Dakar. Check.

You're either on the bus or you're off the bus.

Dakar comes through. It has music. It has roads. It has water. It even has construction with workers doing work, more than I can say for most of the US.

We hit the town hard yesterday. We dedicated ourselves to food. Breakfast on the terrace (it was hot), good coffee, great breeze, perfect. The hunt was already on for lunch. After checking in on some clubs in the trendy Point E district across from the university, we found ourselves at an Ethiopian restaurant. Finally we find some good African food in Africa, but to our surprise, it's from the wrong side of the continent. We eat, injera toasting in the heat of the day. Coffee and ice cream were just right for a finish.

Back at the hotel, I hunt for musical activities while Annie makes her inroads for the week's work. (She's on the terrace now completing her first interview in Senegal.) It took a while, but we decided on an adventure for the drowsy night. It's Saturday, and Dakar knows how to party (even Lonely Planet says so!).

The ocean from the upper terrace. I can almost see Florida from here!

Off we go - the long cab ride takes us to Les Almidies, the Westernmost point of the African continent. After a few questions directed at folks walking the street, our driver finds his way down a dark side street with distant lights. As we get closer, we see no sign, but there is, interestingly enough, a signpost that happens to have nothing on it. "This is it." We pull in to the parking lot and sure enough, it's our spot. For $3, he'll wait. Thank god! As we pulled in we passed a family desperately trying to hail a cab on the empty, black road. As an aside, this may be the first place we've been with a parking lot.

Inside, it's an entirely different story. The many tables are empty, save for two or three, but the dining room lowers to within 20 feet of the incoming ocean tide. We settle down right on the edge, a table looking out over the black ocean, surrounded by the sound of lapping waves. It's something, how you can stare out into the sea, just as it's almost impossible to keep from staring directly into a late-night bonfire. Beers, paella, coffee. A bit overcooked, but worth it for this table and view alone.

Souleymane Faye at Just 4 U, the self-proclaimed Senegalese bluesman.

Time for some music. Souleymane Kaye is at a nearby bar, kindly called "Just 4u." Oh the internet, the havoc you've wrecked with the English language. He's a bluesman who listens to a whole lot of Fela Kuti. (As an aside, if you haven't listened to any Fela, go do it. Now.) Great show. The band would kick into a groove, led by the absurdly tall bass player and the Sabar drums, a staple in Senegalese music. Souleymane Kaye stands back, sits in the pocket, you see the sound flowing around him, he's barely playing. Suddenly he's screaming classic blues licks, but he's three, four feet away from the mic. Yet it's loud and clear. The show goes on like this. It's exactly what Dean hears in good bop in On the Road (Kerouac), the book that's consumed my plane rides throughout the trip. This guy has IT.

We're tired. Annie's falling out of her chair. Time to go. Day 1. Check.

As Ramadan passes, sights like this pop up everywhere. Sacrificial animals appear on street corners, in main roads, crossing streets... There's a group tied to a telephone post outside the window right now. One's pretty angry. The pressing decision for every family: buy one now for the feat, while they're nice and cheap, or do you wait until the night before. Most wait, you don't have to feed them, and you keep your kids from getting too attached before the big meal. (PS: check out little brother on the left, trying to keep up!)