Whenever I am abroad, there are always certain moments, or even days, when I suddenly feel enchanted by my surroundings. It's hard to describe the feeling. It's different from the excitement I feel when I see something cool, or the happiness that arises when I eat good food, or the satisfaction I get when my planning falls into place. These moments always take me by surprise, like an unexpected traveller's high that makes colors seem brighter, fragrances stronger, sounds more clear. The scene around me engraves itself deeply into my memory. For lack of a better word, it's magical.
When I first arrived in Dakar, I was not particularly impressed because it looks like a city that's barely being held together on its hinges. As you walk around, make shift fences are built with a patchwork of tin roofing, unfinished buildings have become strewn with garbage, and the sidewalks are crumbling or missing entire chunks. Slowly however, I've grown to enjoy the city. It's a bit damaged, unpredictable, and different from what I am accustomed to. Dakar, and certain other cities in developing countries, have a resiliency in them that one cannot help but admire. The same features that irked me upon my arrival are now familiar--they are like wrinkles and marks on the city's face that are inevitably a part of its character. In about a week however, I'll probably find something that makes me frustrated with it again.
Tonight, I went to the most romantic and beautiful restaurant I have ever been to in my life. One of the doctors we have been working with took us there, it's where he an his wife go for their anniversary every year (and they've been married for 35 years). It's a place called Lagon I, and it's situated right on top of the beach. As you walk through the dark green palm trees and descend the stone steps, lined and dimly lit with pale blue christmas lights, you come to a private stretch of soft sand. The restaurant is built on a dock, and the interior is decorated to look like a boat. An enormous aquarium looms over the entrance, where a man made pool has been built to collect the sea water at high tide. Dogs and cats (the owner's pets) roam freely inside, and there is a long, open air patio that hangs far over the sea. As you sit outside, you can feel the perfect amount of a breeze and listen to the ocean. In this area, the waves are forceful. They roar as they roll in, and whisper as they slide out. The rhythm slowly draws away the stress from the day, and for a brief amount of time I feel like I belong in the city. Like I've arrived at home, even though I'm far away.
When I first arrived in Dakar, I was not particularly impressed because it looks like a city that's barely being held together on its hinges. As you walk around, make shift fences are built with a patchwork of tin roofing, unfinished buildings have become strewn with garbage, and the sidewalks are crumbling or missing entire chunks. Slowly however, I've grown to enjoy the city. It's a bit damaged, unpredictable, and different from what I am accustomed to. Dakar, and certain other cities in developing countries, have a resiliency in them that one cannot help but admire. The same features that irked me upon my arrival are now familiar--they are like wrinkles and marks on the city's face that are inevitably a part of its character. In about a week however, I'll probably find something that makes me frustrated with it again.
Tonight, I went to the most romantic and beautiful restaurant I have ever been to in my life. One of the doctors we have been working with took us there, it's where he an his wife go for their anniversary every year (and they've been married for 35 years). It's a place called Lagon I, and it's situated right on top of the beach. As you walk through the dark green palm trees and descend the stone steps, lined and dimly lit with pale blue christmas lights, you come to a private stretch of soft sand. The restaurant is built on a dock, and the interior is decorated to look like a boat. An enormous aquarium looms over the entrance, where a man made pool has been built to collect the sea water at high tide. Dogs and cats (the owner's pets) roam freely inside, and there is a long, open air patio that hangs far over the sea. As you sit outside, you can feel the perfect amount of a breeze and listen to the ocean. In this area, the waves are forceful. They roar as they roll in, and whisper as they slide out. The rhythm slowly draws away the stress from the day, and for a brief amount of time I feel like I belong in the city. Like I've arrived at home, even though I'm far away.
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