This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Hive account@terresco: D'Abidjan à Carcassonne : Le nord Sénégal

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (Hive account@vcelier), but Hive account@terresco, a French guy.

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From Dakar to Mauritania

On the way to France we had a restorative break in Dakar. Arriving alone from Abidjan crossing Guinea, we left Dakar with a second vehicle and two friends. A very valuable security to cross Mauritania where we would meet the Sahara and its solitude. For the moment we were in a perspective of pure pleasure, enjoying places we already knew and we had pleasure to find. But everything comes to an end, it was necessary to leave again, one must always leave again.

* * * * *

The first step was to take us to Saint Louis; a paved road leads to it, but we liked to go by the beach. It was faster, of course, but it was easier to ride along the ocean, disputing space with dying waves.

It is by the pink lake that one reaches the beach by car. The lake, as its name indicates, is remarkable for its color. A very salty lake in which a microscopic organism, whose name I have forgotten, makes a red pigment for a very specific reason. This type of lake may be found in many places in the world: its real notoriety, Lake Retba draws it from the Dakar Rally. It was, every year, the end point of the event, when it was still African.

Small dunes separate the lake from the beach, it is an ideal playground for all-terrain driving enthusiasts. To roll in the sand it is necessary to deflate the tires, young resourceful guys had mounted a small trade consisting of re-inflating the wheels when the adventurers of the sand returned. With hand pumps, marking a rhythm for pleasure and for some CFA Francs they put back your tires in condition to face the tar.

The salt is exploited in a traditional way. The men break with great stakes the crust under the water, put the salt in buckets that women bring to dry on the bank. The multicolored plastic buckets floating in convoy on the pink waters give beautiful pictures, which to my great despair I am not able to find them. The beauty of the photos hides exceptionally difficult working conditions in a salty environment where one is coated with shea butter to unsuccessfully try to protect the skin.

Riding on the beach at low tide is very easy. It is necessary to be careful because sometimes fishing lines are stretched from the village, cutting the passage. They can be almost invisible with the sun. It is especially dangerous in motorcycle in fact. The finish is a little sportier when it comes to crossing the dunes, a good training for our future Mauritanian exploits.

Saint Louis of Senegal

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Known as Ndar in Wolof, the main language of the country, Saint Louis is located at the mouth of the Senegal River. Saint Louis is full of history and the framework of this article would not be enough to recount the flights of Mermoz, the counters of slavery, the gold and ivory trade, the raft of the Medusa popularized by the painter Géricault or the novels that Pierre Loti wrote there.

It was nicknamed the African Venice for its historic district where it was accessed by a metal bridge. A scent of obsolescence escaped the neglected colonial houses, which I hope has since changed since the site is exceptional. The wooden balconies with their wrought iron balustrades project you into another epic era. Looking a little we listened to jazz in the evening, in small group. Why jazz, there must be a reason, I do not know it.

The fishing district is also very interesting, a huge human concentration on a narrow strip of sand. You have to go to the arrival of the canoes when the animation is full. I made an unlikely encounter, a Senegalese rifleman, proud of his past as a soldier. For France. Leaving with his friends he returned with medals and a diploma, funny exchange that never made him doubt his love for the motherland ... France. I offered him a beer in exchange for his story, not sure France offered him as much. He fought on the island of Elba and Toulon. Funny destiny as the one of the Senegalese Tirailleurs.

A last small trip on the Langue de Barbary, that has become a national park, full of birds and particularly spectacular at the level of the landscape. A long strip of land born from the confrontation between the swell of the Atlantic Ocean and the Senegal River. Modeled by nature, constantly changing over time, swell or currents. A truly exceptional site.

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The nearby border announces the end of our crossing of Senegal, by the normal road we headed for Rosso. Crossing the border into Mauritania was never a pleasure, you needed to be aware of it. For the sake of traveling.

-- Hive account@terresco

01: From Abidjan to Carcassonne, the first crossing, by @terresco
02: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: Guinea
03: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: A break in Dakar, by @terresco

Encounters with Africa series:

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

From Abidjan to Carcassonne: North Senegal, by @terresco (translated from French)

This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Hive account@terresco: D'Abidjan à Carcassonne : Le nord Sénégal

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (Hive account@vcelier), but Hive account@terresco, a French guy.

Saint Louis of Senegal

Encounters with Africa series:

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

All pictures are property of Hive account@terresco