The plan for today after another wonderful Jamm breakfast was to visit Langue de Barbarie (Barbary tongue). There were two other guests at breakfast, a couple from Scotland who actually spoke English. Both were doctors; the man, of Indian descent, was a gastroenterologist and his wife was a general practitioner who worked arranging for home care for persons with disabilities. It was refreshing to have a conversation in real English (tinged with a bit of Scottish). Yves arranged for a cab for me. When the driver arrived we negotiated the price for the drive there and then for him to return later in the day to pick me up. The drive was across the big bridge that separated the island from the mainland and then along the river on the mainland side through an area populated with many people and shops. We headed south and drove for about 45 minutes (25 km) to the entrance to the national park. Langue de Barbarie is an isthmus, ie a narrow strip of land that separates the Senegal River from the Atlantic Ocean for several kilometers. The road branched with the park entrance to the left and the road to my destination, Zebrabar, to the right.

Yves had advised me that this is where I should go and that a boat ride into the park could be arranged there. The name ZEBRABAR comes from ZEBRA (stands for Africa) and NjagaBAR (which means Pelican in Wolof, official Senegalese language). It was created by a Swiss couple and is a lovely encampment along the Senegal river. There is a bar and small restaurant in the main building, scattered cabins and bungalows, play equipment for children, and an observation tower. I was greeted in a very friendly way by the staff there. There was a man there who told me he could be my guide. I paid my money which included the entrance fee to the park and the services of the guide and his boat. We then walked through the grounds to the river. The boat there looked very weathered, and I had my doubts about how watertight it was (which were only doubts).We walked out into the water and I climbed in. He drove the boat through the river to the narrow strip of land on the other side. He killed the motor, dropped anchor, and we waded thought the water to the shore. We took a walk through a grove of trees to the other side which was a very long strip of beach along the Atlantic Ocean. Here, the beach was relatively clean with minimal trash and, certainly, no dead animals washing up around my feet. We sat on the beach for a little while and then walked back through the dunes and trees, stopping for a photo op (the guide wanted to take my picture with his phone and also took some pictures of me with my camera. Once back near the boat, we waded out in the water and embarked to continue the journey. We went to what may have been a small island that had many birds on it, pelicans, sandpipers, gulls, to name a few. It was interesting but not as impressive as Djoudj. I later learned that early in the AM or late in the afternoon were the best times to see birds (which I should have known) and this was almost the middle of the day.

Once the sightseeing was done we went back to Zebrabar. As I walked from the water onto the beach, it seemed as if the entire beach area was covered with crabs scurrying around, some digging holes. The crabs were a pretty good size and it was quite a sight.

I needed to place my order for lunch which was going to be served like 45-60 minutes later. So with time to kill, I walked around the grounds, climbed the observation tower, and then went to an area near the beach with some chairs and tables and hammocks and thought I would read. I ended up talking with a French couple that had come for a several week vacation and then met a young woman from Canada who was traveling on her own through Africa. Her trip sounded quite interesting; I know she had been in Morocco and Mauritania, used various means to travel and find places to stay. She didn't have money to buy lunch, but did buy a beer. She told me she had a website for her travels (and as I am writing this after the fact) I did visit the website and send her a follow-up e-mail, but never heard back. Anyhow she was interesting to talk to and spoke English. She was hanging out with a Senegalese man. I couldn't tell if he worked at Zebrabar or she knew him some other way, but jumping ahead, I offered to give them a ride back to Saint Louis later when my taxi returned. I figured I was going that way, had to pay anyway, so why not. They gave me a few dollars (equivalent).

After lunch (fish and rice) which was good I had a couple of hours to kill. Were I to do this over, I would have left earlier. We had passed a private game reserve on the road in to Langue de Barbarie and I would have had the cab come earlier and take me there on the way back, but I didn't really know at the time. So I decided to walk over to the little village near the park entrance.

The village was a few blocks long with dirt roads. I passed women hanging out their laundry, some groups of children sitting outside with an adult, possibly a teacher, and I met an elderly couple sitting in front of their home. There wasn't much going on there, but it was interesting to see the village. The people were friendly. A small group of boys approached me and asked me, in French, if I had a "stylo" (a pen). I did, of course, but it occurred to me that if that is what they wanted it would help them do their schoolwork. I told the boys I would get them a stylo. They took me to a tiny little building that seemed to be sort of a general store and I bought each of them (and a girl who had joined us) a pen. They posed for pictures proudly holding their new pens. So it was a good trip into the village.

The route to the village and back was over a low bridge that crossed an area that I am sure was flooded at times. I saw some interesting birds on my walk and a few sheep and goats. I also walked to the entrance of the park. A car pulled up and it was this group of people from Spain that had been staying at Jamm a couple of nights before. There were two couples and they had a car and their own driver who looked to be more North African, not Senegalese.

So the taxi took us back to Saint Louis. We dropped the other two off and I went back to Jamm. When I was outside the door, a man I had met who seemed to be part of the group of Yen a Marre artists who worked in the building across the street and exhibited some of their work on the exterior wall of the building across the street was kind of hanging out. He had told me before that he wanted to show me how Senegalese people lived and to have tea with him. I had planned to try one other restaurant in Saint Louis that night and wasn't so sure I wanted to do this. I told him I would be leaving to go to eat and he indicated he would be there when I returned.

I went inside, got myself together, and left later to walk about four blocks to the restaurant which had been recommended by Yves and the Jamm staff, La Kora. It also was highly rated by Trip Advisor (#1). The décor was nice with sort of modern paintings on the walls. There were two large rooms, the front room with bar and the back room where I was seated. The food was ok, the service was ok, but none of it was spectacular and no one was particularly friendly to me. I paid in cash and the server came back and seemed to indicate I had not given them enough money. I was actually expecting change back and was really taken aback by what seemed to be an accusation that I was trying not to pay, The language difference did not help and it was all starting to escalate. I pulled out some more money and gave it to them and left.

The dinner took a bit longer than I had expected. I was still in the restaurant when my "friend" for the evening told me he would be waiting for me. I was hoping he would not be there, but when I arrived he was very much there. I had thought we were going across the street to the building the artists worked in, but that was not the case. We walked about ½ mile and arrived at a building and went in. There was a central courtyard. Another young man came out of one of the rooms opening onto the courtyard. My "host" spoke to him, told me to wait there, and left. I spoke with this young man who told me he was a musician and that the men who lived in the building were musicians and artists. After about ten minutes, my "host" returned and we crossed the courtyard and went to another room which appeared to be where he lived. The room was Spartan with a mattress on the floor. He lit a candle and got a sort of charcoal burner which he lit and set outside the door of the room. He placed a small metal teakettle on it, boiled some water, and took out a small bag of tea leaves and prepared tea. Apparently when he had left he had gone to buy or get the tea. We sat there and drank tea. I was not at all comfortable with the situation and once finished told him I was very tired and wanted to go back. He didn't seem too happy about that, but he acted very decently. We walked back to Jamm. As we were walking there was singing coming from somewhere that reverberated throughout the whole area we were walking in. I later learned it was a funeral. I was walking quickly, really just wanted to get back. As we approached Jamm he indicated to me that I owed him money because he had gone out to buy the tea. I thought it odd (and this was not to be the last time this would happen) to invite someone for tea and then ask that person to pa. I knew I could certainly afford to pay for the tea and that his idea was that his hospitality was his gift to me. So I gave him some money, thanked him for the tea, went into Jamm to retire for the night.

So the end of another full day.