I remember hearing a great deal about Timbuktu as a child from my parents.
No, they had never been there. But they threatened to send me there if I misbehaved. Before my hair was cut off in a coup between my mother and her hairdresser, I was asked if I really wanted to let my hair grow to Timbuktu. I wasn't sure if Timbuktu meant the moon or my butt.
Just a few minutes ago, I was cutting into a beautifully colored map of Africa. I scissored out a square, realizing too late that I was cutting through Timbuktu. Oh, I wish I hadn't done that. I could really get into doing a Timbuktu piece. I'll just have to find me another map.
This was a map from 1950. Timbuktu was then part of French Sudan, now Mali.
I love a map. Especially an old one.