Am I overthinking this bag of layover food as I sit here in a semi-sleep deprived state? Maybe. But I will say this: as I sit and watch the remaining grains spill from this scholarship’s extremely generous hourglass, I’m still giving it my all in terms of getting out and around. This is because for me, travel and continually learning are two things that go hand in hand and are of great importance. Also, freshly grilled and salted cashews rank rather highly.
It would appear that we’ve once again arrived at that same old cliché about us all living on borrowed time, and making the most of what we’ve got.
Contrary to popular misconception, the untamed Olmsted Scholar does demonstrate a capacity for sitting still. She’s just having trouble fitting this particular activity in at the moment.
I don’t have a car here- so as usual it was time to hop on one of the many marvels of local transportation. Everybody grab your favorite religious talisman and hold on!
(And no, this wasn’t actually my hired vehicle for the weekend- but isn’t this thing pretty?)
Hello again, Saint Louis! It’s very difficult to ever tire of this place. Or to not feel inspired.
Saturday was a fine day that was filled with lots of wandering about and observing a mundane that comes off as quite the opposite to toubabs like me. You’re provided with a real sense of asylum up here in Saint Louis- something that I’d argue is almost impossible to achieve back in Dakar. Walking around the island and watching the world go by is often just what one needs when they start to suffer from a case of the Dakar crazies.
Behold a homemade merry-go-round that sits on the side of the river: it’s a simple construction of painted iron chairs welded atop a spinning disk with no restraints to be seen. (I don’t know about your individual safety concerns- but isn’t this thing pretty?)
On the other side of the river, you can no longer take this old timey bridge to cross. For better or for worse, it’s very easy to envision what Saint Louis looked like fifty years ago.
Did you know that after his spy life, James Bond moved to Saint Louis? It’s true.
In Saint Louis, the locals working the bar at your fabulous hotel will eschew the espresso machine and go out into the street looking for café touba. And it will be served it in a real tasse. Now that’s teranga!
And what’s a trip to Saint Louis without taking another 100 photos of pirogues along the water? I’m drawn to these things like flies to sugar.
Sundays are a day of rest- and on this day we got together and paged through some cookbooks in the vague quest of baking bread.
If any yeast recipe counts as bread, then we definitely made some bread together. The cinnamon and sugar swirly kind that lends itself to prolonged periods of proofing that yields quality conversation. Here we have my friend Becca revealing her meticulous nature as the aesthetics of these gorgeous rosettes are not quite up to her standard.
You know what else is great about baking and sharing? You get to enjoy a house that smells like magic. Here my friends are icing the cinnamon buns- and in the foreground you can see that the dining room table is doubling as my packing station. I’m leaving that night for my trip.
You may have seen this closeup on Facebook. Luckily for me, I was traveling and was forced to banish these beauties from my house. My guard downstairs was the recipient of some traditional American fat bombs.
