A Day in Dakar

They say the journey matters more than the destination and for my month-long Atlantic crossing, that my very well have been the case. However, if one’s final stop is Dakar, as was mine, then the destination becomes a separate journey all by itself, if only for a few hours.

After the rare and barely-inhabited islands of the South Atlantic, the colors and energy burst of Dakar was a blatant jolt to all senses. Stepping away from the tranquility of my ship, I found that I had landed in a constant city where all things moved constantly. The chaos of African cities is infectious and exciting, but there’s something about Senegal’s capital that is perfectly unique: the dirt yards of swept dust, the flowers that just won’t quit, the pockets of small sea coves,the decorated boats and buses, and the special smell of saltwater, sardines, peanuts, roast chicken and wood smoke.

One full day in Dakar was the exclamation point at the end of my sea voyage: short, intense, and energetic. I count this West African capital as one of the world’s great, undiscovered cities–lacking perhaps the iconic prestige of Hong Kong or Paris or Cape Town, but so visually rich and intoxicating that I instantly began plotting my return. Such is the traveler’s promise to himself–the intrigue of place plants a seed of faraway longing.

Even now that I’ve been, and despite the first-world skyscrapers and very modern city that this is, Dakar still conjures up the most thrilling sense of the exotic for me. I know that I must return one day, for if anything, Dakar is a city that merits getting lost in.