I have a ridiculous love of travel that is often punctuated by contradictory fits of “What the Hell am I doing, anyway?” sentiment.  I can’t really explain it, but I pretty much know that I’m doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing with this life. Even if I write this while suffering from a touch of delirium brought on by four short flights today….

 

I have found that it’s best not to look down and scrutinize what’s going on in life too often. That way you can keep up with the flow.

I just spent a couple of days in Cape Verde, where I did a bit of information gathering to see if I can increase the value of my time here in West Africa.  Sure my experience has already been more than educational- I mean, where else would I have learned what “Am nga jekker?” means…but I’ve got a looong time left here and I’m running out of clever ways to comment on the aroma of ceebujeen. Besides, I get restless if I sit in one place for too long without sufficiently engaging of my short-attention span….

So I come from Cape Cod, but all of you should know that by now. I attended school with teachers and students with last names like Cabral, Duarte, Soares and Pires. The Portuguese and Cape Verdean side of the house was pretty much equal to or greater than the Irish-American miscreant population. I had always heard of Cape Verde, but that didn’t mean I really understood what or where the place was (note: I don’t think Mashpee Middle School offered geography class). It wasn’t until I traveled there (and to Portugal last month) that I finally had that “a-ha” moment. Yes, I’m wicked smart.

So here’s a quick tourist trifold encapsulation of my trip. I’ll tell you more later, because I know I’ll be heading back to this most fantastic country. I say ‘fantastic’ not just because I saw a Tedy Bruschi jersey in a local cafe, or because people knew all about Brockton; there’s lots of neat things going on in this country that make it feel nothing like Dakar.

Connection to my Masshole roots aside, my first night offered a fitting view of a lighthouse. It was almost as cool as the one Dad built in the backyard.

So Cape Verde is great. In my three day, three island tour, I’m probably not qualified to make such a statement, but I definitely found it more Megan Speed (sorry Dakar, I was born an old lady). Unlike the constant din that permeates Senegal, you are able to find some tranquility that isn’t interrupted by a dude thrusting a sheet of Orange phone cards in your face every sixty seconds.

There were no vendors at the beaches, so a good chunk of after-hours time was spent there:

 

 

Thank God for good souls and travel companions like Mike (and his awesome wife Liz). When you have co-workers who are enjoyable to travel with, this makes all the difference in the world.

Even though I was sure that I’d have a touch of the Irish flu from drinking a few too many bottom shelf beverages (the tragedy of the “all-inclusive” resort), I was still up early the next morning and in good form. The upside of this was that I could go back to my favorite spot in this country, its coastlines.

No one else awake but you and God. Or had I been born under a bad sign, perhaps the odd agresseur looking to steal my camera. Not the case this morning. And no beach vendors either, alhamdoulilah.

Here is where I would tell you about the work we did rolling around in various modes of transportation, me shaking hands and forgetting the names of people we met. Instead I’ll just refer you to my first boss in the Navy, who observed of my capacity to summarize: “ASWO, you like ‘broad concepts'”.

 We love you too, airport. Time to go back to Dakar.

Oh there you are again, you crazy peninsula…

…and just like that, I’m back out in front of the street by my house. Inhale deeply; I smell something, and it’s not ceebujeen.

Now perched in my ivory tower here in Dakar, and of course some fantastic bang just went off somewhere below my building (again). I don’t know what kind of mad scientists I have for neighbors, but I really can’t understand why they hasn’t decided to switch vocations. On the bright side, this evening my fruit man finally copped on to what I buy from him each and every time I stop by his cart. And the little talibé actually said merci for the apple. It’s kinda nice to be back home.

I look forward to waking up in the morning and once again having no clue where I am.  I love my job.