Let me start with a confession: I don’t do 5 a.m. wake-ups. I’m not one of those sunrise yoga people. I’m more of a “snooze-button Olympics” kind of girl. On a regular weekday, I wrestle myself out of bed at 7:30 a.m., groggy, unenthusiastic, and half-human.

But then came Gambia. Suddenly, I was springing out of bed at 5 a.m. like a caffeinated meerkat. No alarm. No grumbling. Just me, excitement, and the road. Turns out, curiosity and wanderlust are better than coffee.

Day 6: Banjul, Serekunda, and a Crocodile Named Charlie

Kololi was still half-asleep when I strolled to the terrace for breakfast. Omelette: check. Croissant dipped in coffee: check. Day’s route laid out in front of me: Kololi → Banjul → Serekunda → Bakau → back to Kololi. Life was good. I did a little happy dance inside while sipping my coffee.

After a quick euro-to-dalasi exchange (50 dalasi to 1 euro, for fellow nerds like me), I met our guide, who greeted me with a smile the size of the Atlantic. He spoke Dutch and English fluently—thanks to three and a half years in the Netherlands. But after his father’s passing, he returned to Gambia, stepping into the role of family head. “That’s how it is”, he said, shrugging, “Traditions matter here.”

In fact, despite the slow but steady modernisation in the cities, many traditions remain rooted. Early marriages, arranged matches, sons carrying on the father’s legacy—still very much a reality. Gambia is 90% Muslim, 10% Christian, and 100% peaceful. The people are warm, joyful, and wonderfully relaxed. Or, as my guide put it with a grin, “In Gambia, time runs on GMT—Gambian Maybe Time.”

First Stop: Banjul
A tiny capital tucked between river and ocean, with fewer than 35,000 residents. Getting there took us about 25 minutes down a two-lane road peppered with checkpoints—remnants of political tension after the 2016 elections. President Yahya Jammeh was out after 22 years; Adama Barrow was stepping in. The army was on alert. WhatsApp was partially blocked. The internet was…well, still in 2003.

The Gambians are content with the perspective of a new president, and they hope for great changes, as accepting foreign investors, which would create more jobs, especially in tourism. The Gambia lives mostly from tourism, agriculture, peanut export, and fishing. Due to all these security measures, I could not take many photos in the capital, in many places, the army did not allow taking photos.

No selfies near the soldiers, unfortunately. But Banjul has its gems:

• Albert Market – A colorful chaos of fruits, fabrics, art, and voices. Rule #1: Ask before you snap a photo. Rule #2: Always bargain. If they say 2000 dalasis, you say 1000. Then smile.
• National Museum – A charming, dusty time capsule. Old drums, farming tools, photos, and stories. Entry? Just 1 euro.
• Arch 22 – A 35-meter triumphal arch featured on the 100-dalasi bill. We cruised past it on our way to Serekunda, where I popped into a vibrant batik workshop. Wax, color, fire—textile magic.

Then came Bakau.
Or as I kept calling it: Bacău. Yep, just like the town back in Romania.

Bakau has beaches that could make Instagram crash—Cape Point, the sparkling star. But what truly stole the show? Kachikally Crocodile Pool. A lake where you walk among live crocodiles. And yes, I met Charlie. A real, live, fish-fed, photo-op-loving crocodile. They say you can pet him. I…considered it. Briefly.

Bakau also houses Gambia’s Independence Stadium and Radio Gambia, where you can hear both traditional beats and modern tunes. The Wolof tribe is the OG musicians of the region. Ever heard sabar drums? They once carried messages across villages—up to 25 kilometers away. Their modern cousin, mbalax, fuses jazz, soul, Latin, and rock. Think Youssou N’Dour’s “Seven Seconds.” Yep, that vibe.

According to Ibrahim, the lovely soul who guarded our bungalows each night, Jaliba Kuyateh is Gambia’s national treasure in music. And after our long chats under the stars, I believe him.

Day 7: Safari Dreams in Senegal

Another 5 a.m. wake-up. This time, we were off to Fathala Wildlife Reserve, just across the border in Senegal.

The ferry from Banjul to Barra was, let’s say, character-building. Every kilometre brought a checkpoint. And when we reached the Senegalese border, it felt like stepping back into a bus station from my hometown of Galați—minus the goats (well, maybe just fewer goats).

Street vendors swarmed us—muffins, bananas, peanuts. I bought oranges and raw peanuts. Simple things never tasted so good.

We entered Fathala, bumping along in a safari truck that felt like a blender on wheels. Entry fee? 30 euros for adults. The reserve, covering 6,000 hectares, once had lions—until they started snacking on antelopes (awkward). No elephants either, sadly. But I did spot zebras, rhinos, giraffes, wild boars, and even a few chameleons.

Dreams, fulfilled.

We returned just in time for an hour of sun, swim, and slow exhale by the pool.

More information about the reserve and accommodation can be found on www.fathala.com.

Final Thoughts: Tiny Country, Giant Heart

Gambia may be the smallest country in Africa, but it’s packed with warmth, surprises, and perspective-shifting experiences.

Would I return? In a heartbeat.
Even if it means more vaccines (yellow fever, hepatitis A, DTP, and two weeks on Malarone), more checkpoints, and more 5 a.m. wake-up calls.

Because Gambia didn’t just show me a different world—it reminded me why I love to explore in the first place.