Sushi in the Savanna

This weekend actually ended with sushi, so I shouldn't lead with it. But the picture is fun, and I shouldn't have to present my weekend in chronological order, right?

Two especially awesome things happened since the last time I went to work. Friday night, I went to see Samba Toure at the CCF. He totally lived up to his reputation as a Malian bluesman, mixing styles. Here's one of my favorite songs that he played:



Then Sunday was a fun field trip with some coworkers. We went to Koulikouro for a hike to see where Soumanguro finally disappeared after his battle with Sundiata. I'd love to tell this medieval Malian story, but I fear I won't do it justice. You can read more here. It's historically interesting. It's socio-culturally interesting. It's economically interesting. Basically, read Sundiata, because that wiki article does NOT do it justice -- you can probably get it at your library -- and then read a few more footnotes about what came after.

Here are some photos of the Niger River and the hike that followed:

It's definitely hotter out now than it was just six weeks ago during the last coworker field trip. The hot season is coming. This last week was the first time I've turned on an air conditioner outside my bedroom.

And it also feels like the humidity has gone up a bit, though that could just be in my head. We're now awaiting the mango rains, which will be followed by mango season, which will be followed by the *real* hot season.

I've decided to stay focused on the awesome mangoes. Not the awesome temperatures.

After the hike, we went to the local market, where we were each assigned a different item, in Bambara, to find and buy. I found my incense burner fine, but the problem was finding someone who could make change! The woman who helped me find the incense burner eventually just gave up -- she bought me the burner herself. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. After that I went and bought some garlic from her. But, yeah, very nice.

I also stocked up on some sweet mangoes and an avocado, which brings me to the most important part of the trip: FOOD!

We went to an awesome restaurant on the side of the road, in between Bamako and Koulikouro, where there was much deliciousness to be had. As alluded to in the headline of this post, we were given the opportunity to order sushi ahead of time. And, of course, I was down for that! (This picture is not sushi at all, but dessert, in keeping with the last-things-first theme of this post.)

The sushi was yummy too -- my favorite was an avocado-grapefruit nigiri that I've never had before. Not only was it a really interesting flavor combination, but it just *looked* really interesting. Good times.

Sole medaillons in buerre blanc + petit legumes followed. And then coffee and a bunch of desserts. We ended up going in on them, so everyone could get a little bit of everything. And boy, am I glad we did. Above, you see this awesome chocolate custard coconut pie pastry thingie that hit the spot. And below you see my two favorites -- strawberry melba and strawberry cheesecake.

So yeah, good times, good company, good weekend. I even used the pool for the first time, properly. (I'd taken dips in it twice, but honestly just hopped in and hopped out.) There are plans in the works to paint the house and I may even just get my home life cleaned up and organized. Hope springs eternal. And sometimes, just sometimes, so does sushi in a landlocked semi-desert.

Sweet Home, Ouagadougou

It took me a number of days to catch my breath, so the full report has been delayed. Last weekend, I took a short vacation to attend FESPACO, the massive African film festival in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, with films running at nine sites across town over seven days. I'd read coverage of FESPACO years ago and always wanted to attend. But when I saw the price of a plane ticket to Ouaga, for just three nights, I nearly changed my mind. FESPACO only comes every two years, so I bit the bullet. Ouaga or bust.

Arriving late on Friday evening after a hard week's work, I didn't have much gumption to do anything. I had some yummy Indian food, read some Bill Bryson (thank God for Bill Bryson books when you're traveling) and went to bed early.

Saturday, I was up early...or, wait, I should qualify that. Saturday, I didn't set an alarm, thinking that I'd gotten to bed early enough that my body would wake up on its own. But when I checked my clock, I saw that it was after 2 P.M.!!! How on earth could I have done that, just blown through a half-day of vacation while unconscious!!! I hopped in the shower, determined to make the most of what was left of my day, and when I got out, I realized I'd been looking at my watch upside down. It was between 8-9 a.m. and I had plenty of time to see all the sites I had planned for the day.

First, did you know that before becoming an international pop music superstar and fashion icon, Stefani Germanotta had a thriving insurance company in Burkina Faso? Well, she did:

I took a nice long walk to Burkina Faso's national museum. The place was oddly deserted -- are there hordes of tourists in for the week or aren't there?!?! -- so one of the guides gave me a private tour. I learned all about which animal masks should hear my prayers (Wouldn't you like to know what is appropriate to ask from a crocodile or monkey mask? I'd tell you, but then they might sic a hyena mask on me.).

There was also a special exhibit on Burkinabe women. I'd tell you how Burkinabe folks feel about twins -- good or bad? Who knows? -- but I think you should just put the Ouaga museum on your bucket list and find out yourself.

After the museum, I hit the Moro-Naba Palace, which a nice young man told me I could only visit on Friday mornings. There were signs asking me not to take pictures, so I didn't take any. All I can say is, it looked interesting. So, unfortunately, the Moro-Naba Palace remains on my bucket list. The national stadium, however, does not, though I didn't enter as there weren't any games planned during my visit.

Then, so not to give religious preference to the monkey and crocodile masks, I went to the national cathedral, which was pretty pretty. I was also looking for some shade. I don't know if Ouaga has more direct sunlight or Bamako has more trees or I spend more time in the sun as a tourist, but the sun nearly killed me!

Not true. Hyperbole. But still. It was hot.

(Below are the shutters on the National Cathedral.)

At this point, it was about time to head over to the August 4 stadium for the FESPACO opening ceremonies. I had no idea what to expect. They could be boring. They could be amazing. I found it positively magical.

And, I gotta say, I'm disappointed that RFI or Monde5 or some other broadcaster didn't do a neat Olympics-style round-up of the opening ceremony. Each time something awesome would happen, I would think to myself, "Oh, I need to capture this! Photos! Video! Action!"

And each time, by the time I pulled out the iPod and revved it up, the action had changed slightly, and, in any case, I wasn't able to capture the wild trippiness of the moment. And, each time, I thought to myself, "Oh well, someone will make a nice 3-minute video clip." I haven't been able to find one, but here's one short video I took:



If asked to describe the opening ceremonies, I'd say they were everything an opening ceremony should be, filled with music, dancing, acrobatics, horses, Lady-Gaga-esque dudes on stilts.

The closing music and fireworks were the most I've ever enjoyed music + fireworks. I think it was partly the geometric designs made by the fireworks. It's the closest to the Gandalfian ideal I've ever seen. The crowd was also very appreciative -- I don't think there was a jaded person in the stadium. Here's a video I found on Youtube of just the fireworks, though it may make you dizzy:



Kind of amazing, I happened to be sitting next to a couple folks from the Midwest who are associated with "DuSable to Obama: Chicago's Black Metropolis," an American documentary showing at the festival. They were lovely, and one of their Burkinabe friends helped me find a ride back into town. Here's a nice promo about their doc, which I can't wait to see (Unfortunately, it was scheduled to show after my return to Bamako.):

After a quick shower, I headed out to start my evening, when I ran into the guy who'd helped me find a ride. He had stopped by the hotel lobby to make sure I'd gotten back ok! We ended up going to see this incredible dance opera (I don't know how else to describe it.) at an outdoor theater -- Zalissa La Go. It's the latest production from Burkinabe choreographer Irene Tassembedo and it was the single best dance performance I've ever seen in my life. Granted, that's not saying much. But I'd say that has more to do with my ignorance than with the quality of the performance. I kept thinking it would be an absolute hit in Washington. Charles (the guy who came to see the show with me) was even surprised and delighted -- he hadn't known the theater was there. And, in another random American connection, the lead actress/dancer/singer is either American or Canadian, if her accent was anything to go by! Small world.

So, yeah, Saturday was overwhelmingly good and the festival had barely started! Sunday, I rose early to start attending some films. I watched three shorts from Cote d'Ivoire (Lossogo, refuge ou poudrière de Samory Toure), Congo-Brazzaville (On n’oublie pas, on pardonne) and the DRC (L’eau va à la rivière). Then I did some important shopping in the big market/festival area and had some important lunch.

Movie-watching started again in the evening with short docs on refugees in Morocco (Parcours de réfugiés) and the experience of a Senegalese retiree who fought in Vietnam in the French army and was now fighting to get equivalent military benefits (Tirailleur Marc Gueye, ma plume, mon combat).

Then I hopped in a cab to run across town for a series of short films: Allah kabo from Mali, Jusqu’au bout from Burkina Faso, Le linge sale from Burkina Faso and The Tunnel from South Africa -- though it's actually about Zimbabwe. I was torn about whether it was really worth making the trek, especially if I risked missing parts of the late show. But I am so glad I did!

It was my first time in an open-air movie theater. I'd seen this gorgeous photo documentary project of Bamako's open-air movie theaters that have fallen into disrepair. It was awesome to see a neighborhood open-air theater that was still working. And with the cool night air, an appreciative audience, and the faint (or not-so-faint) sounds from a nearby disco washing over me, it was an excellent movie-watching experience.

But the movies weren't yet over! I zoomed back across town to catch Zwelidumile, a documentary about South African artist Dumile Feni who died in exile in New York City. And I'm really glad I did, because it was the best film I saw all weekend.

At this point, I could have gone to bed. But the festival isn't over just because the film schedule has been paused for the night! FESPACO, in addition to film, plans free concerts for festival attendees every night from midnight to 5 a.m.

I made my way to the concert grounds, though I could only keep my energy levels up for a couple songs. I caught a moto ride home with a nice lady rapper-accountant (as the best rappers and accountants indubitably are) and got ready for one last day in Ouaga.

Monday morning started off in the best possible way: STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM!!! AND SAUSAGES!! AND COFFEE!!! AND FRESH ORANGE JUICE!!! It was so good that I had to capture it forever.

I had another nice walk and stopped by an art exhibit at the French cultural center. In addition to a number of the Burkinabe/Beninois artists I saw at a local art gallery and at the festival grounds, I wanted to take home every painting of Patrick Singh's.

As much as I loved it, it also made me think quite a bit about African artists and the collection of African images by non-Africans -- the largely white market for mostly black art. It's an interesting thing. And, in fact, the documentary about Dumile Feni dug into it quite nicely, so perhaps that's why being at the CCF and seeing all the great art put it on the forefront of my mind.

In any case, my stay in Ouaga was nearly over. I watched an American film in the competition, Bullets Over Brownsville, which no one should ever watch. Ever. I lost part of my innocence, and not in a good way. I suppose that's harsh, but it was disturbing. Here's the preview, which is not suitable for all audiences, but does make the movie look pretty good:



Anyway, I'm very lucky that I got to go to Ouaga and very lucky that I get to live in Bamako. I played soccer with the embassy team tonight and did my taxes, and I feel pretty good -- if pedestrian -- about that, too. Now if only I had also done some laundry...

A bad thing in a good place

I am a big fan of Modibo Keita Stadium. I went there for the marathon. I've gone there for basketball games. I've hiked past it on high. I've strolled by on the weekend with no plan at all, just to ask the guard if there's anything interesting scheduled in the next few days. I want to be a part of the life of my city.

Monday, there was a terrible tragedy at the stadium. After a religious ceremony to celebrate the birth and baptism of the prophet Mohamed, there was a stampede at the stadium exit and 36 people -- most of them women -- died. They were crushed underfoot by their friends and neighbors. I'm saddened and bewildered, as are many people here. To put it in perspective, that's more deaths than the Virginia Tech shooting, and in one of the country's most celebrated sports stadiums on an important national religious holiday.

No one can say for certain what caused the mad rush. Some reports say people were pressing forward to touch or get a glimpse of the imam who hosted the event. Other folks say the imam had already left, and it was a random panic as 25,000+ people pressed to leave through narrow exits at the same time. I don't know.

Oddly, at about the exact same time, I happened to be at another soccer field across town for another imam's celebration of the exact same holiday. As I left with the other guests, a bunch of young men formed a human chain to escort us to our cars. At the time, I remember thinking it was rather heavy handed, but now I appreciate their care.

Today, I was on my way to a non-related meeting downtown when we ran into a huge crowd spilling out from the mosque. A special prayer service had been held for the people killed on Monday. I was moved. As we headed into the building for our meeting, a huge commotion went up in the street. You could hear the rush of people, hooting and hollering. We went back down to see what was happening.

I saw 200-400 men sprinting down a busy market street en masse, as if a spontaneous road race riot had broken out. I asked a coworker what had happened. The same imam was leaving the mosque, and hundreds of people were running down the street after him, to get a glimpse or a touch.

They said, "Take a hike!" So I said, "I'm taking a hike!"

Today was a good day. We had the day off for Mawloud, the holiday that celebrates the prophet Mohamed's birth. I got up bright and early for an 8 a.m. hike with a motley crew: three French folks, an American guy, a Malian guy and a lovely woman from Benin who may or may not be a nun. If my French were better, I could tell you for certain.

I was prepared for a long hike straight up one of the very steep hills that cradles Bamako. Fortunately, we carpooled most of the way up. The walk itself was pretty much on the plateau part of the hill -- if you're really nerdy, you can look at the blog post about the marathon to see the hill where we were hiking. I also got to see the Point G hospital and medical university, as well as this gorgeous music conservatory that was built there recently. The conservatory is in the process of building a performance space that's gonna be really special when it's done. I can't wait to go and support them.

I came home and decided it was hot enough for my first proper swim in the pool. You may look at this picture and think -- what a terrible sunburn! But never fear, it's only dust. Red dust. Pretty much any time I come home, I bring home red dirt on my skin and clothes. It brings out my eyes.

Anyway, I stood on the edge of the pool for a good long while, debating whether to get in, until I realized that me and my bikini were attracting attention from the construction site overlooking part of my yard -- so I moved three feet to the left, where the house shielded me, and stood at the edge of the pool a few minutes more. A lady cannot be rushed. And I can't be either.

In addition to the exciting hobby of standing next to pools, I've also picked up on porch-sitting in a serious way. I've become quite the enthusiast. I could sit on my porch for an hour in the morning and two hours in the afternoon and still not get enough. There's something about the green in the garden and the dryness in the air...or the blue of the sky? It's fun to watch my bananas grow? I don't know what it is. But I know that I like it, and if I do it often enough, my butt will make a permanent impression on my patio chair, making my porch-sitting habit even more enjoyable.

Last, I'd say that if you get a chance to watch the Guineen film Le Ballon d'Or, watch it. I saw it tonight for the first time at the French Cultural Center, and am really glad I went. Good stuff. I may or may not have teared up, though to be honest, that happens to me during most every sports-related movie.

Dirty little hands

There are a ton of kids who beg on street corners in Bamako. Some attend Koranic schools, where part of their training is to beg for alms to learn humility. Others work for Koranic masters in name only, maribouts who take all the money and don't give the them any religious training or support. And some of the kids are just homeless and trying to eat.

It's hard, but better than South Africa in certain ways; yes, there are 8-year-olds who are homeless, but at least they're not also addicted to sniffing glue.

Anyway, there are a couple kids who've set up shop on a street corner near my house. A friend who lives nearby sees them all the time, and gives them fruit or jokes around with them when she doesn't have any food with her. The other day, we were sitting in the car at the light, waiting for it to change, when the following exchange happened:

Eight-year-old kid through the open car window: Give me a gift, please.

My friend (teasing): Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't have a gift for you today. Do you have a gift for me?

The kid gets all bashful and disappears for a second. Next thing we know, he reappears, his little hand reaching through the window to give her a coin.

And that was when my heart broke that day.

On that sad note, pictures from my garden:

Registering is fun

So there's a slight possibility that I will join a women's basketball team. Two weeks ago, I was sent to a game via a coworker with family connections and talked to the coaches for one of the Bamako sports clubs. They encouraged me to come to practice, but warned me that I'd need contacts and two passport photos for my league registration. I still don't have the contacts (I ran out in the U.S. and didn't get around to replacing them before I left.), but boo-yah!

Passport photos: check. Yes, I took off my glasses for the photo.

I'm torn about whether I will really join. First, these guys are good. It's not certain that I'd walk in and wow everyone -- and that may be what they're expecting because I'm American. Second, they practice every single day and have games every week. Sometimes they travel. I know I'm not up for that kind of intensity, and I doubt I should join the team if I'm not going to make the same commitment. Even if I was only on the practice squad, you can't just show up when you want to -- it would be obnoxious to my teammates and coaches. So we shall see. I'm lucky to have the opportunity.

Last week, I also got to drop by the polls during a local special election. I love election days and I love the democratic process. There's always something special in the air. Well, on Sunday I had a hard time finding the polling station! I figured I'd drive around and ask people where the nearest voting bureau was, but no one seemed to know that there was an election taking place, much less where one could go to vote.

When I got there, it was worth the trouble. I have *never* seen so many young people at a polling place. Granted, Bamako is a city of young people. But I'm used to rolling up to vote with the old folks. Anyone in their 30s or 40s is a spring chicken at the ballot box. At this high school, (I must say, the photo isn't representative; the polling place was on the grounds of this enormous high school campus. In addition to all the buildings and classrooms being used for the election, there were a bunch of temporary grass buildings set up on the lawn. That, of course, is where I felt least intrusive, where I went immediately and where I took this picture.)...anyway, at this polling place, I felt like I was one of the OLDER PEOPLE! So that was refreshing.

These two cutie-patooties were representative of the average voter. Their names are in a notebook at work, but they told me they play soccer on the developmental team for Djoliba, one of the other big sports clubs here. They were not impressed by my teasing about Real or Stade -- they feel strongly that I should root for Djoliba and want me to come to a game. We shall see. I can always go without changing my allegiance.

And lastly, just because the Magical Internet lets me share, I was introduced to this artist by one of the chauffeurs last week. Fun stuff. Ok, I wasn't introduced to Black So Man personally. But I was introduced to his music. For now, that will have to be enough.

Adventure in a sauna wind tunnel

Whew. This weekend was not restful in the best of ways.

To tell the story properly, I need to go back six weeks. Picture Vermont in mid-December. I've just gotten stuck at the Burlington airport and am making small talk with the shuttle driver to the Doubletree Hotel, where I've decided to stay because lord knows my dear friends do not need to drive me to the airport at 4 a.m. on a Monday morning.

The driver, Issa (last name withheld to protect the innocent), and I strike up a conversation in French when I find out he's from Senegal. And, when he finds out I'm headed to Mali, he tells me that his dad actually lives in Kayes, a town in western Mali, and that he will be going home in six short weeks. So, of course, we trade contact information.

Fast forward six weeks. Issa and I have been in touch by e-mail and finally chat by phone. He's in Kayes and I'm trying to get transportation out there to take him up on his invitation to meet his family. The first option falls through (crazy me, I wanted to drive to a town called Kita on Friday afternoon, drive on not-very-good roads to Kayes on Saturday and then home on Sunday). Instead, I'm able to hire a driver, Mamadou (again, last name withheld to protect the innocent, though perhaps I should just Google real quick to find out if there are so many people with his last name that it won't even matter. No, it matters. But it seems he's also playing soccer in France!), who'll take me out to Kayes on Saturday and back on Sunday.

In the meantime, I also learn that Kayes is the second-hottest place in Africa after Djibouti, although it is still currently the cold season, and that everyone I talk to about this idea for a "weekend trip" thinks I'm barking mad. I am. No matter.

As Saturday dawns and Mamadou and I get on the road in a little, old white sedan, it's beautiful out and I've got Juluka singing in my heart.

Actually, I'm in Mali, so I should have Oumou Sangare singing in my heart. There. It just needs to be something upbeat.

The ride to Kayes was pretty uneventful, but long. We stopped a little over half-way for some freshly roasted mutton and Fantas. We also saw the cars of the Budapest-Bamako rally, pictured below, making their way to the capital city. I don't want to judge, but they weren't going very fast. In fact, I saw some guys stop to play with kids near a sheep-trading town! Hmph. Hee hee.

By the time we got to the hotel, we were both bushed. The air conditioner in Mamadou's car doesn't really work. So you've got two choices: windows down and hot Harmattan winds washing over you or windows closed and weak air conditioner chugging along. The only thing I could compare it to is a sauna wind tunnel -- I'm sure some folks would pay good money for that. I drank tons of water in addition to my drink at noon, but, despite my worries, never had to go to the bathroom. All the H2O was coming out my pores.

Anyway, when we arrived I took a quick shower to try to perk up and gave Issa a call to find out how we were going to meet up. He and his little brother came over to pick me up and we went over to his house.

I cannot say how incredibly welcoming his whole family was to me. We greeted everyone. We took pictures -- Issa hired a guy to come take a family picture with me...the fellow left for a few hours and then came back with developed images. The official pictures are just me with all the men. And Issa and I were the only ones smiling. I guess that's what living in the U.S. will do. We smile. The only pictures of mine that turned out well were the ones that were taken with Issa's sisters, plus one amazing one that one of his brothers snagged when he was doing some independent snapping.

Then we took a drive around town to check out the sites: the Senegal river, which was full of people washing their clothes, cars and motorcyles; the train station; the casino; the stadium built for the 2002 African Cup. Like an idiot, I'd forgotten my camera at Issa's house. Of course.

But, then the best part! Dinner! We had apples and oranges, couscous with some kind of meat-spinach sauce (I honestly have no idea at all what was in the sauce, except that it was good.) and salad. The salad dressing was so good that I meant to ask his sister what she'd done, but I forgot.

After dinner, we watched the news on the the TV in the family compound and shared some tea. I'd been wondering about the tea here, because I'd seen it around a lot, but hadn't had any yet. The tea at Issa's house was made with very strong mint and lots and lots of sugar. So, of course, I *loved* it. I don't care how hot out it gets, I'll take some!

Some of Issa's friends and neighbors came over, but I have to admit I was bushed. Absolutely bushed. So when the invitation to go out dancing came up -- I'm embarrassed to admit it -- I declined and headed back to the hotel. This is terribly unlike me and I cannot believe I didn't go out. In my defense, all I can say is that I was really, really tired and really, really well-fed. All I wanted was to sleep. Plus, I'd managed to pick up a headache from the bright sunlight and dehydration. So while I wish this blog was about how I stayed out until 3 a.m. going to all kinds of awesome Kayes dance clubs, which in my younger days it would have been, the truth is that I went to bed before 10 p.m. and slept until 7 a.m. Nice. Issa came over for breakfast at the hotel, we said our goodbyes, and Mamadou and I were back on the road again.

Except, this time, we had a little stop planned! The French had a trading center and fort on the Senegal river not too far from modern-day Kayes, which holds a little bit of West African history. Fort du Medine was the last point of French control in the 1850s as they worked their way inland from Dakar.  When Hadj Oumar of the Toucouleurs was trying to take over neighboring African kingdoms, he beseiged the French at Medine for a long, long time. The fort nearly fell, but the reserves got there just in time, and so Oumar decided to turn his attentions to other folks with thinner walls and fewer guns.

In addition to the commandant's house, we saw the prison where French and African prisoners were held -- the Africans were sold as slaves down the Senegal river, destined for Mauritania or Goree Island and the New World. We saw the first mosque, which was built by a Mauritanian, and the first French school in Mali. The historic trading area was completely ruined, but the later trading building is still standing, along with the ruins of the railroad that used to run from Medine to Kayes and Dakar. It was taken apart during WWII.

I didn't know any of this, but we hired a guide to take us around the place and tell us what everything was. According to Wikipedia, he seems to have done a pretty accurate job!

After the touristing, we were back on the road -- that's a picture of Mamadou and me on the right.

(Ok, on the road back we picked up a guy with two women and two kids, one who looked very sick. Apparently, he'd already had his son treated twice for malaria, but he was still sick. He'd tried acupuncture, which he said he'd learned from a Chinese doctor. The kid was still sick. So they were taking him to a traditional doctor, in case it was a genie who was making him sick. Aside -- when I was in Kenya, I remember interviewing a woman whose kid was in an NIH-funding malaria study. Because she was enrolled in the study, her kid got free health care for five years. When her kid got sick, she *immediately* started walking the 6 miles to the health clinic. And thank god she did. Doctors said that the kid's parasite count was so high that if she hadn't started moving immediately, he probably wouldn't have made it. It (obviously) made a big impression on me just how much a) relatively small health care costs make people delay seeking medical attention as long as they can and b) transportation costs keep people from seeking medical attention immediately and c) no one wants someone's kid to die when the prevention was cheap. I was happy the U.S. paid for that kid's treatment. Unfortunately, I don't think NIH is currently doing any genie-related studies.)

The ride home was pretty uneventful except for the length and the fact that I ate sheep's intestines. The sheep's intestines were pretty good -- kind of like bacon except for a little tougher. The bad news was that the awesome sheep intestines were roasted, wrapped around a bunch of innards that also ended up on our plate. I accidently had a mouthful of liver. I think. Blech. I washed it down as best I could with my tamarind drink, but I will not order that again, unless I can get the intestines-only meal. The Kayes bananas are awesome, though. Firm and tart and delicious. And Issa's father gave me a ton of peanuts -- half cooked and half uncooked (which really give you a sense of why they're called PEAnuts. Uncooked, they kinda taste like peas!).

Anyway, kids, I'm beat. It was a really fun, really dumb weekend -- about 18 hours of driving in two days. I met wonderful people who fed me good food and put up with me. And now I'm going to eat some leftover pizza and hope that at work tomorrow no one notices the odd strip of sunburn on my inner left arm from having the window open three inches.