When we disembarked in Mopti, neither of us was in the mood for the fusillade of touts (Taxi? Pinnace? Dogon? Hotel?) that began their assault the moment our feet touched the ground. I felt like tearing out a gob of hair and screaming. Leslie, a mild-mannered female, appeared as if she might start swinging. We managed to negotiate the onslaught and make our way to a hotel with the help of a local guide… that gave us his card… and offered to guide us to Dogon. (Days later, when I ran into this gentleman again, he demanded I return his card.) After getting a room, I loitered in the lobby area talking with another Malian gentleman… that gave me his card… and offered to guide me to Dogon….

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