Post up at EthnoTraveler today about baguettes and prayer.


I was not prepared for the bread man. I thought it was a dying bird that awoke me every morning. I had expected the adhan to dictate the rhythm of life. But for the first full week after moving to Djibouti, birds croaked outside my window at equally consistent intervals, five times per day, until I traced the sound to its source one morning and discovered not belly-up bird carcasses, but a man honking an amplified bicycle horn to announce the arrival of fresh baguettes.


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