We emerged from our ridiculous boat journey unscathed if a little soggy into Banjul, the dusty ex-British colonial capital where no one wants to live. While attempting to buy oranges at a market stall, Alice took a concrete block to the foot and was rushed back to the YMCA in a taxi with a bag of frozen spinach. After a few days healing we headed on down the coast to Senegal, via a couple of sweltering days in beautiful Gunjur with Lamin and Bunja.
Strange mango graphics looming over our bed in a Serrekunda guesthouse…
How odd it is to leave francophone Senegal and arrive in English speaking Gambia. Banjul and Serrekunda have a bizarrely London style, old men greet us with “Alright boss, howzit goin?” in genuine Cockneyish accents. Lancaster Place, Gloucester Drive. The ‘pie’ is a popular street food, though it’s pasty shaped, deep fried, and a bit spicy.
Guiness is huge in West Africa
Camping at a Gunjur beach bar, with puppies and drums.
Heading towards the border with Senegal along the sand, we passed a gigantic mosque still under construction.
The bikes take their second boat trip, this time in a dugout, crossing the river that acts as a border with Senegal.