing chain had slipped and destroyed the engine. It could not be repaired in time and they were having to sell it, in fact that evening, as they hoped to return tomorrow. *They would then have to convince the customs it was a genuine sale and be allowed to leave. They suggested that I join them if I liked and it was tempting. To have company through Rosso would be a bonus. However, I had a few reservations, I wondered if the sale would go ahead, if the Rosso customs would buy the story, they were also planning to leave at 7 the next morning, which would mean a 6 start for me. Also the bike had not been checked over and it just seeemed too much of a rush. I asked the guys to let me know if they were really going in the morning and I would consider what to do. We looked at each orhers bikes exchanged complements and had a good biking time.


Aitor and I had a wander around part of St Louis, I got my money and we came across a bridge with a lot of people watching the river. In fact what was going on was a spectacle, with large rowing boats, with about 40 people standing up in each paddling up the river. It was wonderful to watch, the energy and commitment and the colour were a delight. We felt fortunate to come across this event and it was one of the highlights of the trip. We returned to the bike, said goodby to the Spanish guys and headed back. Just before the policeman I stopped for petrol and Aitor walked ahead, just in case we would get done again. As I passed the policeman he indicated he had seen Aitor pass and knew what we were up to, but again said it was no problem. He had got his money and that was the end of it. Ariving back at the camp in the dark I resolved not to go with the spanish guys, to stick to my schedule and stay one more day which would allow me to check the bike over and prepare properly and I suppose do my own thing.


That evening at dinner there were new guests, two Peace Corps volinteers from the US. I did not understand how the Peace Corps operated and was interested to learn that they worked in an area for 2 years, living with a local family and were taught the local language, not french as I might have thought, but the African language specific to that area. They then were given tasks to focus on, economic development or farming, and they were expected to develop projects to make progress in these areas. The living with a family was also good to learn about, eating with their hands, the very limited diet of the host family. One of the volinteers described eating millet and peanut oil almost daily in her host family and the struggle it was to adapt to such a limited diet. As the Peace Corps is funded by the american goverenment and these volinteers I met were from excellent universities it was an enlightening insight for me into this arm of US foreign policy.


The next day chasing the osprey was hard work trying to stay in cover but move close enough to see them well. They did fish in the sea, though we did not see one dive. We saw them perched eating fish and got a couple of good views, but did not identify any rings. Back at the camp I started to get ready to leave. The first thing was to check the bike over. Nothing too much this time as I had given it a good shakedown in Gambia. Checked oil and tyres and topped up as needed. We had a visit from one of the local monkeys, whicg i was excited to see but can be aggressive and do steal food from diners. I paid my bill yhat evening as I planned to leave at 07:30 in the morning for Rosso.


NOTE: When writing these reports I ideally like to interlink photos to the relevant part of the text. However operating with a tablet has made this difficult, at least for me, so forgive the block of text followed by the photos.

The photos...

As I prepared to leave the club in Dakar this handsome fellow came to visit, next to my bike. I'm told he is a crane and native of this area.





This view of the bike is outside at the saling club and shows the area behind the bike where I pitched the tent. Of anyone fancies pitching a tent there on visiting Dakar make sure it is rat proof.





The Spanish bikes and one little BMW in St Louis.





The Eiffal bridge, again I think, but it is a bit special.





The boating extravaganza.*





...and again!





...and a young spectator with a ring side seat.





This fellow set up his web in the bushes near the Zebrabar terrace. I'm told he is an Agriope Bruennichi, but whatever I gave him a wide berth.





I did take one reasonable osprey photo. This one was eating a fish and spotted us but I caught him before he departed with his fish.





I did have one visitor while checking over the bike. I don't thing he was too impressed. Someone commented that this was a selfie, which I thought was a bit unkind.

Rosso and Mauritania

I did not sleep to well and was awake early to pack and leave Zebrabar. The last bit of the packing seemed to take a long time, even for me, who is not the quickest at getting away. I wanted to put something in the topbox and looked in my small black rucksac for the bike keys. They were not there, or anywhere else in the room. Where could they be. I had not seen them since last night and retraced my steps around the campsite searching with a head torch, no sign. Had they been found and handed in, but none of the staff were in yet to ask. I went back to the room and searched unlikely places, places they should not be, in by luggage bag for instance. Not there either. So I searched the rucksac again, no sign, and in desperation I emptied it out on the floor, and the keys were there at the bottom. At one level this is an example of having many black things in a black rucksac, and as I can loose things I assumed too early I had lost them, and also the fact that Rosso was on my mind and I may not have been thinking too clearly. Having got the keys I got away just after 7:30. I do think Zebrabar is in a special place and I do hope to get back there in the future. As I rode out this time I had a flock of black kites flying overhead to mark my departure and I remembered the last time I left, a fortnight ago, when I had a flock of pelicans do a flypast.*I stopped and the Zebrabar gate and at the St Louis signs for a picture and as I approached St Louis the officious policeman was on duty again. Does this man never take a break. Luckly, he was distracted with a truck he had stopped and I slipped past.*


I stopped before arriving at Rosso and had a drink and something to eat as I suspected it would be a stressful time. I was stopped by the police just outside the frontier and brought inside. I suspect a fiche would have sufficed but I thought this was part of the frontier. My stopping allowed fixers to gather. I had 2 already and they would not leave me. I approached the gate and it closed in front of me. One of the fixers approached the gateman and he produced a ticket and I had to pay a small amount to get in. The first scam, and the fixer trying to ingratiate himself. The fixers, there were 3 of them around me, told me to go to the police, which I knew. They tried to get my passport, to get me to go around the side to beat the queue, but I stayed my ground and waited in line at the front. It is hard to describe but in that 15 minutes waiting they are continually pestering me to do things their way, "we are trying to help". They grab your shoulder and shove you the direction they want you to go and when you protest, they are affronted. The police did the necessary, for a small fee, and with a struggle I got my passport back in my hand.*


The fixers again told me something I knew, now go to the customs. I knew where the customs were from last time but the fixers seeemd to be showing me the way. When I arrived at the office there was no official present, but a pile of passports and car documents to be processed. I remained in the office for more than half an hour, then an official appeared, with one of my fixers following, I have to give him credit for this. I was getting concerned I would not get processed before the frontier shut down at midday. He processed my papers first and I paid the correct fee. Then I could go on the ferry and the fixers came too, all surrounding me. So far I had kept my documents and not paid much over the odds. Over to the Mauritanian side again being told where to go, but I knew where the police were. While the police were processing my passport, the fixers, a new one had joined on this side, urged me to go and pay for the ferry. I refused and waited for the police to finish and get my papers back in my hands. With the papers I went towards the customs but the fixers said I needed to pay my ferry first. I ignored him and went to the customs, with a fixer in tow. The fixer did point out I needed Mauritania money for the customs so we went outside to get change. The rate did not seem great but I had enough for customs. The Dakar euro proving it's usefullness.*


The customs guy seemed to ask me if the fixer was working for me and I said no and the fixer backed off a bit. The customs only charged a fraction of what I expected and I was relieved. I seemed to be getting there. I was about done so headed for the gate. The fixer approached for his tip. I gave him a few euros for the assitance with the Senegal customs, getting him to come into the office and do my documents first. He was grumpty, but I did not care, except that he wandered up to the gate and spoke to the guard. I can imagine him saying this guy is being difficult, try and delay him. The guard at the gate asked for papers etc and seemed to be looking to find something to catch me on. In between all this I was approached by someone in a white coat and asked to remove my helmet and I had my tempersture taken, an ebola check. I can not believe my temperature was normal. The guy at the gate finally found something, my multi-country insurance was apparently not valid for Mauratania. I asked one of the other guards where I get insurance and he came out with me, showed me the place, and stayed with me so it got sorted. While in the insurance office a guy came in and I was shocked to find it was the guy who followed me and became my fixer on the previous visit. *He was part of the intimidstion and scam last time. I was less than pleased to see him. However as I was just finishing and ready to leave he lost interest. So with the new insurance I was finally able to leave Rosso, I suspect for the last time. This time it all took 2.5 hours. I would certainly not face Rosso on my own again. This 2nd time was better than the first, a lot cheaper but still an unpleasant experience.


So having cleared Rosso I hit the road. My hope was to be able to make it to the petrol station in between the 2 cities, and sleep in the locals tent, where we slept on the way down. The delay at Rosso now made that more of a challenge, so I decided I needed to be leaving Nouakchott before 3:00 PM to be able to make it, otherwise I would have to stay in Nouakchott overnight. The first bit of road has recently been resurfaced and I was able to keep up good speed. Then it deteriated, with bad potholes so I needed to slow. I had hit one of these potholes very hard on the way down and could not risk that again. The temperature was again around 40C so I took my outer jacket off and rode with the armour inner jacket and kept this on till if dropped to below 30c, many miles later.There are not many filling stations on this stretch and by the time I got to Nouakchott I needed a top up. *I did this as I came into the city in case the other stations did not have petrol, this decision was relevant later. Once out of the city I knew the road was good so I kept a good speed. There were a lot of checkpoints either side of the city and I had been using a lot of fiches.*


As the afternoon drew on I was making reasonable time but the GPS was saying I'd arrive just before dark, so no time to loose. Going faster used more fuel of course but I had little choice. The GPS had a point for the garage so I was tracking to this, I was also looking over my sholder at the sun, trying to gauge how much light I had left, and of course little twilight. There were more checkpoints, each taking a few minutes and another fiche. At one of the checkpoints the guard asked me where I was spending the night. I explained that it was near the service station. He pointed at a place to the side of the building they were using and offered that. I declined but he said if I had problems I could come back. Finally I arrived, close to the garage and saw the place we stayed before. The old guy was there and I greeted him and asked if it was OK to sleep there again. He agreed. I said I'd go up to the garage for petrol and come back. When I arrived at the garage the guy moved to the petrol pump, a good sign, but he then told me they had no petrol. Now I believe every overlanding biker has to experience the arrival at this garage crossing Mauritania, and find there is no petrol. It was quite a shock. Although I knew this was a possibility and had made some prepreations for it, with extra tanks, Fanta bottles filled with petrol, etc, I had not expected it would happen.*


I asked the guy if there was any petrol in bottles perhaps but he said no.*I would now have to work out if I could get to the border with what I had. Crossing a desert tight on fuel is not a prospect to be welcomed. Back to the tent and the old man had a mat and small pillow layed out for me under the open shelter. Crucially I had not discussed the cost with him, as we had just made a donation equivalent to a few euros last time. I was in my sleeping bag by nine, as it got dark at 7 and again I was planning an early start. I did not sleep well but I did manage to sleep some. In the times I woke I was thinking of the petrol situation, would I be able to make it. *My logical side said I should be OK but it was hard to dismiss the doubts. I added up the amount of petrol I had in reserve tanks, average consumption and it seemed to work out I had just enough and I could fill up just after the border. Then I remebered a conversation I had with a guy at Zebrabar where he said the petrol station at the border was closed when he came through. So if that was the case should I go into the other city Nouadhibou and add an extra 80km to the ride but be sure I had enough to get away from the border once I got through even if the border garage was closed. I had just enough money for this. Decisions, decisions. I was also anxious about the fiche situation I seemed to be running out and may need to get copies. So my mind was busy this night.


I got up early and prepared to leave. I was waiting to see the old man to give him something for the stay. While waiting I took out both my document wallets and rifled through and then found 32 beautiful fisches. These should do. However, the old man slept on and one of his sons, I assume, approached. He asked for the equivalent of 15€, which was much more than last time. I argued but did not have an option but to pay since, the old man was still in bed and I needed to het away. The 15€ was almost the last of the Mauri money I had and the money I had kept for the petrol. Losing that money made one decision, I would not be going to Nouadhibou but going directly to the border, hoping the border garage was open. Once the decision was made strangely I felt OK about it and it cleared my thinking. I now had to use my reserves of fuel and ride economically to the border.*


So I emptied 4.5l into the tank and started for the border, with 215km to go and the last fillup was about 250km back. I decided to stick to 80km (50mph) as I believed this would be an economical speed. After 100km I started glancing at the fuel light. It stayed off, I passed 80km to go and still no light, looking positive, 60 to go and no light. Had the bulb gone? The light came on at around 30km to go, so I stopped and put a litre from my emergency tank. So the steady 80 had helped a lot with the consumption and I was sure I would make it to the border, I still had 3l in my last spare tank to get me away from the border and hopefully to the next garage.*


The Mauri side of the border was easy. Every official handled my papers immediately and soon I was free to go, through no-mans-land of course, to the Moroccan border. The stretch of no-mans-land was not such a challenge this time. I had again removed my big jacket and had a drink and an energy sweet before setting off. I had had a lot of practice of bad roads on the way to Gambia, so this helped. I did have one moment in heavy sand but caught it and all was well. I*expected the Moroccan border to be easy but it proved confusing. Firstly a policeman asked where I had been and when he heard Gambia he believed I would need an ebola check, so sent me to a Gendarme office to initiate the progress. I queried the need for a check for Gambia with the official and in the end he agreed and of course took my details in painful detail and sent me back to the first policeman. Then I was sent*to another police office, then to a customs office, the wrong one, and then to the right customs officer, who was not in an office but standing in the middle of the frontier. He gave me a grilling. Did I have any guns etc. But I had a knife? What kind of knife. I showed him my swiss army knife. Was that the only knife? I said yes, not wanting to have my lock-knife confiscated. Then to the customs office and finally please bring your bike over here to be scanned. Oops, would they find the knife? Well, after some anxious minutes, I got the all clear, they did not find it. I was finally able to leave the border and ride into the open garage and give the thirsty bike a fill-up and later the thirsty rider had a coffee and a sandwich. This Moroccan border was a pain but it was not like Rosso at all, it was just officialdom being officious, but in 38C, and took about 90 mins.


Now in my perfect plan I would ride to Dakhla, but as I rode away from the border I checked the mileage and it was 330km to the campsite at Dakhla, therefore I would arrive quite late and tired. I did have another option about 90km away, recommended by the Italian riders I met. It did not take long to decide on the nearer option, particularly as there was a strong crosswind. I was pleased to pull into Hotel Barbas and it looked good. It has a palatial entrance and quite swish for so far south. The receptionist recommended I moved the bike and pointed at the wall on the other side of the hotel. I had seen a side road so I rode*the bike there, and it was not a grest place, less secure. However, this was not what he had in mind and told me to bring the bike into the reception and park near the wall. I wondered at the cost of this place, but was relieved to find it is just 19€, and it has passable wifi. I enjoyed my shower and being in a room again. It was also a relief to be past the two borders and back in Moroccan territory. *Still a lot of the desert to go but it all seems more manageable now.