On Tuesday I awoke and took a much needed shower after a pretty bad sleep. Since two days before was a long journey and the day before was a long walk into the Atlantic resorts area, I decided to make this a restful day--especially since there was a light rain. First stop--the museum. It's D50 and it has a variety of exhibits from sort of random donated stuff, to Gambian history, to Gambian archaeology. The basement is filled with musical instruments, stringed and percussion. I spent about an hour there. It wasn't small but not big. The descriptions of the items are pretty thorough and fortunately, in English.
I had a shawarma at King of Shawarma and a really nice mixed fruit juice for D85. After eating, I headed home and seeing the bathroom in a rare empty state, proceeded to do some laundry. In the short time I was there, two people came in to use the bathroom.
So that done, (whew) I slept a bit since it was getting hot and humid. I awoke not hungry but thirsty.
At this point, I'm going to do something a bit odd. Last night, having had a few beers, I came home and wrote a blog post. I typed until I fell asleep, waking at about 2am. I'm going to just copy and paste that blog post here between the two sets of =========='s. Note that I had a fair amount to drink and I was in a ponderous mood. The reasons one undertakes a trip like this are complex and different aspects of the reasons resonate more than others at different times. This is a snapshot. I offer it unedited, uncommented, just as it flowed from my fingers. It is, after all, a part of the travel experience.
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It's 8:30 and I just got back from an evening out. Not my typical evening out. Rather an evening of sober reflection followed by an evening of drunken reflection. I had a total of 8 beers tonight--many of which are still coursing through my veins as I write this.
Obviously, I'm home safe and sound, so nothing really interesting happened. But I'll recount today's events from the afternoon.
I decided I wanted a beer and so I went toward the Atlantic Resort which is the big resort in Banjul with bars, restaurants, clubs, etc. Except, since it's the low season, they are closed. So I decided, even though it was early--maybe 2pm, to go to Michel's--the seafood place described by Lonely Planet as possibly the only "classy" restaurant in town.
I had brought wrapped in a black plastic bag (to protect from the light rain and eyes) my Cormac McCarthy's The Road and La Route. So shortly after setting up at a table directly under a ceiling fan (at Helen's advice) I started to read my La Route, checking my comprehension with The Road. They were out of Stella and Heineken so I had to go with the local brew--Julbrew. Actually, it was no worse than any other typical pilsner. I ordered a shrimp cocktail for D150, and set about reading. There was one other table with "customers" though they were actually employees. Helen was the big woman who seemed to run the place. She is an imposing figure--when she tells you to do something, you do it.
I sat there reading and consuming Julbrews. Half my mind was on reading the French La Route, and half my mind was on what I was doing in Africa. Why did I come?
It was about a year ago that I started to "finalize" my plans. About now I started to inform my manager, Nathan, that I was thinking of leaving. I didn't exactly know why. I knew that I was single and close to 40. The advantage of being single is that you can just fly off to Madrid because you want to see Goya's paintings or just fly off to Africa to travel for a year. It is the biggest advantage of being single. And it is the one advantage of being single that almost no single person takes advantage of. Most single people live perfectly conventional lives, always knowing they could go crazy and travel in Africa, but they never do. So I would buck that trend. It was the only advantage of my loveless life.
So I quit. Even when I quit, I wasn't sure if I could actually go through with it. In fact, I wish I knew how many of my colleagues thought I would actually go through with a trip through West Africa. It was a half-probability. It seemed to absurd to actually do. Was it just some sort of escape hatch from my otherwise slightly better than conventional life?
I decided I would ask out this girl from my yoga class. If she said no, I would go to Africa--if she said yes, I'd see her as long as I could. But, I chickened out. Somehow I know on an intellectual level that I'm a good guy. I'm witty, sharp, spontaneous, and have a good income. I have what is important in a relationship. I just really really suck at getting them started. I'm filled with self doubt and I over-analyze everything I can reconstruct from any "date" I might have. I just can't do it. And I can't do the phone thing which is de riguer for dating these days. At least not at the beginning. So I'm just like a 747 with no landing gear--I can fly well, but I can't get off the ground. Still, I figured if I don't offer this girl from my yoga class an opportunity to be with me, I was actually depriving her of the chance of a lifetime. But no matter how much I believe that (I do) I couldn't help but think that I'm a boring Seattle software developer and there are 10000 men who are just as good as me for her to choose from. In the end, I never got the courage to ask her out.
So I came to Africa. Well, France first. It is this backdrop from which I was thinking about my life. I was sitting in Michel's in Banjul, Tha Gambia. And I was thinking "I'm in Banjul, The Gambia--I'm not in Seattle or Chicago or Houston or Atlanta--I'm in Banjul." I have been on my trip for a while, but I still have these fresh moments where I can't believe I'm doing it. "I did it", I thought. "A year ago it was a half-probability--now it is a reality--I'm in Banjul, a city I never even heard of a year ago".
So, I was sitting there when these 3 white people walked by the restaurant. White girls in Africa are hot. It's not a racial thing--it's the result of enhanced travel opportunities of the attractive. They walked by and were gone. Then a few minutes later, they came back and sat down. It was 1 guy and 2 women--roughly my age. The lopsidedness of their situation was not unnoticed.
Shortly after they sat down, one woman walked to what I assumed was the rest-room. Since she was walking mostly away from me, I noticed she had a particularly nice behind. She came back. Then her female friend did the same. I continued reading my The Road/La Route and eating my shrimp cocktail. They were speaking in Spanish--only switching to English to talk with the staff.
After a while, the first girl went again to look at something. I got another look at her cute body. Then back to my book. After a while they finsihed their meal and she went again. This time, I had a few Julbrews in me and I was a tad emboldened, so when she returned, I made eye contact. Once--then twice. What was she doing? Was she trying to make herself known to me? She wasn't gone long enough to go to the bathroom--just long enough to leave my field of view and turn around and re-enter my field of view. I tried to crack a smile, but I suck at that sort of thing. I wanted her. I wanted right then to be with her, alone, my arms around her, my lips on hers. I wanted to pull her close to me and feel her heat, her breath, her hair, her skin. But she just walked by. They settled their bill and left. I continued reading The Road/La Route. Would I have been more courageous if they were speaking English? Probably not.
They were gone. She was gone. Right now, I don't even remember what she looks like, but I want her. She is here in Banjul--I am here in Banjul. She seemed to be looking to attract my attention. She got it--then she...ignored it? Rejected it? Didn't recognize it? Didn't feel up to speaking the languages of the two books on the table in front of me?
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So that's what was on the computer when I woke up at 2am. I'll continue where the narrative left off. While I was at Michel's a local came in and introduced himself to me, Seikou or Simon. He said he's a guide but there aren't many tourists. He showed me a little photo album that a German couple had sent him about their trip to The Gambia. The last picture was of an Irish Pub which he said was around there and had cheaper beer. Then he left me to my reading--very low pressure. And a really nice guy. So I continued reading and ordered a fifth beer. This was all after the Spanish trio left.
I settled my bill--D150 for the shrimp cocktail and D150 for 5 beers. So I paid D350 and left. Seikou was there because he is local and hangs out at the restaurant. So I offered to buy him a beer at the Irish pub. He took me there and on the way showed me the Carlton Hotel which he assured me was a much better place than the Ferry Guesthouse.
We found the Irish pub. It is apparently owned by an Irishman married to a Gambian woman, as Michel's is owned by a Scotsman married to a Gambian woman. But despite a genuine Irish connection, to call it an Irish pub is a generous stretch. It had a Guinness poster, the 3 round bistro tables had plastic Guinness table cloths. And the local version of Guinness in bottles was served. Other than that, it was all Africa and no Ireland. I paid for 3 rounds of beer (D180). We chatted about all sorts of things. Seikou is a nice guy and easy to talk to.
After we were done, it was pretty dark, so he offered to walk me back to the Ferry Guesthouse. We got almost all the way there and the last stretch of road was pitch black and there were no people--there had been a lot of people on the road during the walk. So I refused to go down that road. So we went around. I offered him a tip of D100. He wanted another one, and I protested a bit but gave in. So he got away with D200--enough to buy 6 beers. Then I went up and started the blog.
August 13, 2008 15:57 Gambian local time
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