Encounters with the Prince of Love

Factfile:
mosquito bites: 3762
love letters from doting old men: 2 (one each)
poetic responses to said letter: 1
unwanted and overzealous kisses as a result of said response: 4 (2 each)
number of times I have nearly told irritating fake Rastas to 'fuck back off to Zion': 25
Number of fabricated husbands, fiancees, children: 54, 28, 72

off season, Senegal is no backpackers' dream. We arrived at one hotel reccomended by the Lonely Planet having stubbornly walked 6km from the bus station (no, the taxi driver wasn't lying about how far it was to lure us into his clutches). When we got there, the receptionist was so confused that her job consisted of more watching french soap operas that the Wolof  phone conversation to her boss seemed to go:
-Guests!
-Yes they actually want to stay here!
Having negotiated to half her ridiculous asking price, we then returned in the evening to find the place deserted and the water switched off. In desperation for a shower, we climbed over a wall and switched the water pump on ourselves.

Our days have alternated between experiences like that which make us wonder what everyone is going on about when the sing the praises off 'Teranga', Senegalese hospitality. Then there are the other surprising moments when we feel like we have stepped out of the tourist trap and into people's lives. When we arrived in Podor, a sleepy fortress town on Senegal river, our welcome consisted of a plate of egg and chips that made the greasy spoon in Withnail and I look like the Ritz. This eggy delight (I HATE EGGS) was accompanied by the sounds of an empty all night disco on our doorstep.
The following day though, we stumbled upon the studio of Omar Ly, a famous Senegalese photographer who has made it big in Paris. He gave us a tour  around his studio and showed us his amazing black and white photos of 1970's disco chic Senegal. That evening we ordered a meal in a restaurant, and wound up at a party full of people dancing Mbalax (a bit like the funky chicken dance but much cooler and sexier), and eating off huge plates of food. I truly lost my vegetarian virginity, but Senegalese intestines didn't go down much better than Salonian deep fried sausages...

We are spending our last few days in Ile de Gorée, 20 minutes by ferry from Dakar. Once a slaving outpost, it is now a weekend getaway for rich Dakaris: winding cobbled streets, no cars and lots of beautiful beautiful people. We are going home tomorrow. Shame really as we got invited to go clubbing with two guys who introduced themselves as 'gymnasts and models'. Still, they didn't have much chat, our bank balances are way below freezing point and we miss being able to express ourselves in more detail than talking about which football team we support. Definitely time to come home.

lots of love, can't wait to see you all xxxxxxxxxxx