Several people have asked what we took on this trip.
The trip had three components: 'backpacking,' skiing and biking. Backpacking was what we did the whole trip: carrying things around in a backpack. We took additional gear for skiing -- namely, skis, boots, poles, gloves, ski pants, long underwear, etc. We posted all the ski-only gear home when we got back to Santiago. Biking entailed additgional gear as well -- gloves, tent, sleeping mats, bike shorts, stove, pot, plates, forks, knives, etc. We mailed a lot of that stuff home, sold it in Mebourne, or simply donated it.
Here is the list of items I carried basically for the duration of the trip. Laura carried a similar amount and type of gear minus the toiletries but plus a first-aid kit, her own and much larger camera, and laundry soap.
Our packs generally weighed 28 pounds.
Vortex backpack (veteran now of two trips, fairly falling apart)
Gregory pack cover (too thin, several tears)
Kathmandu day pack
Mountain Hardware ultralight jacket (also used as a ski jacket; too hot for wet tropical climates, not fully waterproof)
Mountain Hardware lightweight fleece
one pair North Face ultralight long pants
three pairs of shorts (key features: light fabric with lots of zipper pockets)
four t-shirts (two cotton, two wicking)
two short-sleeve button shirts
one long-sleeve t-shirt
two pairs boxer shorts
three underwear briefs
one pair long socks
one pair hiking socks
two pairs short socks
ball cap
Granite Gear stuff sack
Moonstone ultralight 35-degree sleeping bag (second RTW trip)
Smith sunglasses
Chums sunglass straps
Kathmandu microfiber towel (replaced old Sammy chamois midway through)
hankerchief
Keen sandals
Vasque Goretex hiking shoes
calculator
Sansa 4G MP3 (used 1 AAA battery)
Sony Cybershot digital camera (used 2 AA batteries)
Lowepro camera bag
digital camera card reader
pocket knife
diary
address book
small accounting book
graph booklet
REI money belt (unsatisfied with this; bought midway to repace old Eagle Creek belt)
passport
credit cards
ATM card
immunization card
cash US dollars
cash Euro
US dollar Visa traveler checques
traveler checque receipts
driver license
11 AA Energizer rechargeable batteries
10 AAA Energizer rechargeable batteries
Energizer battery recharger
international plug adaptor set
blank postcards
pocket watercolor set
black felt marker
12 zipper plastic bags
two zipper two-liter canvas bags
one zipper four-liter canvas bag
contacts
contact solution
contact case
duct tape
30 feet of line (for clothes drying)
packing tape
an average of 7 novels
one or more guidebooks
Nalgene bottle, one liter
Steripen UV water purifier (used 4 AA batteries; bought midway to replace ancient MSR filter)
Petzl headlamp (used 3 AAA batteries)
swim trunks
swim goggles
shampoo
conditioner
soap
soap case
deodorant
toothpaste
toothbrush
dental floss
razor
Q-tips
Friday, July 17, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Imagined World
Our packs are now about 10 pounds heavier thanks to our little carpet buying spree last week in Kairoun. Laura, though, is happy to carry this new beast of burden. This means I'm carrying all the books, and this added weight has spurred me into a bookreading frenzy. I've downed four books in six days and honestly it's too fast of a pace as the likes of The Education of Little Tree is starting to run into Voltaire's Candide.
Laura in Mdina, Malta
We have been trying to pare down what we've got, make things stretch, or simply throw things out (like the disposible towel we were given in Taipei -- seemed that if we had not used it by now we were not going to use it). We are down to a handful of shampoo, one bar of soap, just enough floss and the final few pages in our diaries. And after a year of hard travel, what is left is in tatters. My pack has a broken back support, meaning it wobbles. My camera, now on its 11,000th image, is scratched and dented. My shirts have permanent and rather disgusting sweat stains.
Mdina
We spent two weeks in Tunisia and were totally ready to leave by the end of week one. The sights were OK, the hotels soso and the food pretty bad. But as is with many places it's the people who really make the difference and the people of Tunisia made things pretty unbearable. Tunisians have these intense personalities. They are quick tempered and seem to spend most of their time yelling at each other. These intense personalities mean that about 5 percent of the people we came in contact with are unbelieveably friendly and kind; the remaining 95 percent of the people seemed to mostly be assholes. Never before have I traveled to a ruder, meaner place than Tunisia. It affected every part of our day, wether it was people cutting in front of us to get on the subway or a taxi driver ripping us off.
Sousse, Tunisia
Last week we decided to get even. I had given Laura a lot of slack when she bought her fake college ID for $6 back in Bangkok, but in Tunisia she put it to good use. Laura is, shall we say, a few years past college age, but no one at the historic sites and parks where she used her ID gave it second thought. We saved about $25 dollars. Take that, you swindling swine! (The pious would point out that all we are doing is robbing the government which is charged with protecting these ancient sites; not so: most park ticket sellers and takers run a variety of scams meant to enrich them and not the site, including bogus tickets and collection of unvalidated tickets which are then resold.)
Sousse, Tunisia, from the medina
The nicest spot we went to was El Jem, a small town out in the desert home to a staggering Roman coliseum. It's quite the sight, and we spent the afternoon there. The train back from El Jem was packed and I ended up standing next to a Brit -- one of the few independent tourists we've come across here -- who is retired and living in Phnomh Phen. He was back from Cambodia to go to a wedding but wound up booking the flight a month too early and so he had some time to kill. We commiserated about the state of manners in Tunisia and he mentionned that in two days he was heading from Tunis off to Lebanon. I was immediately struck dumb with jealousy. Lebanon! I want to go to Lebabon! I never get to go anywhere fun!
fort in Sousse, Tunisia
That's the sort of madness that travel induces. Only in the meanest rudest place I've ever been could I get jealous about going somewhere else. I want to keep traveling, but the fact is we have really run out of time, out of continent and nearly out of money. While we don't have cars or jobs or payments to make I am beginning to feel the burning desire to get on with something else. Laura is excited to find a town, find a home, find a job, make friends and be somewhere cool ( as in, 'not sweaty'). I'm not really excited to do any of that (except the being somewhere cool part) but don't really know what else to do.
El Jem, Tunisia
On this trip we visited some two dozen countries on five continents, plus toured around the United States a bit, making it a full round the world trip. We've left plenty of the world still to see, though. Neither of us, for example, has been to Russia, central Asia or west Africa, and there are still innumerable island nations in teh Caribbean and Pacific to visit, and even some European countries we managed to skip. One thing about the way we travel is we get relatively short takes on a large number of places. That means we know, for example, that we never want to go back to Tunisia, and also that we'd love to take our bikes to Taiwan and cycle around the island. We know we've probably seen well enough of Sri Lanka but that we could laze endlessly on Mauritius. And so on.
We spent five days in Malta, a tiny island nation in the middle of the Mediteranean. After the difficult months of travel in much of the world this is a real treat. Tap water you can drink! Friendly locals who speak English! Food that does not make us sick! Wow!
Two days from now we board a British Airways flight for London, where we spend the night, and then fly back to Atlanta the next afternoon. And so we have become part of this worldwide movement, a migration if you will, around the world. We are one of many on the move for a variety of reasons. "Na so dis world be," wrote Nigerian author Chinua Achebe.
We were watching Al Jazeera the other morning and the broadcast was coming from Doha. Laura could not remember where Doha was so I brought out our Lonely Planet which has a small world map in the back and we picked out Qatar, Bahrain and UAE. Laura started to pack up our bag to head our for the day but I kept looking at the map. You know, the world is something like three-quarters ocean, and what a ripoff! I don't care for the ocean -- actually, I'm afraid of it -- but I do like the coast. All that ocean to me is a waste. Look at the Indian Ocean -- you could fit a goodsized continent in there, part in the Northern Hemisphere, part in the Southern, with mountains and African-like plains and tons of animals and strange cultures. It could be huge, and still you'd have millions of square miles of ocean left. And the Atlantic -- what if there was a continent in between Europe and North America? Part European, part American, damp and cold and windy. And a whole archipelago between South America and Africa, millions of tiny islands linked by sandy reefs and odd languages? And what about the Pacific? All that ocean and a few tiny islands. Just think -- why not massive glaciated islands off the Russian shore, flatter islands between Hawaii and Midway, something huge and magnificent with weird animals between Tahiti and Easter. I'd go to those places! I'd ride the busses, I'd fight the taxi drivers (for even on these new continents they will still be crooks), I'll hunt for hotels and decent restaurants and visit the parks and learn the languages and read books and stare at the sunset. Bring it on! I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll do it!
El Jem, Tunisia
Laura in Mdina, Malta
We have been trying to pare down what we've got, make things stretch, or simply throw things out (like the disposible towel we were given in Taipei -- seemed that if we had not used it by now we were not going to use it). We are down to a handful of shampoo, one bar of soap, just enough floss and the final few pages in our diaries. And after a year of hard travel, what is left is in tatters. My pack has a broken back support, meaning it wobbles. My camera, now on its 11,000th image, is scratched and dented. My shirts have permanent and rather disgusting sweat stains.
Mdina
We spent two weeks in Tunisia and were totally ready to leave by the end of week one. The sights were OK, the hotels soso and the food pretty bad. But as is with many places it's the people who really make the difference and the people of Tunisia made things pretty unbearable. Tunisians have these intense personalities. They are quick tempered and seem to spend most of their time yelling at each other. These intense personalities mean that about 5 percent of the people we came in contact with are unbelieveably friendly and kind; the remaining 95 percent of the people seemed to mostly be assholes. Never before have I traveled to a ruder, meaner place than Tunisia. It affected every part of our day, wether it was people cutting in front of us to get on the subway or a taxi driver ripping us off.
Sousse, Tunisia
Last week we decided to get even. I had given Laura a lot of slack when she bought her fake college ID for $6 back in Bangkok, but in Tunisia she put it to good use. Laura is, shall we say, a few years past college age, but no one at the historic sites and parks where she used her ID gave it second thought. We saved about $25 dollars. Take that, you swindling swine! (The pious would point out that all we are doing is robbing the government which is charged with protecting these ancient sites; not so: most park ticket sellers and takers run a variety of scams meant to enrich them and not the site, including bogus tickets and collection of unvalidated tickets which are then resold.)
Sousse, Tunisia, from the medina
The nicest spot we went to was El Jem, a small town out in the desert home to a staggering Roman coliseum. It's quite the sight, and we spent the afternoon there. The train back from El Jem was packed and I ended up standing next to a Brit -- one of the few independent tourists we've come across here -- who is retired and living in Phnomh Phen. He was back from Cambodia to go to a wedding but wound up booking the flight a month too early and so he had some time to kill. We commiserated about the state of manners in Tunisia and he mentionned that in two days he was heading from Tunis off to Lebanon. I was immediately struck dumb with jealousy. Lebanon! I want to go to Lebabon! I never get to go anywhere fun!
fort in Sousse, Tunisia
That's the sort of madness that travel induces. Only in the meanest rudest place I've ever been could I get jealous about going somewhere else. I want to keep traveling, but the fact is we have really run out of time, out of continent and nearly out of money. While we don't have cars or jobs or payments to make I am beginning to feel the burning desire to get on with something else. Laura is excited to find a town, find a home, find a job, make friends and be somewhere cool ( as in, 'not sweaty'). I'm not really excited to do any of that (except the being somewhere cool part) but don't really know what else to do.
El Jem, Tunisia
On this trip we visited some two dozen countries on five continents, plus toured around the United States a bit, making it a full round the world trip. We've left plenty of the world still to see, though. Neither of us, for example, has been to Russia, central Asia or west Africa, and there are still innumerable island nations in teh Caribbean and Pacific to visit, and even some European countries we managed to skip. One thing about the way we travel is we get relatively short takes on a large number of places. That means we know, for example, that we never want to go back to Tunisia, and also that we'd love to take our bikes to Taiwan and cycle around the island. We know we've probably seen well enough of Sri Lanka but that we could laze endlessly on Mauritius. And so on.
We spent five days in Malta, a tiny island nation in the middle of the Mediteranean. After the difficult months of travel in much of the world this is a real treat. Tap water you can drink! Friendly locals who speak English! Food that does not make us sick! Wow!
Two days from now we board a British Airways flight for London, where we spend the night, and then fly back to Atlanta the next afternoon. And so we have become part of this worldwide movement, a migration if you will, around the world. We are one of many on the move for a variety of reasons. "Na so dis world be," wrote Nigerian author Chinua Achebe.
We were watching Al Jazeera the other morning and the broadcast was coming from Doha. Laura could not remember where Doha was so I brought out our Lonely Planet which has a small world map in the back and we picked out Qatar, Bahrain and UAE. Laura started to pack up our bag to head our for the day but I kept looking at the map. You know, the world is something like three-quarters ocean, and what a ripoff! I don't care for the ocean -- actually, I'm afraid of it -- but I do like the coast. All that ocean to me is a waste. Look at the Indian Ocean -- you could fit a goodsized continent in there, part in the Northern Hemisphere, part in the Southern, with mountains and African-like plains and tons of animals and strange cultures. It could be huge, and still you'd have millions of square miles of ocean left. And the Atlantic -- what if there was a continent in between Europe and North America? Part European, part American, damp and cold and windy. And a whole archipelago between South America and Africa, millions of tiny islands linked by sandy reefs and odd languages? And what about the Pacific? All that ocean and a few tiny islands. Just think -- why not massive glaciated islands off the Russian shore, flatter islands between Hawaii and Midway, something huge and magnificent with weird animals between Tahiti and Easter. I'd go to those places! I'd ride the busses, I'd fight the taxi drivers (for even on these new continents they will still be crooks), I'll hunt for hotels and decent restaurants and visit the parks and learn the languages and read books and stare at the sunset. Bring it on! I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll do it!
El Jem, Tunisia
Friday, July 3, 2009
The Things We've Bought
It never ceases to amaze me that we can get on a plane and a few hours later step off not just in a new country but in a totally different environment. Last week we took a crazy series of flights to go from Antananarivo, the beleaguered capital of Madagascar, to Tunis, the bright faced capital of Tunisia.
Tunis
I'll be the first to admit this was a change we really really needed. Madagascar was nice, to be sure, but it was also pretty overwhelming. Tunisia is no walk in the park, but it's decidedly different and much easier to handle than Madagascar was.
Bulla Regia
It's hot here, and dry, and very sunny. The food is not so good and neither are the hotels but the ease of travel and just being makes life more enjoyable. They are used to tourists here -- though there are none at the moment -- and so you're more left alone. The culture is Arab and North African; it's man-based without being too manly, Muslim but relaxed, and African in its own way. It's also decidedly French, and I've bveen putting my French to work this past week as we make our way around the country.
We spent our first day in Tunis, mostly in the World Heritage listed medina, before taking a train west to Bulla Regia, where we toured the ruins of a Roman city built almost entirely below ground. From there we took a louage -- a sort of minibus shared taxi -- south through emerging desert to Sbeitla, where the locals spoke French with an Italian accent and where we visited the intact ruins of another Roman city. We then took a cramped louage east to Kairouan.
Bulla Regia
Kairouan is home to the Great Mosque, the holiest site in North Africa and the fourth holiest site in all of Islam. As with most Islamic centers, the Great Mosque is nothing much to look at though it is a peaceful spot.
The medina of Kairouan is also World Heritage listed and likely the nicest, though not the most interesting, medina we've been to -- the most interesting title, by way, would definitely go to Marrakech. It's got a fresh, clean feeling to it, and is genuinely friendly.
Sbeitla
Kairouan is also the home of the Tunisian carpet weaving industry, and a walk dozn the streets here is like a walk through a museum of fantastic hand woven carpets.
We came to Kairouan as much to buy a carpet as we did to see the mosque and the medina, though I do feel a bit guilty traveling to somewhere with the aim of shopping.
Kairouan
We have bought quite a few things on this trip, and since we have mailed all of the items home it's hard to recollect exactly what all we've got:
-big painting bought at the Sunday market in Buenos Aires
-hand painted pottery in Uruguay
-scarves in Bolivia
-wall hangings in Thailand, Laos, Philippines, Peru
-frankincense in Oman
-Iranian rug in Oman
-purse in Philippines
-jewelry in Malaysia, Thailand, Chile, Argentina and Indonesia
-essential oil perfume in Thailand
-rice baskets in Philippines
-woven bag in Madagascar
-handsewn hankerchief in Australia
-silk pillow cases in Thailand
Kairouan
There are few capitalist experiences in the world which match the process -- and I do mean process -- of buying rugs. If you are used to getting your rugs at a suburban shopping mall there is really no way to make a comparison.
Think of yourself, the shopper, as the girl, and the rug sellers as the boy. What you do is coyly walk down the middle of the rug street eyeing discreetly which shops have the carpets you might like to buy -- the carpets are not only inside the stores but hanging on rungs outside. You actually do have to walk in the middle of the street because if you are too close to the stores the rug sellers will actually physically grab you and pull you into the stores. As you walk down the street, trying not to make eye contact, rug sellers are going into a literal frenzy to try and get your attention, calling out in French, English, German and Italian for you to come inside out of the heat and just look -- always it's 'just look, my friend.' (Once a salesman said in a phrase we have always remembered 'Why you no love me no more? Today one said 'I love Kansas City.') As you choose your store and walk inside you can literally hear groans emitting from the other carpet salesmen.
Kairouan
Once inside legions of boys dozing in the heat just seconds earlier are barked into attention by the store manager. The boys unfurl carpet after carpet with flambouancy which itself is a part of the spectacle. Carpets are laid on top of each other. Merely shake your head at one and the manager snaps at a boy to get it quickly out of your sight. If you make it past the first few minutes and still seem interested the manager makes a call and the owner comes. Now we're getting somewhere.
With the owner in the store the boys assume a posture not unlike one you'd display before a commanding officer. Carpets are rolled up and scooted out of your way as fast as new ones are unrolled. Lights are dimmed and turned back on. Carpet jokes are made (the best is, turning the carpet over and saying 'you buy one side, you get the other for free). Not so funny jokes are made about buying five carpets and getting the sixth for half price.
Kairouan Great Mosque
Inevitably the pile is whittled down to three or four, the boys looking nervous, and the owner turns to you and says, Have you had our famous mint tea. Now is a critical time in the carpet buying escapade. While there is no promise to buy, the serving of the tea notches things up a bit. The owner snaps at the boy and says in English, 'Bring them tea -- and bring the good stuff this time.'
Never once has price been discussed during this entire ordeal, and it's a bit of a crapshoot. Nothing is marked, of course, so you have no idea if even a single small carpet is going to be affordable. That means you could have spent the preceeding hour wasting everyone's time. Nevertheless, because prices are so fluid, and the culture here so reserved, you simply can not come out and demand 'How much does the red one cost?
The owner brings out a big calculator and punches some numbers in, erases them and starts over, screams something in Arabic at the manager, and turns to you with a smile. Normally, he says, this carpet is 500 dirham, but because business is so slow I will give it to you for only 450 dirham.
The next half hour is a tense period of passing the calculator back and forth, plenty of 'Mon Dieus,' me saying in French, Do you think I am a cash vending machine? more cups of the famous mint tea, the boys folding the rugs up to show just how easily the carpets can fit into overhead luggage, and finally a handshake.
Deal over. Except for tipping the boys.
We got not one but two beautiful Tunisian rugs. The boys, in such a hurry to show how easily the rugs can be carted around, had wrapped them up even before the deal was finished. That means I can't post photos of them. But as proof of how nice they are, I can report that Laura is very, very happy.
Tunis
I'll be the first to admit this was a change we really really needed. Madagascar was nice, to be sure, but it was also pretty overwhelming. Tunisia is no walk in the park, but it's decidedly different and much easier to handle than Madagascar was.
Bulla Regia
It's hot here, and dry, and very sunny. The food is not so good and neither are the hotels but the ease of travel and just being makes life more enjoyable. They are used to tourists here -- though there are none at the moment -- and so you're more left alone. The culture is Arab and North African; it's man-based without being too manly, Muslim but relaxed, and African in its own way. It's also decidedly French, and I've bveen putting my French to work this past week as we make our way around the country.
We spent our first day in Tunis, mostly in the World Heritage listed medina, before taking a train west to Bulla Regia, where we toured the ruins of a Roman city built almost entirely below ground. From there we took a louage -- a sort of minibus shared taxi -- south through emerging desert to Sbeitla, where the locals spoke French with an Italian accent and where we visited the intact ruins of another Roman city. We then took a cramped louage east to Kairouan.
Bulla Regia
Kairouan is home to the Great Mosque, the holiest site in North Africa and the fourth holiest site in all of Islam. As with most Islamic centers, the Great Mosque is nothing much to look at though it is a peaceful spot.
The medina of Kairouan is also World Heritage listed and likely the nicest, though not the most interesting, medina we've been to -- the most interesting title, by way, would definitely go to Marrakech. It's got a fresh, clean feeling to it, and is genuinely friendly.
Sbeitla
Kairouan is also the home of the Tunisian carpet weaving industry, and a walk dozn the streets here is like a walk through a museum of fantastic hand woven carpets.
We came to Kairouan as much to buy a carpet as we did to see the mosque and the medina, though I do feel a bit guilty traveling to somewhere with the aim of shopping.
Kairouan
We have bought quite a few things on this trip, and since we have mailed all of the items home it's hard to recollect exactly what all we've got:
-big painting bought at the Sunday market in Buenos Aires
-hand painted pottery in Uruguay
-scarves in Bolivia
-wall hangings in Thailand, Laos, Philippines, Peru
-frankincense in Oman
-Iranian rug in Oman
-purse in Philippines
-jewelry in Malaysia, Thailand, Chile, Argentina and Indonesia
-essential oil perfume in Thailand
-rice baskets in Philippines
-woven bag in Madagascar
-handsewn hankerchief in Australia
-silk pillow cases in Thailand
Kairouan
There are few capitalist experiences in the world which match the process -- and I do mean process -- of buying rugs. If you are used to getting your rugs at a suburban shopping mall there is really no way to make a comparison.
Think of yourself, the shopper, as the girl, and the rug sellers as the boy. What you do is coyly walk down the middle of the rug street eyeing discreetly which shops have the carpets you might like to buy -- the carpets are not only inside the stores but hanging on rungs outside. You actually do have to walk in the middle of the street because if you are too close to the stores the rug sellers will actually physically grab you and pull you into the stores. As you walk down the street, trying not to make eye contact, rug sellers are going into a literal frenzy to try and get your attention, calling out in French, English, German and Italian for you to come inside out of the heat and just look -- always it's 'just look, my friend.' (Once a salesman said in a phrase we have always remembered 'Why you no love me no more? Today one said 'I love Kansas City.') As you choose your store and walk inside you can literally hear groans emitting from the other carpet salesmen.
Kairouan
Once inside legions of boys dozing in the heat just seconds earlier are barked into attention by the store manager. The boys unfurl carpet after carpet with flambouancy which itself is a part of the spectacle. Carpets are laid on top of each other. Merely shake your head at one and the manager snaps at a boy to get it quickly out of your sight. If you make it past the first few minutes and still seem interested the manager makes a call and the owner comes. Now we're getting somewhere.
With the owner in the store the boys assume a posture not unlike one you'd display before a commanding officer. Carpets are rolled up and scooted out of your way as fast as new ones are unrolled. Lights are dimmed and turned back on. Carpet jokes are made (the best is, turning the carpet over and saying 'you buy one side, you get the other for free). Not so funny jokes are made about buying five carpets and getting the sixth for half price.
Kairouan Great Mosque
Inevitably the pile is whittled down to three or four, the boys looking nervous, and the owner turns to you and says, Have you had our famous mint tea. Now is a critical time in the carpet buying escapade. While there is no promise to buy, the serving of the tea notches things up a bit. The owner snaps at the boy and says in English, 'Bring them tea -- and bring the good stuff this time.'
Never once has price been discussed during this entire ordeal, and it's a bit of a crapshoot. Nothing is marked, of course, so you have no idea if even a single small carpet is going to be affordable. That means you could have spent the preceeding hour wasting everyone's time. Nevertheless, because prices are so fluid, and the culture here so reserved, you simply can not come out and demand 'How much does the red one cost?
The owner brings out a big calculator and punches some numbers in, erases them and starts over, screams something in Arabic at the manager, and turns to you with a smile. Normally, he says, this carpet is 500 dirham, but because business is so slow I will give it to you for only 450 dirham.
The next half hour is a tense period of passing the calculator back and forth, plenty of 'Mon Dieus,' me saying in French, Do you think I am a cash vending machine? more cups of the famous mint tea, the boys folding the rugs up to show just how easily the carpets can fit into overhead luggage, and finally a handshake.
Deal over. Except for tipping the boys.
We got not one but two beautiful Tunisian rugs. The boys, in such a hurry to show how easily the rugs can be carted around, had wrapped them up even before the deal was finished. That means I can't post photos of them. But as proof of how nice they are, I can report that Laura is very, very happy.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Antananarivo, Mauritius, Dubai, Tripoli, Tunis
Most of these pictures are from Madagascar.
We made it off Madagascar Saturday morning -- barely.
(Lemur at Anja)
We got to the airport at 5 for the 8 am flight. We had a coffee upstairs while the sun came up and we noticed all the Air Madagascar planes lined up and pointed nose first at the runway -- that arrangement made it easier to push start them, we joked.
(Tripoli airport)
It took over an hour to convince the airline to honor our etickets, and I was sure for a while we would be stranded.
(Anja lemur, with haute plateau in the background)
We had a short hop to Mauritius, where we now know our way around. We rode a public bus (nothing irks taxi drivers more than tourists on a bus at the airport) to Mahebourg, got croissants and paninis, and then took a second bus to the beautiful public beach at Blue Bay.
(Taking in scene at l'Isola)
We spent the day there, made use of the public showers, and rode back to the airport. The hours in the airport were enlivened by the fact that an Air India flight was leaving for Delhi. Let me just say: Indians getting on a plane = hours of endless entertainment (and abhorent body odor). Emirates lifted off at 11 pm and we crossed Seychelles and the equator before I drifted into a short nap.
(Canyon mouth at l'Isola)
(Dubai from the air with Burj Dubai, the world's tallest building, on the right)
We arrived in Dubai just as the sun was rising and got hazy views of the city, its buildings and the constellations of artificial islands. We did not care to go outside and sample the brisk 87 degree 6am air.
(Chameleon eye watching me at l'Isola)
(Typical street scene in Antananarivo -- burning piles of trash with kids playing nearby)
From Dubai Emirates took us across Bahrain and the red sands of Saudi Arabia. We saw the Suez, southern Jordan and Israel, and the smog of Cairo.
(Laura with kids at Ilakaka, who look sullen because they are slowly coming to the realization that they will not be getting bonbons.)
We touched down in Tripoli just after noon to take on a soccer team headed to Tunis. Unfortunately they would not let us off the airplane but we did get a good sample from the window: endless drifts of windblown trash, olive trees and an unsettling number of junked airliners bulldozed into piles.
(bugs at l'Isola -- they become butterflies)
From Tripoli we flew over the Med and had a lovely twilight view of Tunis.
(Chameleon)
Tunis is very nice and atmospheric. We have just two weeks here before heading to Malta.
(Box canyon in l'Isola)
We made it off Madagascar Saturday morning -- barely.
(Lemur at Anja)
We got to the airport at 5 for the 8 am flight. We had a coffee upstairs while the sun came up and we noticed all the Air Madagascar planes lined up and pointed nose first at the runway -- that arrangement made it easier to push start them, we joked.
(Tripoli airport)
It took over an hour to convince the airline to honor our etickets, and I was sure for a while we would be stranded.
(Anja lemur, with haute plateau in the background)
We had a short hop to Mauritius, where we now know our way around. We rode a public bus (nothing irks taxi drivers more than tourists on a bus at the airport) to Mahebourg, got croissants and paninis, and then took a second bus to the beautiful public beach at Blue Bay.
(Taking in scene at l'Isola)
We spent the day there, made use of the public showers, and rode back to the airport. The hours in the airport were enlivened by the fact that an Air India flight was leaving for Delhi. Let me just say: Indians getting on a plane = hours of endless entertainment (and abhorent body odor). Emirates lifted off at 11 pm and we crossed Seychelles and the equator before I drifted into a short nap.
(Canyon mouth at l'Isola)
(Dubai from the air with Burj Dubai, the world's tallest building, on the right)
We arrived in Dubai just as the sun was rising and got hazy views of the city, its buildings and the constellations of artificial islands. We did not care to go outside and sample the brisk 87 degree 6am air.
(Chameleon eye watching me at l'Isola)
(Typical street scene in Antananarivo -- burning piles of trash with kids playing nearby)
From Dubai Emirates took us across Bahrain and the red sands of Saudi Arabia. We saw the Suez, southern Jordan and Israel, and the smog of Cairo.
(Laura with kids at Ilakaka, who look sullen because they are slowly coming to the realization that they will not be getting bonbons.)
We touched down in Tripoli just after noon to take on a soccer team headed to Tunis. Unfortunately they would not let us off the airplane but we did get a good sample from the window: endless drifts of windblown trash, olive trees and an unsettling number of junked airliners bulldozed into piles.
(bugs at l'Isola -- they become butterflies)
From Tripoli we flew over the Med and had a lovely twilight view of Tunis.
(Chameleon)
Tunis is very nice and atmospheric. We have just two weeks here before heading to Malta.
(Box canyon in l'Isola)
Saturday, June 20, 2009
L'Amour En Les Temps de Madagascar
I suppose it's easy to become enchanted with Madagascar.
The country is dotted with little villages which seem to have been airlifted, albeit with a few changes, from the European countryside. Restaurants serve steak au poivre vert (featuring fresh green peppercorns) for 4 dollars while roadside cafes have fresh baguettes and croissants as well as perfect little cups of cafe au lait.
The island of Madagascar was set adrift from mainland Africa 165 million years ago and since then its strange cargo of plants and animals have been evolving into weird and wonderful shapes ever since. The signature animal is the lemur, a sort of cross between a monkey and a rat which lives in families and holds hands and seems to hug its mates. The signature tree is the baobab, a startling monument to strangeness which seems to piece the sky. And much of the countryside is a jumble of granite domes and spires which have to be seen to be believed.
The gems of Madagascar are its national parks, and there are a lot of them filled to overflowing with forest and animals. We are here in late autumn; the weather is sublime. The people are proud of the country and its assets, and proud that you are there visiting. They are protective of tourists and rarely hassle you.
We arrived in Madagascar's strange French-influenced capital, Antananarivo, on an incredible sunny Saturday. We had great food, walked the cobbled streets, dozed about a bit, then got down to business.
Transport in Madagascar is fairly diabolical, so we did something we have never done before: we hired a guide and driver. Germain showed up at our hotel smartly dressed and with a smoke-belching LandCruiser. Between his English and my French we could sort of communicate. We toured south through Parc Nacional Ranomafina where we saw the elusive bamboo lemur. We visited Anja, a community preserve home to a remarkable nearly tame family of ringtail lemurs. We hiked through the immense open spaces and sunstarved slotcanyons of Parc Nacional Isola. We wandered through a loose forest of baobab trees tailed by curious village children who whispered 'bonbons, monsieur, s'il vous plait.' We ate steaks in small village restaurants and drank sumptuous cafe au lait with our petite dejeuner (ok, so the petite dejeuner, France's idea of the way to start the day; is really just a piece of stale bread and the aforementionned coffee). We had a very, very, very nice time.
For the most part, I mean.
Like many of the world's beautiful places, Madagascar is also heartbreaking and tragic. At times the country seems to be sagging under the weight of its own poverty, corruption and stupidity. After traveling the past 15 years to some 80 countries sometimes I have begun to think that nothing is shocking. In Madagascar, however, nearly everything is shocking. I could entertain (or sicken) you for hours with the most amawing and unlikely of stories. Here's one: we are in a bus where the gas tank has been removed and replaced with a bucket which sits next to the driver's foot; a hose snakes from the engine through a hole in the dash to the bucket, which is sloshing as we race around mountain curves. Not a big deal, except all four people in the front seat insist on smoking.
The tragedy of the country is its poverty, which is grinding, even when seen in the broader context of Africa. Such little stories like the smoking gas tank are a symbol of the country at large; the fact that such things exist in a country so beautiful seems to make it all the more appalling. What I have been trying to figure out is wether Madagascar is beatiful in spite of its poverty or perhaps because of it.
Like so many other countries we have visited on this trip, Madagascar has seen more than its share of political problems. Long suffereing from inept goverments, the country finally seemed to get a decent president a few years ago. Unfortunately, residents of the major metro areas did not see it that way and this spring took to the streets. The several-week-long war saw the ruling president flee and the upstart hopeful take power. The well publicized event featured rioting and civilian deaths. Predictably, the tourist economy, already weakened by a bad economy in Europe, burned to a crisp. I estimate that during our two weeks here tourist arrivals had slowed to a stunning two to three dozen a day ... and this during the height of the tourist season. In a country with poor education, no middle class and few opportunities for real advancement, association with the tourist trade is one of the few ways ordinary people in Madagascar can get ahead. Most of our time here, wether in hotels or parks or negotiating with guides, we have been the only tourists in sight.
Laura thinks the nexus of the country's problems is the lack of education among the vast majority of its residents. She's probably right, but I have to wonder how much the nation's colonial history has to do with it as well.
Madagascar was the domain of France from the mid 1800s to just before World War Two (in fact the country is still to a large degree trying to rid itself of its French heritage; the former president ordered that the new national language be English, not French). France has a long and storied history of colonialism in Africa, though excepting Madagascar all of its holdings were in West Africa. The history of colonialsim in Africa, and how colonialism ended, is complicated and open to multiple interpretations, but its fair to say that few former colonies in Africa have faired well. From my experience, those ruled by the English have fared better, especially if you look at examples like Kenya and Botswana. Those ruled by Portugal, meanwhile, have had the hardest go at things. None of them have fared as well as former colonies in places like Asia, where even the plight of a place like Laos looks enviable when put up against, say, Mocambique.
European countries seem, in my view, rather unwilling to make amends for the debts owed to their former charges, and debt is the only way to look at it. Countries like France and Belgium and England systemmatically raped Africa of its resources while installing puppet governments which were allowed to develop the largesse and corruption which rule today. One, I think, could forgiven for cynically supposing the French, seeing the number of espresso machines and the quality of the croissants here could sit back, smoke a Galouise, and say Mission Accomplished. It's by no means all France's problem, but their misdeeds on the continent seem to stand out the most illconceived.
(What the hell? Am I French bashing? What's next -- watching Fox News?)
OK, enough on France. Our last day in Isola I walked to the edge of town, trailed by the usual coterie of children, many of whom simpy wanted to touch my hair. The sky was wide and full of autumn. When the kids got bored and left me I could walk away into the countryside, the dry yellow grass whipping around my shins. We've spent most of the past halfyear in jungle and forest, where the horizon is just a few yards ahead. Here, I could see silent peaks 100 miles in the distance. Simply incredible, this place.
We head to Tunisia in 48 hours. Our trip is down to its final three weeks.
The country is dotted with little villages which seem to have been airlifted, albeit with a few changes, from the European countryside. Restaurants serve steak au poivre vert (featuring fresh green peppercorns) for 4 dollars while roadside cafes have fresh baguettes and croissants as well as perfect little cups of cafe au lait.
The island of Madagascar was set adrift from mainland Africa 165 million years ago and since then its strange cargo of plants and animals have been evolving into weird and wonderful shapes ever since. The signature animal is the lemur, a sort of cross between a monkey and a rat which lives in families and holds hands and seems to hug its mates. The signature tree is the baobab, a startling monument to strangeness which seems to piece the sky. And much of the countryside is a jumble of granite domes and spires which have to be seen to be believed.
The gems of Madagascar are its national parks, and there are a lot of them filled to overflowing with forest and animals. We are here in late autumn; the weather is sublime. The people are proud of the country and its assets, and proud that you are there visiting. They are protective of tourists and rarely hassle you.
We arrived in Madagascar's strange French-influenced capital, Antananarivo, on an incredible sunny Saturday. We had great food, walked the cobbled streets, dozed about a bit, then got down to business.
Transport in Madagascar is fairly diabolical, so we did something we have never done before: we hired a guide and driver. Germain showed up at our hotel smartly dressed and with a smoke-belching LandCruiser. Between his English and my French we could sort of communicate. We toured south through Parc Nacional Ranomafina where we saw the elusive bamboo lemur. We visited Anja, a community preserve home to a remarkable nearly tame family of ringtail lemurs. We hiked through the immense open spaces and sunstarved slotcanyons of Parc Nacional Isola. We wandered through a loose forest of baobab trees tailed by curious village children who whispered 'bonbons, monsieur, s'il vous plait.' We ate steaks in small village restaurants and drank sumptuous cafe au lait with our petite dejeuner (ok, so the petite dejeuner, France's idea of the way to start the day; is really just a piece of stale bread and the aforementionned coffee). We had a very, very, very nice time.
For the most part, I mean.
Like many of the world's beautiful places, Madagascar is also heartbreaking and tragic. At times the country seems to be sagging under the weight of its own poverty, corruption and stupidity. After traveling the past 15 years to some 80 countries sometimes I have begun to think that nothing is shocking. In Madagascar, however, nearly everything is shocking. I could entertain (or sicken) you for hours with the most amawing and unlikely of stories. Here's one: we are in a bus where the gas tank has been removed and replaced with a bucket which sits next to the driver's foot; a hose snakes from the engine through a hole in the dash to the bucket, which is sloshing as we race around mountain curves. Not a big deal, except all four people in the front seat insist on smoking.
The tragedy of the country is its poverty, which is grinding, even when seen in the broader context of Africa. Such little stories like the smoking gas tank are a symbol of the country at large; the fact that such things exist in a country so beautiful seems to make it all the more appalling. What I have been trying to figure out is wether Madagascar is beatiful in spite of its poverty or perhaps because of it.
Like so many other countries we have visited on this trip, Madagascar has seen more than its share of political problems. Long suffereing from inept goverments, the country finally seemed to get a decent president a few years ago. Unfortunately, residents of the major metro areas did not see it that way and this spring took to the streets. The several-week-long war saw the ruling president flee and the upstart hopeful take power. The well publicized event featured rioting and civilian deaths. Predictably, the tourist economy, already weakened by a bad economy in Europe, burned to a crisp. I estimate that during our two weeks here tourist arrivals had slowed to a stunning two to three dozen a day ... and this during the height of the tourist season. In a country with poor education, no middle class and few opportunities for real advancement, association with the tourist trade is one of the few ways ordinary people in Madagascar can get ahead. Most of our time here, wether in hotels or parks or negotiating with guides, we have been the only tourists in sight.
Laura thinks the nexus of the country's problems is the lack of education among the vast majority of its residents. She's probably right, but I have to wonder how much the nation's colonial history has to do with it as well.
Madagascar was the domain of France from the mid 1800s to just before World War Two (in fact the country is still to a large degree trying to rid itself of its French heritage; the former president ordered that the new national language be English, not French). France has a long and storied history of colonialism in Africa, though excepting Madagascar all of its holdings were in West Africa. The history of colonialsim in Africa, and how colonialism ended, is complicated and open to multiple interpretations, but its fair to say that few former colonies in Africa have faired well. From my experience, those ruled by the English have fared better, especially if you look at examples like Kenya and Botswana. Those ruled by Portugal, meanwhile, have had the hardest go at things. None of them have fared as well as former colonies in places like Asia, where even the plight of a place like Laos looks enviable when put up against, say, Mocambique.
European countries seem, in my view, rather unwilling to make amends for the debts owed to their former charges, and debt is the only way to look at it. Countries like France and Belgium and England systemmatically raped Africa of its resources while installing puppet governments which were allowed to develop the largesse and corruption which rule today. One, I think, could forgiven for cynically supposing the French, seeing the number of espresso machines and the quality of the croissants here could sit back, smoke a Galouise, and say Mission Accomplished. It's by no means all France's problem, but their misdeeds on the continent seem to stand out the most illconceived.
(What the hell? Am I French bashing? What's next -- watching Fox News?)
OK, enough on France. Our last day in Isola I walked to the edge of town, trailed by the usual coterie of children, many of whom simpy wanted to touch my hair. The sky was wide and full of autumn. When the kids got bored and left me I could walk away into the countryside, the dry yellow grass whipping around my shins. We've spent most of the past halfyear in jungle and forest, where the horizon is just a few yards ahead. Here, I could see silent peaks 100 miles in the distance. Simply incredible, this place.
We head to Tunisia in 48 hours. Our trip is down to its final three weeks.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Fifth Continent
In the span of 48 hours Laura flew a full two-thirds of the way around the world -- from Atlanta to Tokyo to Bangkok to Dubai to Mauritius. She arrived in Bangkok after 1 a.m. local time -- I met her at our favorite hotel. We had a nice sleep, a good breakfast, and within 12 hours we were back at the airport.
On this trip I`ve flown in and out of Bangkok so many times it had become like a second home. This time, though, when I got our tickets and we got stamped out of Thailand, was the last of this trip. Thailand has been very good to us these past three months. I`ll miss the vibrant street scenes, the pleasant hotels and the killer food.
(Flic en Flac)
In the airport, waiting for our Emirates flight to Dubai, I glanced out the window. Sure looked like a big plane, I thought. It took me a moment to realize we were flying on an Airbus 380 -- the double decker plane. It was brand new and very nice. Best of all were the personal video screens and the ability to look at plane-mounted live cams positioned at the nose, the tail and the landing gear. Very cool.
We had a nice layover in Dubai; the airport, like the city, it really just a shopping mall. Who plonks down thousands of dollars on gold jewelry in airports, I wondered. Then a woman sat down next to us and opened her bag. Inside was a huge gold necklace. Well, there you go. Our flight to Mauritius left at 3 a.m. and we flew straight south, over Oman and into the Indian Ocean. We crossed the equator and at 9 a.m. descended into Mauritius.
(Flic en Flac)
Mauritius was not a destination we chose. We wanted to go from Bangkok to Madagascar, but our booking agent said we would connect through Mauritius and could have a layover there at little extra cost. After seeing what the price of accomodation was, always a factor in francophile nations, we decided we could afford to stay a week.
Mauritius was colonized by the English and the French. Socially, it`s a low key version of France. Ethnically it`s more like India. Economically it would rate as second world. Geographically it`s got a flat high central plain which slopes down to the coast, where jagged mountains meet the sea. Meterologically it was as close to perfect as you can get at 21 degrees south.
(Blue Bay from the air)
Mauritius is about the size of metropolitan Atlanta; there`s one city and a slew of dense villages and towns. We stumbled out of the airport to find crisp blue skies and a temperature in the 60s. We took a series of pokey busses across the island and to a beach town called Flic en Flac. I wandered down to the beach for sunset and bought a baguette but we fell asleep before dinner time.
There`s not a whole lot to Mauritius. Besides biking and swimming and chasing dolphins you can taste rum and then lay on the beach. All we did was sleep, eat and lay on the beach. The scenery was fantastic and the weather incredible, especially after the soggy warmth of southeast Asia. It`s a place we`d definitely go back to.
This morning we woke up to rain and chilly temperatures. We had cute little French pastries and took a local bus to the airport. Our Air Madagascar flight gave us a surprise -- a half hour in Le Reunion, an incredible island to the west of Mauritius and a departement of France. We landed in Madagascar at 2 p.m. local time. It`s Africa, but a part of France, too. For those of you keeping track at home, we are now on our fifth continent. We are down to the final month but are still trying to take advantage of every minute!
On this trip I`ve flown in and out of Bangkok so many times it had become like a second home. This time, though, when I got our tickets and we got stamped out of Thailand, was the last of this trip. Thailand has been very good to us these past three months. I`ll miss the vibrant street scenes, the pleasant hotels and the killer food.
(Flic en Flac)
In the airport, waiting for our Emirates flight to Dubai, I glanced out the window. Sure looked like a big plane, I thought. It took me a moment to realize we were flying on an Airbus 380 -- the double decker plane. It was brand new and very nice. Best of all were the personal video screens and the ability to look at plane-mounted live cams positioned at the nose, the tail and the landing gear. Very cool.
We had a nice layover in Dubai; the airport, like the city, it really just a shopping mall. Who plonks down thousands of dollars on gold jewelry in airports, I wondered. Then a woman sat down next to us and opened her bag. Inside was a huge gold necklace. Well, there you go. Our flight to Mauritius left at 3 a.m. and we flew straight south, over Oman and into the Indian Ocean. We crossed the equator and at 9 a.m. descended into Mauritius.
(Flic en Flac)
Mauritius was not a destination we chose. We wanted to go from Bangkok to Madagascar, but our booking agent said we would connect through Mauritius and could have a layover there at little extra cost. After seeing what the price of accomodation was, always a factor in francophile nations, we decided we could afford to stay a week.
Mauritius was colonized by the English and the French. Socially, it`s a low key version of France. Ethnically it`s more like India. Economically it would rate as second world. Geographically it`s got a flat high central plain which slopes down to the coast, where jagged mountains meet the sea. Meterologically it was as close to perfect as you can get at 21 degrees south.
(Blue Bay from the air)
Mauritius is about the size of metropolitan Atlanta; there`s one city and a slew of dense villages and towns. We stumbled out of the airport to find crisp blue skies and a temperature in the 60s. We took a series of pokey busses across the island and to a beach town called Flic en Flac. I wandered down to the beach for sunset and bought a baguette but we fell asleep before dinner time.
There`s not a whole lot to Mauritius. Besides biking and swimming and chasing dolphins you can taste rum and then lay on the beach. All we did was sleep, eat and lay on the beach. The scenery was fantastic and the weather incredible, especially after the soggy warmth of southeast Asia. It`s a place we`d definitely go back to.
This morning we woke up to rain and chilly temperatures. We had cute little French pastries and took a local bus to the airport. Our Air Madagascar flight gave us a surprise -- a half hour in Le Reunion, an incredible island to the west of Mauritius and a departement of France. We landed in Madagascar at 2 p.m. local time. It`s Africa, but a part of France, too. For those of you keeping track at home, we are now on our fifth continent. We are down to the final month but are still trying to take advantage of every minute!
Friday, May 22, 2009
My Friend the Fundamentalist
After several restful days in Bangkok (still alone -- Laura's back in Atlanta) I took a Thai Air flight to Dubai. When we touched down at 9:30 p.m. local time it was 100 degrees. My ATM card did not work and none of the exchange desks would take travlers checques. I went to the tourist desk and asked the scowling agent for the cheapest hotel he had. He had one all right -- US$70! Could I take a bus there? He laughed. "It's only a $10 taxi ride," he snarled at me.
Welcome to Dubai.
(Mattrah, Oman)
My main reason for coming to Dubai was to go to Oman. I have wanted to go to Oman since years ago I read an account of traveling there in that great American newspaper, the San Fransico Chronicle.
(Old Muscat)
My $70 hotel room in Dubai was pretty poor considering what you can get elsewhere in the world for half that, though it did come with a good breakfast -- pita, yoghurt, cucumbers and feta cheese. I spent the day in Dubai, which is a great place if you have a few hundred thousand dollars to blow. Otherwise it's a cultural wasteland dotted with fantastic highrises.
(Along the corniche in Mattrah)
I got the late afternoon bus for Muscat and crossed through a red and brown world of rock and sand and camels. Crossing into Oman the immigration officer waived my visa fee and as the sun set we cruised through small desert towns and into the sprawling suburbs of the Omani capital.
(Dhows in Aliya, Oman)
Muscat is a very nice city -- and much more interesting than Dubai, though it shares Dubai's handicap of a dearth of affordable accommodation (my $60 room was in a hotel which featured not one but two niteclubs with Egyptian and Indian dancers; pimps and drug dealers were a part of the lobby crowd). I spent two days in Muscat, drinking coffee and talking to the locals and walking along the spectacular corniche -- the seaside promenade -- at sunset. Like all Omani cities, Muscat is guarded by ancient forts, castles and watchtowers, which make for an intriguing background. It's also bestowed with a fantastic souq -- woodwork from Syria, rugs from Iran, coffee from Yemen, frankincense and sandalwood from the south of the country, antique swords and gold and silver jewelry from all over.
(Muscat's waterfront)
From Muscat I moved on to Sur, a small seaside city on the far northeast tip of Oman. I stayed in the souk (expensive hotel, but minus the dancers and drugs this time) and wandered narrow alleys of whitewashed buildings which dumped out on a wide sandy beach dotted with pickup soccer games.
(Overlooking Muscat from one of the city's many forts)
Oman is a country of great beauty, but it's likely the most frustrating I've been to. Most of the major attractions are not reachable by public transport, or if they are, they don't have affordable hotels. One way to visit them is to sign up for a tour and go as a day trip -- a great option if you don't mind plunking down $100 for 4 hours and a sack lunch. I did not feel comfortable spending that amount of money, and with few other options, I went old school -- I just hung out. I read a lot, I drank a lot of coffee, and I walked around aimlessly in the afternoons once the temperature dropped below about 105 (Oman, ever hot, was experiencing a heat wave e even the locals complained about -- morning lows were in the 90s and afternoon highs were more than 115.) I talked to a lot of locals and a lot of the people who work in Oman -- mostly Indians, who come over to work menial jobs at miserable pay in the blazing sun. For the most part, they are friendly and lonely but have appalling personal habits. Actually, meeting regular old Omanis was at times difficult. Most of the nation -- and the same went for United Arab Emirates -- is comprised of guest workers. They hail from all over the Middle East and Africa. The first thing you do when meeting someone is ask where they are from. I met Kenyans, Tanzanians, Afghans, Pakistanis, Nepalis, Indians and Bangladeshis, among others.
(The Arabian Gulf coast west of Muscat)
To every place I go I bring a set of stereotypes and expectations. In many ways these are useful tools, as a individual assessment of every culture you meet would be a mindboggling exercise. But I realize now that for me no culture has carried the sorts of beliefs and stereotypes than the Muslim Arab culture has.
(Sands in United Arab Emirates)
I met Salom and Omar -- both Omanis -- while walking through a park along the corniche in Muscat. They were crane operators on a dinner break from their jobs in the nearby port. Walking around alone you get constant invitations from men (and only men -- you hardly ever see children or women) to sit down and have a chat and a bite. They plied me with pitas spread with soft cheese, hot sauce and crushed potato chips. Salom did most of the talking. He asked about Thailand and America and Obama and if I had any interest in Islam. He made a number of offhand comments I was not sure what to make of. Most of them concerned women.
Salom's break was over. He and Omar had to go back to work. He said he wanted to give me something, and we made plans to meet back up at the same place the next night. Walking out of the park I got more invitations to sit down. One guy handed me an ice-cold Coke. Another wanted to add me as a friend on Facebook. I walked out to the beautiful seaside promenade known as the corniche and watched the sun set. The next evening when I came back Salom handed me a Borders bag. Inside were four books, in English, on Islam for new converts. They made for nice reads and got lots of friendly comments from the locals.
From Muscat I headed back to Dubai. There were no problems crossing out from Oman but I got stopped repeatedly entering UAE and got a full belongings search which held the bus up for about half an hour. I Dubai I went back to the tourist desk, this time one in town, and again asked for the cheapest room they had. $65!
Dubai is a sort of New York for the Middle East. It's a center of trade, finance, industry and politics. Dubai made its money on oil and the city grew exponentially beginning in the 1980s, though the growth seems to have accelerated in the past few years. Like anyone with lots of sudden money, you can do two things -- spend it like it'll be gone tomorrow or save it for a rainy day. Dubai has spent like no other city on Earth has ever spent -- smooth freeways, 160-story buildings, indoor ski resorts, sprawling artificial islands, expansive malls. Somehow along the way Dubai has convinced the world it's a great tourist destination. If you want to go somewhere, spend heaps of money shopping, dining and on hotels, and rent Ferraris for the afternoon, Dubai is perhaps the place to go. Beyond that, however, it's a pretty superficial place. It's top tourist spots can easily be seen in an afternoon. The heat is like opening an oven door. The traffic is legendary. It's got all the panache of a suburban American shopping mall. Top it off -- the locals are surly!
(Main Mosque in Der Dubai)
I spent another day in Dubai trying not to spend too much money before heading back to Bangkok. On June 5 we resume the round the world portion of our trip -- we fly back to Dubai and connect to Mauritius.
BOOKS
It's been a while since I updated this list. I long ago decided if I was going to waste my time reading I was only going to read good stuff. Most of these books are by Nobel winners. Not all, it turns out, are good, but all are important in that they represent the highest level of human art and cultural advancement.
Herman Hesse, Siddhartha (very good)
Orhan Pamus, The White Castle (excellent)
William Golding, Fire Down Below (a disappointment)
Mervyn Brown, War in Shangri-La: A Memoir of Civil War in Laos
Albert Camus, The Plague (quite good)
Peter Matthiessen, The Tree Where Man Was Born (a book of exceptional beauty)
Ernest Hemingway, Garden of Eden (great)
Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent (BORING!)
Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass
Balzac, Eugenie Grandet (very nice book)
Herman Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund
Ford Maddox Ford, The Good Soldier (too hard to understand)
Robert Louis Stevenson, Kidnapped (very boring)
Emile Zola, The Beast in Man (quite good)
Monle Sayadaw, Formation of Five Aggregates, Four Noble Truths and Law of Dependent Origination (similar to many such Buddhist pamphlets I've read on the trip, this was so grounded in jargon and gobbledygook it was unintelligble. Such traits are common among Buddhist texts, I've found.)
Jim Harrison, Julip
V.S. Naipul, In a Free State (a great, beautiful book)
Heinrich Boll, The Lost Honour of Katharine Blum (deceptively complicated)
Pearl S. Buck, A House Divided
Isaac Bashevis Singer, The Manor (very nice)
BEER
Mandalay Beer, Myanma Breweries. Light tasting 7 percent beer brewed by the government
Sri Lanka Breweries Lion Ale -- soso
Gold Label Taiwan Beer -- chewey and skunky
Welcome to Dubai.
(Mattrah, Oman)
My main reason for coming to Dubai was to go to Oman. I have wanted to go to Oman since years ago I read an account of traveling there in that great American newspaper, the San Fransico Chronicle.
(Old Muscat)
My $70 hotel room in Dubai was pretty poor considering what you can get elsewhere in the world for half that, though it did come with a good breakfast -- pita, yoghurt, cucumbers and feta cheese. I spent the day in Dubai, which is a great place if you have a few hundred thousand dollars to blow. Otherwise it's a cultural wasteland dotted with fantastic highrises.
(Along the corniche in Mattrah)
I got the late afternoon bus for Muscat and crossed through a red and brown world of rock and sand and camels. Crossing into Oman the immigration officer waived my visa fee and as the sun set we cruised through small desert towns and into the sprawling suburbs of the Omani capital.
(Dhows in Aliya, Oman)
Muscat is a very nice city -- and much more interesting than Dubai, though it shares Dubai's handicap of a dearth of affordable accommodation (my $60 room was in a hotel which featured not one but two niteclubs with Egyptian and Indian dancers; pimps and drug dealers were a part of the lobby crowd). I spent two days in Muscat, drinking coffee and talking to the locals and walking along the spectacular corniche -- the seaside promenade -- at sunset. Like all Omani cities, Muscat is guarded by ancient forts, castles and watchtowers, which make for an intriguing background. It's also bestowed with a fantastic souq -- woodwork from Syria, rugs from Iran, coffee from Yemen, frankincense and sandalwood from the south of the country, antique swords and gold and silver jewelry from all over.
(Muscat's waterfront)
From Muscat I moved on to Sur, a small seaside city on the far northeast tip of Oman. I stayed in the souk (expensive hotel, but minus the dancers and drugs this time) and wandered narrow alleys of whitewashed buildings which dumped out on a wide sandy beach dotted with pickup soccer games.
(Overlooking Muscat from one of the city's many forts)
Oman is a country of great beauty, but it's likely the most frustrating I've been to. Most of the major attractions are not reachable by public transport, or if they are, they don't have affordable hotels. One way to visit them is to sign up for a tour and go as a day trip -- a great option if you don't mind plunking down $100 for 4 hours and a sack lunch. I did not feel comfortable spending that amount of money, and with few other options, I went old school -- I just hung out. I read a lot, I drank a lot of coffee, and I walked around aimlessly in the afternoons once the temperature dropped below about 105 (Oman, ever hot, was experiencing a heat wave e even the locals complained about -- morning lows were in the 90s and afternoon highs were more than 115.) I talked to a lot of locals and a lot of the people who work in Oman -- mostly Indians, who come over to work menial jobs at miserable pay in the blazing sun. For the most part, they are friendly and lonely but have appalling personal habits. Actually, meeting regular old Omanis was at times difficult. Most of the nation -- and the same went for United Arab Emirates -- is comprised of guest workers. They hail from all over the Middle East and Africa. The first thing you do when meeting someone is ask where they are from. I met Kenyans, Tanzanians, Afghans, Pakistanis, Nepalis, Indians and Bangladeshis, among others.
(The Arabian Gulf coast west of Muscat)
To every place I go I bring a set of stereotypes and expectations. In many ways these are useful tools, as a individual assessment of every culture you meet would be a mindboggling exercise. But I realize now that for me no culture has carried the sorts of beliefs and stereotypes than the Muslim Arab culture has.
(Sands in United Arab Emirates)
I met Salom and Omar -- both Omanis -- while walking through a park along the corniche in Muscat. They were crane operators on a dinner break from their jobs in the nearby port. Walking around alone you get constant invitations from men (and only men -- you hardly ever see children or women) to sit down and have a chat and a bite. They plied me with pitas spread with soft cheese, hot sauce and crushed potato chips. Salom did most of the talking. He asked about Thailand and America and Obama and if I had any interest in Islam. He made a number of offhand comments I was not sure what to make of. Most of them concerned women.
Salom's break was over. He and Omar had to go back to work. He said he wanted to give me something, and we made plans to meet back up at the same place the next night. Walking out of the park I got more invitations to sit down. One guy handed me an ice-cold Coke. Another wanted to add me as a friend on Facebook. I walked out to the beautiful seaside promenade known as the corniche and watched the sun set. The next evening when I came back Salom handed me a Borders bag. Inside were four books, in English, on Islam for new converts. They made for nice reads and got lots of friendly comments from the locals.
From Muscat I headed back to Dubai. There were no problems crossing out from Oman but I got stopped repeatedly entering UAE and got a full belongings search which held the bus up for about half an hour. I Dubai I went back to the tourist desk, this time one in town, and again asked for the cheapest room they had. $65!
Dubai is a sort of New York for the Middle East. It's a center of trade, finance, industry and politics. Dubai made its money on oil and the city grew exponentially beginning in the 1980s, though the growth seems to have accelerated in the past few years. Like anyone with lots of sudden money, you can do two things -- spend it like it'll be gone tomorrow or save it for a rainy day. Dubai has spent like no other city on Earth has ever spent -- smooth freeways, 160-story buildings, indoor ski resorts, sprawling artificial islands, expansive malls. Somehow along the way Dubai has convinced the world it's a great tourist destination. If you want to go somewhere, spend heaps of money shopping, dining and on hotels, and rent Ferraris for the afternoon, Dubai is perhaps the place to go. Beyond that, however, it's a pretty superficial place. It's top tourist spots can easily be seen in an afternoon. The heat is like opening an oven door. The traffic is legendary. It's got all the panache of a suburban American shopping mall. Top it off -- the locals are surly!
(Main Mosque in Der Dubai)
I spent another day in Dubai trying not to spend too much money before heading back to Bangkok. On June 5 we resume the round the world portion of our trip -- we fly back to Dubai and connect to Mauritius.
BOOKS
It's been a while since I updated this list. I long ago decided if I was going to waste my time reading I was only going to read good stuff. Most of these books are by Nobel winners. Not all, it turns out, are good, but all are important in that they represent the highest level of human art and cultural advancement.
Herman Hesse, Siddhartha (very good)
Orhan Pamus, The White Castle (excellent)
William Golding, Fire Down Below (a disappointment)
Mervyn Brown, War in Shangri-La: A Memoir of Civil War in Laos
Albert Camus, The Plague (quite good)
Peter Matthiessen, The Tree Where Man Was Born (a book of exceptional beauty)
Ernest Hemingway, Garden of Eden (great)
Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent (BORING!)
Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass
Balzac, Eugenie Grandet (very nice book)
Herman Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund
Ford Maddox Ford, The Good Soldier (too hard to understand)
Robert Louis Stevenson, Kidnapped (very boring)
Emile Zola, The Beast in Man (quite good)
Monle Sayadaw, Formation of Five Aggregates, Four Noble Truths and Law of Dependent Origination (similar to many such Buddhist pamphlets I've read on the trip, this was so grounded in jargon and gobbledygook it was unintelligble. Such traits are common among Buddhist texts, I've found.)
Jim Harrison, Julip
V.S. Naipul, In a Free State (a great, beautiful book)
Heinrich Boll, The Lost Honour of Katharine Blum (deceptively complicated)
Pearl S. Buck, A House Divided
Isaac Bashevis Singer, The Manor (very nice)
BEER
Mandalay Beer, Myanma Breweries. Light tasting 7 percent beer brewed by the government
Sri Lanka Breweries Lion Ale -- soso
Gold Label Taiwan Beer -- chewey and skunky
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