In a mere week we started from feeling like a bit of sun, to booking a traditional hut on the beach in M'Bour, Senegal.
I love my SkankyDavy, and she loves me, but going on a journey together remains the ultimate test for any relationship...
What to wear was an issue throughout this entire vacation.. Some Brousse dresscode to share with you guys:
1) do not go out too chique if you wanna get back home fully dressed
2) stay away from everything basse classe in case Charlotte Casiraghi walks by and you're decorating the background of a papparazzi-Talkies-cover the week after...
That means - a different pair of shades thrice a day
- no brightly coloured beachstuff in plastic
- no overdone sunscreen
- ban all perfumes to avoid skin irritation due to the burning sun
- don't cross defined fashion borders in your vacation-mood
(e.g. sarongs for men, traditional asian wear, braided hairdo's => NO!)
F.Y.I. these rocks prevented the beach from being litterally eaten away by the strong current in the repelling water, it has absolutely no decorative function. I myself at first was thinking I missed an edition of Millionaire Homes, but JE TE JURE MES AMIS, once the wind is down and the waves are gone, the water eats the soil from beneath your feet.
Impression: La tarte du séjour :)
Those natives behind the counter first appointed us a house more inland on the domain. At eleven at night we could be found scavenging the area for vacant houses, strolling two huge bags behind our understates Banjan Three/Virreina de Menorca sandals, tresspassing every possible private ground, the ticking of our designers frames against the window glass of the terrace doors... HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHA... I wrote down the numbers of the houses I liked so I could negotiate with the resort-staff.
20 minutes and a few hundred dollars later we had a native hottie carry our luggage and guide us to the house.
Me in the beginning: naively enjoying what appeared to be skin-nourishing sun...
Me the day after: facing the threat of returning home with a face full of blisters and a body in Dita Von Teese's natural complexion!
One of the lakes around the island on which the hotel lay... The native-inspired hut is a welcoming pavillion next to a helicopter landing spot. It was mostly used for marriages.
Third day: mental meltdown! God this moment I'll nevah evah forget! Sun almost down, we were walking along the waterline. At the end of the territory we found a hangmat between two palmtrees. A breeze that took away your breath as it stroke along one's face, a fragile balance between warm and cold. We just consumed this intense spiritual beauty in complete silence. Words could not have done justice to this reality-transcending experience... 
Moving on: cocktails and drinks were not very original! We took the safe choice time and time again "le quatre quarts", a bunch of orange juices, a mouthfull of grenadine, nothing special but the only thing really thinspirationable they served..
An occasional socialite stunner could be spotted strolling along these beaches. Above:
This dude made sandals and bags for virtually nothing. We head home 6 pairs of sandals and two bags added to our wardrobe. He probably got murdered in a horrific way and robbed of his money by another member of staff that saw us picking up our truckload of native craftswork !!
The helicopter, this freaking piece up shit interrupted peace and quiet four times a day as guests were being flown in.
So here's the story: we met two married women from Brussels: Marie-France and Yvonne. Yvonne being the most nymfomaniac of both, scavenging the Senegalese male population as if she was longing to get knocked up. Marie-France was past the big 5-0 and relied in the fact her wrinkles got in the way of male attention of the exotique nature... Anyway we wound up in the "discotheque" (=>"......"), got drunk as fast as possible and left the building drunk and glamorous. Picture shows a drunken Vivvi taking the word self-service a bridge too far. We tried to take a picture of the guard that was a whitness of this bold, brutal and absolutely gorgeous behaviour, but our attempts were useless. No matter how close I got and with or without flash: he was just too fucking dark!
On our way to the cottage, totally drunk, shouting the whole park out of bed on the tunes of Orbital...
TRAAAHAAAASSSSSHHH
Absolutely ADORE this picture!!! we're talking serious editorial material here...
The sea was totally withdrawn, when suddenly, while we were walking to breakfast on the beach, a wave came out nowhere and performed an attack on Davy's DVN joggings.... First and last time he ever w(h)ore them: there is no God!!!
Beachbar between our house and the main resort
Quite aggressive little asses these beasts. They attacked us once, but withdrew themselves from battle when the smell of old fur and stuffed animals from our personal collection was blown into their sensitive noses.
One of the local children catching fish for the Easter buffet later that evening.
In a photoshoot mood on our way to dinner..
Two hours and some bottles of champ later.
On safari. No not to see the locals, the goal was the animals but I must see the barbarian behaviour out in the streets and the absolute retardedness was far more fascinating. Except for the Chanel animals though,
LOOK !!!! THESE ARE SO CHANEL! The colouring and the patterns in the print, all the hard work has been done. It's ready-to-stitch!
A thousand year-old tree with skelletons inside of it, a ritual from the tribe that lived here before it became a reserve.
Our Beautiful-section:
A German mannitee, wearing a hospital gown with an ethnic touch.
Revolting huzzy blobs love-handle back in after attempt to escape whilst swimming.
On the left: Madame Fourrure, on the right: Madame Butch 'n Obese
If only security allowed crowbars in hand luggage I would have been honoured to smash this degenerate's face to shreds! This horrendous display of God's cruel humor managed to throw a twisted sort of freaked out self-confidence around that even I found offensive. On the way back to the airport at the end of the week she was sitting in front of us and deliberately put her chair all the way back. Given her weight and the fact her scalphair was only inches away from my mouth that was unforgivable! Davy and I CONSTANTLY held conversations in Dutch (she only spoke French) criticising and mocking this creature, on a tone that was just a little too loud to be bearable anymore. I was ending my sentence and Davy already jumped in cause he felt I was coming to a close. FOR TWO FUCKING HOURS! Twenty minutes before we arrived she was close to tears.
No comment... An absolute tragedy...
By the time we were back in Belgium Davy's bag was starting to smell like an animal graveyard. Shells (with or without animals in it), coral, sand, stones, the only thing left on the beach were dead jellyfish and seaweed... The average marinologist would have argued this was a dead sea, judging by what was left on the beach!
Your average African dance-ensemble: one midget, one without legs, one with two paralised legs, one with a missing leg, and one with a scar the size of broomstick on his chest... Legs were flying around, sweat was splashing against the walls, tits were popping in and out of
blouses... Cirque du Soleil à l'éxotique...
Recital from a "church choir". Lady in front is distant family of Davy that happened to be on the same flight with us!
This vacation was the first of many hopefully together... We had SUCH a blast. It's gonna be so hard to get used to every day life again. Next year we've got our eye set on something colonial in Kenya. Something natural, balanced, back to basics..
