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EP4: "Let's Name Our Chicken Phil"
Chateau d If:
Also, the Mat Chats reveal that the last team, Lorena & Jason, took 2.5 hours to milk the camel.
So I would just guess that they check in around 12:15 pm.
Leg 4 should begin in darkness (10 pm to nidnightish) but, as we know, they like to start african legs in the light. Maybe they wait until sunrise or maybe they leave on time and get to choose from spare-tire-clad taxis like TAR5. :o
georgiapeach:
Wonder if that is 2.5 hours MORE after the other teams left--because the Sisters said they were out there 4 hours.
puddin:
And the sisters said they were behind Lorena/Jason by less than a minute :o! So sad too Bad!!
TARAsia Fan:
I would have preferred to see Lorena & Jason behind the sisters by that same margin just to see Lorena scream and cry again. :lol: :lol: :lol:
hound 109:
--- Quote from: georgiapeach on November 19, 2007, 03:39:38 PM ---Okay! Here would be a use for a chicken!
And great minds think alike--TexasLady sent me this just as I was reading it too! YAY TL! :kissy:
http://www.gonomad.com/destinations/0704/burkina-faso.html
--- Quote ---So we were off from Bobo-Dioulasso, pilgrims crammed into a chartered mini-van the size of a phone booth, chickens hung off the back, squawking as if menaced by gigantic fish with foot-long whiskers.
The chicken viewpoint was obvious: sacred catfish be damned.
After ricocheting along a deeply eroded riverbed, abruptly ending at the precipitous edge of a dry waterfall, we piled out to find this was no tourist trap. The steep trail was littered with locals toting chickens and handmade hoes, no tourists except us, a bona fide pilgrimage to the pools of the sacred catfish.
Hey bro, what are the hoes for?
Plucking a chicken to feed the sacred
catfish
What the Hoe is For
We followed gaggles of children down the waterfall. The children were tugging on the thumbs of paterfamilias and better halves bedecked in everything from bib overalls to Sunday-go-to-meeting paraphernalia, hoes slung over shoulders.
At the bottom of red rock cliffs resembling Sedona country -- feel the energy vortex -- we found ourselves slipping and sliding on viscous red feathers, and also found out what the hoe were for; clunk, no more chicken squawk.
Oui, monsieur, you must take off your shoes and the hat. Ees sacred.
Walk barefoot over ratty chicken feathers spattered with blood: get real. But ees sacred. So we hauled off our shoes and gingerly tiptoed under giant shade trees set between sacred catfish pools, roasting three much quieter chickens.
Ever shucked a chicken? Fun is a chicken-plucker, made palatable by the relish of adding to inches of feathers covering an area the size of a football field.
Random Protuberances
But hey, don’t go there.
Red hot chili peppers
Halt for a skinny dipping lady with no fear of nipped off protuberances.
But don’t twitching tendrils tickle tender tushes?
Apparently not, so we ground to a halt, stymied on our drive to deliver lucky hearts and gizzards to hallowed and apparently hollow, catfish.
We were chomping-at-the-bit, anxious to solicit the luck of the sacred catfish blessing. After much thumb-twiddling on our part, the brave lady emerged, buffed herself dry, and leisurely dressed, eventually allowing us to push bravely forward and deliver the bounty to voracious bewhiskered fish, spoiled rotten and likely susceptible to some form of mad catfish disease.
The Lucky Blessed
After all, they’d devoured a protein species of ill repute. Cannibalism should likely be prohibited among all species whose names begin with C.
Like everyone else, we were among the lucky blessed. The sacred catfish, menacing and swirling in their enormousness, devoured every savory morsel. The pilgrimage insured our future fortune and happiness, which we immediately reaped at the music and film festivals in Ouagadougou (pronounced Waga-doo-goo), the capitol of Burkina Faso.
--- End quote ---
Feed the Holy Catfish!!
This one also from TexasLady! :hearts: :yess:
http://mappic.org/viewTravelogue.php?id=89
--- Quote ---July 4, 2004: Bobo Dioulasso - Dafra - Koro - Bobo Dioulasso By mobylette, we go to the "holy fish". Wim is sitting at the back, holding a chicken and Moumou is driving. I have my own mobylette, but no chicken… Over a rough 8 km dirt road, through mud zones and over wet fields, we arrive in Dafra.
From here it is a beautiful walk down to the "Mare aux Poissons Sacrés" through an astonishing mountain landscape. Our chicken is getting quiet. Does it know its destiny? Once we are down at the lake, we hand it over to a local. He is going to sacrifice the intestines to the huge cat fish. Barefoot, we walk over the chicken feathers to the slaughter table. The chicken looses its head, feathers, paws and intestines within a few minutes. The meat will later be grilled and eaten by the people here. But it is time to feed the fish… Due to the heavy rain, the water is brown and we can only see some black beards like little snakes on the surface.
The intestines disappear quickly, and we are a bit disappointed. The show is over… But for the local people, who come here, this is not at all a show. It is all part of their animist culture/religion. By offering food to the fish, they want to make the gods happy, so that their problems will be solved. On our way up, we cross more people, who are going down with a goat, a sheep, some chickens,…
--- End quote ---
Well--they chopped off a chicken's head on Kid Nation this season--so maybe yes? :umn:
--- End quote ---
Wow....that would be an amazing task. No wonder the goats & sheep were running away from those crazy tourists in the last episode.
& Texas Lady is a fabulous writer. :jam:
Regarding the detour:
Maybe.....Find your Booty or Shake your Booty?
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