Scooby Doo Effect
The dog had fantastic real estate.
His doghouse was far more than the normal K-9 shelter. Seemingly too tiny for his unwieldy limbs, if one were lucky enough to be granted entry, they would find a palatial mansion that continued for an immeasurable distance.
That is essentially how businesses in Bamako operate.
From the street, there is no way to determine square footage or caliber of institution. Many of the buildings are densely packed together, lack front-facing windows, and have multiple entrances to different businesses without any visible demarcation.
As a result there is always an initial pang of wonder. An unremarkable façade on a side street opens up to a huge and grossly expensive French eatery, or a tiny archway leads to a spiral staircase lined with flowers that precedes yet another overpriced establishment. Perhaps the coup de grâce though, the dimly lit exterior that opens up to walls smothered in Tex-Mex memorabilia with waiters dressed in Wranglers and cowboy hats.
Ségou
Spent the weekend in Ségou, a fantastic river town north of Bamako.
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- I wasn’t the only one restless on the 4 hour bus ride.
Borderline
Sitting in traffic is much worse if you have double vision of 80’s era Madonna blowing kisses at you.
#voguerage
Executive Licensing
–“Where are the John McCain tire flaps?”
–“In aisle 3, next to the Adlai Stevenson crispy treats.”
Barring a twist in the current prism of reality, that is an exchange that will probably never occur as long as the universe is ruled by a comprehensible set of equations. However, if you find yourself in Mali, you might overhear the following:
[Insert excessively long salutations spoken in Bambara]
–“I’m looking for some Barack Obama underwear, do you have any?”
–“Oui-Oui!”
–“Good, I’m hungry too, I’ll take some of those delicious Obama cookies.”
–“Bien sûr!”
Obama Jackets, Obama soccer jerseys, Obama car decorations.
Obama-what-you-want.
Being abroad always tugs at your national identity and forces you to remain balanced on a scale of both incorrigible pride and hopeless self-admonition. Obama’s Malian omnipresence is easy fodder for either one, but for me it’s absolutely more of a glorious 4th of July than a reprehensible Gulf of Tonkin.
A tough decision–especially since I recently sat with a beverage in the aptly named Club Obama while a giant reflection of his formal portrait stared back at me like a judgmental parent.
Six Flags
After a long outdoor dinner you bike home in the claustrophobic heat. You pass late night food stands and 24 hour security guards that are intermittently lit by Karaoke signs. Scooters occasionally pass you, but for the most part, everyone seems to be going at a comparable and relaxing clip. It’s 90 degrees outside and raining humidity so by the time you get home you’re drenched in your own sweat. You walk into your room, see a large tick on your bed and with a smug, self-satisfied air think, “Sweet, this is a pure Phnom Penh night.”
You get close enough to flick the beast off your bed and realize that it’s actually a piece of the chocolate you were eating before you left.
Do’s & Don’ts
Do
Maintain a Cambodian Esperanto association.
When L.L. Zamenhof arises in the war of the undead, we can rest assure that he will calmed by the bilingual masses who have finally embraced his vision of linguistic world harmony.
Don’t
Play Trick Trick’s “Detroit City” at 4:30 am on a Monday.
Look, I get it, you’re super hardcore, but can’t we just come to some sort of an agreement on that instead of you blasting the one and only song “that really speaks to you?”
Crow’s Feet
Movie characters seem to have a better ability in managing the subtle rhythms required in order to navigate the occasional awkwardness that stems from reconnecting with an old acquaintance. There are however real people who are quite adept at handling these scenarios. My second day in Phnom Penh I walked by a Tuk Tuk driver whom I remembered from last year–I waved and he waved, but since he spoke no English I didn’t know whether to say anything. He was more directed though–through the big grin and waving hand, he let out a jovial, “Fuck You!”
Well played Sir, well played.
Pop in a cassette and push play
Going back to Cambodia.
Reviving the bloggy blog. Stay tuned.
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