We have a guest post from Jonathan Tullett for you today. Jonathan recently visited The Gambia with his partner Rae, and they had a great experience at the eco-retreat at Sandele. I shall leave you in Jonathan’s capable hands…
I haven’t properly celebrated my birthday since 2000. This year, as far as I was concerned, wasn’t to be any different. Rae, however, had other plans.
Having raised the idea of being in Miami for the weekend after my birthday, we quickly settled on spending an entire week in The Gambia, at an eco-resort called Sandele (which roughly translated means, ‘now be still’).
Months passed, and I found myself getting more and more excited about actually doing something on the month-day of my birth. I’d trained myself for such a long time not to feel that kind of excitement that it was unnerving to experience feelings like this. Coupled with the trip, Rae had also planned a few activities for us for the occasion.
Landing in The Gambia to 30 degrees heat in November was nothing short of amazing. Unzipping the legs on my trousers, we quickly found the private taxi which was to take us to the retreat. The journey, though told would take about an hour, seemed far shorter; twenty minutes, if that. This is one country where air-con is a must for transport!
The retreat itself is beautiful. Run by a husband and wife team, Maurice and Geri, it’s been built in conjunction with the local village of Kartong and over 90% of the staff are from the village itself. Leasing the land for 25 years, once the time is up, the couple will hand over the retreat and the running of it to the locals; quite a legacy!
After being greeted with a local drink made from the crushed fruits of an indigenous tree, we were taken to the hut which would be our home for the following eight days.
Sandele Bay Eco Retreat. Image by Jonathan Tullett
The picture, right, doesn’t do it justice; the magnitude of the building isn’t apparent. The bedroom, which has the domed ceiling reaching thirty feet up, held a sofa, table and chairs, and a huge four-poster bed. With windows all around, and a short hallway leading to the bathroom (complete with their famous composting toilets!), it was beautiful; far more so than we’d expected. Just outside the back door, shared with the neighbouring lodge, was a plunge pool; refreshingly cool, and just the right distance from the sun loungers and shade umbrella.
Giving me prior warning – knowing that sometimes surprises don’t work well with me – Rae said that there was an excursion planned on the Thursday – my birthday – and another activity which would be done the following day. I was intrigued. Despite the offer, I decided against being told exactly what was planned; I appreciated the thought behind the offer though, Rae knows me well…
Thursday morning I awoke, bleary eyed, and was promptly presented with three gifts, and a card. The card said she hoped the experiences would remain with me for a long time. Curious…
The first gift was a box of my all-time favourite Turkish delight. A small square box of cubes of loveliness. The common problem with your run-of-the-mill Turkish Delight is it’s cut into cubes far too big. This results in an inconsistent texture, firmness and varying flavour; it really can be a bit hit and miss whether you’ll get a good batch. These ones, however, are cut to perfection: exactly right, in very way. The only improvement they could make would be to sell them by the kilo, but I think my dentist would have something to say about that…
The second gift was a card saying I was to be taken net fishing, by the local fisherman. For those who hadn’t had the joy of hearing me talk about the upcoming trip, net fishing was the thing I most wanted to do. Casting a net around and trying to catch dinner, is there anything more manly? I think not!
Lastly (well, what I thought was lastly) was another small envelope. Within it tickets to see Conversations with Penn & Teller!! When I’d seen the show announced at the O2 back in May, I immediately tried to get tickets but without any joy. Rae had also been trying to get tickets, but also without any joy. But somehow, on my birthday, I was presented with two tickets to go and see two of my idols, in conversation, at the O2. Not just demonstrating magic, but talking about their 35 (37 now, actually) years in magic. Blimey, I was ecstatic! Quite literally the best birthday I have ever had in my life, and it wasn’t even 8am!
Walking to breakfast, everyone we met greeting me with a cheery, ‘Happy birthday!’. After eating a brief three course breakfast – cereal, fruit and then boiled eggs and beans – Rae shared the main plans for the day: a trip in a dug-out canoe down the Gambia River to south Senegal, where we’d stop for lunch, visit a local village and then make the journey back mid-afternoon.
The river Gambia. Image by Jonathan Tullett
The canoes are hand made over the course of a month by one man from mahogany. When treated with sealant and paint, they can last fifteen years or more. With less care, it would maybe last just ten. Either way, considering the near daily use, that’s some hard-wearing wood!
Setting off, it was quickly apparent why the area is famed for its bird watching. Being paddled up river by Amdul, past the mangrove plants, every few minutes a new species was pointed out; sometimes large herons, other times small kingfishers. Every short while we’d hear a slapping of water and a shoal of jumping fish would be leaping from the water, travelling some distance before gracefully diving back in and continuing their journey through the salty waters.
A couple of hours after we departed, we spotted in the distance a small jetty; we’d arrived at our destination in south Senegal. Next to the jetty is a small restaurant, run by a man and his wife. A short distance away, through some rice fields, was the local village. We were to have our lunch at the restaurant, having had a tour of the surrounding area.
Having been surrounded by English speaking Gambians or by Gambians speaking any one of the (thirteen is the number I recall being mentioned) local tribal languages, being greeted in French was a surprise. I last spoke French during my G.C.S.E back in 1996, but both Rae and I were pleased to discover I had remembered enough to a) order the food we wanted, and b) compliment the cook on the quality of the meal; both of which were appreciated by our hosts.
While lunch was being cooked (everything seems to be freshly prepared there), we were taken around the village. There were a couple of Dutch guys who were out for their second visit building a new school, and the children were finished for the day and kicking a ball around the common area. A single well served the whole village, and while there we saw a couple of girls who must only have been seven or eight, lifting large, heavy buckets of water up the 15 metre hole. Having finished filling the super-large bucket, they emptied it all back into the well again, to start repeating the game.
The school in Senegal. Image by Jonathan Tullett.
The school was a single class room, with maps around the walls and rows of small desks for the children to sit in. In Senegal, they’re taught in French, as opposed to The Gambia where it’s a requirement for every child to only speak English in the school grounds.
We walked back through the rice fields to enjoy the feast which had been prepared. After sipping the last of our drinks, we commenced the journey back to The Gambia.
Inspired by Amdul, or maybe just from the caffeine I’d imbibed during lunch, I decided that I’d ‘help’ paddle on the way back. And try I did; for about half an hour (Rae swears it was only ten minutes, but I’m sure I did better than that!), at which point my stomach muscles pleaded with me to stop, and then gave up in a protest at the effort. Finally I understood the work required to get a six-pack. I’ll never have a six-pack.
At around 3pm we arrived back where we’d started our journey, with the sun still shining brightly in the sky. And there I thought we were at the end of my birthday treats. But no, there was more to come, just when I was least expecting it!
We were eating dinner, as usual on our own table but with other guests and Maurice and Geri on neighbouring tables, and the waiter came to collect the plates from the main course. I started talking to Rae about the day’s events – still very excited by what we’d done – and the place went quiet. The next thing I knew everyone was singing, ‘Happy Birthday!’, and out came a specially prepared chocolate and beetroot (don’t knock it until you try it!) cake, complete with candles and everything! Alas, with age comes feebleness (that’s my excuse, anyway), and I failed miserably at blowing out the candles in on go. But I did successfully cut enough slices for us to have a large portion of the cake while also giving a slice to everyone else there.
The story you’ve just read is my recounting of the day. It doesn’t capture in anyway, however, how special I felt, and just how much it meant to me.
Birthdays are for celebrating!
