welcoming . As a tourist it is strange walking around and passing by a lady ' s room or the household toilet . It ’ s not an area where tourists and travellers are usually taken however , my guide took me there to meet his relatives , they invited me in forcing me to leave my car in the narrow lane , fish loaded trucks and carts barely scraped by . My guides aunt let out two screams and four laughs to let the neighbours know everything was alright .
After eating , we set off , my guides aunt had packed us a meal of pancakes for the journey . The narrow lane took us to the only road out of town and lead us towards the north .
We passed in front of a mechanical workshop dedicated to motorcycles and scooters .
" Eeehi ! Stop !”, my guide delightfully shrieked . “ That ’ s my cousin out there ! It ’ s been two years since I ’ ve seen him ".
I couldn ’ t resist and obliged by stopping to chat with the mechanical cousin . A little technical talk couldn ’ t hurt either . It was 2:45pm , the boys were washing their hands , time for lunch .
As we chatted , girls brought us lunch , we had to eat again before sticking around for coffee , a digestive to help the body process the food . The chat continued , this and that , stars of the local and international motorcycle scene . Since the Dakar rally moved away the influx of tourists and travellers have diminished , gone are the days when the region would be packed with spectators , all on an adventure , wanting to see their racing heroes . Those were indeed the old glorious and golden days of Saint Louis motorcycling .
The current race , not the Dakar , sees only around 30 motorcycles and 15 trucks .
“ How do we compare that with the thousands of the past ?”, the cousin
TRAVERSE 70