Bintang Bolong

A few weeks ago Zack and I decided to take an overnight trip to a small village called Bintang on the river - known as a bolong. The rainy season had started but the sky looked clear (there are no weather forecasts here) and we decided to risk it - besides what's a bit of rain anyway?

So we kissed Slobs good bye and set out in Gav the Rav for another adventure. We had heard the roads up country get pretty rough in the rainy season so we were pleasantly surprised when we found a newly paved road leading all the way to the turn off down to the river. After a (very long) 5km dirt track we had managed to avoid hitting any of the kids that tried to grab hold of the car while yelling "toubab toubab" and we rolled into our lodge in time for lunch. We had booked into a small lodge on the river. The lonely planet describes Bintang Bolong as "rustic". Well I'm not sure that "rustic" aptly describes the rickety cabins that jut out into the mangroves on spindly little stilts as well as "decrepit" would have. OK so I'm exaggerating a little, they weren't all that bad. I suppose they were almost "quaint" and they at least had electricity. Lunch was served in the small open restaurant (also on stilts) that looked out over the river and it was beautiful - the food and the view. We had booked a ride in a paddle boat at 5 so after lunch we headed out for a walk around the village.

Bintang is the type of village that looks idyllic if you don't have to live there. Small dirt tracks flanked by trees and fields give way to small housing compounds where men lie under the giant mahogany trees, kids play soccer in the yard and women prepare the afternoon meal.

Of course in reality it is stinking hot, the torrential rains cause houses to collapse every year and the kids are running around barefoot, but hey who lets the truth get in the way of a good story!

So after a pleasant walk around the area... assisted by a couple of local "tour guides" who felt compelled to show us the old Portuguese church - despite our insistence that we found the mosque much more interesting - we headed back to catch our paddle boat.

It turns out that a paddle boat in Gambia is not like one of those old boats with the big water wheels that you see on the Murray... in fact it's more like a canoe. This would have been lovely except that is was paddled by a boy who looked about 11. After a very slow 30 minutes we had traveled about 100 metres and the poor kid looked exhausted. So when we stopped for a break Zack and I took over the paddling, which was much more fun anyway (only once did we run into the bank and nearly decapitate ourselves on the low hanging branches). As we floated back down the river, paddle in hand, I tried to ignore the sinister column of dark black cloud that was rising on the horizon... what's a bit of rain anyway right? Then the wind came...

We were finishing dinner when our beer was sent flying across the table by a gust of wind that felt as though it could take down a house (I suppose it does). As the staff ran around trying to prepare for the storm the power flicked out and we were left with front row seats to the biggest storm I have ever seen (and ever wish to). We huddled in our room trying to ignore the precarious swaying of our cabin and watched tensely as the storm pass right over us, willing the stilts to hold. Sheets of lighting lit up the sky and for a second we could see as if it were day before we were plunged back into darkness (well we did have one small solar lamp). Needless to say neither of us slept much that night.

Just after 5am the sun finally shed an eerie blue light on the crystal clear morning. As we walked through the fields and watched the sun rise over the mangroves I felt that being awake all night was worth it to experience this fresh dawn. I guess the weekend turned out OK... oh who am I kidding we loved it!

Plus we got to meet this really cute baby donkey..