It's not so much a road as a collection of potholes. During most of my journey from Senegal to the Gambia, the driver prefers to use the less-bumpy shoulder of the highway. Many Senegalese will tell you it's not worth the trip. They call the Gambia a curse, a sliver up the ass of Senegal.

Due to the quirks of colonization, the tiny West African nation of the Gambia is surrounded by Senegal on three sides, with the Atlantic Ocean on the west. Unless they want to make a massive detour, Senegalese transporters and travellers often have to cross the former British colony to reach the southern part of their own country. When I was in West Africa last fall, Senegalese truckers had been blockading the border to protest the Gambian government's ferry price increase. After verifying the border was open, I left Senegal's capital of Dakar to check things out for myself.

What I found was a tiny country full of intense contrasts: tourist hotels, mud-soaked villages, and lush, unpopulated tropical beaches.

After crossing the border, my shared taxi is stopped at a police checkpoint. I've forgotten my yellow vaccination card in Dakar, so the uniformed cop takes me into the station. "If you help me, I can help you," he coos. I fish into my pocket and hand him a couple crumpled dalasi notes-worth less than $4-and hope it's enough. The man looks pleased, and with a sigh of relief, I'm on my way.

The sun beats down as I take the ferry across the Gambia River, which here at its mouth is a wide, calm body of water that looks like a sea.

As I'm leaving the ferry terminal, another man in uniform stops me and demands my vaccination card. It's clear that a little cash will once again be needed, but I'm frozen with one hand in my pocket, unsure if I should dish out the bribe here in plain sight of the crowds streaming off the ferry. "Would you like to shake hands?" the officer asks. I put a dalasi note into my palm and clasp his. "Have an excellent time in the Gambia," he smiles.

Banjul is a tiny capital city, with a population of only 35,000. In fact, the whole of the Gambia has just 1.5 million people and is one of the smallest countries in Africa. Banjul has the feel of a long-forgotten colonial capital, with stylish buildings suffering from decades of neglect. The Gambia is noticeably poorer than Senegal: much of the land isn't arable, the economy is largely dependent on tourism and peanut cultivation, and many dwellings look like they were cobbled together out of leftover scraps. The Gambia has a certain military feel, and portraits of Yahya Jammeh, the former coup leader and now elected president, are visible around the capital. But somehow, Banjul is a charming and vibrant place. Street vendors sell bundles of peanuts and incredibly tasty bananas, and women wear colourful printed cloth wraps and matching hats. Restaurants offer chicken yassa, a tasty dish made with onions and lemon juice.

Walking along the beach, I feel like I've taken a wrong turn and ended up in Jamaica. Almost immediately, a local dreadlocked man who introduces himself as "Mr. Fix It" is by my side, wanting to smoke a joint with me. I decline, and Mr. Fix It says "no problem", a phrase the Gambians seem extremely fond of. Mr. Fix It is a Bob Marley fan and a member of the Gambia's biggest ethnic group, the Mandinka. But he's no Rastafarian-he follows the interesting blend of Islam and traditional beliefs that is the glue of West African societies. He proudly shows off an amulet he got from his marabout (religious leader), which he says protects him from being attacked with a knife. Then he shows me the scar where his marabout stabbed him as proof. "There is a just a little scar here but the knife didn't enter my body," Mr. Fix It says, before heading off to the mosque for the evening prayer.

At the regally named Princess Diana Hotel, the clerk assures me I don't need a bed with a mosquito net, as there are no mosquitoes in the rooms. There is no air conditioning either, but he promises the fan will keep me cool.

But at night, the electricity is out in the whole neighbourhood. When I finally flee my boiling-hot, mosquito-filled room in the middle of the night, I find most of the guests sitting outside on the sidewalk, waiting for the electricity to come back on.

The next morning I head to the Atlantic coast, a touristy area where Brits come to try to soak up some colour on the beaches. There are fancy villas next to shacks with roofs made of scraps of metal. I check into the Friendship Hotel, a mammoth complex with a football stadium that was built as a gift from the Chinese government, placed in a seemingly random location miles from the beach.

There are some fascinating tourist attractions in the area. At the Katchikaly Crocodile Pond in Bakau, I witness half a dozen snoozing crocs; according to local tradition, you can cure yourself of infertility by swimming in the water. The accompanying museum is a good introduction to Gambian culture, showing traditional musical instruments and cooking vessels. At the Bijilo Forest Park, I walk through the palm forest and see monkeys, exotic birds, and an ant hill that is almost twice my height.

The next day I'm approaching the bus depot in Serekunda when immense amounts of rain start pouring down, turning the bustling town into a muddy medieval village. Several people direct me to the bush taxi going to Gunjur, but after an hour of travelling on flooded roads, I realize I'm on the wrong bus. I have to head back to Serekunda and get another bush taxi. I'm starting to realize that Gambians tend to answer every question with "yes" or "no problem".

When I finally get to the Boboi Beach Lodge near Gunjur, I'm happy to see it was worth the exhausting trip. The collection of hut-shaped bungalows, perched over an undeveloped stretch of gorgeous beach, is run by a Gambian woman and her Scottish husband. I try body boarding in the ocean and find it absolutely exhilarating-I'm flying on top of the warm waves as they push me toward the sandy shore. I stroll down the beach and watch men haul in giant nets full of fish of all sizes. In the evening, the chef makes an amazing fish curry. I spend the night perched in the oceanside tree fort, marvelling at the intense stars lighting up the African sky.

The Senegalese are right that it isn't always easy travelling in the Gambia, but visitors to this part of the world know the payoffs are amazing.

ACCESS: Admission to the Kachikaly Crocodile Pool is 50 dalasi ($2). Ask for directions from Bakau. Entrance to Bijilo Forest Park costs 30 dalasi ($1.25). Find Boboi Beach Lodge two kilometres north of Kartong; a bungalow costs 600 dalasi ($25) per night. See www.gambia-adventure.com/ to book.