Fishing

I do not know how to title this bit. Smoking herring? Fishing village? Oxford street on sea ?
I am quite glad I missed this bit about the fishing and wrote about some humor and light laughter at our own expense in the in between bit.
To be honest the first few days here were really upside down . I have always had a dream about coming to Africa. I was born on this continent. I have always felt the music in me comes from here. But what did I know? As it turns out , I knew nothing at all.

Day by day

The day here start at 5am.with an awakening of the Muslim call to prayer. Some days it is softer than others , sometimes quite loud. This bothers some members of the guests more than others. Personally I am going to have it out with the adorable little blue and brown pigeon , actually I think it is a Speckled Dove, who starts around the same time and makes a continuous call that resembles someone with a cushion over their face going "baw baw bababawa baw baw bababawa " which it repeats monotone over and over. Although there are several of these really attractive birds in the compound they do this call only one at a time. It is rather like small children going na na nana na . These birds really amuse themselves at our expense. When you are sitting by the pool not disturbing anyone they take off from the 7ft high wall and fly like a kamakzi pilot and whistle past your ear at top speed.
We are getting into the swing of things now. Yesterday we had a shopping trip to buy vegetables from the ladies at the Turntable street market and I think we did OK.they told us they gave us discount price , HUGE grin, flashing smile. You can only believe them. Beautiful veg and salad but at this time of year all the fruit is imported. We then did some supermarket shopping, we decided to forgo the out do date Tesco Stollen or the Christmas pudding . Weird .
All was going well , it was supposed to be home for a BBQ of fresh fish. (oops I haven't written about the fish markets. .... Tomorrow) HOWEVER..... ever since we arrived we have been on a mission to get postcards for small friends back home. Franco found the postcards shortly after we arrived,apparently against all odds,they are a rare commodity it seems. Last evening he decided we should get the stamps. We were in a taxi that was not one of our recommended drivers. The windscreen was cracked right in the centre near the bottom and the crack spidered out across pretty much the rest of the windscreen. The cracks were taped over with a rainbow striped Sellotape. The two passenger doors at the back had 4x 4 inch bolts sticking inwards at ankle height. Anyway, the driver said the Gambia Post was nearby. ( it was then 5.30) we drive in the opposit direction to our compound , the traffic is thickening up nicely, the black fumes from the lorry in front tasted horrible. Eventually we hit a big town, I have no idea where we were. The driver stops outside a formal looking building and asks for The Gambia Post. It is just around the corner. Sure enough there it was. (it is now 6pm.) the building is hidden behind a boundary of heavy trees overhanging wrought iron fencing in a grubby dusty once white wall. Franco and the driver leave the car and disappear.... 6.10.....6.20.....6.30 in the car we don't know whether to laugh or cry. A young tourist girl has gone in and come out. A large oldish Gambian lady with an upturned white ( sorry, white is rather optomistic description) plastic table on her head. Seats x 4. Has taken a shine to us and I don't remember now why we told her about the postcards or why we even got started on any type of conversation, but she went away passing from left to right. She then reappeared , from right to left, minus the table , and starts up again , laughing , " postcards, yes, Ha ha ha" I do not know how to write down their rich rolling accent but that's how she talked.Again we cry with laughter at what is becoming a surreal event. Have they been kidnaped? Do we care if they have been kidnapped? Finally , just as Elaine and I have hit the silly panic laughter syndrome they reappear.
Your going to love this.
The post office was closed. The manager who was still in the building was in the loo and took his time.They had waited for him to come out.I have no idea about how the conversation went on between them all whilst he was in the loo.When he did finnaly come out the manager asked Franco how much the postage was for postcards for Europe! They had to look it up . There had then been a discussion about his honesty and the fact that he would make sure the money went into the till.
You couldn't make it up.
It was then far too late by the time we got home to do the BBq so we ate out.
Those of you who receive postcards owe us a drink.those of you who don't , we did post them honestly.

Airport to Bijilo

The Gambia is one of the smallest countries in Africa.It runs along the length of the River Gambia and is surrounded on all sides by Senegal.There was a time a few years ago that the two countries were going to merge and be called Senagambia but it did  not work out. Somehow it feels like a link in my travel chain that a lot of the beach sellers who pester us on the beaches in Italy come from Senegal. I wonder where they get the better life? That is a genuine question. They are not welcomed in Italy and they do not integrate in anyway. The answer is not a good one is it? Either way these people were born on the tough side of the street. It would appear to be the same here for many Gambians.
Our first impressions of here?  It is too early to say.

Africa. The Gambia . First impressions.

Until our team leader , Mrs Jones, suggested that our next winter trip should be "The Gambia " .
I did not even know it existed as a holiday destination. However it passed the selection test on three counts , weather, price and we could stay in one place  and do our trips out from base camp . So to speak.
Since making that decision it has turned out  , as so often happens, we have met several people who have come here for their holidays and the feed back has been 100% positive.