Easter Sunday.. and ANZAC day in Senegal

This Easter Sunday was the first “big” celebration I have had on board- having escaped spending Christmas/New Year’s/Australia Day on board this far in my career.

Easter Sunday was out of control on the ship, food wise. The Atrium was decked out with the most insane display of jumbo sized chocolate eggs, all decorated obsessively with carefully crafted plumes of coloured chocolates. There were all sorts of crazy effects, text, and artworks – all done in 100 percent sweet sweet chocolate. You could smell the chocolate from the doors of the cabaret lounge- intoxicating!

I woke up early to go to mass. I am not at all religious, but it was nice to go to the Catholic service with Tim, Jasmine and the passengers. It really made it feel like Easter.

I had 11:15 morning trivia, which of course, was Non-denominational Easter themed (i.e. questions about eggs, chickens and bunnies). I was very very careful to keep it non-denominational as we had a Passover disaster on board for our Jewish passengers when the Rabbi pulled out at the last minute, leaving them to have to host their own Passover service. Let’s just say (somewhat understandably) they were NOT happy chappies regarding this. So, I was careful.

Whilst hosting trivia I dropped about a million hints for an Easter Sunday Brunch Invitation – and eventually got a bite from Merle & Eddie, a lovely Aussie couple from Perth. Sunday Brunch is CRAP in the Officer’s Mess- but it is INSANELY AWESOME in the passenger dining room – and EASTER Sunday brunch is even more extreme on the awesome factor.

So I went in with Merle and Eddie and came out about 5kg heavier.. It was simply divine! I would have been OK had I not found the dessert table at the last minute and had to go back for sky high lemon meringue pie, chocolate éclairs and sugar pastry ear things. Damn. It was also nice to have brunch with some fellow Aussies. The rest of the day was a chocolate-y haze and I got kicked out of the gym for being in there before five.. so needless to say it was a “fat day”. Although, as I told the passengers at trivia, it is a fact that the calories you eat on Easter Sunday don’t count at all.

Today we were docked in Dakar, Senegal- famous for the rally, the slave trade and little else. It was also ANZAC day. At 6:15 David and Karen (the production singers) hosted a dawn service for us- attended by myself, Toby, Michelle (crew SAP), two Aussie passengers and two American ladies (who had heard about the ceremony from David the night before and wanted to “experience” it – very sweet of them). It was a simple ceremony. We sang the national anthem, listened to some poems, heard the last post and a minute’s silence then drank hot toddies and ate pastries afterwards. Tim and Jasmine arrived at the end of the minute’s silence. But they made it in the end. It was a nice start to the day.

I didn’t really know what to expect in Dakar. I had done a little research on Trip Advisor, but it didn’t really help me work out what ‘type’ of Africa we were about to experience. Nathaniel and I met at the gangway at 9. The carpet on deck 3 was all covered in plastic because the dock was “greasy”. Our plan for the day was to visit ‘slave island’, an historical island that was the main jumping off point for the African slave trade, and also served as a fort during the history of the once-French-owned trading post.

But we decided to go into the market first. We met Domenico and Ryan on the bus, two third engineers and they joined our party. On the way in, the guide constantly lectured us about security. Constantly. Do not go ANYWHERE without security guards. It was a little ominous. But when we got to the market we saw why. This was REAL Africa- but not cheerful crazy real Africa like Togo, but scary busy Africa. We followed our security guard into the market, a mess of half constructed structures and tumbledown shacks serving as stalls propped against the walls of the new yet seemingly decrepit building. Inside was.. amazing. The entrance to the market channelled us between the open stalls into the dank darkness inside. Gracing the sides of the tall arched entrance way were filthy wooden tables stacked with half plucked chicken carcasses, just sitting there in the dust and heat. Kittens and Cats crowded the table around the chickens, occasionally licking the dehydrated looking birds. It was something different for sure- very exciting but also super gross.

There was no rhyme nor reason to the layout of the market- so around every corner was the threat of stinky fish or worse- unexpected butchering of cattle and goats. At one point there was a table covered in entrails- a giant cow liver just sitting there on the raw wood. We were constantly followed by people asking us to visit their “factory”, whatever that meant, and also were pursued by a crazy guy who yelled at us constantly. The guide/security guard said he was totally nuts and not to make eye contact. It was exciting and an amazing place to see, but I was glad when we headed back to the shuttle bus to return to the ship. I am really good in crowded market situations –I have the knack of being able to ignore people so they don’t bother me (which is a horrible thing to do but necessary for self preservation sometimes). Others do not possess that skill and ended up coming back to the shuttle with bags full of wooden statues and assorted crap.

We returned to the ship momentarily to change currency and then hopped on the next shuttle bus that would take us to the pier as we followed our initial plan of visiting Slave Island. Along the way we picked up Wayne Hoffman – the mentalist/illusionist who had performed on the ship two nights prior. Due to the public holiday the ferry was running only once every two hours. We had an hour wait inside the terminal- which was nice and modern – which was made to fly by thanks to the presence of Wayne and his magic tricks. Best hour wait have ever experienced- except for the part where I had to go to the toilet. It was a new building; there was no reason for the toilets to be horrible. But they were. It was a squat toilet (which I am totally cool with these days- I am master of the squat toilet), but there was no toilet paper, only a bucket of water sitting in each cubicle. The floor was wet and grimy and there were unfortunate smears of.. umm.. poo where people had umm.. missed.

I was wearing shoes that were not appropriate for this kind of hygiene nightmare, little cheapo canvas ballet flats from Rubi shoes, and I felt the wet floor seeping in to the sides of them. Needless to say these shoes now sit in my cabin in a plastic bag in the rubbish bin.

After a stampede to the ferry and a 15 minute ride to the island we finally arrived. What an awesome place. It was part historical village, with all the original buildings complete with French-style charm, part craft market Mecca, part public beach resort. It was a very cool place. The sales people on the island were far more chilled out – with all the artisans showcasing their own works underneath the baobab trees. We strolled down the charming vistas, punctuated by random goats and sheep, and then up the hill to the fort that graced the top of the island. This place was trippy as shit! There were inexplicably concreted sections, huge 40’s era guns, bunkers and a huge Jetsons style memorial, all of which had been taken over by local artists.

On one end of the island “the end of the world” we went into the bunker for one of the crazy guns where the artists were creating works out of discarded electrical equipment. The gun looked like a freakin' Darlek. The artists were also totally stoned and Nathaniel jammed with them on the drums. We then went to the biggest gun – with a 10m long double barrel, it was a monster and met the crazy artists sitting in a tree house nearby, who offered to show us the bunker for the gun (which I think, is also where they lived). We clambered down into the concrete darkness and followed the catacombs until we were under the rusted base of the gun. It was phenomenal. The artist guy said that the gun had a range of 14km but had only been fired once, in 1940. We then climbed up into the gun and sat on the top. All the while, we were circled by hawks, who called the cliffs at the “end of the world” (so called because it is the most westerly point of Africa, apparently) home and spent all day wheeling about in the clear skies above the island.


When we came back down the hill, people bought a whole lot of sand art, which is apparently characteristic of the area. I bought a small basket to keep my hair ties in. When we got down to the beach, Nathaniel and each bought a pair of the most convincing fake ray ban sunnies I’ve ever seen – for $5. Wayne then came into his own, performing magic tricks on the beach, much to the delight of the locals (and also helpfully distracting them from trying to sell stuff to us). It was really cool to see the looks on their faces – they definitely thought he was magic. Wayne reckons he did tricks in the voodoo villages in Togo and the big chief came up to him and said “can you give this power to me- I want this power”, treating Wayne as I f he was a prophet, sent from the voodoo powers. The Senegalese were a little more modern in their understanding of magic, but they were still pretty freaked out by his tricks. Having a professional illusionist in your party is certainly a bonus.

We caught the ferry back to the ship and the rest is history. Except that throughout the day, although enjoying the island immensely, I got sicker and sicker. The cough I have had for the last week was developing into a nasty cold. By the time we got back to the ship, I was really unwell. I went to the medical centre and have been dosed up to the eye teeth on cold meds. I also got the night off work and have been lying in the cabin, unable to sleep due to pseudoephedrine tablets keeping me up. Hopefully I feel better tomorrow. I need to so I can hit the gym and start to burn off some of those Easter calories.. Yuk