Up the Creek
W2N 'Where to Next?'
Rob 'Bee' Clark
Fri 12 Dec 2008 09:50
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13:23.6N 16:37.4W
There's something really 'Famous Five' or
'Swallows and Amazons' about being up a creek don't you
think?
Well, up a creek is in fact what I is -
am, and not in the euphemistic sense either - oh no. Oyster Creek in
fact. And I can say, perhaps for the first time on this entire adventure
- that I have stumbled across a remote anchorage that absolutely
epitomises the essence of the voyage.
I had been in the port town of Banjul
since arriving in Gambia at the mouth of the famous Gambia River (or
infamous, such was the river's association with the slave market on James
Island). Banjul, as you might expect, is as filthy and chaotic as any port
town but the Gambian people are unreservedly welcoming, proud, friendly and
generally happy. It's not without it's evident poverty but has the feel of a
place where even the street robbers will ask nicely first, rob you and then, in
all sincerity, welcome you to Gambia! I had arrived during Eid, a
spirited Muslim festival that prompted a three-day public holiday during which,
traditionally, goats and sheep are sacrificed and shared amongst the families
and the poor. There's so much I could write about Banjul but if you will indulge
me, I'd like if I may, to tell you about Lamin Creek.
When I returned to Canasta yesterday
afternoon having been shopping for provisions, I was lazing (melting) on the
boat when a small wooden craft idled past laden with incongruously white,
blond tourists (from Sweden). Also, another yacht that had arrived the
previous evening had gone and I recalled Dan, the skipper, saying something
about heading for a creek somewhere near. Well, the Swedes disappeared back the
way they'd come into a labyrinth of mangroves and I thought then that I should
perhaps take a closer look at the charts and see if I might be able find this
mysterious Narnia.
And find it I did.
Ghosting along through the narrow (and in places,
shallow) Daranka Bolon bordered as far as the eye can see by
endless mangroves and flat land (yes, flat - so for the first time since
Morocco, I don't have to struggle for the words to illustrate how spectacularly
volcanic and rugged it is - yey!), I made my way tentatively into the depths of
the peaceful labyrinth. I kept to the main channel and it wasn't long before I
could see above the low-lying mangroves, a tiny cluster of yacht masts. I headed
for it and soon found, to my surprise and delight, a remote thatched wooden
shack built amongst the dense mangroves with a landing jetty and an impossibly
friendly welcoming committee. Lamin Lodge. I've just woken up and I
can't think why the reference has just popped into my head but I'm looking at
the lodge and I'm reminded of the Swiss Family Robinson story! I can't
remember the story... oh, wasn't it someone and the
Swiss...? Anyway, it might just be something from my childhood that
makes no sense to anyone but for some reason, that's what has been
dredged from the archives to describe this extraordinary place.
Ah, Crusoe... Robinson Crusoe... Of
course!!
I was shown around proudly by my new best friend
Soloman who seemed entertained by my surprise at seeing monkeys and parrots in
the trees. Then, as the sun settled behind the distant palms, we sat on a log
watching the fishermen preparing their nets as we waited for Dan and
his crew to arrive for dinner. The setting was idyllic - perfect. It might even
have been romantic if Soloman had been a girl! He wasn't - isn't - but that's
not really his fault. A crisp, bright full moon was already casting long shadows
as the sun finally disappeared. Feeling ultimately relaxed, open-minded - and
with a renewed enthusiasm for the mischievous potential of the dice, I gave the
it an 'odds/evens' choice of sharing Soloman's suspiciously fat cigarette... I
don't smoke! It landed on a... well, I'm not going to tell you -
dooode!
So, dinner was by candle-light on the top floor
- the third floor of this impossibly rustic shack overlooking the moonlit
anchorage. I'd been invited to join Dan, Anne, David and Patrick (and bats)
for what turned out to be an absolutely outstanding seafood dinner.
The local women harvest the oysters from the mangrove stems while the men go out
fishing for... um... I don't really know what but I'm inclined to believe that
whatever it was, it had been quietly enjoying life in the Gambia River earlier
that afternoon . Well, it was magnificent. The company was entertaining, the
service attentive, cheerful, friendly and even the mosquitoes seemed to respect
our privacy and unblemished enjoyment. I've no doubt that the local village of
Lamin is mercifully everything that Praia do Santiago, Mindello, Tarrafal do Sao
Nicolau and Banjul... isn't. I'll find out soon enough.
So this is me - happy - in Gambia wondering if I
might stay here a few days and disregard the plan to spend Christmas in
Ascension Island.
Bye for now,
Bee
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