For pictures of Lac Rose, please scroll to the bottom of this page.
One of the best things about travelling isn’t as much the places you visit, as much as it is the journey towards those places. Wherever you go in the world, transportation is different than what you’re used to back home. Whether it’s driving your own (rental) car, riding on a train, using a taxi or trying to figure out a bus schedule; transportation is the first and continuous part of your stay abroad that constantly reminds you that you’re somewhere else. (Actually, sanitary facilities also constantly remind you you’re in a different place, but I’d rather not be reminded of that particular aspect of my travels).
As a European travelling in Senegal, using transportation is an adventure by itself. During my stay I was able to see and experience various modes of travel, sometimes feeling like a small child in a theme park, at other times feeling like a sardine stuffed in a can. Either way, it’s never been boring and thanks to the teranga (hospitality) that’s so typically Senegalese I’ve always felt safe.
On the 4th day of my stay in Dakar, my friend Yacine had planned a trip to Lac Rose, which is located about 30 km (25 miles) north-east of the Dakar peninsula. Known as Lac Rose (Pink Lake) or Lac Retba, this area is best known to the world as the finish of the (in)famous Paris-Dakar Rally. The race used to finish in a wide-spread area with sandy dunes next to the lake. However, due to safety concerns, mainly in Morocco and Mauritania, as well some other controversial issues, the race hasn’t taken place between Paris and Dakar since 2007.
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Getting there…
First we travel by bus to Sandaga market in the centre of Dakar. From there we take a bus Malika, on the edge of Dakar. The bus ride from Sandaga to Malika takes a while, especially because of the general busyness on the streets. Whenever we stop somewhere due to congested traffic, the windows of the bus are approached by street sellers ready to supply the passengers with anything they might need, ranging from small bags with roasted nuts to fruit, and from soft drinks to a various newspapers. The man behind me buys a newspaper and I’m intrigued by how this happens. Dakar’s street life passes by my window as a movie. There are sheep and goats on the street, as well as some children playing, women carrying baskets on their heads, people selling all types of products to anyone. The city is so warm and vibrant.
The bus is caught up in the busy traffic for a minute. A newspaper seller walks past the bus displaying his different newspapers, waving them in the air. A passenger behind me waves back. They shout a bit back and forth, judging by the pointing gestures I think they’re talking about which newspaper Mr. Bus Passenger wants to buy. A hand with the newspaper reaches toward the window, the other man hands over a few coins at the same time and the moment the paper and money are exchanged the bus pulls up and drives on. The whole deal happened so quick and smooth, I sit back in awe, wondering if it ever goes wrong and one of the two don’t meet their end of the deal before the bus pulls up. Guess it’s one of those mysterious ways you can only observe as a tourist, without ever really getting a grasp on the what and how of what you’ve just witnessed. Completely normal to locals, a complete mystery to me.
Dakar bus stop
In Malika we get on a car rapide, probably Senegal’s best known form of transportation. There are two sorts of car rapides; colourful open minibuses and plain white minibuses. Logically, I assume that the white vans are new(er) than the coloured car rapides, and whoever drives them around simply hasn’t had the time to paint them yet. What’s logical to me seems to be the silliest and most hilarious conclusion I’ve shared with Yacine so far. After she’s done laughing, she explains that the colourful car rapides are owned and operated by one person and the white ones are shared by several people. Willing to believe her explanation, I think my idea makes more sense. The colourful ones look a lot nicer on the road as well, it simply makes the busy and vibrant life on Dakar’s streets a bit more colourful – literally. Somehow the colourful car rapides fit in the typical Senegalese street scene, whereas you could easily find one of the white versions in Germany or Spain too. Feeling like a total tourist I’m secretly happy we travel in one of the coloured ones, it somehow feels more “real”.
The car rapides don’t look too big on the outside, and during the ride I quietly count the number of people inside. There’s a total of about 20 people, and that doesn’t include the driver and the baby’s strapped to their mother’s backs. I’m amazed at how easily 20 people can fit into such a small vehicle without having to sit on each other’s lap and poking in each other’s sides with their elbows. In Holland you even have to fight your neighbour off to get some leg/knee-space in a spacious two-seater in the train. Either the Senegalese are thinner than the Dutch or they’re less territorial when it comes to a place in public transport. Or both.
Within what feels like a few minutes the car rapide has taken us to Keur Massar, from where we have to hunt for a taxi. What I see of Keur Massar is a busy crossing / square with a gas station, where cars, buses, taxis, car rapides and a donkey cart are randomly lined up in something that looks like a circle. For a moment I feel like we have ended up in the middle of a circus, animals and all, until suddenly Yacine pulls me to the side. Just in time, because apparently I was standing on the road when a car approached. Yacine asks a bit around and finally finds us a taxi to take us to Lac Rose.
What follows is probably the most adventurous taxi ride I’ve been in. Though it also could have been a roller coaster ride. Or a suicidal taxi driver. Or all of the above.
I’m not sure if the driver was trying to avoid the potholes in the road, or if he was trying to avoid the road in general. Part of the trip he’s driving in the loose sand on the side of the road, to suddenly turn his steering wheel, resulting in the car ending up on the other side of the road. Or should I say the other side off the road? For a moment I think this is a one way road, until a truck rapidly move towards us. Our driver’s solution to this problem is to drive even further left, this time definitely off the road. All of this happens in a –relatively- high speed, I don’t think the driver realises there’s a brake in the car. Or is there? A few moments later I notice we’re back on the asphalt again, and I try to resist wondering how long we’ll be on the road. the record, this car is not a 4 wheel drive, but some average 10+ year-old sedan.
Finally we’ve reached our destination and while Yacine hands over the money I wonder if we are paying for the fact we just had a crazy roller coaster ride, or if we hand over money for the mere fact we survived. It doesn’t really matter, we’ve reached our destination for the day: Lac Rose!
The suicidal taxi driver drops us off in front of Hotel Ker Djihné where we’re allowed on the compound. I get the idea the security man is slightly reluctant to let Yacine in, but seeing she’s with me, the obvious tourist, we’re allowed on the terrain. We can eat our lunch there and use the pool, and when we go to the lake we can even leave our luggage there and he’ll watch it for us. Not only the hotel, but also the “shopping square” in front of the hotel are deserted. Clearly April isn’t the tourist month here.
After a refreshing splash in the pool and our tummies filled with yassa poulet we walk towards the lake, of which could already see a bit from the pool side. A bunch of local guys are hanging out at one of the souvenir stalls and Yacine arranges for one of them to give us a tour.
The Pink Lake
Pile and bags of salt
Lac Rose owes its name to the pink colour of the lake, caused by the high concentration of salt and minerals in the water. The water has a salt concentration of 40%, is about 10 times saltier than sea water and similar to the concentration of the Dead Sea. Unfortunately for the people here, the other minerals and bacteria in the water make the salt not even half as valuable as Dead Sea salt. Nonetheless, the lake is used for salt collection.
Salt collected at Lac Rose
Even around the lake there are hardly any people, besides some men at yet another souvenir stall. As far as the eye can see wooden boats are lying alongside the lake, though they look more like wooden crates to be honest, used by the salt-farmers to get on the lake. A bit further away from the water’s edge are piles of salt in different colours, depending on the stage of purification. For a moment this scene of a deserted salt landscape with endless rows of wooden boats covered in faded colours is starting to feel a bit eerie while the wind and sun are playing a game to slowly peel and burn my skin away. It’s truly incredible and saddening to think the salt collectors work about 7 hours a day – in the burning sun and incredibly salt water. They make 400 CFA/€ 0,60 per 25kg of processed salt (the white piles), they get even less for salt that still has to be processed (the black and grey piles).
Yacine and our guide walk past the boats used to collect the salt, bags of salt are stalled a bit further away
Amadouye, our guide, suggests we can use one of the boats to sail over the lake a bit. On the water it’s easier to distinguish the pink colour. The inside of the wooden crate-boat is covered with chunks of salt, caused by the salty lake water in the boat to evaporate, building up lumps of salt over time. To push our boat forward, The lake has a surface of about 3 km2, we only sail a small circle, but that’s enough for us, and everywhere the lake is about 1,5m deep, followed by a 1,5m layer of salt. Amadouye uses a long stick like a true gondolier.
Amadouye, our guide, preparing the boat
When we walk back to the hotel I try to imagine how much physical work and waiting is involved in collecting 25kg’s of salt, or just a mere € 0,60. Of course the standard of living here is different than it is back home, but sometimes it’s hard to understand that people have to work so hard, in such harsh conditions, to get so little money.
Deserted boats
Boats and salt, as far as the eye can see
A few boats and endless rows of bags of salt
After visiting the lake we enjoy a delicious chocolate mousse and one more dive in the pool before we decide to head back home. One problem; there’s no taxi. Luckily there are a few guys who are willing to give us a ride to the next bus stop and once again it’s quite an experience. Luckily we only have to share the backseat with one other guy, only to discover a second later that the passenger seat in the front perfectly fits two adult guys. It’s all a matter of relativity I guess. We sit crammed in the back of a car filled with laughter and there’s a guy with a wet plant on his lap. The whole scene seems so surreal that for a moment I wonder if I didn’t end up in a Senegalese version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Surreal or not, I have no idea what’s going on but it sure is fun.
From the car-filled-with-people-and-wet-plant we get on a white car rapide, this must be my lucky day! This car rapide doesn’t leave until all seats are occupied, which is again a very efficient way to maximise the capacity. Both buses as well as car rapides have found a clever way to utilise their space to the max. There are no two-, three-, or four-seaters, there are just benches where you can fit as many people as possible. Once a bench is filled on both sides there’s a seat that folds down to cover the empty space of the aisle. So instead of four people on a row you can actually fit five or even six people!
We miss our last bus in Keur Massar so there’s no other option than to share a taxi back to Dakar. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere we get stuck in a minor congestion because of a car rapide with a flat tire, and even though we’re in the middle of nowhere and it’s late at night there’s someone walking past the vehicles to sell something.
By the time we get home we’re exhausted, but the trip was absolutely worth it!
