Kit packed away and strong coffee downed, again courtesy of ‘Duks coffee bar’ (David and Kat’s Landy), we were soon on the piste. The day became hotter as the morning cloud evaporated and our speed increased as we shook off the ‘morning drowses’ and the caffeine took effect. Quite suddenly an explosion of the undergrowth to my left caught my attention as 5 large, grunting warthogs burst onto the scene. Startled by the roar of the passing GS they all darted left, now running parallel to the bike and only a few feet away – their panic was tangible. As I pulled away from them their stampede came to a halt and they strode once again confidently onto the piste …… right in front of Lisa! A few ‘beeps’ of the horn had them running again, but this time back into the lush vegetation. Lisa’s squeals of excitement from her close encounter filled the airwaves of the Autocom for the next 5 min.

As the kilometres went by the track became elevated, keeping us clear of the water left and right and providing fantastic views of the thousands of birds that make this area home. We were travelling through the Parc National aux Oiseaux du Djoudj and as transit tourists don’t need to buy tickets. If avoiding the aggression at Rosso isn’t reason enough to take the piste, then the views and sights provided by the Parc certainly should be. 3 million birds migrate here and almost 300 species have been recorded! We managed to see white pelicans, herons, egrets, spoonbills and probably many more that we didn’t manage to recognise.

By mid-afternoon we had reached the border at N 16º 12. 813 W 016º 24. 905 and started the formalities required in order to exit Mauritania. The first office is customs (we think…we were never sure which was what as there were quite a few ‘offices’ all wanting money!) where we paid 10 euro each for ‘admin’ and picked up our exit stamps for the carnet. The next office was ‘gendarmerie’, and a couple of very pissed-off police who wanted another 10 euro off each of us! We spent the next 30 mins crammed in their tiny office confessing our confusion as to their demands until finally in disgust we were ushered on our way. 1km further on we had the bridge in sight. Once across the Landy paid 10 euro and we handed over 5 euro for each bike as a bridge toll.

With the bikes parked up we were then led into the low building on the right where our passports were checked and where we handed over yet another 5 euro each for our passports to be stamped!. Carnets were then marked for entry into Senegal and another 10 euro each demanded for ‘admin’. (This is a very expensive day!) After a good deal of contesting we finally ended up paying 5 euro each. The last building on the left was our final port of call – for insurance, which set us back 19 euro per bike for 10 days.

WARNING: buy the insurance at the frontier! Yes, it IS horribly expensive but we were stopped 3 times between leaving the border and reaching St Louis. Insurance was checked each time! As we finally reached St Louis the market end was still in full flow we took a left at the roundabout immediately before the bridge. This saw us heading south where we picked up painted signs for ‘Zebrabar’, which we’d intended to make our base for the next few days since seeing their distinctive black and yellow sticker on a number of over-landing vehicles going north. The piste to Zebrabar was horribly corrugated and several tracks of very soft sand also have to be traversed before finally reaching the gate of the site, which is across an estuary. At low tide the crossing is easy but at high tide, prepare to get wet! Once inside the site it wasn’t long before we’d set up camp under the umbrella of the few trees and had made ourselves at home – not difficult at somewhere like Zebrabar (N 15º 51. 878 W 016º 30. 724) – the place exudes that tropically relaxed atmosphere that you read about in the glossy travel mags, only this place is 1000 times less expensive and 1000 times more ‘chilled’.

At the bar/reception Ursula and Martin (the Swiss owners) introduced themselves and it wasn’t long before conversation was flowing – the cold beer sat in front of us didn’t hurt things either! To ensure a ‘no fuss equilibrium’ at all times even the food and bar are run using an ‘honour’ system. If you want a bottle of water/soda of beer you just help yourself and write it down, the same for food – all just too perfect! With evening closing in and a few little jobs complete, we headed back over to the main building to have dinner courtesy of Zebrabar and gently to sip a few very cold beers and introduce ourselves to the other guests. Sabina and Sammy were already deep in conversation with Verner so our first introduction was to Vladimir (from the UK) -the proud owner of the brand new, steel-grey GS adventure we’d spied when we first arrived. “So, you finally got out of Morocco then?” Vladi’ asked off the bat. “Umm, yeah…we did” - our fumbled reply was partly due to our surprise at being asked the question form someone we hadn’t met but who obviously knew us. It turned out that Vladi’ was well acquainted with our journey so far as he was a regular visitor to our web page and had used the information on it to help prepare for his own trip. It was great to hear our cyber effort was actually being useful! We couldn’t have asked for a better place to recharge the batteries after the gruelling effort of the past week. With full bellies and heavy eyes we said goodnight and climbed into the sleeping bags. As I write this diary and Lisa sleeps I am kept company by the countless noises around the tent and every one of them sounding typically African – exciting and a little scary.

Catching a lift into St Louis with Ursula in the van meant an early start for us at 6:30am. But 30mins later we were parked up and immersed in the madness that is ‘St Louis market’. Ursula was shopping for grub, as the first group of the ‘Plymouth-Dakar rally’ was due to arrive tonight and she would be cooking for 55 tired and hungry Brits.

The market bombarded every sense as vendors shout for your attention, strong smells catch your nostrils and the vibrancy and colour of the place pull your eyes in 100 directions at once. Ursula has been here now for 7 years and we wondered if she still found it overwhelming or was it now, for her, just like you and I going down to the Co-op?

Three to four levels into the market and we followed Ursula into the meat hall…definitely NOT somewhere for the squeamish! With 40 or so small concrete rooms lining the hall left and right and each of them crammed to overflowing with meat carcasses and a million frenzied flies. Squeezing our way down the claustrophobic and blood stained hall, huge meat cleavers flew past our ears before thudding dully into the flesh on the tables. Animals of every description were being hacked up and made ready for the table. A small table to my right caught my attention as the skinless head of a cow came face-to-face (literally) with the skinned head of a large goat. The sinewy fibres of the facial muscles exposed and the eyeballs still in situ simply added to the gory spectacle. As we gawped Ursula ordered kilos of fine looking fillet, which was promptly carved up, and bagged and then carried by one of the many young boys who were around and who would relieve Ursula of some small change back at the van. The fish section was a similar experience with the local market ladies expertly de-scaling, de-heading and filleting exotic-looking fish of every description. The smell was a little stomach churning but Lisa was in her element. Irrespective of the smell one thing above all stood out about St Louis and the market…the colour. Everywhere you look there is the most wonderful colour, from the fruits on sale to the dresses of the ladies, vibrant and so alive, reds, greens, purples and magnificent oranges – all of this contrasting with the dirt brown wooden structures of the market and the heavenly blue of the harbour area…intoxicating! With shopping done and aboard the van we were soon back at Zebrabar having passed flocks of pelicans on-route. We had to travel through the Parc National de la Langue de Barbarie in order to reach the campsite; in fact the campsite is in the Parc itself. Dinner was cooked over an open fire as the sun sent down and the stars came out – all of which seems to happen very quickly.

Today didn’t quite pan out as planned – thanks to a run in with the local gendarmerie.

I’d ridden in to St Louis on the 1100GS with Vladi’ riding his adventurer for company. I was hoping to track down some SAE 10 wt fork oil for Lisa as she’d blown a fork seal on her way in to Senegal. At the first police checkpoint we (Vladi’ and I ) were waived over and asked for our documents – passport, driving permit and insurance. Unfortunately, Vladi’ didn’t have insurance and more worryingly, his laisser Passer (local carnet replacement) had expired. This can be a serious problem as with no laisser and no carnet the police are legally entitled to confiscate your vehicle and simply sell it! The cop was now getting irate and we’d drawn a crowd of about 40 and we were feeling increasingly vulnerable. With the cop now in full flow he demanded my carnet, which I didn’t have on me (carnet are generally only viewed at borders). Some 30mins later I’d convinced the officer to let me return to Zebrabar for the carnet and had nervously had to leave my documents with him, assuring him of my return. The officer, up till now, was all for dragging us both down to the gendarmerie central, where his leverage over us would be increased. Blatting off back to Zebrabar my progress was halted no more than 4 km on when a second gendarme waived me over…”Oh shit!” I thought – now I have no documents on me at all! 10 mins on and luckily for me this officer believed my scenario and waived me off. The clock was now ticking and I needed to get a move on. Back at Zebrabar, and with my predicament explained, it was decided that I would return to St Louis in the van with Sabina driving (Vladi’s girlfriend) accompanied by one of the African-speaking staff form Zebra who, we hoped, could talk sensibly to the police. With our plan formulated we set off. 15mins into our journey to St Louis the familiar configuration of the Adventurer headlights came hurtling down the road towards us, with Vladi’ on board grinning from ear-to-ear. Somehow he talked himself out of the situation and remembered to pick up my documents. Talk about relieved. All in all a very lucky end to a situation that could have had very serious repercussions.The hunt for Lisa’s fork oil will have to wait until another day.

By 3:30am the second group of ‘Plymouth-Dakar’ had arrived and the glow of light from the entering vehicle had woken me up but surprisingly Lisa was still in the land of nod. What the hell – I needed to get up anyway for the loo.

50 very tired and very excited people had made themselves comfortable on the terrace and Martin and Ursula were already in high gear. My offer of help was gratefully accepted and so by 4:30 am we were preparing spaghetti bolognaises en-mass and serving pasta for breakie by 5:15am. 5,000 grams of pasta disappeared very quickly and the fridge full of beers vanished even faster.

6:00 am saw me at the bar talking with a guy who lives just down the road from Wivey and an hour later Lisa (who had finally got up) and I were introduced to Gary (we think) who moved from Wivey only 4 years earlier and who Lisa and I both recognised….it really is a small world.

By 11 am our bikes were packed, we said our goodbyes and had left Zebrabar. It was now high tide so we carefully zig-zagged a path to the opposite bank as the water lapped around our knees. Our seawater encounter demanded we hosed the bikes down when we picked up fuel in St Louis before u turning and heading down to Dakar. The route to Dakar was simple enough, but it took much longer than we’d first anticipated and although nit was asphalt all the way it still provided us with a couple of highlights – not least of which was the spectacle of 20 or so huge African vultures happily tucking into a recently killed donkey at the roadside. These things are huge and easily stand at waist height! With their roadside lunch so close we didn’t feel brave enough to stop for a picture. As we hit the outskirts of the city - in rush hour, when else? – Our progress was halted when my bike cut out…completely. No motor, no ignition, no lights, not even the digital clock on my instruments was working. Shit, c’mon I’m too hot and tired for this. Within minutes 30 pairs of staring eyes were around us. 15 mins later and I’d checked all that I could and we were resigned to pushing the big red lump back around the roundabout to the forecourt of the nearest petrol station, where I could safely get the tank off and inspect the electrics. Pushing the GS to the station and battling with the donkeys, scooters, buses, cars and huge dilapidated trucks was an experience in itself and was achieved eventually by adopting a “he who dares wins” attitude. A short while later the GS was hoisted up on its centre stand and I began to track down the problem. Prospective desert riders take note: after inspecting the fuses and finding none blown I took off the tank to look at the battery. The problem was the battery terminals were absolutely encrusted in sand. A quick wipe with a dirty rag and a spray of WD40 saw the bike spring back into life…simple. This build-up of sand was only from the last few days as I’d been regularly checking this prior to the problem. So, if your bike dies and you’re in the desert, make this one of your first checks. Such a simple problem, but with such dire results. With the bike sorted we arrived in Dakar at dusk and made for Hippo camp at N 14º 43. 855 W 017º 19. 675. A small site inside a walled compound – 3 small rooms and enough space for a few tents. As the only guests its not great and not somewhere we’d recommend for anything more than an overnighter. The good reputation it has was built by the now previous German owners. The site has now also moved location, upped its prices and is being run by a Senegalese guy who is just trading on the name. We planned to leave early tomorrow morning.

Heading back out to Rufisque, the traffic was horrendous. It took us quite some time to find our left turn off the main road, which would take us to Lac Rose – signposts here just don’t exit. We planned to base ourselves at Lac Rose whilst waiting for the final stage of the Paris-Dakar to arrive. A tour of the north shore brought us to Bonaba Café, N 14º 50. 594 W 017º 14. 165, a great place for a bite to eat with huts and camping facilities if you wish to stay there. After a break of several hours and getting the ‘low-down’ from the locals as to how and where the Rally normally finishes we rode back round to the west shore of the lake and made camp at the Palal N 14º 50. 109 W 017º 14. 968 where we were told the Rally would finish.

By now it was gone 6pm and the light was fading fast. With the day being much longer than anticipated and our arrival being fairly disorganised dinner was a sandwich and a cold coke!

We’ve now got several days before the Dakar Rally arrives but still don’t yet have the information of how the Rally ends and where the media circus aftermath is held. We were told this morning that the Rally would officially end at The Meridian Hotel in Dakar and so with Lisa on board we drove into Dakar hoping to find the Meridian and pick up some supplies, plus organise our Brown Card insurance which would cover us for the majority of West Africa.

How naive were we!!! The Dakar traffic is exhausting! With the panniers still on the bikes it took us 2 hours to reach downtown Dakar and another 1 ½ to get through it! By mid-afternoon we’d got ourselves to the Dakar peninsula and we finally had the huge Meridian Hotel in sight – coffee was the order of the day. The day was getting hotter and bike kit and motorbike boots felt decidedly cumbersome. Now we needed to find the Axa insurance office – eventually we tracked it down to: N 14º 41. 260 W 017º 28. 200. the insurance ended up costing us 18,000 CFA each for a two month policy – quite a good price when compared to insurance purchased at the border! However, we spent well over 2 hours in the office as the staff kept on fumbling the paperwork!

With our ‘reccie’ complete and insurance purchased, we made our way back to Lac Rose – the traffic was even worse (if that’s at all possible) than in the morning – it took us forever!

ok the first part is over
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to go to the second part of the Senegal section