|A herd of goats is called a trip. Really. I looked it up.|
|This has been in the works for over six months. Nothing happens fast here. . .|
|Restaurant Fatou. Great place for an afternoon beverage or an evening meal.|
Here, the blue waters of the North Atlantic, the laid back way of life of the local Senegalese population, the fresh and abundant seafood, idyllic sunsets and cold Gazelle beers have successfully slowed me down to a crawl.
|Big ball of gas.|
|I always feel like somebodies watching me. . .|
I arrived in Dakar with no expectations. No grand plan, no burning desires to see anything in particular. Mainly because I researched nothing before arrival. A few locals have asked if I've been to town yet. When I say no, they look alarmed. But, when I ask them why I should go? They have no answer. I've been to big, dusty African cities before. Besides the occasional interesting photo opportunity or old mosque, they typically consist of bad roads, hectic traffic, swarms of people, livestock, and concrete block buildings. In horrific heat. And dust.
This trip? I prefer the pampered setting of our gorgeous hotel, low traffic, calling birds and constant crash of the surf to be my companions.
|Evil Eye? Voodoo magic? Who knows.|