Pride before a fall...

Every time I go somewhere new, I try to act as local as possible.

Automatically, as soon as I start feeling like I fit in, the most touristy things happen.

For example: 

When my family and I went to New York City for vacation a few years ago, I wanted to blend. I wore my cutesy-trendy peacoat outfits and carried a Starbucks cup at all times. Every time one of my family members did something touristy, I gave them "the look": "Don't you dare be from Louisiana right now!"

Naturally, one of my family members pulled out a map in the middle of Time Square.

Another example:

On tour during my second year of Master's Commission, my friend Adele and I wanted to window-shop at Good Will during one of our stops. We were in Colorado in the dead of winter, and we both had on our cute coats and headbands with the intentions of looking like locals. 

Then we slipped and skidded and skated across the crosswalk to Good Will, letting all the traffic know: there is no snow in Louisiana.

Today:

 I walked to church for Tuesday morning devotions. I had my Africa-time, steady, slow pace going, my hair down and my skirt to my ankles. I was convinced that I looked like a local, mumbling "good morning" and "oli otya" to a few people I passed.

I came to the round-about and prepared to cross the street, looking confidant, knowledgeable about the route I was taking, defiant toward boda drivers offering me a ride.

Then my foot found a rock...

And down slides Robin.

I caught myself before I could actually fall, but not before a boda driver stops and laughs. 

"You are falling!" He laughs as he drives past me.

Okay, we don't have rock slides in Lousiana, either.