Game for Gambia!
If you want bargain winter sun, this West African country has it all
THE Gambia sprawls along the banks of a West African river up to 10km wide, and was one of Britain’s first and last colonies (16641965), famous for peanuts, chimpanzees and magnificent beaches.
As it happens, I have some family history here. My greatgreat-grandfather, Dr Hart Gimlette, sailed up the Gambia River in 1861 with the Royal Navy. They were here to suppress slavery.
He fought in two vicious battles and wrote home about the crocodiles, monkeys and Mandinka warriors.
Today, it’s democratic, largely Muslim and multilingual. There are eight main tribes.
‘We have no natural borders,’ said our driver, ‘everyone’s here. We all rub along.’
During our winter, temperatures in the Gambia are gorgeous, and the sea is warm. There are direct flights from London, no time difference, and plenty of beachside hotels.
Even better, a holiday here won’t break the bank — in fact, it costs half the price of Caribbean equivalents.
We began on the river, deep in a mangrove forest. The reserve, Makasutu (‘Mecca in the forest’), is considered to be charmed. People leave it alone, so wildlife runs riot. With more than 600 bird species, it’s a carnival of feathers and colour.
The Mandina River Lodge has houseboats on the creek. I loved this place with its boardwalks, thatched spires and a bar like a giant straw hat.
Kingfishers came to the swimming pool and every now and then a huge troupe of baboons called by, in the vague hope of scraps.
AT THE Senegambia, a beach hotel, blocks of rooms were enveloped in lush tropical gardens, with monkeys and vultures. The beach is endless. The sand was black in parts, and speckled with shells like the night sky. In the evening, we’d walk to the Strip, a street of restaurants. Everyone was here: politicians, shoe-shiners, the beautiful and the donkeys.
Ngala Lodge was one of my favourite hotels. It was smaller and had its own cove. Built around a colonial villa, its lawns rippled down the beach. We went out to Cape Point and the Calypso Bar, a restaurant at the mouth of the river with a giant tree house.
I also ventured into Banjul — Africa’s smallest capital, with everything cracked and crumbling.
One of the suburbs is called Half Die, which says it all. I did, however, find a plaque to my ancestor’s comrade, Lieutenant Hamilton.
Even better was the National Museum — a treasure trove of indigenous artefacts and colonial junk. We also stopped at Juffureh, the village made famous by Alex Haley in his book Roots. Our guide even produced a ‘distant relative of Kunta Kinte’. For 100 Dalasi (or €1.37) I could take her picture.
Saba, the battlefield, was exactly as my ancestor described; swampy and overgrown. I did, however, find stumps of mahogany, all that was left of the Mandinkas’ stockade.
Back at Ngala Lodge, we talked about coming back. Gambia has warmth — in every sense.
I’M sitting in the back of a taxi on my way to Dublin Airport practically shifting in my seat with unease under the weight of imposter syndrome.
For the next couple of days, I will be a guest of Fairmont Hotels & Resorts on a twincentre trip to experience two of its finest properties.
The cause for my sense of foreboding? I’ll be playing golf at both.
With just one hour spent on a putting green being the sum total of my golfing experience, I’m wondering just how I’m going to pull this one off. I can feel my ears burn too with the ire of at least half a dozen golf-playing colleagues and friends as I queue to board my flight to Edinburgh and on to St Andrews. Yes, the St Andrews, one of the most iconic golfing destinations in the world, widely considered the home of golf.
(Now, before we move on, a caveat: The following will be littered with inaccurate golfing terms.)
Leaving the outskirts of Edinburgh city behind, I’m soon out in the rolling countryside passing through charming, sandstone-built villages and fields abundant with their late summer harvest before reaching the hotel. The Fairmont St Andrews is set within a 520acre estate, situated on a clifftop overlooking the North Sea on Scotland’s east coast. It’s a view enjoyed from my room as I stand contemplating the two 18-hole courses and pour myself a stiff drink from the mini-bar. The Fairmont enjoys majestic interiors too. An enormous atrium runs the length of the property, flanked on either side by restaurants and leisure facilities with plenty of opulently-appointed corners in which to frantically thumb through your copy of Golf For Beginners.
Having earlier opted for the traditional Scottish lunch of Cullen Skink, a chowder containing locally caught smoked haddock, dinner is a far more international affair. La Cucina is the gastronomic focal point of the resort, offering an extensive menu of simple Italian food created with fresh, regionally-sourced produce including buffalo mozzarella from a farm in nearby Fife. But if I think I can relax with a few post-dinner beers before hitting the fairways the following morning, I’m mistaken. The hotel’s Zephyr Sports Bar has everything for the sports-mad guest, including a golf simulator which allows you to play on any number of the world’s top courses virtually. It’s certainly great fun but it still goes without saying that things are not looking good for tomorrow.
After breakfast, I make my way down to the driving range, where I meet with Tom the unfortunate instructor charged with getting me golfready. An hour — and many laughs — later, I bid farewell to a bewildered Tom and join Minty, my golf partner for the afternoon.
If you’re going to play golf for the first time then there is no more dramatic or beautiful a setting on a blustery morning to do so. The irony of the situation is not lost on me. Oh if the aforementioned colleagues and friends could only see me now.
As we set off in our buggy, my eye is drawn along the coastline westward, to where the town of St Andrews rises in all its Gothic glory. With the morning sun bathing its spires and turrets in half-light it looks magical, like something from a Harry Potter book come to life.
But I’m not here to take in the views. Desperately trying to put into practice the multiple techniques required for the perfect putt, I try to make light of how each one veers drastically over my left shoulder. Minty can’t help but comment on the one that doesn’t, noting ‘they’re not going left any more’ as the ball somehow shoots 180 degrees to my right instead.
Persevering on to the 16th hole, wrists sore from tensing, I call it quits for the day. My competitive streak leaves me frustrated, yet with a halfsense of achievement. I can already see why die-hard golfers spend hours on the course. That and the allure of the Clubhouse, I suspect.
Of course, St Andrews’ other claim to fame is its university. Famous alumni include John Cleese, the Prince and Princess of Wales, and 20th century nobleman and ‘collector’ Lord Elgin, he of the Marbles fame. The complimentary shuttle from the hotel allows you to wander the streets of the picturepostcard town dotted with souvenir shops, pretty traditional pubs and tea houses.
It’s not hard to imagine how royalty and celebrities alike might go about their student lives in relative anonymity among the many monuments and cobbled alleyways. The regular service makes it easy to visit some of the town’s historical sites or, as is a must for golf fanatics around these parts, have your picture taken on the famous Swilken Bridge on the Old Ground.
No visit to Scotland would be complete without indulging in a wee dram, so the hotel staff arrange for a car to take me the short 15-minute drive to Kingsbarns Distillery. Situated in the East Neuk of Fife, this once-derelict site has been transformed into a charmingly renovated distillery producing both whisky and gin in an 18th century farmstead.
Enclosed by wildflower gardens, which provide some of