This is a picture of one of my fondest moments in Benin. I'm standing next to the King of Pobé, and as you can see from the smile, I'm happy. Benin retains extensive royalty, and at most public meetings of importance you can expect a king or two to be present. They are treated with extreme deference and legitimate respect. "But what role," I thought, "can they possibly play in a nation also having a president, a National Assembly, regional representatives, and a dozen ministries? I found out, in Pobé.

Halfway between the castle and the riverside town stood the stone walls of a small cathedral, the Gothic Wernerkapelle, partially constructed 700 years ago but never finished. The windows sills were ready for glass, the walls were solid, but it was open to the sky, and the floor was nothing more than packed earth.

Any amateur genealogist tracing his family's history back to the Old World knows and understands that gnawing worry: that the research will lead you back to some industrial, Old World dump better left forgotten. After all, why did your ancestors emigrate elsewhere? But how can you resist not knowing? The Ellis Island records show one side of my mother's family arrived from the German city of Büdingen, in Hesse, so off we traipsed to a medieval village outside of Frankfurt, in hopes we'd be charmed, not appalled.

After well over a decade living and traveling in Latin America, Asia, and Africa, these are all names I've been called. Well, to be fair, names my friends – and probably some of you – have been called as well. It seems most cultures have a word that they use to refer to foreigners, and though it isn't necessary it is often offensive. Ted Simon was right: the one characteristic all cultures share is xenophobia.

Senegal has lovely, wondrous birds, and enough sky to fit them all in. On the most mundane day you can expect to see hundred of whirling kites, crows, and gulls, and when the wind is still the treetops are full of feathered friends of all types.

Here are some notes from my field book.

Named for a French warship, the sandy beach was decorated with a couple of remaining cannons, and a thick, stone tower sat just behind the fringe of trees – both relics of a naval era of centuries past. La Preneuse had the advantage of sweeping views along Mauritius' southwest coastline all the way down to Le Morne Brabant, a mountainous horizon at the far end of turquoise splendor, and it was hard not to get swept out to sea while admiring the view.