Saint Louis, Senegal – former colonial capital of all French West Africa, current fishing village, and point of departure for the first trans-Atlantic postal flight – ushering in the glorious age of junk mail. The city is known for the run-down French colonial architecture, which fills the tiny island at the center of the city.
Even the sole bridge connecting the city to the mainland was created by French designer Gustav Eiffel, although it never achieved the acclaim of his earlier works such as the Eiffel Ashtray and the Eiffel Potholder.St. Louis hosts an international jazz festival that brings some of the biggest names in be-bop to town. For my own debut, the town arranged a raucous, well-attended fete downtown with African rhythms mixed with American jazz, and Latin American salsas. Through some snafu of communication, they had not gotten word that my musical tastes tend toward a simple electronic beep beep beep a la Baa Baa Black Sheep. When my request for it was met with blank stares by the “musicians,” my assistants were promptly summoned to retire me to my quarters. If I’m not having fun, I make sure no one is.
But the lack of musical variety was not the most disappointing dish on the entertainment plate.
As you can see from these titles, the local moviehouse offerings are a notch or two below Fellini. One of my assistants begged to differ, however. Begged and begged and begged.And speaking of disappointing dishes, the best meal sampled by my assistants was a stunning fillet of mediocrity braised with a bland ennui sauce served on a bed of ho-hum. I recommend if you visit, you bring your own food preparation team as I do whenever I’m on the road. It really takes the edge off roughing it.
One of the highlights of St. Louis is leaving it. Just north of the city, near the Mauritanian border, is Djouj National Park, one of the biggest bird sanctuaries in the world. Birds prefer it because they are the only ones who can find it. My assistant blundered through rice paddies and cattle stampedes, but alas, it eluded him. He did manage to avoid the unemployment line when he found a smaller sanctuary nearby, but of course it was much less interesting with mostly chickens and such.What the up country lacks in cultural magnificence it makes up for in the friendliness of the people. Mauritania sent a delegation down from the desert to request an audience with me. They set up one of their traditional nomadic tents on the wide, sandy beach and invited me and my lovely assistant to take afternoon tea.
In a small village outside the city, I presented my credentials to the village leader. My arrival here was met with much aplomb, as it should have been.
In another village, negotiations did not go as well and I registered my displeasure loudly. I was able to turn things around, though, after correcting their mistaken identification of me as the Pillsbury Doughboy.
In retrospect, Saint Louis really wasn't so bad, but there is a lot of work to be done if it wants to eat a bigger piece of the booming baby tourism pie (please excuse all the food metaphors, I'm getting hungry again). Until my next adventure, Peace to all. Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler
The first thing getting me down is my weight. Even my assistants have taken to calling me Superchunk. They say the extra folds of fat in my thighs look like I have two additional butts. I find their weak attempts at humor demeaning and unnecessary. After all, it is they who continue to ply me with rich tropical fruits such as papaya and mango that grow in my backyard. And I don’t even gorge myself on all manner of sweets such as jar after jar of raw Nutella like one of my assistants (who is developing his own impressive paunch, although I will not lower myself to his level by dwelling further on his shame). 
