Woolly says – The loudest call to prayer had rattled my teeth and tusks as it marked its morning call, we had an early start but not that early and as Jo shuffled round doing what Jo does in the morning I tried for a few more zzzz’s.

With breakfast done we sat waiting for our guide and driver to appear, the time passed and there was no sign, twenty minutes late and the human was starting to twitch. Another five minutes and she was at reception asking them to ring and find out what was going on, she wasn’t happy.

Apparently, the booking agents had given the guide the wrong month! We couldn’t wait until November so he was on his way, but it would take an hour or so, I decided on a coffee to calm my inner fury whilst we waited.

I sat quietly in a corner snacking on the pistachio’s we’d purchased yesterday hoping that I wouldn’t iritate her any further. Exactly one hour later and an extremely tall man appeared in reception apologizing profusely for the confusion before directing us to the car. As we headed out of the city and along the expressway he continued to apologise until the women finally smiled and told him that it was fine, at which point he started to tell us about our day ahead.

Heading through an area known as the lowlands the scenery changed and it became much more rural with cows wandering freely along the roads and horse and carts seeming to be a main method of transporting goods around, it made for fascinating viewing.

Forty minutes in and we pulled up, I jumped out of the vehicle and headed into the Senegal Turtle Protection Centre (sometimes called Turtle Village) a centre dedicated to the preservation and reproduction of turtles, modelled on the one in Gonfaron . Located at the entrance to the Cap-Vert peninsula in Senegal, north of the village of Noflaye, in the Noflaye Special Botanical Reserve, the Centre opened its doors in October 1996.

More than 400 turtles live there, with a number of different species represented, including the giant spurred tortoises (Geochelone sulcata), which can live up to 150 years and reach 100 kg, the dorsal hinged forest tortoise (Kinixys belliana) , native to Casamance,  and the Senegal softshell turtle (Cyclanorbis senegalensis).

We walked down to the ticket office passing our first turtles, actually they were tortoises but here they are known as turtles, the were huge beasties and seemed quite friendly as the raced over to say hello.

With our tickets paid for a local guide explained in French what we were seeing as our guide acted as interpreter. The first two living areas were separated as both held male tortoises who apparently don’t get on, the guide explained that you could tell the age of the tortoise by the number of rings on the patterns of there shells and these giant boys were both in their 70’s and looking good on it.

A small area with examples of the female and male shells as well as a large picture of the insides were explained to us including the fact that if a tortoise ends up on its back it will die quite quickly as all of the organs press onto the heart.

The next large pen held a huge amount of the shelled folk, both male and female as it was close to breeding time for them so the middle aged tortoises, around the 50 year old mark, would all be placed together to help with reproduction for the species.

Across from them was the oldest boy at the sanctuary coming in at 102 years old, he was a fine specimen indeed.

Slightly further along were paddocks with the rescue who had been taken from homes in the Dakar area, they had flat backs and curled shells where children had once sat on them holding their front shell to take rides, that made me incredibly sad that people in this day and age would think that this was something that should happen.

We passed a strangling fig which sounded rather dangerous, and it was to other trees as it would grow round the other tree and surround it with its roots and branches until the tree died, we moved on quickly.

Passing over a very brown brook we arrived at the mere whipper snappers at around the 20 year old mark who all seemed very happy to see us although according to the guide they thought we might be bringing food and they had already had there 10kg of grub for the day so would be out of luck.

A large tank of water came next with a large turtle lived, the park guide lifted him out and showed him off, he didn’t seem very happy about this whatsoever and Jo quickly took a picture so he could go back to dosing in his bath.

We passed by the teenage section who all seemed very quick on there feet as they raced towards us.

Next door where the smaller breeds of tortoises which were miniature in comparison to their cousins.

The area next door was home to one of only two leopard tortoises whose shells looked more like camels with extra humps.

A long covered cage turned out to be the incubation area as tortoises will eat their eggs and the only way to protect the species is to remove them and bury them separately until they hatch. The gender will depend on the heat, constant over 30 and they will become girls, below that and you will have boys which is the strangest thing I have ever possibly heard.

We arrived at the nursery unit which lots of diddy guys racing around the pens, these were the future and once they reached four or five would be sent to another sanctuary closer to tortoise habitation to be released back into the wild.

All to soon we had finished and thoroughly enjoyed our time there, having thanked the park guide we got back into the cool air of the car and set off for the next part of the day.

Lake Retba, also known as Lac Rose (meaning “pink lake”), lies north of the Cap Vert peninsula, it is named for its pink waters caused by Dunaliella salina algae and is known for its high salt content, up to 40% in some areas, which is more than the dead sea. Its colour is usually particularly strong from late January to early March, during the dry season; however, flooding in September 2022 not only disrupted salt harvesting activities on the lake, but because it caused the lake to lose its colour, had a negative effect on tourism. The lake as of 2023 is under consideration by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

As we pulled up it looked very jolly with its colourful flag coloured benches.

Another guide met up with us and through our guides interpretation skills we learnt more about the piles of salt that now surrounded us. Separated from the Atlantic Ocean by a narrow corridor of dunes, the salt is exported across the region by up to 3,000 collectors, men and women from all over western Africa, who work 6–7 hours a day and protect their skin from the salt with beurre de Karité (shea butter). The salt is used by Senegalese fishermen to preserve fish, which is an ingredient in many traditional recipes, including the national dish, which is a fish and rice combination called thieboudienne.

About 38,000 tonnes of salt are harvested from this lake each year, which contributes to Senegal’s salt production industry. Senegal is the number one producer of salt in Africa.

Having admired the heaps and looked for any signs of pinkness we turned our attention to the totally non pink lake, the weather conditions weren’t right for the algae, so we had to be content with a normal looking blue lake.

Along the shoreline were lots of salt boats which were flatbottomed but still showing some signs of paint. Salty foam lay at the edge of the waterline, I sat for a while on the side of a boat enjoying the peace and quiet of the area while Jo and our guide walked on a little further deep in conversation. Once they returned, we were onto the last part of our day, except for lunch which was a dune jeep ride.

I however had a secret from my small friend and having confirmed what I thought I knew that this was going to be no ordinary ride.

Woolly says – As we clambered aboard our bright yellow jeep I sat back waiting for the lumps and bumps to be over so I could have some food which was when Jo played her hand.

You might remember that we are huge fans on the Race to Dakar and this was a moment I wasn’t sure that would happen, as we waited for our driver I looked down at the grubby mammoth and asked him how he might feel about going on the actual Race to Dakar course?

Woolly says – I rubbed my ears a few times and asked her to repeat herself, did she mean go somewhere else where the race had taken place? No said the human it was happening now, we were going onto the final leg of the final stage of the race all the way to the finish line.

His eyes became saucer like as he took the information on, and he appeared to be speechless.

Woolly says – I couldn’t catch my breath and then suddenly we were off racing across the dunes where Charley had once wanted to ride, up and down we went salaaming around bends and trees – apoglies for the poor pictures – it was incredible.

Then we swerved round a bend and onto the beach with the bright blue Atlantic on our right, a route that many of the drivers choose to take.

Back onto the trail and we seemed to go faster and faster as I could see the finish line approaching, no other vehicles in sight we were going to win this hands down.

Skidding to a halt we climbed down, and Jo and I walked across to the monument that celebrates the race before arriving at the area where the winners would stand to receive their applause at the achievement of completing, no mean feat.

As we stood together, I looked up at my human who had a tear running down her cheek, I knew that my eyes were slightly damp as well but possibly due to the sand in them. We had achieved our own Race to Dakar through all the countries with their ups and downs we had done it, I felt very proud of us.