Fore! the Love of the Game

Fortunately for us, golf in the US and especially were we live, has become quite an affordable endeavor over the last 20 years.  For the most part, it is no longer viewed as a rich man's sport. Which is good, as FM is not a rich man.

But out in the world?  Golf is still an elite pastime. And we've had the opportunity to play some great courses in some "striking" locations,  including Madiera Island, directly below the pyramids in Cairo, just outside of Phnom Penh, Bandar Seri Begawan in Dry Brunei, Rangoon, the Dominican Republic and on the Sinai Peninsula. FM can add Saudi Arabia and Morocco.  

The one (and probably only) thing all these courses have in common is they are expensive. And by American standards?  Not so nice. Forget the lush fairways and meticulously trimmed greens you envision and instead picture low scrub and sand with some patches of actual grass thrown in for effect.  

Regardless, we like to play and can usually justify scraping together the cost of admission once or twice a trip, when possible.  

Today we paid $157 US for the two of us to walk 18 holes in Dakar.  This included two bags of incredibly mismatched clubs, two caddies, and ten experienced golf balls.  We set off at the reasonable hour of 10:30 and proceeded out on our Senegalese golfing adventure.  It's really a 9 hole course you play twice, so do plan to experience a little deja vu on the back.

And, although my tried and true golf shoes of 2 years gave me my first blister, I had no longer irons than a 6 in my bag, my left hand became so swollen and sore I could no longer properly grip a club by hole 16 and I lost 6 of our 10 golf balls in various hazards, it was honestly worth every dime.  

But, don't take that as a recommendation.  FM and I might just be sick in the head.  Or maybe it was FM's chip in from the green side bunker on 18.

Dead Club Med

Did you ever wonder what happens to a luxury hotel after fifty years?  Yesterday, FM and I had the opportunity to experience just that.  In the late 60's, Club Med (remember Club Med??) opened what had to be one of the most exotic and foreign destinations.  Per the locals, this peninsula we're living on consisted of nothing but brush and the Club Med.  With the airport only about 10 minutes away, I'm sure guests were flown in, hustled into first class transportation, and driven to this spot of paradise on the most western point of Africa.

Club Med gave up on the property about seven years ago.  Much foreign interest pulled out of the area about the same time, and many hotels were sold to local investors.  Currently, it appears some French company in conjunction with a Senegalese business are trying to revamp this huge complex into a combination hotel/apartment/condo type property.  

They have a long way to go and their work cut out for them.  

Long story short, we accidentally checked out of our hotel a day early and ended up homeless for about fifteen minutes.  FM's local contact scrambled to find us a place to stay for the night, and against her better judgement put us up at what is now the Hotel Almadies.  Unlike say, the Raffles Hotel in Phnom Penh, she is not a well aged grand dame.  She shows everyone of her fifty years.  In fact, I'd bet some of the furnishings are original.  

But the land it sits upon?  Is unarguably the most breathtaking of the peninsula.

Southern side of the peninsula

Looking across the bay back toward town

Which way should we go?  Marker for the most Western Point in Africa

Cross currents slamming together.  Sunken boat and lighthouse in the far distance

BEACH!  Only beach on the peninsula

Looks good from a distance

Breathtakingly beautiful.  Those chairs?  Backbreakingly unsittable.

But damn

It's my kind of setting, and five degrees cooler

To the north is a bunch of restaurants we frequent and some dudes getting ready to fish

Another fisherman

Not sure what these guys are, but they make noises like monkeys

Not sure where they were headed, but a parade of gals went by  late in the day

Sunset at the end of the world.

I spent the day walking the beach and enjoying the pool.  I could close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere other than Dakar.  I was a princess of Marrakech or a colonial African settler of days past.  

In truth, I was a person who got an ice cold shower at 430 pm, swatted mosquitoes the entire time we were anywhere but on the beach, slept on a mattress that was probably older than me in a room smaller than some walk-in closets with an air conditioner unit that kept the room either hot or deep-freeze (I slept with three blankets on!) with NO WI-FI (the HORROR!) and an odor somewhere between kerosene and paint stripper.  

But it sure was purdy.  Really purdy.

No Man Is an Island

Just outside our fancy (HA) three star hotel is a sandy cut through leading to the beach road.  For the last week, this man has been camped out on this log.  I'm assuming he's been there a lot longer than a week.  

Day or night he is there, no protection from the elements outside of the multiple layers of clothing and his gnarly hair and beard.  No shoes, not even flip flops.  No visible signs of sustenance (although obviously a lot of empty bottles???).  He's always seated.  Always facing away from the road and water.  Usually he has nothing in his hands and is still.

A curious mind and a lot of down time have allowed for much surmising about his circumstances.   First, I assumed he was a homeless man (which he clearly is, to some extent).  However, he does not beg and I haven't seen any other similar characters around the peninsula.  He does smell horrendously and mutters to himself quite a bit, lending to the hypothesis he is likely mentally ill.  

But despite his situation, he appears to be in some form of decent health.  He must be consuming water to a life sustaining degree and he does not appear to be starving, or even hungry.  The other night he was smoking.  

So my empathy has waned.  Now I'm imagining he's someone on the peninsula's husband/grandfather/uncle who has been shunned from the family household for some salacious reason.  I'm uncertain lucid conversation is possible with him, but an interpreter would be interesting. Although I bet most the neighborhood knows his story.  I need to find more English speaking peeps, as my French is nonexistent, Merci.

Regardless of how he got there or why this log is now his home, it's interesting he's allowed to stay there and that all his basic needs are being met.  

He's also a great marker for our turn to the hotel, as there are no street signs or lights out there!  

Here We Go Again

I know you're jealous.  I'm off to northwest Africa. The one thing we will enjoy is not wading through a foot of snow, although snow has been a fleeting thing around here of late.

I feel I owe the internetal universe an explanation for my lack of blogging in the last 2.5 years, and I look forward to puking my guts up all over these pages to fill you in.  I think it will be cathartic.  Just to keep you interested, it involves anxiety (gasp!), panic (EEK!), abnormal craziness (as opposed to my normal craziness),  and some hormonal imbalances.  So, STAY TUNED!  LOL

But, if that's not your cup of tea, I promise to intersperse these details with some fun facts from Dakar, Senegal.  Once I finish jamming three months of clothes for a one month trip into a suitcase that seems to have shrunk to the size of a carry-on since sitting in the basement for the last six months.

In other words, I think (fingers crossed) things are back to normal!