We took the ferry back to Dakar from Gorée Island still carrying the weight of that morning. Gorée doesn’t really let you walk away clean—it lingers, sits heavy, asks you to hold onto it longer than is comfortable.
And then there’s Dakar.
A city that, almost immediately, pulls you back into something louder, more chaotic, and far less reflective.
If Gorée is quiet and confronting, Dakar is the opposite—crowded, noisy, and, at times, overwhelming in a way that doesn’t always feel rewarding.
Back in Motion: Traffic, Markets, and Mixed Impressions
We spent the afternoon driving around the city, which in itself became part of the experience—because getting anywhere in Dakar takes time. Traffic here isn’t just a nuisance; it’s a defining feature. Cars inch forward, horns fill the gaps, and the rhythm of the city feels more like a slow grind than a flow. I may not have mentioned it in the blog about Touba, but just crossing Dakar to get to the docks for the ferry to Gorée took about 90 minutes. Just to cross Dakar.
Our first stop was the Musée des Civilisations Noires. It’s an ambitious space—modern, symbolic, clearly meant to tell a big story about African identity and history. But inside, it felt uneven. Some exhibits were engaging, others felt incomplete, and the mix of English and non-English signage made it harder to fully connect.
The standout, though, was the section on notable African women—focused, powerful, and easily the most memorable part of the visit.
From there, we moved on to one of Dakar’s main markets. Like most markets, it was lively, colorful, and a bit chaotic—but here it also felt more intense. More crowded. More persistent. There’s always a line between “energetic” and “overwhelming,” and Dakar tends to lean toward the latter, especially in the more concentrated city center area. We also visited a church that wasn’t very memorable, other than the bizarre Christmas decorations that were still on display outside (it was late February, so we wondering if they must stay up year round?).
We grabbed lunch nearby—Brendan had the Croque monsieur (a lingering French colonial echo) and I had a vegetable wok, which arrived without any noodles or rice. Just vegetables. A minimalist interpretation, apparently. At this point in our travels through West Africa, I should have known better – food put on the menu for foreigners is never what one expects, and it’s usually bad. Eat what the locals ear. Except at this point I was getting tired of fish and rice, or chicken and rice!
Senegal itself is fascinating—a country with deep cultural roots, shaped by Wolof traditions and French colonial history, and widely considered one of the more stable nations in West Africa. But Dakar, as its capital, carries the weight of rapid urban growth, and it shows.
Security, Views, and the Illusion of Calm
Our hotel—formerly a Radisson Blu, now rebranded as Noom—felt like a world apart from the city outside.
Getting in required airport-level security: mirrors under the car, trunk inspections, bag scans. It was thorough enough to make you pause and remember exactly where you were traveling.
Inside, though, it shifted completely. Glass walls, ocean views, the Atlantic stretching endlessly beyond the cliffs. It was beautiful—but also a bit disconnected. Like stepping into a version of Dakar that had been carefully filtered.
The Reality of Travel: Laundry and Small Wins
At this point in the trip, we were running low on clean clothes—one of those unglamorous but unavoidable realities of long-term travel.
The hotel’s laundry service was priced accordingly (read: aggressively), so we improvised. The attached mall wasn’t much, but the grocery store was exactly what we needed. We picked up detergent, baobab and tamarind juice, some baobab jam, a beer, and—most importantly—a Red Bull. Small comforts matter more when everything else feels just slightly off.
Back in the room, I turned the sink into a laundry station. Three rounds, limited space, and a faucet that seemed engineered to splash water everywhere if you weren’t careful. It wasn’t efficient, but it got the job done.
Or at least, halfway done. Drying was another story.
When the Night Doesn’t Cooperate
Just as we were settling in, a band set up right outside our room.
Not nearby—right outside. And they were loud. Really loud.
It’s one of those travel moments where everything stacks—fatigue, heat, damp clothes, and now a live soundtrack you didn’t ask for. The music was actually good, and didn’t go super late, but the typical expectation is that rooms should be quiet, even ones on the ground floor. In addition, because the outside of our room was right where the band was, people were sitting literally in front of our window, so we had to draw the shades completely for privacy.
Dinner was a buffet—fine, but nothing memorable. There was a quesadilla-like dish that somehow didn’t include cheese, which felt like a metaphor for the day: close, but not quite landing.
The Next Day: Adjusting Expectations
The following morning started rough with food poisoning for Brendan and a touch of it for me. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission and doesn’t care about your itinerary. We adjusted—light breakfast and pushed forward anyway.
A Mosque That Didn’t Quite Land
Our first stop was the Mosque of Divinity—red and black, architecturally a bit different with a stacked interior. It was located on a beautiful stretch of beach and the breeze and the view from the mosque looking out to the ocean was nice. We weren’t able to go into the mosque this time due to the religious strictness applied to non-believers.
That was fine by use. Sometimes, a place just doesn’t resonate. And this one didn’t.
Later, as we were driving away, we summed it up: Of all the mosques we’ve seen, this was one.
A Monument That Tries to Say Something Bigger
The African Renaissance Monument was a different story.
It’s impossible to ignore—massive, imposing, and clearly meant to symbolize Africa’s forward momentum. Built in 2010, it’s one of the tallest statues in the world and not without controversy, particularly around cost and messaging.
Climbing inside and looking out from the top—specifically from the man’s hat—was unique, if a bit surreal.
But even here, the experience felt uneven. Sparse exhibits below, unclear organization, inability to explore on your own outside of the chaperoned walk through – and eventually we just decided to leave rather than wait around.
Dakar, at least for us, seemed to have a pattern: strong ideas, inconsistent execution.
The Edge of Africa—and a Moment That Worked
We ended the day at Pointe des Almadies, the westernmost point of mainland Africa.
There’s something grounding about standing at the edge of a continent. We’d done it before in Portugal, and now here we were again, on the opposite side of the Atlantic.
We walked on the beach for a minute before going to the little shopping area where our lunch would be at. The waves were strong, the wind steady, and for a moment, Dakar felt simpler. We enjoyed adding some more seashells to our collection as well.
At lunch, at Chez Fatou, we sat by the water, watching surfers and locals move through their day. The area we were onlooking seemed to have a swell surf scene. No agenda, no pressure to extract meaning from the experience. And the grill had some food diversity (as a pretty touristy dining spot) so we got hamburgers.
Just being there.
Dakar, Honestly
Dakar is a city with depth—historical, cultural, and symbolic. Senegal as a country carries an important place in West Africa, known for its relative political stability and cultural influence.
But Dakar itself isn’t easy.
It’s crowded. Traffic is constant. There’s visible poverty that’s hard to ignore. And while there are moments of beauty and meaning, they don’t always come easily or consistently.
Some cities pull you in right away.
Dakar didn’t. I think that if we had been there more on our own, and had some free nights, we would have taken in more of the nightlife and culture, as well as the famed music scene which I had heard about thanks to my jazz music background.
But maybe that’s part of it. Not every place is meant to be loved instantly. Some are meant to be understood in pieces—through the friction, the discomfort, and the moments that do land, even if they’re fewer than expected.
And sometimes, that’s still worth the trip.
All in all Senegal was just OK for us overall, with the best parts being in the Casamance region of the south, where the unique culture stood still and more traditions were preserved.