Unrepentant Relaxation

The traditional alarm clock is not what wakes me from slumber here in Dakar.  Instead, it's the sound of trips of goats demanding their morning feed.  If this doesn't bring me to full alertness, the construction site across the "street" will come to life at 8 am to finish the job.  I do thank them for waiting until the reasonable hour of 8:30 to turn on the cement mixer. . . 

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. . . 

Breakfast is served individually and informally in the lounge.  Croissants, jam, homemade breads and yogurt, fruit and my OWN pot of coffee make for a pleasurable way to greet the day.  The relative coolness of the morning, vividness of blue sky, and friendly companionship of the fellow guests prolongs the interlude to mid morning.  

Restaurant Fatou.  Great place for an afternoon beverage or an evening meal.

I've been enjoying my time in Dakar.  Not as a tourist, as I've not done or seen one thing touristical.  Instead, it's been an excellent opportunity to just relax and enjoy my surroundings.  So often when we arrive into a new country, I wear myself ragged trying to discover restaurants, watering spots, and things to do and see.  

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 like it.  If I don't do another thing while I'm here besides hit the beach or stroll through the souvenir shops at the point, I will leave with no regrets. 

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.

Well, plus the goats and construction. Something needs to get me out of bed.

Miss Frugality

As anybody who knows me will tell you, I'm a frugal girl.  There are days I'm downright cheap. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my little luxuries, but I refuse to pay retail if I can get away with less.

But, it you're like me and tend to head toward store brands or cheaper alternatives, learn from my mistakes.  When you leave the familiarity of the States (and English labels), there are certain things it just doesn't pay to scrimp on.

• Toilet Paper. Just go with whatever is most expensive. Seriously. Man up and spend the long dollar. Even then, don't expect Charmin. Seems the US does TP better than most.
• Juice. It's hard to read labels in foreign languages, but look for something refrigerated, expensive, with 100% somewhere on the package. Otherwise you'll be stuck with Orange (or Apple or Grape) drink or something so saturated with sugar it would be better served as syrup.  Or jam.
• Fruits and Vegetables. Prepackaged food can be so deceiving.  So many times I've brought home a tray of veggies only to find the bottom half all moldy or bruised. Spend the money and the time to pick out your own fruit/vegetables. Worth that special trip out of your way to the "good" market.
• Beer. Because life's too short to drink bad beer.  Ditto for wine.  Unless you are in Argentina where you can get an excellent bottle of Malbec for $5.
• Ice Cream and/or chocolate. See above. Nothing worse than a big bowl of ice milk.
• Garbage bags.  Having an accident while taking the garbage out to the dumpster can be extremely messy. And embarrassing.
• Cereal. Look for Post or Kelloggs or another brand you are familiar with. Stay away from Nestle Fitness (unless it's the Yogurt one), as it tastes like sticks and dirt. With milk on top.
• Toothpaste. Many foreign toothpastes have foreign ingredients like formaldehyde, not necessarily what I want to be putting in my mouth. I've probably put worse things in my mouth, but that's another blog post.
• Coffee. Because nothing says bad day like a rotten cup of Joe first thing in the morning.

Otherwise, save away!  As my mother used to say (no she didn't), "canned beans is canned beans". If you're in a place with canned beans.  And you have a can opener.  But that's another story.

Sole Support

When we left home two weeks ago, I donned my trusty Puma slip-ons (they're soooo street) for the 23 hours of travel between the great Midwest and Dakar, Senegal.  I have walked hundreds of miles (literally!) in these shoes with no ill effects, so I felt comfortable I would survive the trip with my feet unscathed.

Unfortunately, I did not and developed a huge blister on my right heel.  My first purchase in Dakar was bandaids and anti-bacterial cream.  Because I'm certain there is some bacteria around here. Possibly even bacteria I've never been exposed to, although that would be a rare bacteria.  

It healed, but there was a bit of gimping, whining and complaining going on.  But, being the tough cookie I am, I overcame.  

During our palatial stay at the Dead Club Med, I was traipsing around the grounds, stepped on something sharp and punctured the bottom of my right foot.  After performing DIY surgery, I thought I had retracted all things foreign, but two days later this injury reared it's ugly head again and it was back to the pharmacy for rubbing alcohol and a razor blade for surgery aux duex. It's still a little sore, but I'll live.  I hope.

Sunday, I pulled on my reliable Footjoy golf shoes for our round of golf.  Again, shoes that have seen thousands of holes of golf and never felt the need to bite back.  Within the first three holes I had a bona-fide blister of mammoth proportions.  On my LEFT heel.

I'm such a delicate little flower.

Yesterday, FM and I went to the beach for a little R&R.  I played and splashed in the surf, and of course acquired sand in every crevice.  After we returned home and were beautifying ourselves for our nightly meal I noticed my newest blister looked. . . well. . . green!

Upon further investigation I found the blister sac (?for lack of a better explanation?) must have had a small hole in it, which then filled with sand.  Not being in the mood for another round of surgery last night, I left it till this morning.  

Traveling with a man who goes to work everyday doesn't give me many people to share such things with, so you, oh great and powerful internet, get to see this!

It's now been flushed with alcohol, rubbed with anti-bacterial cream and covered with bandaids.  My attentions can now be returned to avoiding malaria and severe sunburns.

But if you see someone gimping around Almadies, it's probably me.

This post was in no way sponsored by Puma or Footjoy, much to their great relief.

Tourist or Traveler? Who Cares.

I've been known to read a travel blog or two in my life.  Recently, I tripped over an online debate about classifying yourself as a tourist or a traveler. 

Admittedly, I prefer the word traveler, but I am a tourist by definition.  It's not always so much about the sights and meals as it is about the people and the experience.  But sometimes, it IS about the sights, whether you're at the Great Wall of China or the Grand Canyon.  You need to see it if you happen to be in the neighborhood.  

Call yourself a tourist or a traveler, it really doesn't matter much.  There are as many different types of travelers as people.  Some refuse to leave their comfort zones while others embrace the less traveled path.  Others eat and drink their way through a new country while some stick only to the known (globalization makes this entirely too possible and reminds me of the Bubba Gump's in Depensar, Bali and the Applebee's on the Nile in Cairo - ugh).  

Still others research every option and meal for the perfect itinerary while some prefer to fly by the seat of their pants. Some people walk, some ride. Some want the beach, others prefer the mountains.  Some want to chill, others want to see everything possible.  Some are in search of inexpensive options while others enjoy posh hotels and trendy restaurants.  Some leave home for a month with a backpack and others need an entire bag just for shoes.

Because FM and I rarely get to choose our destinations, and our travel usually extends beyond the normal time allotted to just one city, we tend to be a mishmash of many different travel personalities, without even addressing our personal differences.  And, after thirteen years on the road even those preferences have changed, progressed, digressed and mutated into a convoluted crush of different methods.

Point being, there is no right or wrong way to travel, or any special classification that makes you any less of a visitor or more of an expert.  The important thing is to actually leave home once in a while and experience something new, whether it's the next county, city, country or continent.  

Because in the end we're all just visiting.