Amy is called Buya in The Gambia. Like me, she is a Pulaar speaker and we were both a little nervous about going to Francophone Dakar.We left early in the morning to catch the ferry from Banjul to Barra in The Gambia. From there we would board a packed bus and travel for almost thirteen hours before reaching Dakar. It was raining but the windshield wipers didn't work. A little girl sitting behind us threw up the sour milk she had for breakfast. So did her sister. I won't take the bus again.
After croissants filled with almonds and chocolate, we found a hotel near the lighthouse at Les Mamelles. 
From there it is a short walk to the beautiful N'Gor village.
There is a nice beach at N'Gor where we sat for hours. We drank spiced coffee and ate mangoes and bananas we bought from a Fula woman.
In fact, we enjoyed great food and drink our entire time in N'Gor. This meal cost only a few dollars and was served in a quiet little bar from where we watched the surf.
The next day we took the short pirogue ride across the bay to N'Gor Island.
N'Gor Island is a small place where one can enjoy cliff-side views of the The Atlantic, can eat grilled shrimps on a sandy beach, and can wander a maze of cobblestone streets with high walls and picturesque gardens. We waded with sea anemones and sea urchins which were caught and grilled by local women on the beach.
After leaving N'Gor Island we decided to walk out to Pointes des Alamedies which is the furthest west point on continental Africa. I guess that this means it was the closest I have been to all of you in a very long time. If only I was a better swimmer...
Later that night, Buya would be leaving. To celebrate, we bought pizza.
The next day I decided to leave the hotel and find a place to stay in downtown Dakar. My Lonely Planet guidebook was a little out of date and since publication the Hotel du Marche has become something of a brothel. I did not realize this change until after checking in. Perhaps the wildly made-up women sitting alone in the lobby should have clued me in but I admit I'm a little slow on the uptake. It turned out to be a nice place though; clean and safe.
From there I went to get lunch at the Chez Loutcha which is highly recommended in the guidebook. I met a girl there. Nadia. We spent the rest of the day together.
We wandered the streets getting to know the city. We enjoyed a coffee and a park and a beach and a museum and a church and an open-air market and the Palais Presidential.
The next day, I had to leave. Money was short and my requested vacation days had expired. Peace Corps takes AWOL very seriously. Rather than the bus, I decided to take the a set-plas back to The Gambia. This is a small Peugeot station wagon seating seven passengers. We made a brief stop in Kaolack which is a place that I hope to return to when I have a bit more time. The ride seemed to fly by since the car can handle the washed-out dirt roads with grace and I was back at the border before I knew it.
What is it about traveling? The inherent adventure at border crossings. Getting lost and finding yourself. The momentum of self-reliance. The new day in a bed where you've never awakened before. The smell of your own body and the scratch of your own stubble. Learning how to say goodbye using words you've never used before. A discreet glance met gently, acknowledged silently. Strangers who become friends and then become memories. Surviving- no thriving- in a place absolutely unfamiliar. Realizing that far away isn't all that far at all. Being happy with going home.
