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This is a lot more than printing trillions of dollars or manipulating interest rates. [WSW Logo]( [Divider] A note from the Editor: Wall Street Wizardry is dedicated to providing readers like you with unique opportunities. The message below from one of our business associates is one we believe you should take a serious look at. [divider] Constructed by a mysterious civilisation that left no written records, the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks are a testament to indigenous sophistication. A Autumn leaves crackled under our shoes as dozens of eager tourists and I followed a guide along a grassy mound. We stopped when we reached the opening of a turf-topped circle, which was formed by another wall of mounded earth. We were at The Octagon, part of the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks, a large network of hand-constructed hills spread throughout central and southern Ohio that were built as many as 2,000 years ago. Indigenous people would come to The Octagon from hundreds of miles away, gathering regularly for shared rituals and worship. "There was a sweat lodge or some kind of purification place there," said our guide Brad Lepper, the senior archaeologist for the Ohio History Connection's World Heritage Program (OHC), as he pointed to the circle. I looked inside to see a perfectly manicured lawn – a putting green. A tall flag marked a hole at its centre. The Octagon is currently being used as a golf course. The Hopewell Culture created massive, mysterious earthworks across Ohio (Credit: Mary Salen/Getty Images) The Hopewell Culture created massive, mysterious earthworks across Ohio (Credit: Mary Salen/Getty Images) All of these all these prehistoric ceremonial earthworks in Ohio were created by what is now called the Hopewell Culture, a network of Native American societies that gathered from as far away as Montana and the Gulf of Mexico between roughly 100 BCE and 500 CE and were connected by a series of trade routes. Their earthworks in Ohio consist of shapes – like circles, squares and octagons – that were often connected to each other. Archaeologists are only now beginning to understand the sophistication of these engineering marvels. Built with astonishing mathematical precision, as well as a complex astronomical alignment, these are the largest geometrical earthworks in the world that were not built as fortifications or defensive structures. And while most people have never heard about the sites or its builders, that may be about to change. You could put four Roman Colosseums inside just The Octagon The US Department of the Interior has nominated eight of Hopewell's earthworks for consideration in 2023 as a Unesco World Heritage site. These include The Great Circle and The Octagon in Newark, Ohio, as well Ohio's first state park, Fort Ancient (not an actual fort). The other five are part of the Hopewell Culture National Historical Park: Mound City, Hopeton Earthworks, High Bank Works, Hopewell Mound Group and Seip Earthworks. Lepper told me The Octagon and The Great Circle were once a larger, single Hopewell complex spanning 4.5 sq miles and connected by a series of roads lined by earthwork walls. Walking through both sites today, there is an immediate shock of scale. The Great Circle, where the museum for Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks is found, is 1,200ft in diameter. Its walls rise up to 14ft high and are outlined on the inside by a deep ditch. The Great Circle was once connected to a square and a burial ellipse, with only part of the square still visible today. The Octagon sprawls a massive 50 acres and is attached to the 20-acre Observatory Circle, a large earthwork circle for gathering and rituals connected to the observation of the night sky. The earthworks' sophistication has astonished historians (Credit: Ohio History Connection) The earthworks' sophistication has astonished historians (Credit: Ohio History Connection) "You could put four Roman Colosseums inside just The Octagon," Lepper told me. Stonehenge would fit within just that small circle now serving as a putting green. He added that 2,000 years ago, indigenous workers built these earthworks without modern tools, digging up soil with pointed sticks and hauling it in wicker baskets on their backs. One estimate, he noted, is that they moved seven million cubic feet of dirt. The achievement of the Hopewell Culture, however, is not simply in creating large, precise shapes, which they did without the vantage point of hills for an aerial view. They also embedded a sort of hidden geometry within these structures. Until the mounds were measured and compared, it was thought that the builders didn't have any mathematical and geometrical sophistication, as there are no written records to testify to their level of knowledge. It was eventually discovered, however, that they made precise measurements across their earthworks and connected them in unsuspecting ways. Lepper explained that the circumference of The Great Circle "is equal to the perimeter of the perfect square that it was connected to", and that "the area of that perfect square is equal to the area of the [Observatory Circle] that's connected to The Octagon". He added: "If you draw a square inside The Octagon by drawing a line from alternate corners of The Octagon, the sides of that square [1,054ft] are equal to the diameter of the circle that it's attached to [1,054ft]." Examples of the Hopewell Culture's monumental earthworks have been found all over Ohio, including at the Miamisburg Mound (Credit: Gary Whitton/Alamy) Examples of the Hopewell Culture's monumental earthworks have been found all over Ohio, including at the Miamisburg Mound (Credit: Gary Whitton/Alamy) Examples of this interplay between earthworks have been found repeatedly by archaeologists. According to Lepper, that measure of 1054ft, whether halved or doubled, is found in other indigenous earthworks across the country, and served as a common unit of measure. While the Hopewell Culture's geometrical and mathematical knowledge astonished scholars, another level of sophistication appears when the layers are peeled back further: astronomical alignment. In the 1980s, two professors at Earlham College in Indiana, Ray Hively (a physicist and astronomer) and Robert Horn (a philosopher), decided to pay a visit to The Octagon and its attached Observatory Circle. As astronomical monuments like Stonehenge had received great attention, they wondered if these earthworks were also aligned to a solar calendar. Hively and Horn found no solar connections, but they then considered an alternative purpose: the lunar cycle. In the 1800s, white settlers began building their homes around the areas where the earthworks were built (Credit: Quagga Media/Alamy) In the 1800s, white settlers began building their homes around the areas where the earthworks were built (Credit: Quagga Media/Alamy) "We thought deliberate lunar alignments unlikely at Newark," they wrote, because while the Sun can be tracked over a year, a complete lunar cycle takes 18.6 years. Even so, the lunar cycle proved to correspond to the position of the Observatory Mound at The Observatory Circle. There, one can watch the Moon rise over the exact centre of The Octagon in the distance every 18.6 years. "Astronomical alignments are only relevant and useful if they somehow tie the celestial orbs to belief systems and understandings of life," said Timothy Darvill, professor of archaeology at Bournemouth University who has researched both Stonehenge and the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks. "The ceremonies around the observation of the skyscape could well have a secondary function in terms of fostering community." That ancient community and culture is part of the case being made to Unesco. A Unesco site needs to show that it has "outstanding universal value", said Jennifer Aultman, director of historic sites and museums at Ohio History Connection and the Ohio lead for Unesco consideration. One criterion for this, she said, "is that these are masterpieces of human creative genius", which is where these mathematical, geometrical and astronomical features are important. The other, "is that they bear really exceptional testimony to the cultural tradition that produced them". In recent years, the area near the Octagon has been used as a golf course (Credit: Brandon Withrow) In recent years, the area near the Octagon has been used as a golf course (Credit: Brandon Withrow) Aultman explained: "You really can understand something about the lives of the people and what mattered to them by looking at, and learning about, the earthworks." Consider the Moon, for example, which was clearly important for the Hopewell Culture. Darvill told me that, for some cultures, the "Sun, Moon... are considered to have power over what happens on a day-to-day basis. As such, the heavenly bodies are often deified, which is how their power is justified and rationalised." It is therefore likely that the Moon was a deity shared by those who gathered at the mounds. "The land we know as Ohio is home to a number of extraordinary earthworks built by indigenous residents of this region thousands of years ago," said Megan Wood, executive director and CEO of the Ohio History Connection. While not all earthworks in Ohio are specifically Hopewell Mounds – such as the solar-aligned Serpent Mound Historical Site in Peebles, Ohio, for example – Wood sees them all as "icons" of indigenous "cultural achievements". Since the Hopewell Culture left no written records, only the earthworks and the few objects retrieved from them serve as their last cultural testimony. While archaeological excavations continue on some sites, objects like ritual smoking pipes and a small stone statue of a shaman wearing a bear skin and holding a human skull called "the Shaman of Newark" have been found. As these earthworks were gathering places and not villages, artefacts representing the locations from where these indigenous peoples travelled have also been discovered, like effigy pipes, a copper head plate and an obsidian knife. Because they left no written records, the Hopewell remain something of a mystery to anthropologists (Credit: Caleb Hughes/Alamy) Because they left no written records, the Hopewell remain something of a mystery to anthropologists (Credit: Caleb Hughes/Alamy) However, after the Hopewell Culture gradually began to disappear starting around 500 CE, other indigenous peoples stepped in to become caretakers of the land. One of those groups was the Shawnee Tribe, which called Ohio home before they were forcibly removed west of the Mississippi River in the 1830s. "We may not have been responsible for building or creating them, but I know that my ancestors lived there, and that my ancestors protected them and respected them," said Chief Glenna Wallace of the Eastern Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma, who believes that other tribes should have a role in the future of protecting the Hopewell Earthworks and communicating their cultural importance. However, receiving Unesco status is a difficult, bureaucratic process. While sitting on land owned by the OHC, The Octagon is under the control of the Moundbuilders Country Club. The club negotiated an unprecedented lease that extends until 2078 and only allows visitors to walk the mounds four times a year. The rest of the time, visitors can access a platform in the car park to view a very small section of the property. OHC is currently suing to evict the country club (with compensation) through eminent domain. The lower courts ruled in favour of the historical society, but the Ohio Supreme Court is hearing an appeal. If OHC can't guarantee public access, this may impact Unesco's decision. A small public viewing platform allows visitors to see the mounds across the golf course (Credit: Brandon Withrow) A small public viewing platform allows visitors to see the mounds across the golf course (Credit: Brandon Withrow) While a Unesco designation wouldn't entail the return of land or reparations, it does mean greater local representation and education about Ohio's Native American history. It also means more indigenous stakeholders, like the Shawnee, telling that story from an indigenous perspective for future generations. "I just want people to know about it," said Chief Wallace, "I want people to be able to see it. I want people to be able to visit it and want people to realise that it is a cultural phenomenon. That it's priceless." Most seasons in Denmark have a cake or bread associated with them, but no other season's sweets have as much hype as the cream bun for the Fastelavn holiday. "The secret to a good fastelavnsboller," said Thomas Spelling, owner of neighbourhood bakery Rondo in Nørrebro, Copenhagen, "is that it has to be rich, beautiful to look at and ugly to eat." His words rang in my ears as I bit into one of the soft, ganache-topped cakes later in the day, ending up with thick cream all over my hands, cheeks, and inexplicably, my leg and the floor. It certainly looked beautiful, rounded and with a dark glossy top, and it filled my mouth with an explosion of soft, yielding cake and rich, smooth and thick cream – but it was absolutely impossible to eat without making a mess. Most seasons in Denmark have a cake or bread associated with them but no other season's cakes have as much hype around them as those produced for Fastelavn. This celebration, which takes place on the Sunday before the start of Lent, is akin to Carnival or Mardi Gras, and is celebrated by children who go trick-or-treating in fancy dress and bash a suspended barrel full of sweets, like a piñata, before eating a cream or jam-filled bun ahead of the coming fast. [jump to recipe] This traditional celebration still takes place around the end of February every year, but the emphasis on its cake, the fastelavnsboller, has blown up in recent years. No longer available just on Fastelavn Sunday itself, it's now in bakery windows from mid-January with a six-week season that sees bakers across Copenhagen and Denmark's larger cities vie to create the most lavish and extraordinary pastries possible. The trend took off during Covid, when restaurants were closed and socialising in the queue for the local bakery became a form of entertainment; the cake has become a bakery showcase. "A good fastelavnsboller has to have three things," said Talia Richard-Carvajal, creative director of Hart Bageri, a Copenhagen bakery that has garnered a top rating of six stars for its fastelavnsboller for the past two years in a row from Danish newspaper Politiken. "It's not just a cream bun. It has to have something white and sweet in it, then something dark, bitter or sour. And then it's about the texture of the bun. The balance of all the elements is important." This year, Hart is selling three varieties – one of which is a yuzu and vanilla milk bun with a baked almond centre, mascarpone cream and a panettone topping – and anticipates selling around 40,000 fastelavnsboller during their six-week sales period. When I visited in late January, people were already queuing out of the door. Hart Bageri sells different varieties of fastelavnsboller (Credit: Hart Bageri) Hart Bageri sells different varieties of fastelavnsboller (Credit: Hart Bageri) What makes this trend all the more interesting is a recent pronouncement from a local restaurateur that the city's gourmet bakeries are dead. Earlier in the year, Christian F Puglisi closed his highly regarded bakery Mirabelle, declaring the era of the gourmet bakery over. It is, he said, not profitable to have a medium-sized production when it comes to bread, citing difficulties in scaling up, staffing and the long hours and craft involved in creating artisan goods. Critics have hit back, noting that plenty of gourmet bakeries in Copenhagen are thriving, Hart among them, and making big money is not the goal, as it is an artisan enterprise, not a factory. And, as Trine Hahnemann of bakery Hahnemann's Køkken sees it, it neglects the important role bakeries play in terms of producing sustainable food for a less meat-orientated future. "To close down somewhere making healthy, well-made bread is crazy," she said. "It goes against everything we are trying to do right now. I want to bake 100% organic cakes and bread in a local destination where people live. We need quality food where people live." To those on the streets of Copenhagen this February, the fastelavnsboller scene looks far from dead and buried; in fact, it's still rising. Cakes are selling for as much as 75 kr (£8.90) in the upmarket pâtisserie salon at Maison D'Angleterre, and around 45-65 kr (£5.30-£7.70) elsewhere; bakeries report selling out day after day even at the start of the season. One reason for the cake's continuing success might just be that at this time of year, Danes are looking for a slice of something fun to balance out the long, cold winter. As Hahnemann puts it, "We need cakes and there needs to be joy!" Over at Meyers Bageri, a stalwart of the Danish food scene, the turnover of fastelavnsboller is equally high, but their eyes are on the future. "Cakes are bound to religion and tradition," said Nina Aastrup, Meyer's head of pastry, "But we're making some changes to acknowledge the diversity in Denmark this year, and later this year, we'll be selling a Ramadam Swiss roll. We want to make it a new tradition." Rondo in Nørrebro sells traditional fastelavnsboller topped with chocolate and salt (Credit: Daniel Rasmussen) Rondo in Nørrebro sells traditional fastelavnsboller topped with chocolate and salt (Credit: Daniel Rasmussen) Traditional Fastelavnsboller recipe By Rondo Up-and-coming local bakery Rondo opened in mid-2022 and is fast becoming a star of the local bakery scene in Nørrebro, this year selling traditional fastelavnsboller topped with chocolate and salt from the Danish island of Læsø, as well as Semla, Swedish cream buns flavoured with cardamom. The unique combination of flavours and textures in their fastelavnsboller recipe make it a stand-out among other traditional buns. Keep in mind that dough hydration, temperature and the use of yeast may vary, so you may need to adjust the recipe accordingly. Ingredients For the dough 313g strong bread flour 54g caster sugar 6g salt 12g fresh yeast 140g of water 1 whole egg 6g cardamom (whole seeds or ground) 54g butter For the fiilling 200g double cream 200g pastry cream For the topping 100g high-quality chocolate (minimum 68%) 100g double or whipping cream Method Step 1 Mix the dough ingredients in a stand mixer and then let it rest and rise for 2-3 hours. Step 2 Shape the dough into 60g balls and let them rise again for 2-3 hours. Step 3 Bake at 180C for 9-10 minutes. Step 4 Make the filling by whipping the double cream and folding it into the pastry cream. Step 5 Pipe the mixture into the cooled buns to create a creamy centre. Step 6 The final touch for the buns is a rich chocolate ganache made by mixing the melted chocolate with cream. Pour over the top of the bun. BBC.com's World's Table "smashes the kitchen ceiling" by changing the way the world thinks about food, through the past, present and future. The Federal Reserve has a disturbing plan that is getting ready to roll out as soon as May. This is a lot more than printing trillions of dollars or manipulating interest rates. It's about every checking account, every purchase and every money transfer in America — including yours and mine. [Click here to discover how to protect your money]( Before the US was a country, Filipinos were likely living in raised, stilted homes over the swamplands outside New Orleans. J Just five miles downriver from the ornate, iron-lace balconies of New Orleans' French Quarter, bright stucco buildings and raucous bars give way to a more serene landscape stroked in wild marsh grasses and thick mud. Fishermen sell fresh shrimp along the roads that cut through St Bernard Parish as their boats bob in the bayous nearby. The quiet, 200-year-old suburb is famous for its fishing industry and unique geography, appearing to rise up on a map from Louisiana's eastern coast like a cresting wave before spitting dozens of islands and marshes into the Gulf of Mexico. Here, on Lake Borgne, where laughing gulls dive for speckled trout and sudden squalls regularly batter boats, is where Saint Malo once stood, the first permanent Filipino settlement in the United States and the country's oldest-known permanent Asian settlement. The story of Louisiana's rich and diverse bayous is often told through the melding and mixing of Spanish colonisers, French Acadians, Native Americans and both enslaved Africans and free people of colour. But throughout history, there has been one largely forgotten ingredient missing from this rich cultural stew: before the US was a country, Filipinos were likely living in raised stilt bahay kubo-like homes built over the swampland outside New Orleans. The swampy areas around Lake Borgne is where Saint Malo once stood (Credit: Daniel Borzynski/Alamy) The swampy areas around Lake Borgne is where Saint Malo once stood (Credit: Daniel Borzynski/Alamy) From these "floating villages" they established the community's fishing industry and introduced Louisiana to dried shrimp – produced by boiling, brining and sun-drying the crustaceans to preserve and concentrate their flavour. Dried shrimp were an important commodity in the days before refrigeration, and today, many locals still eat them as a snack or use them as an umami-rich ingredient to flavour stocks, sauces and gumbos. Alongside later Chinese immigrants, these so-called "Manilamen" transported dried shrimp all over the world. According to Laine Kaplan Levenson, a host of the Southern Foodways Alliance's Gravy podcast, by the 1870s, the swamps of Louisiana hosted more than 100 shrimp-drying platforms, each more than three football fields long. "In effect, dried shrimp globalised Louisiana's seafood industry" and laid the foundation for Louisiana's modern-day shrimp industry, she notes on the podcast episode. But how these Manilamen arrived in Louisiana is a mystery as murky as the bayou itself. Some historians believe they came on Spanish trade vessels in the mid-1700s. Others believe Filipino sailors and servants plying the Manila-Acapulco trade route jumped ship in the New World and sought refuge in the Gulf, whose marshy, flood-prone landscape resembled their homeland. Some British colonists even talked of "Malay pirates" that were part of French pirate Jean Lafitte's band of smugglers who captured Spanish galleons. One of the oldest-known accounts of Saint Malo comes from an 1883 article in Harper's Weekly, when the writer Lafcadio Hearn painted a dream-like picture of the "floating" community: "Out of the shuddering reeds and banneretted grass… rise the fantastic houses of the Malay fishermen, posed upon slender supports above the marsh, like cranes or bitterns watching for scaly prey." Renderings from an 1883 Harper's Weekly story paint a vivid picture of this early Filipino settlement (Credit: Alpha Stock/Alamy) Renderings from an 1883 Harper's Weekly story paint a vivid picture of this early Filipino settlement (Credit: Alpha Stock/Alamy) Hearn noted that the community had existed for roughly 50 years before his visit, but in a story for History.com, Filipino American historian Kirby Aráullo wrote that, "according to oral traditions, there was already an existing Filipino community there by 1763 when both the Philippines and Louisiana were under the Spanish colonial government in Mexico". According to Randy Gonzales, a fourth-generation Filipino Louisianan, historian and professor of English at the University of Lafayette, the Manilamen saw opportunity in the Louisiana Gulf, an area that many people found too wild and hostile. Though mosquitoes often swarmed and hurricanes battered it, the Manilamen were used to typhoons in the Philippines. Like the Philippines, St Bernard Parish was ruled by Spain; Spanish was the primary language in the area, and the Manilamen shared Spanish heritage with many residents. It also wasn't very populated, offering economic opportunities for those who knew how to harness its wild spirit. The Filipino settlers already knew how to make nets and catch shrimp from life in the Philippines, explained Liz Williams, founder of the Southern Food and Beverage Museum in New Orleans. But it was in the swampy marshes of St Bernard that they pioneered a method for preserving and drying the crustaceans. According to Williams, after boiling the shrimp in brine, the Filipino settlers laid them out on platforms and dried them for several days. Then, they shuffled over the shrimp to remove the shells. "[They would] put some kind of canvas or other fabric over their feet, and they would walk on nets that were up above the water in the marshy area and walk on the dried shrimp," she said. The shrimp shells crumbled off, but the dried shrimp, made tough by the salt from the brine, didn't break. The shells fell back into the marsh, while the shrimp stayed on the net. They called this the "shrimp dance". By walking atop the shrimp, the Manilamen were able to remove their shells (Credit: Thanh Thuy/Getty Images) By walking atop the shrimp, the Manilamen were able to remove their shells (Credit: Thanh Thuy/Getty Images) "They realised that [dried shrimp] could be shipped out and go all over the world because we have so many shrimp and so many shrimp seasons here," Williams added. "You have river shrimp, you have white shrimp, you have brown shrimp, and they don't all run at the same time." John Folse, a chef, restaurant owner and expert on Cajun and Creole cuisine, remembers there always being a bucket of dried shrimp on his childhood home's back porch in Louisiana's St James Parish during the 1950s. Like many Cajun families, his family ate what they harvested, hunted or preserved themselves. And like the Filipino settlers, Folse's grandfathers also sun-dried the shrimp. They caught them, threw salt over them and spread them on a table outside during the day and covered them at night. "You see, [dried shrimp] was almost like a gift that just kept on giving through the season when everything else was out," he said. "We could always count on the fact that we had preserved that particular ingredient." "With bland vegetables like eggplants and squashes from our gardens, the dried shrimp were perfect for bringing that explosive flavour that we just couldn't get out of putting crab meat or regular shrimp into it," Folse added. "Smoked sausages like smoked andouille were really, really expensive, and dried shrimp were available to us all the time. So, when I think of it, I think, 'My god, what in the heck would we have done without it?'" To visitors today, dried shrimp is most visible hanging in little bags in the check-out lines of the local grocery stores. These bags bear names like Blum & Bergeron – typical Louisiana surnames that show just how ingrained the product is in the state's culinary landscape. In fact, it's unlikely that many locals recognise the food's early Filipino origins, and that's because the history of Saint Malo itself has largely been forgotten. Many locals still eat dried shrimp as a snack and use it to flavour their stocks, sauces and gumbos (Credit: Stephanie Jane Carter) Many locals still eat dried shrimp as a snack and use it to flavour their stocks, sauces and gumbos (Credit: Stephanie Jane Carter) "These stories get lost over time," Gonzales said. "In the 20th Century, the reason these stories [got] lost is because of assimilation – and in some ways, because of segregation. Filipinos are brown. Well, when you're brown, you can be white or black, depending on who's deciding. And so, my grandmother had to go to school and say, 'Look, my son is white' so he wouldn't go to the black school, which wasn't funded as much. There were real pragmatic reasons to kind of let that identity slip." There are also physical reasons why the story of Saint Malo has been lost. According to Gonzalez, there are so few artefacts and records of the settlement that piecing together the Manilamen's history has proved difficult. Marina Estrella Espina, author of the book Filipinos in Louisiana, was one of the first modern historians to document the story of the Filipinos at Saint Malo. Between 1970 and 1990, she tracked down descendants of the Manilamen, and gathered family photos, birth certificates and stories, which she stored in her New Orleans home. But when Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans in 2005, her home took on 11ft of water, literally washing away her research. "Every 50 years, nature seems to diminish the Filipino history here," she said in a 2006 interview. The loss was devastating. According to a spokesman for the Filipino American Historical Society, "Espina's research was the foundation of Filipino American history." In 2019, a historical marker was erected commemorating Saint Malo (Credit: Stephanie Jane Carter) In 2019, a historical marker was erected commemorating Saint Malo (Credit: Stephanie Jane Carter) "We've lost so much through storms," Gonzales said. In fact, much of the actual land near the Saint Malo settlement is slipping away. St Bernard Parish is famous for its vanishing coastline, and could lose more than 70% of its land area over the next 50 years without intervention. As the remains of the land that hosted the Manilamen slowly disappear into the Gulf of Mexico, it seems like a dark metaphor for the history of the site itself. Still, the story of these Filipino settlers is finally being recognised. Gonzales, a prominent researcher on the history of Filipinos in the US, authored the book Settling St. Malo: Poems from Filipino Louisiana, and has written many essays exploring the topic. In 2019, the Philippine-Louisiana Historical Society erected a marker to commemorate Saint Malo's history, and Gonzales wrote the text for the plaque. In 2012, the group erected another historical marker roughly 45 miles south in Barataria Bay to commemorate Manila Village, a later Filipino shrimp-drying village that lasted from the turn of the 19th Century until 1965 when Hurricane Betsy destroyed it. The Saint Malo marker is located at the nearby Los Isleños Museum Complex, just a few miles from where the village would have stood, now a popular fishing spot devoid of any of the settlement's early stilted structures. The Manilamen's story is also highlighted in a new exhibit examining the role of Filipinos in Louisiana history at the SoFAB Research Center at Nunez College in St Bernard. So much of the Manilamen's story has vanished, either because of storms or assimilation. But as Gonzales said, exploring it reminds people that "Filipinos were a part of it, and we are still here [in Louisiana]. I'm telling the Filipino story to talk about a story that's been kind of lost – and [as a warning] that all of our stories can be lost in this way." [divider] [WSW footer logo]( [divider] You are receiving this e-mail because you have expressed an interest in the Financial Education niche on one of our landing pages or sign-up forms on our website. If you {EMAIL} received this e-mail in error and would like to report spam, simply send an email to abuse@wallstreetwizardry.com. You’ll receive a response within 24 hours. Email sent by Finance and Investing Traffic, LLC, owner and operator of Wall Street Wizardry 11780 US Highway 1 Palm Beach Gardens, FL 33408-3080 Would you like to [edit your e-mail notification preferences or unsubscribe]( from our mailing list? Copyright © 2023 Weiss Ratings. All rights reserved. © 2023 Wall Street Wizardry. All Rights Reserved[.]( 221 W 9th St # Wilmington, DE 19801 [Privacy Policy]( [Terms & Conditions]( | [Unsubscribe]( [divider]