In the early 1980's, I spent a couple hours in Niagara Falls. It was my first time out of the United States. Everyone except Gramma donned rubber slickers and little canvas booties and toured the falls.
In 1990, I spent spring break in Spain with Seńora Rosenthal and my Quince Orchard High School Spanish class, visiting Madrid, Seville, Salamanca, Toledo, and Ávila. Every evening in every city there were Semana Santa parades; the first time we saw one we thought it was a Klu Klux Klan rally. A German heavy-metal band named Bonfire stayed in our hotel in Madrid, and we talked Sra. Rosenthal into letting us attend their show. Afterward, in search of pizza, a father and son opened up their restaurant for us, serving us sandwiches and beer.
In 1993, I spent a semester studying at the University of Lancaster in England. One weekend a student group took the ferry from Blackpool to Dún Laoghaire, Ireland, and spent the weekend in Dublin. On the ferry home, every last passenger was seasick, flopped out in carpeted hallways and propped up against tiled bathroom walls. I felt great. I danced in the ferry disco with a glass of Liebfraumilch. Later, on spring break, my American friend Elena and I travelled to London, Barcelona, Sitges, Nice, and Paris. In Paris we had the most fun, maybe too much fun—we got a ride home from the police after a night out on the town. We also grew irritable with each other's company. We had already planned to split up after Paris, so I made my way alone to Dover, Canterbury, and finally London, where my dad and my brother met me.
This May, State Department willing, I will spend 2 1/2 weeks in Mali. We'll be based in the capital, Bamako, where E's office is, and visit the nearby towns of Ségou, Djenné, and Mopti. I hope to also spend a day or two in Dogon country, on the Falaise de Bandiagara.
I'm sorry to say we won't have time to visit Timbuktu. First thing everybody says: "That's where Timbuktu is?" Yes, that's where Timbuktu is. Second thing everybody says: "You have to go, so you can say you've been there." I don't care about what I can say; I just want to have been there, to have stood at the edge of the Sahara.
Some people think travel guides cramp their style, and others can't imagine taking a trip without thoroughly researching every aspect. I always like to get a general feel for a place before going. And I absolutely hate finding out I missed something after the fact (like last July, when I read about the Penguin Parade at the Edinburgh Zoo -- on the plane back to New York). So (after I finish Anna Karenina (progress: page 646 of 817)), I'll open up the guides I bought, Mali: the Bradt Travel Guide and the Lonely Planet West Africa.
In more creative research, I found one novel about Mali, called Segou, by Maryse Conde. The original is in French but I checked out an English translation from the library.
Music provides more fruitful exploration. Salif Keita is one of Mali's most famous musicians. We don't have any of his albums (that I know of) but E has a beloved old cassette of the Rail Band. Earlier this month, E saw him in a Bamako hotel. I wondered how E could be sure it was him, until he told me Salif Keita is an albino.
Also in the Malian musical aristocracy is Ali Farka Toure. E brought home Toure's most recent album,Niafunke, from his last trip to Bamako. He also brought two compilations of current Malian musicians, but I haven't listened to them enough yet to pick any favorites.
African links:
Beautiful photographs of Mali by Peter Guttman. NPR interview with Peter Guttman.
The Congo Sound, an article that Susan Orlean wrote for the New Yorker about an African music shop in Paris.
Multimedia program on the Congo, by the Canadian Broadcasting Company. (Not suitable for dialup connections or short attention spans.)
