Explosion!

This morning I took a closer look at the taxis outside my window, and not only are they all the same color (not surprising), they’re vanilla-colored. Of course they are. And while the CI cars are fairly new SUVs, most of our fellow vehicles are Citrons and Pugets from bygone days.

view of vanilla taxies from my window

I think the terrible sleep schedule right before I left actually helped, as I slept fine on the flights (Tylenol PM helped) and sleeping in Jo-berg overnight was really a blessing. My coworkers coming in from Australia and LA must’ve really struggled at moments today. Knock on wood I've been fine, but sometimes it's a delayed reaction for me. 

The workshop began today, and on our way there we rounded the small lake I saw on the drive from the airport. It had looked lovely in the afternoon sun, with a tall work of art in the middle that we later learned was a WW1 monument. Unfortunately, upon my colleague's closer inspection in an attempted early-morning run it was not quite as lovely when viewed through a haze of diesel fumes...which did nothing to diminish the smell that comes from serving as a part-time public latrine. I was spared this full exposure as we drove past with the windows rolled up, but their attempt to jog in these conditions left both of them ill for a while.

Workshop participants (Rachel N.)

Thank goodness for translators! (Rachel N.)

The workshop was in French, but the translators were excellent and it was interesting to see the comments our participants provided. That being said, my favorite part was eating lunch on the rooftop, taking in my surroundings while picking the brains of our fellow attendees on Madagascar.

Dinner was a special occasion, and while we only walked down the block we stepped back in time. The restaurant was called La Varangue, and the owner liked to collect objects from the colonial period and display them throughout the restaurant. Old lanterns, cameras, telephones, and teakettles were grouped and displayed throughout the restaurant—probably nothing less than 80 years old. Our waiter led us to a room with a phonograph, and upon our request he was kind enough to wind it up so we could hear the tinny sounds of its old French jazz record. They didn’t have a menu in English, so he patiently translated and read it to us aloud in the softest, smoothest voice you could imagine. My meal, duck and risotto with a blackberry sauce, was a delicious work of art.

Bon appetit!

But the best was yet to come. All of the desserts sounded amazing, and my coworkers confirmed it with their choices, but I chose the item that simply said “Explosion” (no translation necessary). It turned out to be dessert and a show—how many desserts warrant a video?

Awaiting our explosion. (Rachel N.)

The phone didn’t do it justice, but basically it consisted of a chocolate sphere with macarons attached, and the waiter poured molten chocolate over it to reveal a bit of pear, chocolate mousse, and whipped cream. Wow.