Dakar

Here is Dakar on a sunny Sunday afternoon. There are about 3 million people squeezed in there somewhere...

The Green (?) Cape

Just back from a few days too many in Cape Verde. Not that I have anything against the place, but for all of 1 day I was cloistered in a conference so, frankly, I could have been anywhere in the world. I was able to identify that I was no longer in Dakar by the following facts:
- It was a 2 hour flight from Dakar
- everyone was speaking Portuguese
- they do mean cheesy creamy bacalao and big garlicky tuna steaks
- all the streets were cobbled and everything was quite cutesy and colonial
- all the taxis were new, functional, and haggle free
- non-nescafe coffee was widely available
- bou-bous (African outfits for men and women) to brighten up the day were only visible in our conference room, sported by visitors

The most exciting thing that happened when I was there was a major communications accident in which someone (apparently) cut through Cape Verde’s connection to the outside world - some sort of undersea incident with a fibre optic cable. So the powers that be are doing their best all week to hook the islands up to a satellite system but either it isn’t connecting properly or the capacity just isn’t up to it. Either way, the situation was no internet for 9 days (horrors!!) and very limited phone calls except for the odd ‘hole’ when it seemed to be working. Most likely very relaxing to get away from it all if you are on holiday but less good if you are supposed to be at work…

The novelty conference haul includes a t-shirt in see-through cotton with a wonky logo across the boob area, a calendar featuring a battered and bloody shark and a poster identification check list of the whales and dolphins of Cape Verde.

I did get a bit of a look around on the last day. I guess when the Portuguese landed and decided it looked like a green cape, they must have come in rainy season. April is getting toward the end of the (9 month long) dry season and I’m not sure I’ve ever been anywhere quite so brown and barren looking. The roads are lined with brave agricultural attempts and the withered products thereof. A tough place to make a living. And that’s without mentioning the water. Inland on the high ground there are mountain top drainage systems to collect water from low clouds over the hills; in other areas they mostly rely on an expensive de-salinisation process, or have it trucked in if you live in the middle of nowhere.

For a holiday though, it has loads of potential. Bright blue seas, yellow beaches, plenty of shipwrecks teeming with fish life for divers, and, best of all, what can only be described as a cartoon style, perfectly conical volcano, ripe for the climbing. Sadly it was a bit too misty to get good pics….

Joining in with the Chip-Eaters

It was a few years back that I first heard this term. I’ve no idea who coined it, but I got it from people working in the Caribbean, who would always lament the stopover of the London-Trinidad flight in one of the holiday isles, when the half empty plane would fill up with be-tanned, be-braided and be-beered Brits giving off a distinct odour of coconut oil. I guess the bitterness sets in when you’ve been sequestered somewhere for months locked in a sweaty room working your arse off, suddenly confronted with a stack of holiday makers, heading back to reality with not a care in the world. And hey, we brits abroad certainly eat a lot of chips…

I thought about this again recently when confronted with another chipeating experience, this time in the Gambia. Just in town briefly for a meeting, dodgy airline schedules meant I had a rare Sunday afternoon free in a work destination. Our hotel of choice is big bungalow complex and on walking in I immediately felt like I was in the Canary Islands; little apartments with dusty tables outside; blocked toilet; broken TV. That sort of thing :-). Anyhow it was a lovely little place with a pretty garden, beautiful beachfront location and friendly staff. But I think the fact that I haven’t been on a beach holiday for a good many years now (I get bored!) has turned me into something of a prude, because what struck me most was the sheer nakidity – mostly wobbly, stripy, lobster-y nudity. Having lunch with a colleague surrounded by the naked pink boobs of your compatriots is a peculiar thing, but of course I can’t complain about that because we were the odd ones out having a business lunch in a holiday resort. But I will complain about people leaving the complex and wandering the streets with it all hanging out. Not only is it a muslim country, but that particular day was a public holiday in celebration for the prophet’s birthday! I am now in full rant mode but I reckon a bit of respect wouldn’t go a miss.

And don’t even get me started on the female sex tourism …