I Skipped Paris and Booked a Flight to Dakar Instead — Here’s Why I Don’t Regret It

I was supposed to go to Paris. It was the plan. I had the Pinterest board, the Eiffel Tower fantasies, and even a few French phrases memorized. But something didn’t sit right. Prices were sky-high, tourist season was in full swing, and I didn’t want to spend my vacation elbowing through crowds to see the Mona Lisa’s forehead.

Then I stumbled on a cheap flight to Dakar, Senegal.

It was half the cost of Paris. I barely knew anything about it — just that it was on the western edge of Africa, had a strong music scene, and beaches.

I booked it the next day.

Here’s what I found instead of macarons and overpriced espresso — and why I don’t regret skipping the City of Lights for the hum of West Africa.



The Arrival: Heat, Rhythm, and Color

When I landed at Blaise Diagne International Airport, I was met with a blast of heat and the sound of drums echoing through the open windows. The drive into Dakar was chaos — taxis weaving through traffic, fruit vendors balancing towers of mangoes, buses with open doors packed shoulder to shoulder.

But that first sunset? Unreal. The sky exploded over the Atlantic as we cruised past mosques, murals, and street vendors grilling fresh fish on the sidewalk.

Paris had sparkle. Dakar had soul.



The Food: Spicy, Hearty, and Full of Love

In Paris, you get croissants. In Dakar, you get thieboudienne — a rice and fish dish cooked with tamarind, carrots, cabbage, and eggplant. It doesn’t look fancy, but it tastes like comfort with a kick.

I ate grilled chicken with spicy mustard sauce on the beach, yassa poulet at a roadside stall, and drank bissap (hibiscus juice) so cold it made me pause mid-sip. Every meal came with a smile, a conversation, and usually someone saying “mange bien!” as I dug in.



The Beaches: Raw and Real

La Corniche is Dakar’s stretch of coastline — not manicured, but beautiful. Surfers paddled out into golden waves as vendors sold peanuts and sunglasses on the sand. I swam in turquoise water and laid under a baobab tree, watching fishermen haul in the day’s catch with their bare hands.

One afternoon I ferried to Gorée Island, a hauntingly beautiful place with both a tragic past and undeniable charm. The Maison des Esclaves was heavy — emotionally, historically — but walking through it was something I’ll never forget.

Gorée was quiet. Flower-lined alleys, crumbling pastel buildings, and galleries hidden behind wooden doors. No chain cafés. No tour groups shouting facts over megaphones. Just stories in the walls.



The People: Warm, Curious, Generous

I was a solo traveler in a city I didn’t understand, and not once did I feel alone.

I met a university student named Amadou who showed me around his favorite art spaces in the city. A woman named Khady invited me to her cousin’s wedding after we chatted at a market for ten minutes. A taxi driver gave me his favorite music playlist because I told him I loved Youssou N'Dour.

Senegal is often called the “land of teranga” — a Wolof word that loosely translates to hospitality, but really means something deeper: generosity of spirit, openness, welcome.

I felt that every day.



Cost? Half of Paris. Twice the Experience.

In Dakar, I stayed in a boutique guesthouse with a rooftop for $25 a night. Meals rarely cost more than $5. Taxis were cheap, entry to museums was often $2 or less, and even the touristy stuff felt fairly priced.

Compared to the €7 espresso in Paris, I’ll take my street-side attaya (Senegalese mint tea) and grilled fish with ocean views any day.



What I Wish I’d Known Before I Went

- Basic French helps, but most people speak Wolof and are patient with hand gestures
- Bring cash — cards aren’t always accepted
- Public transport is hectic, but Ubers are available and reliable
- The heat is real — stay hydrated
- Don’t expect Western “efficiency” — and you won’t be disappointed



The Art, The Music, The Energy

I stumbled into an outdoor concert in the Medina one night. It wasn’t advertised. Just speakers set up in a square, locals dancing like no one was watching, kids with glowing toys, and older women swaying in gold-patterned fabrics.

The vibe was electric. The music? Unlike anything I’d heard. It felt spontaneous, sacred, and everyday all at once.

I visited Village des Arts and watched painters work in open studios. I bought earrings from a woman who hand-carved them while singing to herself. I took photos I never shared — not because I didn’t want to, but because they felt like something I wanted to keep just for me.



Would I Go Back? Without a Doubt.

Dakar didn’t offer me champagne boat cruises or luxury boutiques. It offered honesty. Complexity. Beauty that didn’t ask for attention.

I left with a suitcase full of sand, a notebook full of new names, and a reminder that the best trips aren’t always the ones you plan — they’re the ones that catch you by surprise.

So if you’re dreaming of Europe, that’s fine. But maybe — just maybe — look left.

Toward the coast of West Africa.

Toward a place where the sunsets feel louder, the food tastes bolder, and the people remind you that the world is still wildly, joyfully generous.

I skipped Paris and went to Dakar.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.