20 Dec The temptation of Janjanbureh

I admit that I have made trips to some places simply because I felt trapped by the sonority of their name. Pronouncing them still stuns me, (even more if possible), and takes me in seconds to faraway places, pending adventures and lost loves. They are my siren song that never ceases, and compel me to cross the Mediterranean again and again in search of adventure. In my beloved Libya they call this sea the Baḩr al Abyaḑ al Mutawassiţ "that white sea in between" and they are not wrong, for it separates my two worlds, sometimes so distant, those of reason and the heart.

Mombasa, Timbuktu, Kisangani, Lubumbashi or Kani Kombolé are some of my favourite names, to which the road is gradually leading me. I am aware that this may seem like an excuse, but let's see who can resist a temptation like the one that a few months ago pushed me towards the interior of Gambia, seduced with no possibility of escape by the exoticism of a place that promised adventure: the remote island of Janjanbureh (pronounced Yanyanbureh, which with a J does not produce the same tempting effects).

An island that in the past was also a magnet for freed slaves, explorers and adventurers. It also represented the limit of the known world, beyond it awaited death or glory, or both, which almost always came together. In other words, a powerful temptation.

There I discovered, by the river, a place still as it was then, shrouded in a halo of adventure and romance. It was just an old jetty leading to a lush garden growing at the foot of a large fromager and several fiery red flamboyant trees, a tempting hammock and several huts converted into a secluded lodge. A place to stay. The place had been invaded by dozens of friendly monkeys, no one else. (Friendly until they come for your food, and then it all becomes a fight for survival....)

I reached that place by river, following in the footsteps of Mungo Park, who more than 200 years ago went up the river in pursuit of his dream of finding Timbuktu, the best hidden pearl of the desert. It cost him his life, for there has always been a certain danger in dreaming. Like him, and like so many explorers who followed him, I embarked at the great estuary of Banjul, ready to follow the course of the river to the other end of the country.

I soon came across the first big surprise of the route, the sacred forest of Makasutu. Hidden among the trees and mangroves there is a place that monkeys and crocodiles refuse to leave. This must be Paradise, but also Purgatory, for it tempts one to indulge in various deadly sins, and I am not referring to envy, which I felt when I saw the place.

If you manage to get out of there, continuing through the mangroves, you will discover other must-see places such as Sita Joyeh, a small island inhabited by gigantic hundred-year-old baobabs, then a forest of ghost trees, then a djola village, lost in a palm grove..... There is a surprise at every turn, and it is only by the river that the best secrets of The Gambia can be revealed.

Further on is the Bao Bolong wetland, opposite Tendaba camp, one of the best areas in the world for bird watching. There I saw purple herons, cormorants, pelicans, plovers, jacanas... and even a colourful turaco, although I must admit that bird watching gives me the same whirlwind of sensations as watching a game of petanque. What I like is the landscape, and here, everything is spectacular.

Travelling along the Gambia is a good way to get to know the different cultures that have settled along the river, Mandinka on the north bank, and Diola and Fulani in the south. Separated by the river and linked by several ferries, there are no bridges there. Take one and set foot on land in a riverside village on either side, enjoy the contact with the people, which is the land of the easy smile for a reason. Lose yourself among baobabs and palm trees on ochre dirt roads, constantly traversed by women wrapped in brightly coloured cloths and with giraffe-like gait.

In the mornings we took advantage of the less hot hours to go down to buy provisions (more beers) and in the afternoon we took advantage of the hottest hours to drink them. A great plan. At sunset, we would look for a place to enjoy the sunset and stop our engines. This was when the river was calm. From the deck we could see groups of white herons flying by, without noise, silence reigned, broken only by the snorting of a nearby hippopotamus emerging from the water. How they reminded me of those sunsets on the Rufiji River, or along the Niger and the Chari. And then, as night fell, the forests along the banks came to unusual life and thousands of noises, all of them eerie, filled the night. These moments are to be enjoyed with a gin and tonic and good company. It is part of life.

It doesn't take long to reach the island, in three days it is possible to reach it, without haste, after which those with a non-conformist spirit will be pushed to continue towards Basse, cross the border with Senegal and continue along the river into the Niokolo-Koba park, a rather tempting name, by the way. The adventure requires going further still and continuing along the Gambia to its source in the Futa Djalon Mountains, and once there, we'll figure out how to get back.

But this time the adventure ended for me on that jetty on the island of Janjanbureh, a pity, but it was not a bad plan to feel for once like Marlow for the Congo, captain of my own adventure, on board the Jam Ono, "Forever Young", a ramshackle ship that is determined to continue doing what it likes and refuses to accept that it is already having a few ailments. Like me, soul mates destined to meet...