Up for breakfast and all packed up. Yves had helped me arrange for a driver to go back to Dakar. I hd the name of the man who had driven me up the Sunday before. He arrived promptly before the 9 AM departure. He was dressed very nicely in a turquoise blue kaftan with turquoise blue pants. It was Friday, the holy day for the Muslims. A Senegalese kaftan is a pullover men's robe with long bell sleeves. In the Wolof language, this robe is called a mbubb and in French it is called a boubou. The Senegalese caftan is an ankle length garment. It is worn with matching drawstring pants called tubay. Normally made of cotton brocade, lace, or synthetic fabrics, these robes are common throughout West Africa. A kaftan and matching pants is called a kaftan suit. Senegalese kaftans are formal wear in all West African countries. I settled up with Yves and loaded up the car.

He had a different car this time. It was a new car, very clean, with air conditioning. Yves had assured me that he told him the places I wanted to stop between Saint Louis and Dakar. We drove out of Saint Louis and took the road I had been on the day before to Gueliakh. I recognized the sites and this time saw the sign for the turnoff to Guelakh. Cheryl, one of the AJWS traveling companions, had arrived in Senegal before our trip. She was actually the one who advised me to stay at Jamm when I spoke with her before the trip to see if we might do any traveling together. So she had been in Saint Louis and had suggested that I stop at the Friday market in Mpal on the drive back. Mpal is a town in northwestern Senegal. It lies on a branch railway of the Senegal Railway system (but there is no train). It is 33 km from Saint Louis and 230 km from Dakar.

WE drove through the town and he pulled over to the side of the road and parked. The market was on both sides of the main road. I went to the left first and walked finding market stalls filling the streets. I do not know quite how far it went. All sorts of things were being sold from fruits and vegetables to jeans to pots and pans to peanuts. Most people did not seem interested in interacting with me. Women, in particular, did not want their pictures taken. As I was carrying a camera when they saw me they would either turn the other way, walk away, cover their heads, or shake their fingers at me. I wondered around and then circled back to the main road. A girl approached me who spoke some English and seemed very interested in speaking with me. I sat down with her, her mother, and her grandmother. The two older women were selling peanuts. She told me she like learning English and wanted to go the U.S. to study and to become a teacher. After I spent some time visiting with them, the three kindly posed for a picture. I have her name, but no way really to contact her and that would have been nice. As I continued to the main road, a fruit vendor showed me his fruit and asked me to take his picture. I walked across the road and there I was in the middle of the sheep and goat market. Many of the men there looked like they had come from the desert and looked much more like North Africans than Senegalese. Goats and sheep were everywhere. Men were wrestling with some of them attempting to tie up their legs. There were huge sacs of feed piled up. The experience was a total immersion in the sights, sounds, and smells of the animals, men buying and selling, women tending the large sacs, and children everywhere. I am so glad Cheryl gave me that tip.

So back in the car and on toward Dakar. As we progressed the air become very hazy and heated. It appeared to be just filled with dust, not with big winds, but a sort of dust storm anyhow. The sky was really not visible. I finally asked the driver to roll up his window and he asked if I wanted the air conditioner. That seemed like a great idea. I did attempt to converse with him and did learn that he is married and has one child who is an infant. The car was getting hotter and hotter and the air dustier and dustier. It was uncomfortable with the window open and too hot with the window closed. The driver finally asked if I wanted the "climataseur" and I responded with definite Yes. I wasn't quite sure I had heard that word before, but it sounded like something that might mean air conditioner and I was right. As we drove he told me there were some very large sand dunes off the road near the ocean, but I couldn't find much information about them.

Our next destination was to be Lac Rose (Pink Lake) also known as Lake Retba about 45-60 minutes outside of Dakar (18 km). It was necessary to turn off the main road to get to the Lake. There were no signs of course. We drove down some small roads, through villages, with the driver frequently stopping at intersections and yelling out the window at whoever was walking by to get directions for the next leg of the trip. That took at least 30-45 minutes to make our way there. When we arrived we drove around about half the lake, passed a hotel and then parked next door in front of an area filled with stalls of people selling "souvenirs" - beads, T shirts, carvings, etc. However, there may have been one other car parked there and no other tourists were in site.

My research and talking with some of the other guests at Jamm indicated that I should get a guided tour of the lake and the adjacent sand dunes. The driver spoke to a man there who said he would be my guide. I was given a price which was a lot for one person but in line with what I had been told it would cost to rent a jeep for the drive. The guide then motioned for me to follow him across the road. We walked down a short road and connected with driver and a jeep that looked like it was held together with paper clips. I got it with the two of them and we set off to drive around the lake. The lake is only 3 square kilometers big (about 1,1 square miles)

The air was very hazy without any direct sunlight. The lake did not look very pink at all. It is named for its pink waters caused by Dunaliella salina algae and is known for its high salt content, up to 40% in some areas.(saltier than the Dead Sea). The algae produces a red pigment to assist in absorbing light, which provides energy to create ATP. The color is particularly visible during the dry season (from November to June) and is less visible during the rainy season (July to October). Fish have adapted to the high salt content of the lake, having evolved ways to pump out extra salt and keep their water levels balanced. The fish are approximately four times smaller than when living in a normal environment - this is known as salt water fish dwarfism.

We passed a couple of groups of people sitting by the lake and then I saw some salt workers . Salt is exported across the region by up to 3,000 collectors, men and women from all over Western Africa, who work 6-7 hours a day, and protect their skin with "Beurre de Karité" (shea butter, produced from Shea nuts, which is an emollient used to avoid tissue damage. The salt is used by Senegalese fishermen to preserve fish, a component of many traditional recipes including the national dish, a fish stew called thieboudienne. I thought we would stop, but they just sped right by. I finally got the guide's attention and asked if there were other salt workers to see. He said no. I asked why we didn't stop if those were te only salt workers there and he told me he never saw them. I got upset since I would have liked to have seen what they were doing and take some pictures. So I saw an area where the lake looked a little pink and I wanted to stop and take a picture. The guide got upset with me, told me there wasn't any time to stop anyplace he didn't choose. (like they were really busy with me being the only tourist at the whole lake). I did get them to stop, took my pictures, and got back in the jeep and we continued on to the other side of the lake. He pointed out various areas where different crops were growing and then we went on to the sand dunes. They drove the jeep up and down the beach and over several dunes. It was fun, but I would have preferred to have spent more time at the lake. We then stopped in a village that was built in the sand. I was given about 5-10 minutes to walk around. This was actually difficult because they stopped so I would have to walk up a hill to really see much and the sand was soft and difficult to walk through. I did my best. There were very few people out and about. I saw the well and some children. Then back to the place where we had started.

I was still unhappy that I had not been able to see the salt workers. Somehow I convinced my driver to drive me back around part of the lake where the workers were and some other people along the shore. He agreed. The distance was not far, maybe ¼-1/3 mile. He stopped the car and I got out to go walking. I passed two different groups of women sitting under some shelters. They were very friendly and invited me to tea. I declined and walked up to where the salt workers had been, now long gone, but saw the large bags and mounds of salt piled up next to the lake. Then I started to walk back. The women closest to me again invited me to tea, so I decided to stop for a few minutes and join them which was very fun. One of them asked for my address so I gave her my e-mail and she wrote her name on a piece of paer. Then I walked back and passed the second group closest to the car. They, too, invited me to stop, so I did to visit for a few minutes. They showered me with beads - necklaces, bracelets, a belt. I offered to pay them and they refused. I thoroughly enjoyed my little adventure. When I got back to the car, I sensed that the driver was not so happy that I had taken this extra time.

We set out to Dakar. The route back to the main road toward was much simpler to navigate and more direct as we left Lac Rose. So on to Dakar. I had the address and name of the hotel I was staying at, but e was not quite sure where it was. So again, stopping at many intersections, yelling out the window, to get directions. Finally we got there. It was not the easiest place to find as it was down a small side street and sort of in the back of a large dirt parking area. When we arrived, I settled up, got my bag, and rang the bell for Casa Mara Dakar, for my last night in Senegal.

The hotel or guest house was nice. There was a small swimming pool and rooms on two stories arranged around a grass yard. The entrance opened into what was like a living room in a house with a dining room and kitchen next to it. I got my room, fortunately on the first floor and got settled. I came back out and as I needed some cash and wanted to know where an ATM was, I asked the young woman in the kitchen. The man who had checked me in was nowhere to be found. She had no idea where a bank or ATM was. She indicated the man would be back and after about 45 minutes he came back in. The ATM and bank were only about 1 ½ blocks away, so I walked up there to get some money.

I had decided to go out to eat for dinner and thought I would try this French restaurant Terrou-Bi. Casa Mara Dakar was probably about 1/3 mile from the Radisson Blu so I knew where I was in Dakar. The restaurant per the map was on the beach further down from the Radisson. It was still light out so I thought I would walk. Between the hotel and the Radisson, I passed a number of embassies. Interestingly the Palestinian Embassy was almost across the street from the Israeli embassy. It was difficult to see the Israeli embassy; it was behind a wall and had much security.

So I got to the Radisson and then started walking down the street along the coast to where the restaurant was supposed to be. I walked and walked, past Dakar's muscle beach, and never came to the restaurant. It was starting to get dark and I was really tired so after walking at least a mile I turned around to walk back. I had stopped and was trying to find the restaurant on the map before I turned around (without success) and started walking and suddenly realized after walking a long block I did not have my camera. I turned around to go back and saw this woman jogging toward me. I must have looked very upset because she asked me what was wrong. I told her I had lost my camera. (I must have set it down when I was looking at the map). She told me to walk with her and a short distance later she saw a man crossing the main street. She called to him and we connected and he had my camera and returned it to me. I was nearly in tears, but so relieved. She continued on her jog and I continued walking back. I got near the Radisson and I saw a few men near the mall entrance. I asked them where the restaurant was. One, nicely dressed, and with a very nice car, told me he was a taxi driver and he would take me there (for a fee). It was quite a distance back where I had come from, but I had walked right by it. The restaurant was with a hotel and set back behind a gate so I guess I just hadn't seen it. He drove me in right up to the front door.

It was probably about 8 PM. I went in to see if I could get a table. Only one other table was occupied, so no problem getting a table. The restaurant is probably the most high end restaurant in Dakar. It was lovely with subdued lighting and elegant décor. About 20 minutes after I sat down, another party of three were seated near me. Toward the end of my meal I conversed with them; they were Swiss. The dinner was very fine, starting with the amuse bouche and all the way to dessert. I enjoyed very much my last night in Dakar. I chatted with one of the servers who walked me out and gave me his name and e-mail; his dream is to come to the U.S. He got me a cab and back I went to Casa Mara Dakar.

No rest for the weary. There must have been a church or something nearby with what sounded like a funeral or something because the next several hours I was rendered sleepless by the music filling the air. Even my trusty nighttime earplugs could not block it out. Finally sometime after midnight the music stopped and I was able to get some sleep. What a day - from the goat and sheep market in Mpal to fine French dining in Dakar.