The Thing About Dakar...

In the small town of Rufisque, Senegal, we hunt for a car to take us the final leg of our Pete-less adventure. Not just any car. Da-kar.
We easily find a friendly driver with a shared taxi at the right price and hop in for the short jaunt. Problems. Immediate problems. The engine won't turn over and, no matter how many unpaved back alleys we are pushed through and how many donkeys our motorless car dodges, nothing is doing. Finally, out of nowhere, Dr. Dakar replaces our driver and expertly starts da-car in second gear without breaking a sweat.
We're then on our way into the thick smog soup of the autoroute. Just as things start to get congested, our driver deftly swerves into a side alley. Nothing like a secret shortcut - problem solved. Alas, the secret is not so secret and everyone is onto us. Imagine the back alleys of your neighbourhood all of a sudden filled with buses, trucks, regular traffic, and donkey carts. Not an ideal route. Our driver, forever the optimist, pulls another trick out of his sleeve in attempting a daring bypass of a line of da-cars. Trouble resurfaces as the route is blocked and we are now blocking all traffic. Apparently, in the mayhem of it all, this was still a ticket-worthy offence. One traffic fine later and we're back on the autoroute.
Gridlock once more but now the eight lane highway also has eight lanes of walkers filled with hawkers for all your rush hour needs. For the next 45 minutes, inching along, our driver desperately bargains out his window, with any passing car, to try and make change for a large denomination bill.
Last hurdle over, we settle in our beds to the smell of schwarma and wait for our glorious reunion with Pete.
That's all for us. Over to the man himself.....

Whats it like arriving in Dakar at 2:30am? Pure gold if you have two hairy faced besties waiting for you on the otherside of a fence. I started my journey in Van with connecting flights to Salt Lake City, Paris, London, Casablanca and finally Dakar...big day to say the least. Along the way I encountered Rabimovich, who had knocked himself out on the bathroom floor of London customs, he proceeded to go into minor cardiac arrest, while bleeding from the face. With no help from Londoners, who continued their normal bathroom activites, I sprung into action. Finding the nearest airport security we got "Rabi" (as his screaming Serbian wife called him) on his knees. Seeing as this was customs I had a line up to attend to. Not to worry though Rabi was okay and where might you ask was he traveling to? Canada of course!

The thing about Dakar is... no matter how you get there, in da-car or in da-plane, there are crazy adventures to be had!
Off to the Gambia!

P, D, and E