For the most part, Arnie and I leave the nice Land Cruiser parked safely by his work and join the many pedestrians dodging traffic and ignoring street vendors. He has a very quick pace and I struggle to keep up and keep an ever weary eye on the speedy jalopies. I am really surprised and relieved that I haven't seen an accident yet despite the closeness and the unpredictability of the chaos all around.
We are constantly being honked at by taxis, some beaters with cracked windshields and missing essential parts and some shiny and most in between, who are sure it is a mistake for a couple of Toubabs (white people or foreigners) to be walking anywhere! (Actually, every once in a while I question that myself. ) Some will even go so far as to slow down right in front of us as we are trying to cross the street causing us to miss the narrow opening in the traffic we were aiming for!
It was on this day, we were walking down to the pier to catch a boat to the Ile de Goree, that I questioned our crazy transportation habits yet again. We were half way down the hill when Arnie informed me that this is where another friend of his had gotten detained a little by some fellows trying to steal his wallet and that, in fact, happened a lot in this general area, but that I shouldn't worry because possibly they will leave me alone because I was female. It was with this happy thought that I quickened my pace and was very grateful to reach our destination unscathed.
At the pier we were surrounded by fellow sightseers and residents alike as we crowded on an old ferry boat for a windy 30 min ride to Goree Island. This beautiful oasis from the crazy motorized traffic is overflowing with colonial brick buildings in vibrant Mediterranean colors and narrow back streets dripping with bougainvillea. However, the Maison des Esclaves, the remnants of old WWII guns and other scattered ruins bear witness of a whole other kind of traffic that this island has seen. Arnie has been here many times before and was able to give me the tour.
The "Door of No Return"We are constantly being honked at by taxis, some beaters with cracked windshields and missing essential parts and some shiny and most in between, who are sure it is a mistake for a couple of Toubabs (white people or foreigners) to be walking anywhere! (Actually, every once in a while I question that myself. ) Some will even go so far as to slow down right in front of us as we are trying to cross the street causing us to miss the narrow opening in the traffic we were aiming for!
It was on this day, we were walking down to the pier to catch a boat to the Ile de Goree, that I questioned our crazy transportation habits yet again. We were half way down the hill when Arnie informed me that this is where another friend of his had gotten detained a little by some fellows trying to steal his wallet and that, in fact, happened a lot in this general area, but that I shouldn't worry because possibly they will leave me alone because I was female. It was with this happy thought that I quickened my pace and was very grateful to reach our destination unscathed.
At the pier we were surrounded by fellow sightseers and residents alike as we crowded on an old ferry boat for a windy 30 min ride to Goree Island. This beautiful oasis from the crazy motorized traffic is overflowing with colonial brick buildings in vibrant Mediterranean colors and narrow back streets dripping with bougainvillea. However, the Maison des Esclaves, the remnants of old WWII guns and other scattered ruins bear witness of a whole other kind of traffic that this island has seen. Arnie has been here many times before and was able to give me the tour.
One of the many bougainvillea draped backstreets 
I am continually grateful that Arnie is with me to fend off all the over enthusiatic local vendors who don't seem to know the meaning of the words, "No, thank you" in either French or English and always greet us as "mon ami" (my friend) but won't leave us alone unless we get very unfriendly indeed.
We were at a disadvantage at one point because we were actually looking for a temporary replacement for my ring. I had been feeling very uncomfortable without it walking around in a country where polygamy is acceptable. It appears to even look at a vendor's stand is to invite harassment. To tell the vendor the item you are seeking also puts you at their mercy. We did so at one stall and we were told by the woman that she had the item we were looking for deeper in the series of stalls. It was only upon arriving in the dimly lit, cramped area that we realized that she didn't have the item at all and had sent another girl to possibly fetch one while she try to persuade us to buy something she did have. Arnie gratefully would have nothing to do with it and we quickly left the scene without another word.
