TRANS-ATLANTIC CRUISE – PART 2

I’ve always had a passion for geography.  Wellington, the village where I grew up, had a two-room school: Grades 1 to 4 were la petite école and 5 to 7 la grande école.  My first geography book opened the world to me and vice versa.  When she was teaching another grade and I’d finished my assignment, Madame Orella would give me permission to pull down one of the two maps at the front of the room: the map of Canada and the map of the World.  I spent hours learning the names of countries and their capitals.  This curiosity remains as fresh as it was in 1961 when I made the big move to la grande école.

One of the attractions of this cruise was the opportunity to visit three African countries not normally part of cruise or land tour itineraries: Cabo Verde, Gambia, and Senegal.  We’ve only set foot on the African continent twice before: in Tangiers, Morocco, and on a visit to the Valley of the Kings and the temples of Luxor and Karnak along the Nile River in Egypt.

The African continent has a land area three times the size of Canada and is divided into 48 countries.  Adding the six offshore nations of Cabo Verde, Sao Tome and Principe, Comoros, Seychelles, Mauritius, and Madagascar brings the total number of ‘African’ countries to 54.  But two political entities further complicate the political geography of continental Africa.  The territory known as Western Sahara, wedged between Mauritania and Morocco, is administered by Morocco but doesn’t really ‘belong’ to any one country.  Somaliland, formerly British Somaliland, declared its independence in 1991, but its sovereignty is not recognized by other nations.  So, the correct answer to the trivia question “How many countries are there in Africa?” is “It depends!”

As interesting as Africa might be to an outsider like me, I doubt I’ll ever visit many of its countries, simply because many are too poor, too remote, or too unstable politically.  In many cases, all three limitations apply.  It’s a shame because there are so many interesting places to visit and so much important history here, including the fact that our ancestors came out of Africa many thousands of years ago, making it the cradle of the human race.

After spending a couple of days in the port city of Mindelo in Cabo Verde, we set sail for the capital city of Praia on the island of Santiago.  We’d been told that this island, further to the southeast was one of the leeward islands in the Cape Verde archipelago — leeward meaning sheltered.  Alas, it was anything but when we arrived at the entrance to the harbour of Praia.  The wind was howling at 80 km/hr or so and the captain decided not to chance the tricky backward entry through a very narrow channel.  And so ended our brief visit to another interesting country.

 
We set sail for Banjul, capital city of Gambia, where we were to spend a day and a half.  Gambia is the smallest nation by land area on the African continent, about twice the size of Prince Edward Island.  It was colonized by the British and used by them as a base for capturing and transporting slaves during that terrible period of human history.  According to the classic tale Roots, written by American author Alex Haley, Gambia is the ancestral home of Kunta Kinteh. 

The nation gained its independence in 1965 and has a population of 1.9 million.  It’s extremely poor, with an ANNUAL per capita income of $1,900 US.  To put that into perspective, if Carey Price played every one of the 84 NHL regular season games with the Montréal Canadiens, he’d make that much standing in his crease for one single MINUTE!

The market we visited on Day 1 in Banjul was as poor as we’d seen anywhere, a rabbit warren of stalls featuring high-pressure sellers of all manner of goods.  The smells in the food area were overpowering, enough to “knock a dog off a gut wagon”.  We wished the shuttle had taken us to a better part of town, one that might have left us with a better first impression of the place.  I blame Holland America for that.  That, and for not telling us in advance about the $100 US per person Visa fee!

On Day 2, we teamed up with fellow world travellers Olga and Yan from Ottawa.  As a visitor to a country like Gambia, you’re torn between two options: take the outrageously-priced Holland America shore excursion, or strike out on your own and try to create your own interesting itinerary without getting ripped off or kidnapped by the locals.  We’ve learned through experience that the ship’s excursions are superficial and sanitized; that they don’t always give you a true picture of the location you’re visiting.  Independent travel is usually better.

Our experiences in Banjul and the nearby cities of Bakau and Serrekunda are hard to describe.  Words fail.  The things we remember are the all-penetrating dust; the primitive infrastructure; the utter chaos of garbage-strewn street scenes; and the overpowering stench of open sewers.  Such a contrast to the friendliness of the people and the beauty of proud women wearing brightly-coloured dresses.  On a five-hour tour with a private guide, we visited a crocodile farm, a monkey sanctuary and a textile market.  For many reasons, Gambia is a challenging place to visit although our guide, Abdul, and driver, Dominique, were both excellent.  The country is clearly not ready to welcome tourists, but we did the best we could.

I love this photo as it shows a typical Gambian scene: woman carrying child on her back with cellphone in hand; men lounging around; dirt street; and souvenir stalls.

 My new BFF, Charlie the Nile Crocodile!

Elva feeding peanuts to her new BFF.

We docked in Dakkar, capital of Senegal, a vibrant country of 13 million people, who seem slightly better off than Gambians, but not by much.  Again, together with Olga and Yan, we hired a taxi to drive us to the Bandia Wildlife Reserve, ninety minutes away.  Our driver turned out to be the worst Elva and I have encountered in all our travels: abusive, aggressive, disrespectful and, worst of all, dishonest. 

Things weren’t much better when we arrived at the Reserve.  Even though we had no difficulty communicating in French, no one seemed willing to serve us.  Our impression throughout was that everyone was intent on cheating us out of every dollar they could.  Fortunately, our 4x4 trek through the Wildlife Reserve, a 3,500-hectare enclosure that’s a cross between a zoo and the wild, offered a great opportunity to see self-sufficient animals up close.  We ended the day with a walk around Dakar’s Independence Square and managed to find a semblance of civilization — and welcome wifi — at the five-star Pullman Hotel.

I wish I had better things to say about Dakar and Senegal, but one bad experience is enough to sour you on a place.  It’s clear from the spanking new international airport and new developments on the outskirts of the capital city that Senegal is a country on the move.  Dakar is positioning itself as the emerging financial and administrative hub of French West Africa.  It may yet achieve that goal.  But until those in the tourist industry begin to understand the meaning of service, they haven’t got a hope.

TRANS-ATLANTIC CRUISE – PART 1

We felt right at home as soon as we stepped across the gangway and boarded the MS Prinsendam, the fourth ship we’ve sailed on in Holland America’s line.  Our trip to Fort Lauderdale hadn’t happened quite as we’d planned.  We were supposed to leave Charlottetown early Saturday morning, arrive in Florida early afternoon, and spend the weeked with friends Danielle Robert and Serge Martel.  But a snowstorm cancelled our Charlottetown flight, so we had to fly out of Moncton instead, arriving early Sunday morning in Fort Lauderdale, too late to visit our friends.

Dog-tired after eight straight sixteen-hour days spent setting up our new apartment on Allen St., we welcomed a few days’ downtime.  A Sunday visit to downtown Fort Lauderdale was just what the doctor ordered.  Our shitty hotel, the Red Carpet Inn, was hardly the place to spend a warm, sunny day.  We took the city bus and strolled Riverwalk and Los Olas Boulevard, stopping for lunch and coffee along the way. 

Next morning, we stood in line in front of the hotel with other cruisers, waiting for a very disorganized shuttle service to finally take us to Cruiseport.  Note to self: find a better hotel if there is a next time in Fort Lauderdale.

A funny thing happened as we stood in line at the security checkpoint before boarding the ship.  An elderly man, heavy-set in navy blue shorts, was told to do something by one of the security agents.  Probably take off his belt.  Somehow, he understood he was to take off his shorts.  Down they dropped, exposing matching boxers and skinny stovepipe legs.  The agent rushed over and helped him pull up the shorts, she far redder in the face than him.  I watched other agents as they tried in vain to keep straight faces.  The nearby Sheriff’s Deputy buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Once on board, we scanned fellow passengers, overwhelmingly white and American.  “Jesus”, I thought, “I’ve never seen so many canes and walkers in my life, outside of a nursing home.”  Many of our fellow travellers are well into their seventies, some in their eighties, and a few in their nineties!  I wonder what motivates them to embark on such an adventure despite obvious physical limitations.  Many will not even be able to go ashore in the ports we’ll visit.  Elva and I talk about whether we’ll travel in ten or fifteen years time.  We conclude that, for those much older than we are, being on this floating hotel constitutes a welcome change of scenery, relief from boredom, and being on the move is better than a lonely room, wherever home may be.  Suddenly, it makes sense.

The Prinsendam is a much smaller ship than we’re used to, tiny compared to the behemoths that ply the seven seas these days, floating cities that carry 4,000 passengers and more.  But she’s got all the amenities and services we’ve come to expect from Holland America.  Being at sea for the first couple of days forces us to relax and wind down.  Cut off from wifi and all but a few TV stations, we find other ways to amuse ourselves.

Our first port of call, San Juan, Puerto Rico, was not a new destination for us.  We called here in 2014 aboard the Zaandam on a ten-day Caribbean cruise.  The old city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and well worth a visit.  We retraced steps from our last visit, going back to places we’d enjoyed.

Tortola in the British Virgin Islands was to be the second stop on our cruise tour, but the island has yet to recover sufficiently from the ravages of last fall’s Hurricane Irma.  Instead, we sailed into Cruz Bay on St. John Island, one of the US Virgin Islands.  We took the tender into the small harbour, checked things out, and opted for a tour with local Elvis Sprauve, our colourful and informative guide for the next couple of hours.  He showed us the island’s beauty, talked about its history, and explained the impact of the hurricane.  One five-star resort we looked down on from the coast road had been totally destroyed.  Wrecked pleasure boats dotted sheltered coves, waiting for their owners to claim them or for someone to break them up for salvage.

St. John reminded us of other small islands we’ve visited in the Caribbean: Les Saintes, Tobago, Carriacou, Bequia, and Nevis, notably.  They’re unique places inhabited by very special people.  Those that haven’t been spoiled by too much development feature a laid-back atmosphere, one that makes you appreciate that things there really do run on “island time”.

Day 6 of the cruise was the first of five straight days at sea, as we crossed the open Atlantic Ocean from the Carribean to our next stop, due East, the Cape Verde Islands.  The last two days were quite rough, cramping our style somewhat.  Five days may sound like a long time to spend on a ship but the time goes by fast.  We sleep in, take our time at breakfast, walk on the promenade, go to the gym, lay in the sun, get to know fellow passengers, watch a movie, go to a show or a lecture; before you know it, another day has passed. 

We get to know members of the crew and find their life stories just as interesting as those of the passengers.  Indonesians fill restaurant and steward positions, Phillipinos work the kitchens and the bars, and the Dutch, for the most part, run the show.  All are very proficient and professional.  There are married couples among the crew.  Officers are allowed to have their families with them but those who work lower-level jobs are not even allowed to bunk together.  There’s a strict hierarchy on board.

The Cape Verde Islands (officially, Cabo Verde) lie 560 kilometres west of Cap-Vert, Senegal.  It’s one of 56 countries in Africa and only the third we’ve visited (after Morocco and Egypt).  Formerly Portuguese territory, the country gained its independence in 1974 and has a population of 550,000 living on a land area less than half the size of Prince Edward Island.  It’s rated as a low-income country but, by African standards, enjoys high per capita income, life expectancy and literacy rates.   Our first stop was the town of Mindelo on the island of Sao Vicente.  We learned that the islands were discovered in 1456 by the Portuguese navigator, Diego Afonso.  The settlement grew as a provisioning station for slave ships crossing the Atlantic on their way to the Americas.  Fishing and tourism are the mainstays of the nation’s economy.

Our first stop in Cabo Verde was Mindelo, the main town on the island of Sao Vicente.  We walked around the waterfront, and checked the local fish, produce and handcraft markets.  Then we took a local bus along the cobble-stoned main highway across the island to the community of  Calhau.  The wind whipped due west from the African continent and nearly blew us off the rocky beach.  The landscape is very dry and bleak.  On the way back to town, the bus picked up and dropped off school children and their teachers.  What a wonderful way to experience local culture.