Hotel Le Djoloff
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... rest of the world just sucks it up and counts past 12. We can win world wars but can't count past 12? What kind of life is that?
Well, I'll just stop here and make a list for later. For now, I will continue to sit here and listen to some sort of strange, French humor that's on television. I haven't got a single clue as to what's going on but I'm under the impression that it's supposed to be comical... I will never understand Europeans.
Au revoir mes amis!
... of and outside of the airport. Most of the people arriving with us did not put their bags through the screener machines. We weren't sure if we were supposed to do it until we were motioned to.
Outside, we had to get a taxi, and some local currency. I hesitated with the first English speaker offering help. A kind Baye Fall said he was a taxi man, and led the way. We changed $100 to 45000 CFA or so and continued to our ...
... for 20 minutes. No one was there for me. I was able to borrow a phone to call the owner of the surf camp. He mixed up the days and thought I was getting in on the 10Th instead of the 1st. He said he would send someone right out for me. While I waited for his guy to pick me up, I was swarmed by locals from all sides hitting me up for money. It was insane actually. They just would not let up. They weren't threatening about it just incredibly ...
... hot there was nothing to do but laugh!! We were literally watching beads of sweat drip off of us as we are in the far back of a car in the middle of an African afternoon. Besides the almost unbearable heat the drive went by pretty quick, only about two hours.
Our last night in Thies was pretty relaxed. Alexx and I still were not feeling 100%, well I would say 20% would be a closer estimate, so we stayed under the radar pretty much ...
The muscular African men dressed as "false lions", in their fake animal skins and Zulu facial paint, didn't bring me to the middle of the drum circle and force me to lie down in water and sand. I was happy for this.
I had on my best outfit today. Called a "yere wolof", it'd been a gift from Uncle Cheikh Oumar in central Senegal. The pants of this thin, cotton outfit flowed around my legs like cloud; ...