St Louis

Our next stop was St Louis, north from Dakar, near the border with Mauritania.  We travelled again by ‘set place’ with another set of interesting passengers.  The beautiful old French colonial city of St Louis is on a long thin island in the River Senegal immediately adjacent to the Atlantic Coast. So there is a very thin spit of land between the ocean and the river. Then there is a channel between the spit of land and the island of St Louis. On the other side of the island the river is wider and a metal girder bridge spans the river connecting the island with the mainland. We took a local taxi the 4km from the gare routiere on the mainland, over to the island.  A very pleasing long frontage of two and three storey stately pastel coloured houses reflecting in the wide blue water of the river welcomes the visitor crossing the bridge and positively invites a photograph to be taken.   Immediately over the bridge, which was once over the Danube and moved by the French in 1886, lies the famous Post Hotel.  It was here that the pilots of the big flying boats from Paris stayed, before resuming their intrepid flights over the Atlantic to South America on their regular mail runs.  Having an interest in aviation we stayed in this historic hotel, crammed with pictures and memorabilia of the bygone days.

St Louis is also famous for its jazz and our first night was spent listening to local jazz musicians amalgamating traditional jazz with local tempos from African drums and enjoying a really good meal.  It has to be said that the once elegant St Louis has departed a bit from its former days of affluent elegance.  The buildings have decayed a bit and there is a dusty tired, but relaxed and laconic feel to the place.  Whilst this predominantly French speaking town lacks the hustle and bustle of Dakar the people are also less frenetic and there is virtually no hassle from street traders and hawkers.  Being English speaking I naturally tuned in to any English conversation I heard.  So we soon met fellow Gambians and we traded reminiscences and notes about places we knew.  So we met George a chap from the fishing village of Bakau in Gambia who had come to St Louis to fish there.  We wanted to try one of the tourist horse and cart things and naturally George knew someone who had one.  So George took us over to the extended fishing village on the spit of land between the river and the ocean.  We were always very careful about taking photographs of people because uninvited photography is a very definite invasion of privacy in anyone’s language.  We always ask before we take a photograph.  The answer maybe a simple no, and that’s OK.  On the other hand if you can give the person a copy of the photograph it is often a very welcome offer.  So we carry a Polaroid camera, as well as our digital, to do that. Not many people relish candid shots of themselves in their working clothes.  So people sometimes rush indoors to change into the best outfits.  The resulting photographs are then pretty good with happy people smiling out of the picture.  In a general situation like a fishing village snapping off indiscriminately can cause a diplomatic incident.  However with someone who knows the people and can explain your interest the situation is transformed.  Everyone was very friendly and interested in our travels, advice, hints and tips was given and these were stored for future thought.  We came across Kemo. A young man from Ghana who was stacking dried shark for export to Ghana.  Kemo explained that whilst there were plenty of shark in the waters off Ghana the climate of reliable and uninterrupted sunshine necessary to dry the fish was here in northern Senegal, just below the Sahara desert.

We had planned to walk over the border into Mauritania; but George warned that whilst the border was open and unmarked just a few kilometres north, the border guards made a modest living out of fining careless or adventurous toubabs, white people, £20 for straying over without a visa.  Unfortunately we didn’t have a visa for Mauritania.  The hotel said they could organise a trip with a commercial traveller going to the capital but the cost was exorbitant.   There was also a local travel agent who organised tourist trips into the desert provided there was small group of interested people.  But after a couple of days no such group materialised.  So we resolved to have one last relaxing night in St Louis and move on.  Our last meal was in the main hotel.  It was great; the waiters were interesting and charming professionals who greeted French, Spanish and German guests with equal affection and enthusiasm.  The atmosphere was warm, the food was first class and the red wine was served chilled so it slowly rose to the correct temperature as it sat in the glass.

Another early start, by far the best policy when travelling by public transport in West Africa.  You never know how the journey will pan out. So we found a ‘set place’ going south to Kaolack, bypassing Dakar.  It filled up in about an hour and we were off.   We always carried three litres of water and some food because vehicles could break down anywhere and a supply of good water was not always guaranteed.   On an otherwise uneventful trip we passed through the town of Touba and saw some magnificent mosques.  We made a note to come back here some time to have a better look.

This article is part of a series describing our tour of West Africa
Previous Page:  Next page:  Photographs