Europe: unreliable and the whole continent is on holiday. Central America: long, pricey flight; Americans. Indonesia: even further away and awash with Australians. Africa? Surely not…
Or perhaps you can. Senegal’s Almadies Peninsula, Africa’s most westerly point, is exposed to swell originating anywhere from Iceland to Antartica, and is easily reached from Europe. Ngor Island is five minutes from the airport and right in the heart of the action. The average temperature of the water is 29 degrees. Winner.
It was the summer holiday, and despite most not knowing how to swim, the Senegalese commitment to spending all day every day at the beach, whatever the weather, was unwavering.
It tends to break better in winter with a long-period north swell, but even in summer when it mostly gets shorter period windswell it is rarely flat, and we enjoyed a few days of choice head-high righthanders running down the boulder point, just a stone’s throw from where we had breakfast.
“The original surfcamp property was owned by US-Senegalese crooner Akon.”
It turns out the original surfcamp property (it’s since moved to new premises overlooking Ngor right) was owned by US-Senegalese crooner Akon, he of “Lonely”, “Locked up” and “Right Now (Na Na Na)” hall-of-famers.
On learning this stranger-than-fiction factoid, I was dismayed to learn that he wouldn’t be stopping by to serenade us with an impromptu sunset session and all-time selfie opportunity. Next time…
The chart on this day read 2.5 feet at 14 seconds. When we arrived we wondered if the Senegalese had a scale of measuring wave height that underplayed it even more than the Hawaiian scale (wave height measured from the back rather than on the face). Either way, 2.5 feet (Senegalese) was plenty.
On this occasion however, the incumbent- who soon introduced himself, fittingly, as Happy, was delighted to have some comrades to share his session with.
Before long we were taking turns hooting each other into tropical shapes usually reserved for the pages of the school textbooks of imaginative groms.
It would be unusual to pass a complete stranger on a path without at least a “bonjour” (French is the official language), “Salaamaalekum” (approximation of the Arabic “peace be with you”) or “Na Nga Def” (Wolof for “how are you”).
If I had to be specific, I’d say better than Tottenham, but not as good as Arsenal.
The midfield enforcer in jellies pictured here is about to go over the ball and into his opponent’s leg half-way up, like Roy Keane on Alf-Inge Håland in 2001. Sort of.
I think the little chap in the grey shorts overlapping on the left is the diminutive Chelsea/Brazil midfielder Ramires, although he wouldn’t give me his autograph so this is unverified.
It’s not unusual to have to paddle through a herd of goats on your way to the lineup.
Who were they, where were they going and why were had they all chosen the beach over the road running parallel to reach their destination?
I never found out the answers, but these are the kinds of questions one ponders on a day at the beach in Senegal.
“There are sea urchins aplenty. But the guy that grills your fish for lunch will also dig black spines out of your paw.”
It isn’t a gimme though – there are sea urchins aplenty, and the guy that serves you an Orangina and grills your fish for lunch will also dig black spines out of your paw with the precision of a Harley-street surgeon.
The locals surf with scant regard for these spiky brutes lurking beneath the surface though. So while the travelling beginner wraps his feet in reef booties and the thinking man kicks out halfway through his wave, the local pumps like a madman for maximum speed to punt the end section in 6 inches of water.
It does mean that surfing becomes a less appealing proposition as the water goes from emerald to chocolate in a matter of minutes.
No biggie: post up in a hammock in the beach shack for a bit with a good book or a plate of fish and wait it out.
The military base plays another key role: it’s the only place on the island where you can buy a beer. The first time you knock on the door which says “Military only, access forbidden” and ask to buy a beer is quite the surreal experience.
Mour, one of the surf instructors at the camp, has a splendid all-around attack, and rude words written on his board.
“Built by a North Korean contractor, the 49 metre high African Renaissance Monument is a bit silly.”
It was unveiled in 2010 and was so unpopular that riot police had to be deployed to maintain order. Its critics call it Stalinist in appearance and bemoan the fact that it cost $27 million in a time of economic crisis. It dominates the skyline west of Dakar.
It’s really two different waves breaking in front of one a huge mosque, making it the African equivalent of Mundaka in Spain or Uluwatu in Bali, both of which break in front of equally imposing religious shrines.
The right – shown here – only breaks in big north swells wrapping around the peninsula, making it a predominantly winter spot.
The local fishermen have developed an ingenious working relationship with these birds.
They put a collar on the pelican so it can’t swallow big fish. The pelican catches the big fish anyway, and delivers it intact in its bill to the fishermen, who in turn give the pelican a small fish in return that it can swallow. Everyone wins!
It also rarely gets surfed, but it did provide an enticing mind-surf spectacle whilst enjoying a morning coffee.
A sturdy vehicle and some time on Google Earth could yield deserted waves without another surfer for miles.
Whilst devouring a hearty dinner washed down by a local beer (Gazelle, terrific), swapping stories and crashing out at 9:30pm at the end of a long day in the water is pretty much the dream scenario on any surf trip, Dakar has one of the liveliest music scenes in Africa.
A good travelling mantra is always to leave wanting more, so dancing in Dakar can be on the list for next time.
Many thanks to Jesper, his family and the crew at Ngor Island Surfcamp for their hospitality.