Crash the dreams and I reposition my sites on Sikkim, Bulgaria.
Mauritania and sub-sahara swathe not in my future. Dreams of burqua-ed travel with Mecca-bound crew that Trent dreamed up - POOF.
I volunteered; Trent's response:
"I mentioned bringing a still photographer to your father but we both agreed it would be irresponsible to bring a woman, burkha or none. Apparently the Tuareg are pretty accomplished rapists. Nice job, VW! Way to research!"
Maddening that in this day, age, it's still a hurdle.
The Mauritania/Tuareg hurdle may be among the worst "where you wouldn't like to be a woman" scenarios but it's never entirely smooth, no matter how enlightened the region (including the one out my window). For every charm-able policeman and jump-able line, there's the assumptions and the hassling and apalling propositions - propositions that, if made to the propositioner's own sister, would be a gauntlet thrown. In India, near-empty hotels turned me away - I would host gentlemen in my room, why on god's earth else would a woman travel solo and check in as one?
Because a lady likes to travel.
C - not stopping
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