veggie 2 go ... gone

Which are you drinking? The water or the wave?

2011-05-15T19:41:00.000-07:00

I have read John Fowles' "Magus" many years ago. Despite enjoying it a lot, the only clear memory and idea that stayed with me has been this question.

Is it the wave or the water? Is it the content, or the shape ? The essence or the appearance that we feed on?

It is, far too often, the appearance... And our society has specialized in re-inventing appearances, re-designing the wrapping around the candy, in the hope of making it more appealing to the consumer.

We are riding waves; we are creating waves; we get carried away by waves.

Yet we depend on water and it is also in water that we drown.

The question has stayed with me, perhaps, also because it relates to something that has always bugged me.

When interacting with people, gender-awareness seems to be taking over. We see the woman or man first, before we see the "neutral" individual behind.

The Ride to Conquer Cancer

2009-06-27T07:26:00.000-07:00

26 years ago today my dad passed away. Last Saturday I was riding my orange bike to Seattle on the first Ride to Conquer Cancer in British Columbia. And somehow I felt closer to him than I ever had. He was never proud of me, the hyper kid fighting for independence and freedom from as soon as I was able to walk and talk. But here and now, on my bike and on the way to Seattle, I first felt he was proud of what I was doing.

A heartfelt thank you to all of you who have supported my ride in so many ways.

There will be another ride next year. Pepe has already signed up.

Random Thoughts

2009-04-27T20:44:00.000-07:00

I am reading a most delightful book. It is a travel memoir of a remarkable woman. Dervla Murphy. To avid travellers and travel book readers her name is familiar. I only discovered her recently. The stories, the humor and especially the genuine, fresh impressions of people and places have set my imagination on fire. Afghanistan - will I ever see that land? Probably not, definitely not the land that she experienced and fell in love with. And it's not just her, but other people as well. I'll write down just one name: Steve McCurry. Look no further than National Geographic.

The other day I was riding Baby Oryx on a route I did approximately 2 years ago with Spiros while "preparing" for the Tour d'Afrique. To Spiros' amusement back then I felt like biking in Africa. I was traversing the savannah; looking around I saw places and images of remote beauty. Interestingly enough now, when I could pull up images from my memory rather than imagination, I was riding through this flat wind-swept area which in no way resembled any place in Africa. The green, the wind, the road, the ditches, the trees and birds, everything was different. How marvellous imagination works. How amazing the travels it allows to anywhere and everywhere instantaneously.

The inevitable, yet unexpected, has happened: I got a job. For a couple of days I was depressed. It was not about the change in rhythm going to happen, but the knowledge that I'd have to give up many trips in the mountains. For now I had to cancel two. Well, such is life. You can't have it all at the same time. That makes for variation :-)

The job is a new challenge - that makes it exciting. Will my brain be up to it ?

Fundraising I Am

2009-04-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

Veggie and I have just finished a photoshooting session. Boy, I hate standing still!
But given the result and with the hopes of being more convincing in our fundraising efforts it was alright.
We need to go touring and tell people what we're doing and why. Can you also spread the word ?

If you make a donation you get a tax receipt for it. Supporting our participation has no benefit for us other than the exercise we're getting and the opportunity we're grabbing to meet other like-minded people. There's supposed to be over a 1000 participants already. Hmmm, I wonder, will there be a like-minded Pepa somewhere there, too ?

Support our Ride to Conquer Cancer

75 Days "Inventory"

2009-04-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

It sometimes helps to make personal "inventories". When your positiveness tends to sip into the ground with the rain, especially, to check the balance and see it's in your favour gives you the much needed mood lift.

So here it is, the inventory of things I did over the 75 days since I returned to Vancouver:

17 days on skis

7 nights camping

6 times snowshoeing

<500 km cycling

>12000m "climbing", ie total elevation gain on all the trips

signed up for a weekend photography workshop

signed up for 2 courses (unfortunately, both got cancelled today :-( )

read 2 "brick-books" on design patterns and Web Services

lost 6kg

signed up for The Ride to Conquer Cancer

Apart from friends, Pepe, yoga and the sunshine, these are the things that made me feel good, in not so obvious ways, maybe :-)

I guess I can now face a few more hours on the computer, away from the fragrant cherry trees, the exuberant magnolias and the bold rhododendrons, away from the sun and the fresh air...

Pepe Goes Fundraising

2009-04-02T19:06:00.000-07:00

There are many evils in this world. Some are within our control, others not, or not yet. People are very good at ignoring facts and threats that are not directly aiming at them as individuals. I guess, it's part of the natural, genetic traits we still share with our ancestors: react to concrete, obvious or imminent threats only. Forecasting, reacting to forecasts, prevention are not wired in our system, that's where thinking and education come in.

Our world knows quite a few diseases that kill people at a fast rate. Malaria, tuberculosis, and a whole variety of tropical diseases count among them. However, to us Westerners these mostly stay abstract. There is no name or face we can associate with any of them. Or hardly ever. Alas, many of us ignore these and the many issues related to them. And yet there's one illness that somehow stands out.

What makes cancer so different is that it strikes randomly - or apparently randomly - amongst us. All of us can put familiar names and faces next to it. And that makes it feel so much more scary.

My dad died more than 25 years ago. Most recently my mother-in-law died of cancer. During that timespan relatives and friends and relatives of friends and a lot of people I knew of have fought or fallen victims to this subtle enemy.
The number of people I know who have fought cancer, suffering directly or indirectly from it has multiplied in time.

My universe has expanded in many ways over the years, yet in other ways it has shrunk. There's less to explore but somehow more to fear these days.
Is it maybe just my awareness that has sharpened? I don't know. However, this and many other issues are of concern to me and I want to do something about it. And so, inspired by people who fought or are fighting the battle, I decided to participate in "The Ride to Conquer Cancer".

This is going to be yet another physical challenge for me. But, to be honest, apart from that, it is also another, more difficult kind of challenge for me personally. Asking for help and fundraising are not quite my thing. I feel embarassed and even writing this down took me a long while. Yet, I'm doing it.

My pledge today is for a cause that could be anyone's at any point in time. And I dare say that if, as Westerners, we may - wrongly - afford to ignore a disease like malaria, we should at least feel concerned about cancer. It's not something happening somehere in the 3rd world, in far away places we'll probably never ever get to, but it's something affecting us closely in surprising ways. Ask anyone who has suffered from it how it has changed their lives, ask their families and, eventually, ask yourself how cancer has affected yours. You may not even be aware of the impact it had one time or another on you.

The reasons why I join this ride for are numerous. I do it for my friends and family, for the families of my friends, for people I know and people I don't know but whom I'd like to be spared the suffering caused by cancer. Ultimately, I also do it for myself. You never know what the future has in store.

And Pepe, the funny soft-hearted traveller has decided to go fundraising, too.

To support our fundraising efforts please click here.

And Speaking of Attitude ...

2009-03-09T00:26:00.000-07:00

Timeless is the delight winter and mountains inspire. As time goes by I feel more and more humbled by the magnificent snow-capped peaks and their solitary majesty.

Tracks on snow become mysterious signs of life, a lovely pattern, a play of contrasts and a direction to explore.

Turning away from the hypnotizing peaks I discover delicate beauty and fragility in the details. They, too, inspire with their play of light and shade and the lines and shapes. I am soon obsessed by the exploration of abstract shapes and carried away by the softness of curves and light.

A small tree lost among the long shadows cast in the late afternoon looks simply magical. It inspires me to play with the tools I have at hand: the colour palette and contrast.

For more go to Amiskwi Trip Pictures

Age Is Relative

2009-03-06T22:44:00.000-08:00

A Week of Backcountry Skiing in the Interior of British Columbia

Well, Pepe went ahead and wrote already about our ski trip based at the Amiskwi lodge in the interior of BC. Nevertheless, here's my take :-)

The trip was excellent in many respects. First, the organisation was excellent; second, the food was simply delicious and abundant (self-catered by our group). And last, but not least, we had great ski conditions. In fact, they were excellent given that we started with such low expectations. Sunny skies and powder snow - could anybody complain about anything ?

Personally, with a very poor physical condition at the time, I was struggling to carry my extra kilograms up the slopes. It didn't hinder me to enjoy any of the runs down or the fantastic views. But I was slow, and it wasn't the picture taking making me slow.

There's nothing special or spectacular, you'd think, about finding yourself in the company of people the same age as or older than your mom. I always enjoyed it immensely as a great opportunity to hear and learn a lot. However, if you continuously struggle to keep up with them uphill, if they keep passing you day after day on the way up, well then, you need to (and better!) acknowledge something you might have forgotten. That age IS relative. That the spirit is free to soar up to incredible heights and that enthusiasm, determination and joy are not linked to age but attitude.
Once again I feel thankful for not just learning that lesson but experiencing also the proof.

A Turtle on Skis

2009-03-03T23:35:00.001-08:00

"Faster, faster!" I'm yelling from behind. I can hear the moaning and grunts as I blink into the sun. Sigh. I want to feel the wind in my hair.
What can I do for her? She's no more than a turtle. Look, everybody has passed us one by one. On the way up they're almost on top. By the time we'll get there the immaculate snow blanket will be again scarred and trashed by ski tracks and almost everybody will be already down or on the way down.

"Faster, Veggie! Move your butt up the slope!" God, she's slow. No wonder with all the extraweight and lack of exercise. Arghh, if only I had skis and were not confined to sitting in the backpack. It makes me feel so useless. But, I have to admit, despite all my critiques she's still quite nice to me. I mean, she still takes pictures with me. And the backdrop is simply awesome. AWESOME, I tell you.
I kind of understand Veggie's urge to stop for pictures but I also know this is an excuse she uses and abuses to slow down and take a break. 'Cause she's not always really taking pictures but rather looks dumbfolded at the magnificent scenery. God, she's slow!

She reminds me actually of that old cartoon "Ferdinand the Bull". Far from fitting the image of a vicious bull, Ferdinand is gentle and loves flowers. He simply goes from flower to flower. If only there were something like a stinging bee for Veggie. Something to speed her up. My yelling she blissfully ignores by now :-( We came here to ski not to stare at the mountains!
And, I figured, there's more than just one problem here. First, she's out of shape and too fat. Then, this gourmet food she stuffs herself with every day at the lodge, that for sure doesn't help. I'm rather worried she'll only put on more weight. What am I gonna do? I'm doomed to hear her moaning and grunting forever. I'm worried for her.

I have to admit though, that, at least, she makes up for this by reading me stories at bedtime. About adventurous people travelling all over the world. I love those stories. They make me dream of remote places and bring back sweet memories. Well, I think I'll have to do with just the reading for now. At least I got to fly in the front seat in the helicopter. Hmmmmm, how I love that!!! Especially when the chopper just flies over a blade-like ridge. It can give you goosebumps. Luckily those are invisible beneath my fur.

And yet, believe me, there's nothing worse than a turtle on skis!

"Move, Veggie! Move!"

Fitting In a Box

2009-02-12T23:11:00.000-08:00

Two weeks since I returned to Vancouver. It feels longer than that.

I met with a lot of good friends. Not yet all, though!

I received many many hugs. A year and a half' worth of hugs, as a good friend put it.

It has been sunny, rainy, cold, windy and warm. We had fresh snow on the mountain, pouring rain in town.

I've got my first cell phone for good.

I've been snowshoeing twice (awesome the second time in fresh fluffy snow!), camping in the snow once, hiking once.

I've been on all 3 local mountains already. Thanks to friends!

I've been babysitting and driving. I've been to the kindergarden and had a crashcourse in changing tyres, putting on the spare tyre. A flat in a parking lot!

I talked to recruiters and had a brief and disappointing interview with one of them.

I had a technical test which I scored average. The result exceeded my expectations.

I dismissed a recruiter after some unacceptable "being bounced around". How many times can you reschedule and cancel a phone call in 3 days?

I've seen a full movie, "Slumdog Millionaire". Brilliant first half, more and more predictable after. Nevertheless, a good movie, unconventional and colourful.

I looked at some pictures from Syria and purged a few already.

I posted an article for a photo magazine in Romania. Maybe it'll get published.

I've seen a slideshow of a month-long ski mountaineering trip in the Coast Mountains with the approach by kayak. The slideshow was presented at the BC Mountaineering Club's monthly meeting which I attended again after more than a year and a half.

I was asked for slideshows by many people. I'm working on that. It's gonna take time.

My laptop needed a boost and so I had to reinstall everything on it.

I finished reading a book.

I went to the storage room a few times, digging in the boxes for things I need. Didn't find all :-)

I freed Baby Oryx from its misery, got the missing parts and a tune-up. I bought a new bike helmet and took Baby out for a couple of rides. Awesome bike, darn slow rider :-)

I signed up for a 1-week backcountry ski trip within the first few minutes after arriving from the airport.

It's been a busy "2 weeks" time. No wonder I'm ready again to go on holiday. Better than freaking out about the hopeless job market. I can't find a box, anyway, to fit into.
Hoping for good snow and no avalanches, for sunny skies and more laughs, I'm setting off in the morning for one week of relearning how to ski and climb up snow slopes.

Scraps From a Former Life

2009-02-05T00:02:00.000-08:00

The door rolled up with a terrible noise. I was standing in this depersonalized space waiting for it to open - into the past and personal. And it opened up like a wound in the cold alien body of a modern monster. The cold symmetry of the hallways and doors was broken abruptly by the sight: a cluster of guts revealed through a small surgical cut.
Suddenly I was standing in front of a wall and tower of improperly aligned, randomly piled up boxes and bags. The past, through its partially labelled physical compartments, grinned at me. For a split second I felt panic coming up like a foreteller of depression, but then, right away, the immune system kicked in and I started to laugh.
This was it: not the guts of an irrational monster, but scraps from a former life, things that I, and we, accumulated over years; things of little material value, mostly, but sticky with emotional meaning. They've all known very good, good and bad times. And for the first time I was happy that they could not talk. I mean, they do, but it's a whisper only I can hear and understand, rather than loud and clear for everybody to hear.
They are scraps, too many of them, that invariably and inevitably identify myself - if only through the reasons behind getting them in first place and keeping them after. It is not really an identity to my liking. But when was it ?

It was time to open this 3-D scrapbook and look at the pieces. Today I wanted to get the gear needed for the winter. I had to go back to the mountains and free myself from polluting thoughts. I had to test my charging system again, charge my batteries and feed my soul with the silence of snow and heights. Then, I could move on to the next page of the scrapbook.

Facts and Figures

2009-01-27T09:28:00.000-08:00

January 27th marks a year and 5 months since I left Canada and started travelling. It's been a fabulous time and, when I look back at all I've done and seen, it seems like I spent ten times that much time abroad. I find it overwhelming and intimidating to even try and list - randomly - some of the facts and figures.

I made new friends.
I've been to Africa for the first time.
I visited 15 countries.
I hiked in 8 countries.
I cycled in 9 countries.
I dipped (or swam) in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, in the Red Sea, Lake Malawi and the Nile.
I cycled more than I did in the previous 39 years altogether.
I entered twice Namibia, Egypt, Syria, Tanzania and South Africa.
I've been on an African safari.
I've been to Annapurna and Everest Base Camps.
I hiked on the Great Wall.
I've been to Ngorongoro and Serengeti NPs.
I've been to Petra.
I saw the Pyramids.
I trekked up Mt. Kilimanjaro.
I've been to Lhasa.
I wrote more than 550 postcards. I lost count. My mom alone received 68 postcards.
I was up for and enjoyed more than 450 sunrises and sunsets. I lost count.
I shared and received thousands of smiles. I lost count very early on.
I spent all the money I had. I never did count :-)
I took over 40000 pictures. No worries, I'll have to go through all of these and filter out the garbage. Miserere mei, Deus.
I put on 8 kgs.
I read over two dozen books.
I filled 5 diaries, started a sixth.
I made great friends.

And I still consider Vancouver a great place to live in.

PVD Officially Over

2009-01-13T00:33:00.000-08:00

Since I'm at learning and relearning acronyms and keywords is there something like PVS? Post Vacation Syndrom. Or PVD? Post Vacation Depression. If not, let me coin it, while, at the same time, declaring it officially over in my case.

I am happy to report that I have finally managed to update this journal with the latest travel impressions from Syria, Lebanon and Turkey. I'm afraid though that, by trying to preserve the chronological order, I complicated the reading. By scrolling down or back to November you'll get to those posts. I do apologize for the inconvenience. But order comes first :-)

However, I report with major frustration that I couldn't do much about the pictures yet. In the struggle to read a 160GB HDD via a USB1.0 port I was defeated and devastated. It's taking forever, so patience is advised. I'll get there, eventually, with lots of coffee and a computer upgrade.

I have now finished updating my resume thanks to a lot of support from friends all over. It's awesome to have friends! Forget about ever paying for counselling. Make friends instead!

I am actively looking for plane tickets to Vancouver. And I've looked into the craziest options to try and save money. Did you know a Greyhound bus ride from Toronto to Vancouver only takes 2 days, 19 hours and some minutes? And only costs 147CAD if bought way in advance? Well, to be fully honest it also takes a mother ready to faint :-) I'll spare you the details, but all these ideas lose their brilliance in the morning over fresh coffee.
So tomorrow is my deadline for buying my ticket. Whatever it takes. Now that I'm over PVD I really, truly have no more excuse :-)

A Humble Drama Queen

2009-01-07T11:41:00.000-08:00

The second last job I had ended abruptly. For weeks and months there were no clear directions, no managing, no decent requirements but loads of bullshit. Frustration accumulated and disgust. I felt like I was prostituting myself. The salary was not justified in any way, as nothing was being produced, everybody was unhappy, yet nobody dared say anything. We all had well paid jobs and the bills kept coming, of course.
During a conference call with the whole team and managers and some others I had never seen or heard before we were swallowing spoonfuls of yet more bullshit. I spilled over. When the familiar question was asked about our feedback I heard myself saying out loud that I simply don't believe in the project anymore, that I lost any confidence in the management and therefore I quit. There was a long pause on the line. Then my manager said "Ok. Beginning today you are no longer with us." I hung up and felt so damn relieved. And that was it. A co-worker pinged me soon after. "Wow! you're such a drama queen."

I feel I owe an apology. I don't like the drama queen role. And I certainly didn't mean to create drama with my humble writing essays.
The response and appreciative words I received after my last post make me feel somehow guilty and also humble. I don't feel I deserve those many appreciative words. They're definitely more than I can ever take. BUT thank you very, very much for the encouragements!

It's not returning to Vancouver or a job that scares me, but the thought of looking someone in the eyes and stating that I will go with all my heart and energy for that job. 'Cause I know I most likely won't. I can't even control my brain to stick to a task. And, believe it or not, the two of them, heart and brain, somehow follow each other. At least in my case :-)

Everything's Wrong!

2009-01-05T03:14:00.000-08:00

It's a conspiracy.
I love snow and winter and the outdoors. All that is right in front of the door here. And yet I'm sitting inside freezing. Freezing? When did this happen? How come I just sit and shiver? What happened with the freak going camping at -25 degrees Celsius and enjoying it?
My mind is playing tricks, longing for days spent in traffic, dust, pollution and heat. The days in Cairo, days of stress before embarking on a new and big adventure. That was only yesterday... or so it seems.
It's all wrong. I should be excited. I'm standing here with a new - maybe even bigger - adventure ahead of me: the return to "normal" life. I should be eager to plunge into it. But I'm in search for definitions and my memory is playing tricks on me.
My plan for today was to work on my resume to get ready and apply for jobs. I'm sorry, Maria and Spiros, I apologize to all of you out there whom I offend right now with these terrible words. But I had a plan and I was determined to follow it.

It all started well. I found a 5 years old resume of mine and I opened and read it.

All these acronyms - I don't know what they stand for anymore. And the big keywords that sound like accusations. Is this all about me? I try not to panic thinking that everybody goes through this from time to time.
I manage to copy and paste a paragraph twice. Then I change the dates delimiting the last 2 positions I had. I remember perfectly the years and approximately the months. And then it's all blank. BLANK. I'm staring at the screen trying to remember the name of a company I worked for. No clue.
I can remember well names and faces, I can remember moments and feelings related to them. Friends and people I worked with over the years. We went through good and stressful times. We started, supported and buried projects together. We had fun and learned together. Funny, how I can remember the people and never the projects and platforms and tools and details. Can I put those down in this resume ? Are the keywords more important than those? Darn. It's all wrong. And I'm close to freaking out.

I'm happy for the bunch of emails awaiting a reply and I plunge into email writing.
All these names and voices and faces coming to mind are pushing everything else back. Some of those I haven't seen/heard in years yet they are still very vivid in my memory. Why is it that I don't remember the rest ? Over the last year and a half I've enriched my memory with many many new names and faces. I have accumulated smiles and laughter, friendships and adventures and the only other acronym I can remember is TDA. And gradually I realize: it is a conspiracy. It's the conspiracy of memories.

What am I going to do ?

I take a break and turn to the icons. My kind of icons. James Nachtwey, Sebastiao Salgado, Steve McCurry. I go through pictures and photo essays I've looked at before. And I always go through the same feelings beside admiration and humbleness. There's a void in my stomach that no food or drink could ever fill. The humanity, suffering and beauty these images capture is crushing me. They are permanent reminders and "down-to-earth agents". Showing, pointing at how many things are wrong. And then the terrible news and images from Gaza are emphasizing it daily now. Why do things go this wrong?
Looking at these images makes me feel once again how superficial I am and my own images are. I wish I could capture images like those other than just in my mind and soul. All the faces and the struggling that I only see through these masters' lenses, they are so vivid and there's a depth and feeling in them beyond words.

My struggling with words? With keywords and acronyms? It becomes grotesque and my current status so ridiculously insignificant.
It becomes? No, it is.
But if I got to make so much fuss about it, then indeed everything's wrong with me. And I need to stand up and fight this conspiracy.

A Smile For Christmas

2008-12-24T08:38:00.001-08:00

It is cold, windy and there's not enough snow. However those are no excuses to stop smiling.
So Pepe and I quickly ran out and played in the snow the way we know best - fooling around in front of the camera :-)
A smile, this is our gift to you this Christmas. We hope the warmth and joy from our hearts transpires and reaches you all.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas

2008-12-21T05:50:00.000-08:00

I have finally reached my goals. As I had promised to my mom a while ago I am now at home in Brasov, Romania, for Christmas. And financially I have also achieved the target set before departing from Canada: I'm broke :-)

I am quite proud about both of these. I have finally learned to set achievable goals, which is a smart thing to do. Achieving a goal is a positive experience, further motivating and rewarding. I had a great time for more than a year now. Okay, if I have to be fully honest, I still didn't get enough. But greed is not a good thing and I am grateful and happy for it all. There will be other opportunities, I hope.

Over the next couple of weeks or so I will try to get up to date with blog and pictures as I am going through my TODO list. Oh yeah, returning to "normal" life is equivalent to TODO lists, at least for me. And the list is fairly long already and growing. I don't want to get into details, please. It's mostly about responsibility :-)

Chances are we'll have a white Christmas here and I'll certainly have some quality time with family. That is something you learn to appreciate better the longer you are away.

I do wish all of you out there whom I think about a lot - even though I do not write to you very often - and care about a lot, too, a very merry Christmas and a good and peaceful holiday season.

The Gate to Europe

2008-12-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

Istanbul, Turkey

It's a great actor. And a tough one. It has changed its name, looks and beliefs over the centuries. It has known glory. It has spread faith and it has spread terror. It has ruled and was conquered. It was looted and destroyed and it rose again. Istanbul, Constantinople, Byzantium. Every once in a while new historic evidence is found, supporting its justified claims for fame.

According to Wikipedia Istanbul has "the largest city proper in Europe, and the third largest city proper in the world." In recognition of their beauty and importance its historic areas are listed among the UNESCO World Heritage Sites. You can easily spend weeks there just visiting the historic spots and monuments.

If, geographically, Istanbul is a gate to Europe, bridging two continents, its modern looks and rhythm are very European. At least that's the impression I got coming from Syria.

The old city core is a lovely display of gigantic monuments and picturesque corners and streets. This is where the major attractions are: the Aya Sophia, former church, then mosque, now museum, the famous Blue Mosque, the Byzantine water cistern, the Topkapi Palace, the Grand Bazaar and the numerous other mosques, mausoleums and museums.
The climate on the Bosphorus is mild and so a clear winter day in December feels more like a short but gorgeous September day elsewhere. Roses still have blossoms, flower beds are still colourful and just the leafless trees betray appearances. The well maintained park near the Topkapi Palace is inviting you to stroll and forget any rush. The aroma of coffee is luring you to stop all the time. The sweets in the shopwindows are demolishing any determination to resist.

Lined up on the Galata Bridge which spans between the continents and across the Bosphorus, dozens of men are fishing. They're leaning over their fishing rods with their back turned to traffic. It's more to socialize and enjoy the views rather than support a family. Below the road level the bridge is nothing more than a chain of cafes and restaurants with an extremely colourful collection of chairs, stools and beanbags to sit on and eat or sip a coffee. A perfect spot to linger in the sun and watch the sunset. Sitting there above the water between continents you may ponder over the wheel of history and wonder at how geography determines and impacts the course of history. From time to time a flying fish jumps up into the sky right in front of you. It's just a little reminder in case you forgot the fishing rods lined up above you.

I only spent 2 days in Istanbul, intense days of visiting the major attractions but also walking for hours on the streets and watching the people.

I marvelled at the beauty of Aya Sophia. Though massive in dimensions there are lots of delicate details to notice and admire, from the stunning mosaics to the hanging lamps and architecture elements.

The Blue Mosque was rather a disappointment. In spite of its indisputable beauty the place lacked the expected feeling. I guess I just got spoiled in Damascus. This is clearly a place for prayers and not one where people come to socialize and spend time. Furthermore, there are "Do not sit" signs everywhere on the floor around the columns where you could actually sit peacefully. As a tourist you are supposed to enter, take pictures and leave right away. As a local or worshipper you are supposed to enter, pray and leave. It is, I thought, more of a Western kind of approach or rhythm, one where the "business" aspect is more important. To me it was a fair bit disappointing.

But there was something else here that will stay with me forever, something I can't share or describe. Yet I can close my eyes and dive into the memory of that feeling now and always. The muezzine "beat" any other I'd heard before. When the deep melancholic voice raised and spread over the courtyard and the city calling for prayer it cut straight to my heart. No, I can't put it in words and I can't even hope to hear anything like that very soon. It was the most beautiful call for prayer I had ever heard throughout this whole year. It was simply divine.

I've got unfinished business with this place, but Turkey overall, it seems to me, deserves more than just a few weeks to discover it.
And so I said good-bye to the actor. Who knows next time I'll come what mask it will wear ?

What Are Friends For?

2008-12-11T10:54:00.000-08:00

Göreme, Turkey

What are friends for?
Well, to share happy times and get support and help during hard times. To not feel lonely and unwanted. To have fun together...

One freezing morning in Göreme I found a new friend. He was big, strong and handsome. Just the way I like it. He showed up in time to protect me from a furiously barking neighbour of his heading straight for me. After a first moment of panic I realized he was on my side. He saved me. I called him Doggy.
With the looks of a golden retriever and the calm and confidence of a creature living free and in harmony with nature Doggy accompanied me all day. Whenever I stopped he was whining or barking and pushing me to keep going. When he got tired it was my turn to encourage him to keep going. When we climbed steep slippery slopes he walked backwards ahead of me and watched me intensely, ready to grab my arm and pull me up. He was sweet.

He assumed his role as a protective friend entirely. He saved me from an innocent villager - a potential threat. When the man approached us on the road walking peacefully towards his village Doggy was ready to tear him apart, barking aggressively and preparing to charge. He was determined to save me. It was hard work to hold him back. As a result we changed the route and hiked up and down some slopes around the village, just to avoid any more potential dangers.

It was soon my turn to "save" Doggy. When we reached a touristy area I was relieved to see how friendly and nice he was with all people around. Until he saw the man with his 2 big shepherd dogs. One was leashed, the other free. There was a chase, a terrible dogfight and then I managed to grab Doggy. Within seconds he had turned from a sweet puppy into a fearsome beast. The whole story had a somewhat comic aspect to it. For a while the roles had changed: it was the poor man leashed to his dog being dragged hopelessly around the area.
I needed a break and a tea, but I did not have the time for that. Doggy needed soon my help again and little did it matter that I spilled hot tea over my camera :-) The scary beast had become a lame puppy again when I found him with a chain around his neck held by a young man while another man was trying to feed him raw meat. He couldn't care less. But he did not protest against the chain keeping him a prisoner. I talked to the guys, set him free and once again dragged him away by his lovely furry collar.

When we reached the village on the way back Doggy disappeared and I only found him again about an hour later. He was following two young men and a puppy. A young puppy. I was determined to bring him back home to the area we had met and so I had to once again drag him away from his new friends.
But there was danger lurking ahead. An old friendly dog was sitting on the path. Doggy turned once again into a horrible creature. He was wild and aggressive and started a terrible fight. No rocks, sticks, shouts helped to keep the dogs apart. A man came to help me separate the fighters but with no success. Eventually, I managed to grab my friend again by his neck and drag him away. He was the most obedient dog once held by his fur :-)

The rest of our walk was peaceful past rising hot-air balloons, leafless trees and spectacular rocks and across frozen fields. He was tired and most likely hungry. When he spotted some friends from the horse ranch he joined them and left without saying good-bye.

Later that night I noticed he had not disappeared without leaving me a reminder. I had a big hole in the back of my pants. Obviously from one of those times when he had jumped on me trying to persuade me to keep going.

It's so great to have friends! Every adventure is so much more fun when you share it with them.

The Giants' Playground

2008-12-09T01:24:00.001-08:00

Göreme, Turkey

Cappadoccia is a land of giants and elves, a fairyland come true. At first the giants drew some sketches drafting the layout of the numerous valleys. However, at some point, they must have got bored. That's when they started to play with their pencils and pens before leaving them all in disorder. The elves came after and dug holes and tunnels and caves adding more mystery and magic to the place. I'm sure they played hide and seek a lot. The people came only later. They took over the caves, dug more and painted. They cut entire churches into the rock and painted them with the most vivid colours.
It is for good reasons that the area is an open air museum and so extremely touristy. The place is extremely accessible, the scenery is spectacular, the walking fantastic, the churches fabulous.

From Damascus it was a smooth trip to Göreme. The busride to Antakya took about 8 hours with a sprint at the border to pay the visa fee and return to the control booth in time to catch the bus. It was cold, freezing cold at 2am in the morning and for some reason the bank counter was way off the border checkpoint. Then, after 4 hours of shivering in the freezing bus terminal, I boarded the bus to Kayseri for yet another 8 hours ride. The scenery was amazing, from the hills covered with olive trees, to the citrus groves along the shoreline, then uphill over and past spectacular mountains. Another hour wait in Kayseri, then another hour on the last bus and I arrived in Göreme. Piece of cake.
It was pitchdark and chilly but the clear sky promised a beautiful morning.

Next day was a beautiful morning indeed, and so were all mornings but one during the week I spent there. I did not have so much fun since I had left Petra. My kind of fun, of course. Days of hiking and wandering around freely in the fresh air, enjoying the beauty and tranquility of the spectacular scenery. Days begun before sunrise and finished reading cuddled up in my warm sleeping bag soon after it got dark.

After just one gorgeous autumn-like day the weather turned abruptly. Winter came with its frosty breath and white dust. A thin layer of snow blanketed the scenery adding a touch of magic to the already fascinating surroundings. The freezing temperatures ensured clear, crisp days allowing the fine snowpowder to melt slowly in the bright sun. The valleys were peaceful and beautiful. They were straightforward at times and then again resembled labyrinths. They were also mostly used as orchards. Apples, pears and quinces. The fragrance of quinces left intentionally on the trees or on the ground floated in the air for days.

My frozen feet and fingers did not hinder me to get up early and welcome the sunshine every morning, watching the hot-air balloons struggle to rise and scouting for new angles and photo locations. Neither did a bad cold. And I usually only returned from my walks and wandering after sunset. But I have to confess I was lazy, hardly ever carrying my tripod around. Oh well, I decided the -10 degrees Celsius and the hurting-frozen fingers and toes were a good enough excuse :-) It wasn't my playground in the end, but the playground of fairy-tale creatures who have just left it behind for us to enjoy.

A Small World

2008-12-05T09:56:00.000-08:00

The world is shrinking. I have evidence.

Wadi Rum, Jordan. The bedouin girls are showing me photos on their cell phones and the slideshow is accompanied by music. Not just any music, but a popular Romanian hit at the time. I am startled to hear Romanian lyrics in the middle of the desert.

Damascus, Syria. I'm sipping a coffee in one of the historic coffee houses near the Great Mosque. The soulful melodious call of the muezzine has just ended and I can now hear the background music on the radio. It is unmistakenly Gheorghe Zamfir's flute (nai).

Sidon, Lebanon. Katja's brother-in-law, the lady who runs the small hotel in the old town, is a doctor and lives in Romania. He went to Romania to study medicine about 20 years ago and then married and stayed there. Katja's husband - who has visited his brother in Romania - greets me in the morning with a wonderful smile: "Buna dimineatza!"

As for Canada, in this part of the world everybody seems to have at least a relative living in Canada. And the Canadian winter is something everybody has heard about.

Beirut

2008-11-29T07:57:00.000-08:00

My first glimpse of Beirut I got from a minibus arriving from Baalbek and meandering through the outskirts of the city. The ravages made by the civil war were still visible here, crying out loud through gaping black holes in gray, abandoned apartment buildings. Amidst the rubble and the damaged buildings there were new buildings in construction, modern and striking. And traffic was horrible.
I presume that some people had nowhereelse to go or simply did not want to abandon their home and neighbourhood. A particular building caught my eye. It was gray and bleak with dozens of accusing black eyes staring at me, no doors, no windows, not even frames on the 8 or 10 floors except for a cluster of sparkling new windows. They were somewhere on the 5th floor, I think, clearly belonging to just one flat and I could not help but imagine how scary, ghostly the building must be like inside. How it must feel like to live amongst the memories of that place, to go up and down the deserted damaged floors having only ghosts as your neighbours.

It was the only time I saw these images because I avoided staying in the capital. Beirut is a big and modern city, expensive, very expensive and loud. Traffic is bad, construction is ongoing, tranquility hard to find.
The war has offered beautiful old Beirut an opportunity to renew its image, and it's an open cosmetic surgery all over. The new downtown area is ultra-trendy and equally expensive. I had a hard time finding a bench to sit on away from the cafes and restaurants, but I was compensated with a lovely encounter with a street sweeper which insisted on taking my bag of garbage (orange and banana peels mostly) to the next garbage bin a few meters away. He made it look like a personal humiliation if I did it myself. He smiled and asked me where I was from and was outstandingly friendly and polite at the same time. It was quite a contrast to the busy, preoccupied, trendy looking and important people in this area. I learned he was from India, labouring here and missing home and family.

Over 2 days in Beirut I walked the city East to West and then North to South and back. The dimensions of the city did not justify a bus ride.
What impressed me in Beirut though was the corniche, the seawall promenade which is wider than a street. It's a great and popular place for walking and jogging. Locals love it.
And I also enjoyed the National Museum with its small but very well labelled and displayed collection of archeological artifacts and a short but excellent documentary about the renovating and reopening of the museum after the civil war. It's great to see that during hard times people did stick to their values and protected their heritage.

Don't misunderstand me, please. Beirut is fantastic if you're into shopping, expensive shopping, excellent food, wandering from cafe to cafe and partying. The cultural scene is rich, with plays and concerts and exhibitions and interesting stuff. And Beirut has some excellent bookstores! But if partying is not your thing, and you don't have money to spend and you prefer silence and tranquility to listen to your thoughts and not fear traffic, then Beirut is not really the ideal place.

Yet I have to confess: I left the bookstores with a few more new books and it was hard, very hard to just stop exploring the shelves.

My Dream Job

2008-11-27T07:23:00.000-08:00

On a bus ride today from Beirut back to Sidon where I am based I suddenly had this vision of my dream job: a travelling clown.
I had just visited a kindergarden established by the Ghassan Kanafani Cultural Foundation in a Palestinian refugee camp in Beirut and I was extremely impressed. I kept thinking about the faces of those lovely children lit by bright innocent smiles while their imagination and creativity was giving shape to beauty in the paintings they were working on.
So, a travelling clown. I would travel around light - no camera or guidebook - armed with a small case containing the tools of my trade bringing smiles on children's faces. I would do some research in every place to find out about the poorest (community and ) school and I would give street performances. The money collected this way I would then donate to the poorest school.

As soon as I had this idea I also realized the difficulties related to it.
Firstly, I can clown around for a bit, but I do not have the skills to do it well enough to capture the children's attention and keep them entertained for a while.
Then there would be the resupplying problem. How to always make sure I have the pens and (face)paints, balloons and flowers needed for those performances.
Would I be convincing enough to have people make small donations during the performances?
"Who would sponsor the supplies?" would be another question for me to answer, a permanent issue to deal with.
And, finally, there would be the problem of financing. Who would pay me to do this job? Regardless how much or how hard I'd work I'm afraid nobody would invest in this. It is a job without future, I realize, just like ideals are never becoming real no matter how close they get (or reality gets to them :-).

Alright, I'll have to think about something else :-(

Sidon

2008-11-26T01:23:00.000-08:00

Sidon, Lebanon

It's a small city on the shore of the Mediterranean, a city that has suffered a lot during the civil war. Thanks to the local banker family the old town has been restored and welcomes you with its narrow medieval streets, the dark vaults and the old khans, palaces and superb mosques. It was my favorite place in Lebanon and I used it as a base for day trips to other places.

I indulged in sweets, I ate loads of oranges and mandarines from the citrus groves that line the shore South of the city and I explored every single street and alley. I watched the sunsets from the corniche and the Sea Castle glowing at sunrise. And I spent hours watching the fishermen mending their nets in the little picturesque harbour hosting a few dozen fishing boats.
The souq is small but genuine, catering to the locals' needs with countless small workshops where people still apply their traditional crafts and skills. Furniture workshops, sewing and shoe repair shops, coppersmiths and bakeries, all of these are small and dark spaces displaying a whole arsenal of traditional worktools and devices, some of which very shabby and worn, certainly fit for a museum afterlife. Alive and bustling during the day the souq turns dark and quiet soon after the daylight vanishes. Blackouts here are an everyday fact, but people are patient and hopeful. Small generators and candles are fallback resources.
The old town of Sidon with its souq is first of all not a touristy place and therefore amazing to explore.

The people are extremely friendly and the children numerous, loud, funny, bold and cute. My encounters were all extremely nice and friendly.

An older woman I met on the street invited me in for a coffee. I accepted and soon I was sitting in her small room, sipping coffee and having a conversation with her. Except that she was only speaking Arabic and me English. I understood this much: she did the haj (pilgrimage to Mecca) 3 times already (or maybe 3 years ago?), she has 3 sons (or maybe just the 2?), the eldest son is married, the youngest still with her (I met him, too) and she really, really, really liked me. In fact she liked me so much that she promised to pray for me to have children and she insisted on giving me a gift to remember her: a heavy glass curio her son received as a wedding gift. The congratulating sticker was still on.
Right, that's exactly what was missing in my already too heavy backpack but there was absolutely no way to convince her to refrain from making me this gift. And I, on the other hand, just felt too emotional about her gesture to dump the object somewhere afterwards. It now sits on a shelf in my mom's house. I don't think it'll make it to Canada, though :-)
When the time came to say good-bye ( I couldn't eat more figs, delicious as they were) and I asked for the address to be able to send this lovely woman a card the communication problem became acute. Hmmm, writing using the Latin alphabet. Thanks to modern technology the solution came quickly. The old lady dialed her married son's phone number. A simple phone call from Sidon to Beirut solved the issue: the man dictated name and address to me. I left thankful and grateful and quite speechless. Honestly, over the following days I tried to avoid similar situations as I was sincerely worried about accumulating too many gifts and souvenirs from Sidon.

The owner of a tiny coffeehouse happily brewed a coffee for a fellow traveler and me, when we showed up at 7am in his shop. We had met in Bcharre, Rob and I, then left together for Baalbek, stayed at the same place there and later met again here in Sidon. The following day he was leaving Lebanon and so we met for a last chat and to say good-bye. We were the only customers this early, but the place had only two tables anyway. When we wanted to pay for our coffees no negociation was possible. The man insisted we were his guests and he was honoured to have us there. And so he denied himself the little gain from his only customers so far. And as an extra he gave us a warm handshake and a broad smile when we left.

The fishermen were eager to pose for me with their fresh fish. Every morning they were going out on sea very early and returning about 2 hours after sunrise with their small catch.

The old man guarding the Great Mosque popped up next to me and opened the gate. Then he guided me inside. I was leaning against the big wrought-iron gates in the morning longing to catch a glimpse of the beautiful interior and exquisite courtyard with arched porticos. It was the second or third time I had come here and had lost any hope. There was nobody I could ask around. And just then the man came and let me in.

Inside the Khan al-Faranj, a beautiful, big and very well preserved khan built in the 17th century there was an ecological products fair and conference for a couple of days. Producers from the South of Lebanon displayed their products in the large courtyard. Olives, olive oil, hand made olive-oil based soap, honey, jams and pickled vegetable jars, herbs and spices. They were all very happy to show me and explain their products and work. A pretty girl showed me the craftworks made by her sister. She was pretty and smart and welcomed the opportunity to practice her very basic English.

Any guidebook will list the small but charming Sea Castle (built by crusaders in the 13th century), the Khan al-Faranj, the Soap Museum (very interesting!) and the Great Mosque as the main attractions in Sidon. However, the medieval core and its friendly, warm inhabitants were the absolute highlight of Sidon and urban Lebanon.

Exquisite Ruins

2008-11-22T01:23:00.000-08:00

Baalbek, Lebanon

Baalbek, Lebanon. A place known as the seat of the Hezbollah. A place that defies prejudices and misconceptions. It's a nice and friendly place in a beautiful fertile valley below the high mountain ridges. It's a small town with not much going on.
There are a few old buildings in a not so good preservation state and a small souq - neither of these attractive enough for travellers. The old mosque is superb with its arches and columns but to get inside you need a bit of luck. Most of the time the gate is locked.

However, what puts Baalbek on any traveller's map is its archeological site. And Baalbek is magnificent, like a very precious and exquisite gem. Despite its reduced size it will leave an ever lasting impression on any visitor.

In my humble opinion - and I've met others who shared this opinion - Baalbek beats Palmyra. It shows once again that bigger is not necessarily also better.

The whole site has lots of friezes and stone carving details you don't find in other places. You can easily imagine how the site must have looked like in its heyday. But the Temple of Bacchus is definitely the jewel on the crown. It is in a remarkably well preserved state with its delicate carvings and details and its huge columns still standing. And it is overwhelming as well. The sheer size of the masonry blocks sets you in awe.
Beneath the columns you feel dwarfed and powerless and you can only marvel at it and wonder how the Romans were capable of constructing at this scale. If building to last was their objective, building to show off their skills and power and glory, they certainly succeeded!

Hiking in Lebanon

2008-11-20T01:42:00.000-08:00

Quadisha Valley, Lebanon

A long deep gorge running to the West, towards the sea, from the foot of the up to 3000m high mountains, the Qadisha Valley has long acquired the deserved recognition for its beauty and history - it is a UNESCO world heritage site. From the 5th century onward the Maronites sought refuge in the valley hence the presence of countless churches, monasteries and hermitages all cut into the rock. It is a lush valley with waterfalls and small streams running down its steep walls. Small tile-roofed villages overlook the gorge from the edge of the precipitous walls. Oak trees and pines grow in the valley, but there are also apple orchards and olive groves, the latter mostly belonging to the monasteries.
In the late afternoon sun the barren mountain ridges high above the valley glow pink, a strong pink applied generously by mother nature.

It was mid-November, a time of the year when the place seems forgotten by tourists and locals, when you can almost smell the arrival of winter in the air. But the weather was still mild, the short days crisp and sunny and walking on the thick layer of fallen leaves made the lovely rustling sound associated with fall. Some of the trees still harboured yellow, red and orange leaves, small vivid flags defying the cold and the coming winter. Superb fall days.

I wandered down the main path and then on several narrow faint trails that led me to isolated hermitages, peaceful corners where only the tidiness and the pretty flower pots indicated the presence of people. In the monastery gardens the roses still had some lovely blossoms, whereas the olive trees were dotted with their tiny black fruits. Other than birds and lizards I only saw a snake, but the area certainly houses other animals, too. I enjoyed exploring the ruins and caves and the small churches and shrines.
The meadows were still green. The plants and leaves peeking through the thick rust-brown carpet of leaves pointed to the presence of flowers. A wealth of flowers. I could only imagine how fabulous this lush valley must look like in spring. I could identify daffodils and crocusses on the trails and on patches of grass.
When I almost stepped on a lonely yellow crocus I was excited and took lots of pictures. How to describe the emotion of discovering a whole meadow carpeted with yellow crocusses shortly thereafter ?
It wasn't much different with the daffodils. I had discovered a small bunch next to the trail and took lots of pictures. They were small and fragile but so impatient and eager for the sun, that they didn't wait for spring to blossom. A little further I found the largest daffodil bunch ever. Growing wild and bold, its fragrant blossoms were ignoring the cold and the time of the year with their immaculate beauty.

Those were days of peacefulness and beauty I had longed for since my hikes/treks in Jordan. Away from people and the city, from cars and traffic, roads and noise. The Quadisha Valley was a wonderful and unexpected treat!

A Mediterranean Treat

2008-11-18T03:37:00.000-08:00

Tripoli, Lebanon

I am happy I came to Lebanon after Syria. Had I been here before I would have got depressed in Syria :-) Despite the long time civil war and the related suffering and damage I discovered a country rebuilding and reshaping itself with smiling, open and optimistic people, so different from the grim, tired and depressed look of many Syrians.

I arrived in Tripoli shortly around 6:15am after almost 6 hours on the bus from Aleppo, Syria. An older gentleman helped me whenever an interpretor was needed for any visa issues and later - after passing the border into Lebanon - bought me a cup of tea. A wonderful start in Lebanon, I thought. Finding the pension to stay was easy and people on the street extremely friendly. I've been welcomed continuously and people smiled. Yes, they SMILED!!! How I missed that in Syria. People have asked me if I needed help or offered their help. I was asked where I came from, if I liked it here and I was left in peace afterwards with a wish to enjoy my stay in Lebanon.
By 8:30am I had walked across and around the old city, along the narrow alleys where little shops are lined up, through the small souq and I had met dozens of people. I bought fresh bread from a bakery where they invited me in to see and take pictures. I talked to a young man doing woodcarving in a little workshop and he showed me an album with pictures of his works. I simply had lovely encounters!

Tripoli is not the most impressive of cities, but it has a small harbour and a small souq in the old city where a few beautiful buildings survived the last centuries. It has always been a major trade point, mostly lacking a local industry. The long time war scarred the city but now it's struggling to revive. Local hand-made soap production has picked up again after the craft was almost forgotten. The new city has modern exquisite shops and malls and I even caught a woman looking at me quite disgusted. No wonder, my clothes were dirty, looking as if I had slept somewhere near a garbage dump. Funny how the night before I could walk like this into the most expensive restaurant in Aleppo and here I felt out of place on the boulevard. So I just walked on the corniche in the early afternoon enjoying the sun and the deep blue sea with its fresh breeze. Along the corniche you can see young couples strolling holding hands. What a lovely sight!

Tripoli was going to be my base for a few side trips to ancient Byblos, to the Quadisha Valley and Kahlil Gibran's place of birth.

Bizarre ... But So Delicious

2008-11-17T10:31:00.000-08:00

I've always been an "extreme" person, oscillating from one extreme to the other of the scale quite easily. In many ways nothing has changed over time. So when people called me bizarre I could very well understand why :-)

In Aleppo I stayed in the dirtiest place so far in the Middle East. The toilet, filthy and stinky, with the overflowing garbage bin - only used toilet paper :-) - not emptied in days was not quite a highlight. Not in a positive way, anyway. The place was also the cheapest I had stayed in at 175Syrian pounds per bed in the dormitory - less than 4USD. But I made sure I made up for this in other ways :-)

How do you go to a top-end restaurant dressed in your most miserable clothes? With confidence. Put on a nice smile, have your pockets prepared to pay and you can fine-dine out here.
That's at least how I did it. Wearing my not too clean trekking pants with their black ugly stitches on my bum ( but no new hole anymore!) and the black fleece I had now worn for weeks and slept in several nights in a row. Tiny down flakes were sticking to it. But who knew all this except for me and Pepe ?
It was a real treat. The mid-Eastern cuisine is fantastic but, unfortunately, you don't have a large selection on the streets. To only feed on falafel, shawarma and other street food and miss out on the truly delicious dishes would be a huge mistake. You would miss an important dimension of the mid-Eastern experience. And so I alternated cheap and expensive dinners, making the best out of both.

Cooked corn cobs and tea on the street in Hama? Awesome. An assortment of mezze in the top restaurant in Aleppo? Exquisite. Popcorn worked for dinner as well as falafel countless times. But those made the delicately spiced dishes in the fine restaurants even more outstanding.
The fine-dining experience is not just about food, though. It's the setting that makes a difference, too, as those jasmine-fragrant inner courtyards are simply lovely and the architectural details of the nicely restored buildings fabulous. There's also no rush. You can sit around and sip a coffee or smoke a waterpipe for hours. You can read or dream in between as well :-)

Rest assured I didn't go out to restaurants every other day, but over the weeks spent in Syria I've been 5 times out and indulged myself in some of the most delicious dishes I've had in the last couple of years. And if you wonder how much such an eccentricity costed I might disappoint you. It was about 10USD, at most 15USD, and then I pigged out completely. But hey, in comparison to the 50 cents popcorn dinner it was a small fortune.

You Look for Moon? I Get for You.

2008-11-16T07:58:00.000-08:00

Damascus, Syria

-Vanilla (beans)? The vendor nods his head but leads me to a neighbouring shop. Here I can get the beans.
-Do you have bulgur?
-?
- You know, the stuff that you put in tabbouleh...
-?
- You know... tabbouleh... You put tomato...
He nods.
-...parsley...
He nods.
-... lemon... and...
-Ah! His face brightens up as he gives me a broad smile.
-I know, he says and almost takes my hand to lead me to another shop. There he talks to the vendor then asks me how much I want.
Only a handful, I show him and he talks back to the vendor.
It's too small a quantity and the vendor does not want to open a bag for me, so "my friend" takes me next door where he negociates again with the salesman. This man is happy to serve me even though he has to open a bag for me.

-You look for moon? I get for you, tells me "my friend" while I'm waiting. And he smiles.

How not to fall in love if the moon is not too much to ask for?

Damascus is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. The countless mosques and minarets, fountain courtyards and bazaars, street vendors and coffeehouses all contribute to the magic of this city. You feel, you know you are in one of the most important landmarks of the Orient simply by breathing in the aroma of spices, by listening to the calls for prayers from the top of the minarets, by tasting the street food or visiting the markets and bazaars and by observing the details of the architecture.

With its warren of narrow lanes and dark vaulted passages, its old little houses with their wooden balconies sometimes leaning dangerously on one side and the aroma of spices, fresh coffee and baked bread in the air the old city of Damascus is impossible not to charm you. There are still numerous small workshops dusty and dim where old men are busy fixing an old stove or working on some marvellous inlaid furniture piece. In many small coffeehouses locals perform the ritual of smoking their waterpipes, their rosaries hanging on the arms or back of the chair meanwhile. And then the small bakeries and cake shops where you can buy delicious cakes and cookies, puffy cheese and chocolate croissants or simply the local "pizza" : flatbread with za'atar (thyme, sesame and olive oil), cheese or other spreads on top. Hot, crispy and tasty.

It wasn't love at first sight. It was rather a slow process of discovering and getting enchanted. In the end saying good-bye to Damascus was hard.

I wandered the narrow streets of the old city dozens and dozens of times. I established a ritual and enjoyed every single day there. I also found myself attracted to the Great Umayyad Mosque like filing by a magnet. A huge human magnet. Regardless where I wanted to go I invariably found myself back at the mosque or in its close vicinity.

My daily ritual started there in front of the mosque way before the shops and bazaar opened. We were a few in the square: the old man with his motorbike feeding the pigeons, the half dozen men watching this show and relaxing while sipping a tea. Then there was the old man selling tea close to the mosque gate. He would come around 6-6:30 in the morning pushing his bike which served as his tea stall. In 2 baskets installed on the bike he carried a few thermos bottles with hot water, a box with tea bags, a jar with sugar and a jar with instant coffee. He would stand there for about 2 hours selling at most 2 dozen cups of tea or coffee I figured. He was very nice.
Every morning I would first walk to my favorite baker - the one who was the first person to give me a smile on my first morning in Damascus - and buy 2 cheese croissants. Then I would walk back to the square in front of the Great Mosque and I would get a tea from the old man. Then I would sit down somewhere on the pavement and enjoy tea and croissant while watching the people and pigeons. Sometime later I would get a second tea.
In the early morning hours the square was empty and peaceful. There were few people passing on their way to other places, sometimes boys on their way to school. The area became livelier after 8am. The square was being swept and washed, the entrance to the mosque was also swept and mopped, a few cars arrived and parked in the square. The vendors were coming and preparing to open their shops in the bazaar. There were also a lot more people now coming to feed and watch the pigeons.
By 9 am the old man with the motor bike packed his stuff and left, the old man selling tea long gone by now. Soon the square was full with parked cars but also crowded with more and more people. Groups of Iranians who had arrived by bus in the morning beleaguered the square waiting for the mosque to open. Among these the number of Western tourists started to increase slowly.
The mosque opened its gates only at 10:15am. By then the square was packed with people and a fantastic place to sit and watch them. And I greatly enjoyed doing just this: watching.
For the rest of the day I would simply get lost in the old labyrinth discovering new details and angles, new corners and spots that fascinated me with their simplicity and authenticity. My obsession with contrasts and play of light and shadow grew stronger here. Whenever the muezzine's call for prayer started I had to stop and listen as if under a spell. I loved the melancholic chanting sound of it and I certainly surprised many people with the way I sometimes froze on the spot and listened. A couple of times I found myself leaning against the Great Mosque's gate and listening. I felt carried away above all the material details of the city and to a dimension of mysterious longing and yet deep inner peace. I can't explain it, and I can't also pretend I felt that everywhere. It was maybe the extraordinary combination of the very atmospheric city and the sublime voice of the muezzine.

Some more on Damascus ...

The inner courtyards of the old Damascene houses are lovely oasis of beauty and peacefulness often only a wall away from the busy bazaar. They are a treat for your senses. The delicate fragrance of jasmine is filling the air, the small center fountain with its trickling water sound is inviting you to relax and meditate. And then there are all the architectural details which delight your eyes: fabulously painted wooden ceilings, marble inlays or exquisite inlays of coloured stones around window frames and doors on top of the traditional black and white striped walls. Jasmine shrubs, orange trees and other plants contribute to this special atmosphere, and sometimes birds come into the picture as well. Finding your way to these places is worth all the effort, especially if you dare reward yourself with a fine dining experience in those courtyards and houses nowadays converted into exquisite restaurants.

The Umayyad Mosque stands on a site used for worshipping since the 9th century BC. As usual in this part of the world it started as a temple dedicated to a god (of the Arameans) then was a Byzantine basilica before the mosque was built. It is not simply a magnificent construction but the heart and soul of the city, a place of pilgrimage and exceptional religious importance. It is the most extraordinary mosque I've seen so far and far more than simply a mosque. The Great Mosque in Damascus is a social institution unlike anything I've seen before. I spent countless hours around it and many hours inside its courtyard and inside its prayer hall.
What makes this mosque so special ? It is a place full of life, a place where visitors come to admire, pilgrims come to pray and locals come to also socialize. The vast marbled courtyard is an excellent meeting and relaxing spot. Women and families sit and chat while their children play around, jumping and running across. People sit and read, or simply rest and have a nap. Some have a quick bite as if it were a picnic place. Inside the prayer hall it isn't very much different. Men lay leaning relaxed against a column and read a newspaper or a book. Some have a nap or talk on the cellphone whereas the most religious ones read from the Quran crouched on the soft carpet. I even saw men laying there with their eyes closed, whether meditating or sleeping I couldn't tell.
Behind, in the women's area the women are sitting in groups sometimes and chatting in whispering tone meanwhile their children grow more and more impatient and start running around in silence. I've seen the children munch on food there as well.

Overall the mosque is a place full of life from the moment its gates open in the morning till they close after the last prayer. It is thus much more than a place of worship: it's a refuge to seek rest and relaxation as much as social contact. It's a clear MUST for anyone travelling to the Middle East.

Aleppo

2008-11-15T04:03:00.000-08:00

Aleppo, Syria

Dominated by an impassable citadel high above the city dating from the 12th century, the modern city of Aleppo still manages to stick to some of its traditions. Trade and soap manufacturing are the ones that come to mind. The Aleppian soap made from laurel oil is supposed to be one of the highest quality soaps. The buzzing area around the old souq is clear evidence for the trading skills of the Aleppians.

Even though the glorious times of this almost 4 millenia old city is a thing of the past the souq area dealing with fabrics of all kind and everything related to those -from yarn to wool to rope and buttons - is more than impressive. And then there are the spices and the silver and gold jewelry and soap and carpets and many more. Unlike the souq in Damascus which may remind you in certain areas of a Parisian gallery, the Aleppo souq takes you back in time. It is a labyrinth of narrow lanes and passages that can easily drive you claustrophobic. Old historical buildings like khans and madrassas as well as mosques are simply embedded in this maze and often in a poorly preserved state.

The old city boasts with old mosques and khans with centuries of history behind and lovely architectural details to admire. The preserved city gates in the city walls are extremely impressive and a walk following the narrow lanes leading to the souq is sure to take you back in time. There are small workshops along, tiny bakeries and all so often "traffic" jams. It's sufficient for one of the small delivery cars to stop and you can't even squeeze by.

The Christian-Armenian quarter outside of the old walled city is also very charming with its distinct Ottoman architecture. Along the narrow cobble-stoned streets you find pretty boutiques and souvenir shops as well as some exquisite hotels and restaurants housed in lovely and wonderfully restored old mansions. You need to explore and discover as, true to the culture, the beauties and treasures are seldom open on display, but rather protected by a neutral or bland facade. Privacy is very much valued in the Islamic world: just as the black hijab protects the woman, the lovely courtyards with their relaxing fountains, with the fragrance of jasmine filling the air and often with beautifully painted wooden ceilings and inlaid stonework are hidden behind walls and invisible to the stranger passing by.

As fascinating as the Old City is around the Great Mosque I simply couldn't enjoy it at its best mainly because I let my frustration take over. There were far too many touts around and I loathed being approached every single time I stopped. But it would be totally unfair to say I didn't enjoy Aleppo as I had a great time wandering through the old city away from the main attractions and I had wonderful encounters here, too.

A young boy, Areef, sat next to me in the square in front of the citadel - where I had watched the fortress walls glow at sunset - and browsed through my Lonely Planet guidebook looking at the pictures in awe. He was turning the pages and holding the book with a reverence and respect you hardly ever see nowadays.
Several times young women stopped and asked me about my name and country and whether I enjoyed Syria.
A young woman studying in University who spoke some broken English came to me in the mosque courtyard and we chatted for a while. "I love you" she said to me as she kind of followed me around and I felt embarrassed. I knew what she meant, I had experienced it before. But how to explain to people so distant culturally that not necessarily everything they see or admire about Westerners is worth their admiration and appreciation. She liked my blue eyes and she liked my independence and my being able to travel around and see places. Yes, I could understand that, as well as the limitation in vocabulary hindering these people to explain themselves. Hence their impression and admiration always expressed in the form of something like "I love you".

I thought later about it and realized that this kind of encounters not many travellers really have. A girl or young woman like her would never approach a male independent traveller or a group, even if the group consisted of women only. And so I enjoyed the best of the gender "worlds" having both men and women approaching me throughout the Middle East. I felt happy and grateful every single time.

St. Simeon

2008-11-13T07:59:00.000-08:00

Qa'alat Samaan, Syria

Fascinating. Stunning. Awe inspiring. The ruined basilica of St. Simeon crowns a hill overlooking a countryside littered with ancient ruins. It is a marvellous site.
The son of a shepherd, St Simeon lived an extremely ascetic life in the 5th century. As he became famous and people started to come to him for blessings, thus disturbing his solitude, he became an eccentric. Eventually St. Simeon ended up living high up on a pillar out of reach. It is said that he spent almost 40 years on pillars up to 18m high from atop of which he preached. This drew many more pilgrims and further contributed to the saint's fame. After his death a huge basilica was erected around his pillar, and four more churches around this one to house the pilgrims. The complex is said to have been the largest church in the world at that time - 490 AD. With the arrival of Islam in Syria the church was fortified and eventually lost its role as a place of worship in 1017 AD.
Today the Romanesque facade sets you in awe at first sight. There's not much left of the walls, but the arches and columns and the stone carvings are still stunning. There are only birds to disturb you, if any. And the tranquility of the place is sure to enchant you. As usual I spent several hours taking in every detail and pitying the groups of tourists which came and went in their allocated - much too short - timeslot.

Pretty Maaloula

2008-11-13T07:56:00.001-08:00

Maaloula, Syria

I liked the sound of the name even before I set eye on Maaloula.

With its traditional houses at the foot of some very steep cliffs and the attraction of its monasteries the small but beautiful village is a lovely place to spend a peaceful day. It is one of the few places where Aramaic, the language of Jesus, is still spoken.

It is said that, while being chased by soldiers to be executed for her faith, St. Thekla - a pupil of St Paul - she was cornered against the rock wall and asked God for help. Suddenly a cleft in the rock opened up in front of her and she could flee to safety. The narrow canyon cut by the waters draining from the plateau above is small but quite spectacular, like a miniature version of Petra's Siq. The Monastery of St. Thekla is built around the shrine of St. Thekla at the beginning of the canyon.
A walk through the canyon and then on the plateau above leads you to another holy place: the Monastery of St. Sergios with parts dating from the 4th century. Inside the small Byzantine church with its round altar is extremely beautiful in its simplicity. The few century old ikons inside are themselves outstanding and precious. It is one of the most beautiful churches I've ever been to.

It was probably a combination of factors - a beautiful bright day, my feeling better after a bad cold, people smiling back at me, the aroma of fresh baked bread, the beauty of the natural setting and the simplicity of the small church - I simply took my time enjoying the feeling of joy and peace stirred by this place. For hours I wandered around and hiked up on a hill above the village offering great views.

In the end I wandered through the little village getting lost in the maze of passages and lanes. Some children stopped and asked me for pictures a couple of times. Once the shutter clicked and I showed them the picture they thanked me and said good-bye smiling. Warm smiling encounters, I had missed them for a while now and so I was happy and most positively impressed.

Waterwheels and Smiles

2008-11-07T08:00:00.000-08:00

Hama, Syria

Hama may be a small city without much attractions to offer to the traveller, but what it lacks in sights it definitely makes up for in friendliness and prettiness.
In Hama I had dozens of people smiling and welcoming me.
The carpenter and the barber invited me for tea. The tea vendor in the small central park shared his oranges with me and offered me half of his brioche. Just like that, out of friendliness. How to resist ?

Hama has suffered in the more recent history, important parts of its old town being destroyed. What's left though is nicely restored and pretty. The Azem Palace, an Ottoman residential building (18th century) that has been lovingly restored and now houses the Traditional Museum, is a true gem. Absolutely wonderful!

And then there's the main attraction, which is indissolubly linked to Hama and always comes to mind when you mention Hama: the waterwheels. Up to 20m in diameter they have been attested since the 5th century. The ones still to be found today date from the 13th century. Since the land around the Orontes river is considerably higher than the river these huge wooden wheels have been used to scoop water from the river and irrigate the nearby fields and gardens. Small sections of the aqueduct are still in place today.

The wheels are fascinating, their slow movement accompanied by a continuous screeching and groaning. You could sit there for hours and watch them turn splashing water around or barely moving at times. It is a hypnotising show and a lovely somewhat sad sound you can get used to and love. I certainly fell in love with Hama.

History at Home

2008-11-06T22:46:00.000-08:00

Bosra, Syria

In the South of Syria, very close to the border with Jordan there's a town that literally lives amidst, from and within the ruins of its predecessors.
The Romans have built here a city around 2 millenia ago from black basalt rock. True to the Roman lifestyle the city had not just a market and streets, dwellings and temples but also a Roman bath and a theatre along with many churches and a cathedral. Entertainment and culture were important to the Romans.
Bosra was once the capital of the Province of Arabia and garrison for a Roman legion. But history has put its deep merciless mark on it, wiping out most of its former glory.

Of all the above the Roman amphitheatre has fared best along the centuries as it got fortified and enclosed by an Arab fortress. It thus became a citadel in the 12th century. It is an impressive sight.

The remains of the Roman city lie scattered on a wide area, embedded in the town. People have inhabited them, have reused the blocks of masonry to build their own homes and mosques and it's extremely interesting to walk around. It's not uncommon to see goats or a cow exiting a dwelling built of the black basalt blocks.
The small gardens behind the stone walls are filled with the fragrance of jasmin. Young children are playing on the narrow slab paved lanes. There are lots of pretty picturesque details to notice and to counterweigh the fate of other spots and corners converted, sadly, into garbage dumps and piles of rubbish.

Extremely beautiful is also the Mosque of Omar built in the 12th century amidst the Roman ruins, opposite the Roman bath.

The children walk to school on the colonnaded Roman main street. On the way back the boys are in no rush to get home and enjoy jumping on the ruined walls. Life goes on. Fearing the ghosts of the past is not the recipe for survival and so the people have adjusted.

There are capitels and blocks of friezes lying around half buried in the soil. Scattered columns rise lonesome farther from the best preserved ruins. There are lots of bits and pieces that you could play with in this oversize puzzle.

It's a fascinating place altogether.

Treasures and Inheritors

2008-11-05T22:31:00.000-08:00

Palmyra, Syria

Palmyra is magnificent. To sit on the nearby hilltop at sunset overlooking the site is a rare treat. The stunning columns and arches turning golden, the temples bathed in the late afternoon glow - it's something you won't forget soon. It's a place to wander around and let your fantasy work feverishly to imagine the streets full of life as they once had been: the beautiful buildings, the superb temples, the pulse of a thriving city at a major crossroad.

The desert here is extremely inhospitable though. The wind in the early morning was terrible, so fierce like I've never experienced before. I was wearing 2 fleece jackets over my T-shirt and a scarf over my head. My hands were frozen, my feet in sandals were not very happy either but fortunately I had socks on. The next morning I had my tuke and gloves on and it felt slightly better :-)

True to my nomadic style I picnic-ed among the ruins. I had left the hotel very early to not miss the sunrise - before 6am - and had taken with me water and food for the day. After the sun rose high enough and the light became harsher I looked for a sheltered spot and had breakfast: in a corner of the Agora.

I also ventured into and wandered in the nearby oasis for a while enjoying the breeze and peacefulness. The oasis consisted of large olive groves surrounded by low mud walls and irrigated through a net of small channels. There were also big palms and pomegranate trees, but mostly there were old olive trees. there were plenty of birds around. Narrow lanes were crossing the area and once in a while bedouins were passing on their motorbikes responding to my "Salaam!" and looking at me surprised. Of course no tourist ever wanders off here. You could get lost or easily disoriented. You could get scared. I was just charmed.
After being exposed for more than 2 hours to the fiercest coldest desert wind I have experienced so far this was heaven. I greatly enjoyed it.

However, I blacklisted Palmyra.

Did you ever think that people were not worth what they got/inherited? The thought, I have to admit, had crossed my mind a few times while travelling, but it was only in Palmyra that I simply could not push this thought back. I guess I got traumatized there. In the weirdest way.

I arrived in Palmyra in the late afternoon. Actually, it was close to dusk when the bus dropped me on the roadside. I could distinguish the ruins in the distance to the right. That helped me identify my location and I started walking towards town. As soon as I reached the first houses children started to come running to and after me screaming "hello" and asking for various things. It was getting dark quickly and by the time I walked on the streets toward the hotel it was already dark. Kids started to follow me pulling at my pack and asking for money, biscuits, candies, etc. Then there were more and not necessarily friendly. They laughed at me and tried pinching my bum. It was the first time this happened. Eventually I had to yell "Halas!" at them (ie "Enough!") and someone came out and told them to stop. Then they threw stones after me.
I reached the cheap dark hotel and got a room fairly easily afterwards. After a shower I sat in my room thinking what I did wrong, why the incident on the street. Eventually, I had to go out, it was still only about 6pm and I was hungry. On the well-lit, souvernir-shop lined tourist strip there were a few places to eat. And I stopped there and had the worst food so far since I set foot in the Middle East. What they served as mensaf had absolutely noresemblance to the genuine bedouin mensaf I had in Wadi Rum. It was terrible, but served on plates with proper cutlery with more fuss than necessary and for an indecent price, Oh, well. I had to get caught in a tourist trap at some point.

After dinner I decided to venture into the town streets looking for the little shops and the felafel stalls busy with locals. That would have been the best spot to get some decent local food. And I nice spot to interfere with any locals. For the second time that day I had a bad experience with children throwing rotten fruit at me in a side street. The local people just looked and didn't say anything. I was extremely upset and went straight to my hotel room. Little did it matter at that point that the man in the bakery had been very friendly and smiled at me. Fortunately, I had managed to buy some bananas and oranges, fresh bread and some cheese from the local shops. I certainly wasn't going to go back to any restaurant in Palmyra.

The next evening I had dinner in my room - a tuna can I had carried from somewhere in Jordan and some flat bread. I simply did not feel like going back on the streets. A pity.

There was something else that pissed me off here, maybe even more than the incident with the kids. You're standing in front of the Monumental Arch, the sun rising behind you. The arch and the collonnaded street ahead are glowing marvellously and your eyes are led ahead through the arch, the columns and over to the hill on the horizon where this terrible eyesore stands: a huge communication tower. Of all possible places the Syrians have decided to build that right there, perfectly aligned with the ruins. I felt it like another, much greater insult.

Putting any potential trauma aside, Palmyra was awesome. I walked around the site from sunrise till dusk, taking pictures and looking at things from all possible angles. The size of the area is also overwhelming. There are things to be seen still some kilometers away. Overlooking all this is a huge fortress perched on a hilltop which offers some of the best views at sunset. It also makes for a very nice and interesting backdrop to many pictures in Palmyra.

Just Get Me Mad ...

2008-11-04T20:35:00.000-08:00

... and I'll cross any landborder on foot!

I entered Syria on foot.

There are certain things I don't like to take too easy. I tried to get the Syrian visa in Cairo unsuccessfully, then everybody I met along the way coming overland through Syria told me they had no problem getting their visa at the border. Different staff people at the hotel in Amman told me the same. I felt relieved. And so I got on a shared car from Amman to Damascus. A not too expensive luxury - around 15 USD - but regarded as faster and more convenient than a normal bus which costs about 10USD. That went so smooth - maybe it was my lucky day, I thought :-)

The people I shared the ride with were Jordanians and Syrians. They went through the formalities at the border in no-time. I was told by the grumpy officer I could not get a visa. I insisted. I stayed. I got my big backpack out of the car trunk when the driver put pressure on me. He was eager to get to Damascus and then return to Amman. There was no point in further arguing with him. Damn!
Maybe it wasn't my lucky day, I thought this time ...

Sure enough about 1 hour later and 56USD less I got a visa with no other comment or trouble. I just sat on a chair and waited patiently. But now I had no means of transportation. I hauled my big pack on my back and the small one on my chest and walked into Syria. I was very angry.

A couple hundred meters further a car offered to give me a ride to Damascus for 5USD. At least that's what the negociated price looked like to me after the guy repeatedly showed me one hand and every time I repeated "5 dollars, right?" he just nodded. Hmmm, maybe it was my lucky day I thought again...

Fortunately, some authority stopped us within another couple hundred meters and looked at my passport, talked to the guy and asked me where I was going to and how much I was going to pay. I told him my story only to find out that I had negociated my fare for 50 dollars. "Fifty dollars?!!!" I jumped out of the car outraged, opened the trunk and pulled out my pack. "No way 50 dollars! This is ridiculous! Damn I had already paid my way to Damascus. 50 dollars!!!" I was in rage. A few more guys - drivers of waiting around cars and taxis - gathered around us driven by curiosity. "You know what, I'll walk to Damascus!!!" I put on my packs and started walking away still in rage. The men just stood there with gaping mouths looking at me walk away.
This clearly wasn't my lucky day!

It took me a couple hundred meters more till the image of those men reached my brain consciously and I started to laugh by myself. I was still laughing out loud when a while later I saw the big sign: Damascus 108km. Damn! My first thought was: "My sandals won't hold all the way." But I had no choice by now. I kept walking. Then it occured to me that the sign also said Dara'a 14 km and it dawned upon me... Yes, Dara'a was the border town where I could get on a bus to Damascus. Well, I hopefully could walk all the way to there at least.

After meeting with a herd of sheep on the highway which blissfully ignored me (including the 2 shepherds busy to keep their animals off the lanes) a motorcycle stopped on the roadside ahead of me. The guys waited for me curious to find out where I was heading to. So when I reached them they asked their question and I just said "Damascus" with a grin on my face. I can't really describe the expression on their faces but they took off speechless and I started laughing again.

I had walked for about 2 kilometers. It was hot and I was shrinking under the weight of my pack in the scorching sun when a car stopped right before entering the highway and waited for me. The young guy told me to get in the car. "How much?" I asked. "No money" he replied. Hmmm, I got into the car. Maybe I was lucky in the end.

The car was fairly new and very clean. The guy was young and chubby with a soft look. His English was reduced to only very few words so he started to tell me stories in Arabic. I was sitting comfortably by now thinking how many turns of luck today and that it might still be my lucky day when I suddenly picked up the word "sex". I pretended not to understand, even when he repeated the phrase. I just shrugged my shoulders. After a short break he picked up the topic again this time pointing to the different body parts. I couldn't play stupid anymore so I turned to him angry and offended. "No way." I replied calmly and firmly. "You stop the car right here and I get off." I accompanied my words with clear firm gestures. He tried again "Kissing?" "You stop right here and I get off." My smile had vanished and my expression was - I presume - offended and grim. He blushed and started to apologize.

For the next 10km or so to the bus station in Dera'a he kept saying "I'm sorry, too" and asking, begging me to smile again. He was really sorry and feeling miserable and I actually felt sorry for him after a while. I could have released him from his misery with a smile or a friendly gesture, but I decided to have him learn this lesson and so played the offended woman role to the end. He dropped me off at the bus station without taking any money and saying "I'm sorry, too" for good-bye. I can't stop smiling even now thinking of his repeated "I'm sorry, too"s. 'Cause I wasn't :-)

I got on a minibus to Damascus thinking that maybe it was my lucky day in spite of all trouble ...

I had no Syrian money. I showed the driver before boarding that I had a 5JD note, a lot more than the fare and he seemed ok with that. But then on the bus there were 2 men sitting behind me who were very nice and helpful. The younger one - in his fifties - spoke some English and helped interpret. They ended up exchanging my 5dinars for Syrian money and I think they paid my fare, too, because they didn't let me pay. When they got off at the train station in Damascus - they were going home to Aleppo - and I said good-bye and thanked them, the younger man said "I am from Palestine". And I was left to think whether the nice people I will meet in Syria will be native Syrians or from elsewhere :-)

I was in Damascus but where exactly was impossible to find out. I asked for a reference and got some vague answer, therefore I started walking following my gut feeling. I have nothing against getting on a cab but I hate being ripped off. Therefore most of the time I preferred walking. Well, after quite a while I tried getting directions again but unsuccessfully. The people just stopped a taxi for me and I got on. When we reached the center area where I could identify streets and places based on the map I had studied in depth I asked the driver to drop me off. He had no clue where the small hotel was and also could not understand the street name. There was no point in having him drive me around clueless. I felt quite frustrated. It wasn't my lucky day...

I know for sure that whenever I am angry or frustrated or pissed off I make errors. Especially when it comes to paying attention to some details. This time I went in the wrong direction, then returned, then went back and when I asked some locals for directions I only got completely confused. They sent me off in the wrong direction, worse than expected. My gut feeling was telling me that it was wrong but I tried to follow my confused brain. And all this time I was about 5-10 minutes walk away from the place. About an hour later I had no choice but to get on a second taxi. It was getting dark, I was feeling exhausted and nobody had been helpful.

This time the taxi driver managed to get me to the right place within 2 minutes. He also charged me 5 times more for this short ride than the other one had for the 20 minutes ride. Part of the fun in Syria, especially if you don't feel like haggling.

At the hotel the staff was not just un-welcoming, but I'd even say rude. Blaah, what a disappointing start in Syria :-(

The prices given in Lonely Planet - terribly outdated - were by now double, triple or more in most places. Therefore, I ended up on the rooftop here in Damascus, which I actually didn't mind.

After a shower I went for a short scouting tour in the area. It was dark but the busy city center was close by with its high-end expensive area, banks, nice shops and restaurants. I could not get any ATM to work and I was hungry. All I had left were 200 Syrian pounds (approx. 4USD) and I was happy to find a small local place nearby the hotel where I could eat a sandwich and drink a tea for 100pounds.

When I slipped into my sleeping bag that night I could not help but think that, in the end, it had been a lucky day. Everything worked out well with all the twists and turns. So why complain: it was my lucky day!

News from Damascus

2008-11-04T08:56:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am currently in Damascus, Syria. But internet is much too expensive and so I simply popped in briefly to post the stuff that was almost complete since Amman. I'm behind with emails, I won't be able to upload pictures but I'm well on my way to see other wonderful sites.
I have postcards from Petra for everybody, but I did not post them - postage was much too expensive. It seems that the closer I get to Europe the more expensive things become. To be honest I'm thinking that I got spoiled in Jordan. I miss those people and the freedom to hike and trek. Details some other time. Thinking of you all.
Mel, I thought of you a lot in Madaba where they try to revive the skill/art of mosaics in a special school. Unfortunately, I've only seen copies of or works imitating the antique stuff, no breath or breeze :-) of creativity there. And I thought of your lovely unique mosaics. Skill is not everything, definitely!

I'm off now, next time I'll just focus on emails!

Amman

2008-10-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

It is said that Amman, like Rome, was built on 7 hills. That was back in its heyday when the city was still called Philadelphia and it was part of the Roman empire. Today the city stretches over more than 20 hills. It's huge, huge, huge...

I arrived in Amman by mistake... Well, I was on my way from Karak to Madaba and had asked the driver to drop me off at a junction from where I could hop on the right bus. The driver forgot about me and so I arrived in Amman earlier than planned.

After the initial frustration I relaxed on my way to the hotel. And after a nice warm shower I was downright delighted. A nice warm shower!!! But I wasn't prepared for a big city. I did not want noise and pollution and longed for a quiet spot to sit and read. And so I was happy to find my way easily to Darat-al-Funun, a beautifully restored old house transformed into an art gallery and complex promoting Mid-Eastern contemporary art with an absolutely lovely garden and some nice views. A charming place! In the courtyard the remains of a Byzantine church add to its charm, as do the beautiful flowers. I spent a couple of hours here visiting the exhibition and then in the garden. But as I was sitting there and pondering over various things I realized that this was cowardish; I was running away from the reality of this metropolis. And so I got up and plunged into the bustling, busy streets below - a permanent open air bazaar.

If you're looking for historical evidence, architecture and such things Amman is not the place to go. In spite of the citadel, the Roman theatre and a few other ruins, Amman cannot compare to a city like Cairo or Damascus which breathe history in and out. Amman is westernized and full of contradictions at the same time.

The citadel with its Roman and Umayyad ruins offers panoramic views over the nearby hills conquered by the spreading city. The theatre is well preserved and still used for performances in summer. In between these two lies the area called downtown, which happens to be also the old city.

The downtown area is the liveliest in town. Traffic here is a nightmare. Each street and alley is jam-packed with people and there are more stores and stalls crammed there than you can imagine. Robes and scarves and shirts and other clothes hang over the shop entrances. Piles of socks, piles of underwear, piles of perfume boxes - all these you can find in little stalls on the sidewalk. Then there are the stores selling fabrics, the ones selling water pipes and accessories for the pipes, and even the rare ones selling mosque tower tops. My favorite shops are the ones selling spices and the ones selling all sorts of nuts and sweets. The latter ones drive me nuts :-), although I don't like most flavours.
The fruit and vegetable market is small and so busy that it's difficult to navigate through it. And not far from it is the gold souq, with dozens of stores offering gold in all qualities. Hundreds of rings and chains and bracelets are "glitzing" in the windows. There is little modesty there in either shape, size or design.
The perfume shops remind you of a pharmacy with their dozens of bottles of essences nicely labelled and aligned on the shelves. It is not uncommon to see the vendor spraying a man with perfume from head to toe. Then I just run quickly. I once got sprayed in the bus by the driver - it was a very nice and friendly gesture - but I could barely breathe afterwards, not to mention that I couldn't stand the much too strong scent :-)

Well, picture all the above and then add the sounds to it: cars honking, people shouting, music beating. You're in downtown Amman. Unfortunately, you're more likely to listen to "ancient" "Modern Talking" than traditional oud music.

And then, move away from this area and enter the cool streets going uphill towards the First Circle. It's another world with cool bookstores and coffee shops. Air-conditioned places, interior design shops, espresso coffee machines and what not. Mega Malls and super malls, expensive fancy French and Italian restaurants are at home here and in the other posh areas. And decadent "Gerard's", which was a personal disappointment. My mistake, agreed, as I just followed the Lonely Planet description. But the place was so septic (and cool) that I thought I landed on another continent as any local flavour was missing altogether. Hmmm, how I missed the delicious ice-cream from Cairo...

Full of contradiction Amman is, but people live here and live in harmony. The fresh juice at the Palestinian fruit juice stand is yummy. The Syrian sells nuts and nougats and tells me about the beauty of his native country he misses. The Egyptians seem to have taken every waiter job in town. It's only Iraqis I did not encounter, or encounter consciously, which have immigrated here in the hundreds of thousands, fleeing the war at home and the chaos. It is also said that those are mostly highly educated people and then it's no wonder I did not encounter them or, if I did, I was not aware of their identity.

I ended my stay in Amman and Jordan in style. Sipping a sweet Turkish coffee and smoking a water pipe on a patio overlooking the busy traffic I watched the people and activity on the street below while thinking about life and people in general. (Never mind my frozen feet in sandals and no socks. At least I had my warm polartec zipped up completely. It is getting colder and soon I'll have to wear socks and then switch to boots.)

A beautiful girl in a pink overcoat kept coming by and peering at me shyly. I smiled at her at first. Then I invited her to sit at my table. Next I asked about her name and introduced myself. Then she pulled her brother out to see me and he introduced him to me: a very handsome teenager (maybe 17) with dark almond shaped eyes and very long eyelashes. I think I have a terrible weakness for beautiful eyes. Not to mention that I love children of all ages. And next I was invited to join the family at their table inside. Beautiful Gharan is 9 years old and doesn't speak much English. Her family was happy to meet me and they instantly invited me to their home. They were going to cook for me a traditional dish right that night. They were all very beautiful, the three children and their mother who looked so young, I really thought she was Gharan's sister. Next time I come to Jordan I have to call them and stay with them. Insha'Allah.

I left the nice cafe smiling and with a wonderful feeling. Jordan has been most hospitable and warm-hearted.

Romans, Ruins Everywhere

2008-10-30T13:49:00.000-07:00

Jordan

There are lots of places with evidence of the Roman and Byzantine periods. They seem to be more frequent than the Islamic or Umayyad artefacts, actually. At least in Jordan.

From the many such places two stand out in particular, Jerash with its well preserved Roman city and Madaba with its amazing mosaics.

Jerash
I visited Jerash on a day trip from Amman. Stressed by the presence of tourist groups I started out early and then tried to stay ahead of or behind the crowds. The weather didn't seem to cooperate at first, as there were dark clouds gathering and the sun barely twinkling from time to time, but things worked out well. The clouds were actually perfect as they added the dramatic effect to my pictures. And Jerash was absolutely lovely.

There are collonnaded streets, columns and capitels all over. There's an amazing unique oval plaza bordered by an array of columns welcoming you after you passed through the huge Roman entrance gates. The remains of Byzantine churches delight you with some beautiful mosaics. Then there's the fantastic Temple of Artemis, dominating over the whole area. Truly stunning!
And the two amphitheatres which have undergone restauration are in wonderful shape and inviting you to sit and rest and think about past and present. There's even a hippodrome where chariot race shows are running daily for the tourists.

You can walk around and explore things on your own as there are hundreds of stones and pieces of columns and capitels lying around. There's room to explore and plenty of room to find a shady spot and rest away from the crowds. I enjoyed Jerash immensely.

Madaba
The town of Madaba is the biggest Christian community in Jordan. It is also a place mentioned several times in the New Testament. There are lots of churches here, some very very old. Apparently any kind of digging reveals new artefacts and treasures. Among the latter there are some stunning mosaics, the most famous being the mosaic map of the Middle East in the St. George church. Though incomplete, it presents a fairly accurate map of the area with Jerusalem extremely detailed and beautifully represented by a cluster of buildings. The Nile Delta and Mt Sinai, the Jordan River and Dead Sea and many other places are also represented.
The other mosaics are equally beautiful scattered around town.

Umm-Ar-Rasas
The place is listed as a heritage site by Unesco. It houses not only the ruins of an entire Roman town, but also a unique and stunning mosaic, a great work of art and of great historical value with its depictions of several cities.
I arrived there early in the morning with the 7 am bus which actually brings the teachers from Madaba to the village. The ruins, like a dump of rubble, are surrounded by a fence, but there's no sign anywhere to be seen. After escaping from the furiously barking dogs I walked around the other way and found the entrance.

Obviously the site is about to become a facelift, the visitor's centre being brand new and not yet functional. Therefore, I headed to the ruins freely and was in for a huge surprise. The place looked as if an earthquake had levelled down everything except for a few arches which were sticking out from the ground or from under the rubble. It was simply incredible.
I could walk around and explore and that gave me a very strange yet satisfying feeling. I was excited to discover details, carvings, arches at almost every step as I was walking over and around the stones. Basically every stone was a building stone. I was stepping over and on history, so to speak. It was unbelievable. And I had the place all to myself for more than 2 hours.
Eventually I made my way to the big shelter covering the precious mosaic only to discover that there was no mosaic. A couple of workers were busy nearby and there were clear signs of work in progress in the area. The floor of the church was covered with sand and I knew what that meant. The mosaics were there, not gone, but they were covered for protection.

However, it was my lucky day! Groups started to show up - it was past 10am by now! - and an Italian lady with her guide/driver. The latter knew better and had asked for permission to show the lady the mosaics. Hence, armed with a piece of cardboard he descended from the ramp onto the basilica's floor and started scraping away the sand and revealing the mosaics beneath. Unbelievable!
It was unbelievable in every sense. First, the mosaics beneath were so beautiful. Then, to get the permission to simply step down there and show them to someone, where else would that be possible? And last but not least the group of tourists who simply started asking for more, then descended (some of them) and started walking over the mosaics to take pictures as if they were their bathroom tiles or something.
At least before leaving the mosaics were covered again. And I have to admit that I took some pictures, too. But I could not step on the uncovered mosaic. It felt like a sacrilege to me.
Roberta, the Italian lady, had mercy with me and did not leave me there on the roadside waiting for the bus. It would have taken me a few hours :-) She is a seasoned traveller and we ended up spending the afternoon together hitchhiking to Mukawir and then back to Madaba. The views of the Dead Sea from the hilltop where Herod's Castle once stood were not the best that day as a storm was brewing up and the sky was dark and visibilty was poor. There's still stuff left to see next time ...

The Desert Castles

2008-10-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

Jordan

Imagine yourself, an Oriental merchant leading caravans from the Far East to magnificent cities like Damascus or Petra or Cairo.
You are driving your caravan through this barren desolate desert, a vast flat expanse of hard soil covered by black stones. There's nothing out there. You are only a few days away from Petra, your present destination, but you're also close to exhaustion.You've been travelling for days now with your animals packed with spices and silk, but your provisions have almost come to an end. You faced strong winds and the merciless scorching heat day after day. You're tired, thirsty, longing for a rest.

In the distance you notice a spot that is the shelter you've been yearning for. There's water, food and shade - that's what your mind likes to think there is. Of course, you know it's just a mirage. The heat and the state of exhaustion you're in are playing tricks on you.
The farther you walk, the deeper your state of exhaustion, the greater your thirst - the bigger the mirage.

And then, suddenly, you find yourself in front of it, the mirage turned to reality, the caravanserai Quasr Kharana.

In the middle of nowhere the square stone building welcomes you, traveller! Nowadays there's nothing there to long for, as the only travellers stopping are tourists. A guardian welcomes you and maybe - for a small tip - lets you climb up the roof for better views of the desert.

I imagined Quasr Kharana as the medieval equivalent of a Sheraton Hotel in the desert. It's as unbelievable as it sounds, extremely hard to imagine. The structure is almost perfectly symmetrical, with stables on the ground floor and many rooms on the upper floor. There are beautiful arched doorways and some specific medallions on the walls. And that's it.

There's more to imagine, though. If you are a member of the "medieval-day" jet-set you can get on a camel or horse and visit a few kilometers away the lovely Roman baths. Those are not for just anybody, but only for the all males partying crowd. The beautiful colourful frescoes depicting hunting scenes but also naked women (naked women in an Arab culture!) are definitely meant for the eyes of the young and rich.
If you're looking for this place, it's called Quasayr Amra and it's listed as a UNESCO world heritage site. It is truly special and beautiful.

The day trip to the so-called Desert Castles East of Amman takes you to a few places, some more remarcable than others. These two were the highlights for me.

Misbehaving

2008-10-27T10:39:00.000-07:00

Dana Nature Reserve, Jordan

It is on the UNESCO world heritage list, the nature reserve at Dana. Perched high on a hilltop the small village of Dana with its traditional stone houses overlooks the beautiful gorge. The reserve is natural habitat for some rare and endangered animals and as such a lot of things are regulated. You can hire guides and do some hikes, but you can't camp inside the reserve. There are 2 campgrounds in the area, or so does the book say...

Upon closer look you notice that those stone houses are all in ruin, except for the two converted into hotels and the other two which are small shops. It's a pity. Maybe some investors will discover the opportunities there. With some international financial help a project was created to help build a crafts centre for local women, an eco lodge and to create the terraced gardens. It's amazing what a little bit of water can do. The water captured from a local spring channeled through narrow ditches waters the orchards on the hillside. There are lots of olive and pomegranate trees and a few other trees. The tall poplars are clearly identifiable from the distance. Although these gardens do not cover a huge area they house many birds. It's wonderful to sit there in a peaceful spot in the shade and watch or listen to the birds overlooking the gorge. I did that for hours.

Given the mountainous terrain and the beautiful gorge I wanted to go on a trek described in my book as outstanding. But doing that turned out to be more difficult to organize. Or maybe I just gave up too soon. Anyway, I joined some people on a guided hike from a village South of Dana down to Feinan.

The hike was really nice, it followed a little stream down its canyon from limestone through sandstone and then basalt. That means that both colours and features changed along the way. Indeed, what started as a white easily to be walked canyon with small white walls turned next into a narrow canyon with high vertical walls and then ended in a vast desert surrounded by basalt mountains.
What made this place interesting for me was the vegetation. Again it showed what a little bit of water can do. From the beginning in the river bed of the tiny shallow stream there were hundreds of oleanders sprouting out of the stony soil. Then there were spots where the water was dripping down the rock wall and the little pools beneath were surrounded by more greenery than expected. When the stream disappeared somewhere along the narrow canyon the vegetation did, too only to reappear as soon as the stream reappeared, too. And this was spectacular because suddenly the vertical walls were decorated with hanging green plants (they looked like some sort of ferns, but little do I know about it) clinging on to the wet rock. It looked surreal. Then, in an opening like a green plaza along the shady narrow road which the canyon was, we found ourselves in an oasis. Dozens of palm trees, more oleanders and some deep pools were surrounding us in this spot delimited by steep cliffs.

It was also interesting to notice the evolution of the little stream, since we ended up wading through it, hopping across it hundreds of times, jumping over pools and little waterfalls. We also saw a few fairly big crabs along the way. Towards the end the water was captured in big pipes to be used for farming. In the end this is desert country and water very precious.
What I did not like about this hike was the pace. It was much too fast for me and it did not allow me to explore any spot or hang around for pictures. Oh, well.

At the end of the hike in Feinan we split up. Everybody else was going to Petra, I wanted to return to Dana. I carried sleeping bag and my magic carpet with me but was thinking about spending the night at the campground there. Well, bad news! The eco lodge was built on the campground site. There was no camping or rooftop sleeping possible and an economy room costed 43JD, that's about 60USD.
"Forget it", I said to the staff."Rather than pay I will run back up to Dana."

And so, although it was close to 4pm and I felt tired after the 15km and 6+ hours walk in my much too tight boots (with more weight on my back than the others, of course), I started going up the Dana valley. For the first few kilometers I encountered numerous bedouin tents and bedouins. They were herding goats and most invited me for tea. But I did not stop, thinking about making it back to the village that evening. Although, I have to admit that there was also this other thought, about spending the night in the beautiful peaceful surroundings away from people. I guess I'm turning wilder and wilder :-)

After about 2 hours of hiking at a good pace I could see the village in the distance on the hilltop. There was still a long way ahead. I had left all the bedouin tents behind and figured that it was time to stop. My feet were hurting, I felt tired, nobody was going to come by now since it was going to get dark soon.
The sun was close to setting and the light beautiful. I had followed mostly the river bed rather than walk on the dusty trail but now I had climbed to a higher spot close to the trail from where I could see all the surrounding area well. The big towers, the deep precipices and the ridges were all glowing orange-red. This was a very beautiful and wild place. I found a rocky area with caves and cavities and some flat slabs. That was it: I could sleep on a nice even hard surface away from the dust. I took pictures at sunset and had a much improved dinner: a tuna can with flat bread and some sweet stuff afterwards. By 8:30pm or so I was sound asleep under a beautiful starlit sky.

Yes, I did break the rules! And yes, I did enjoy doing that! I'm not a rule breaker, actually rather afraid of going against rules, but this kind of stuff I'd do anytime! In the end, when I left, there was not even a trace of my sleeping over.

In the morning the sky was gray and heavy with clouds. Oops, I was hoping it wasn't going to rain. I packed my stuff and left. About 2 hours later I reached Dana after a steep and boring uphill. It was windy and chilly and the visibility very poor. Actually, I could not see the village in the clouds for quite a while. And, to be honest, I kept thinking of Fish River Canyon and other places which had a much bigger appeal. Yes, this valley was beautiful, but far from the exciting spectacular I had experienced previously in Jordan and elsewhere.

It did not rain that day but the sky never cleared properly. I spent hours in the terraced gardens, did laundry and discovered some yellow tulip shaped flowers growing out of the hard dusty soil. No leaves, nothing, just the big bright flowers. They resembled giant crocusses but, of course, nobody could confirm that.

A nice peaceful spot Dana is and definitely a great hiking and scrambling area. But I'd go off the beaten track rather than follow the boring straightforward trail through the valley. And then, I'm sure, the spectacular would reveal itself.

A Night at the Theatre

2008-10-24T10:36:00.001-07:00

Around Petra

Look, it may seem that I totally lack any standards, but let me tell you that I do have! I can sleep on concrete, marble, hardwood, tiled and pretty much any floor, on rocks, on slabs, on sand. I can sleep sitting on a chair or two, under a bed or a table, in public transport of all kind and pretty much anywhere. I can sleep on uneven or sloped terrain and even with rocks sticking out. But I hate, I absolutely hate sleeping in the dust.
And there's a lot of dust in and around Petra.

When I came to Jordan I never thought for a moment about spending time in a theatre. But here I was on my first "night out" - sitting on the ruins of the Roman theatre in the Sabra valley where I set camp on a wide enough ledge, a former row of seats. I just couldn't find any other spot away from the dust.

A whole night in the Roman theatre, never did I even dream about this! Yet here I was and I was talking loudly to Pepe trying to explain to him how lucky we were, how unique and fortunate under this marvellous sky after a gorgeous day in these superb surroundings. We had worked hard for it and sweated big time, but the reward was beyond any expectation.

I had studied my book well and decided to do a trek around Petra. I didn't bother anymore to find a guide. The trek was 33km long, doable in either a very long day or 2 days otherwise - according to the book. Considering that I was going to have to carry plenty of water I figured that most likely it was going to take me 3 days or more, depending on how much I liked it and was going to wander around.
Starting from a village 12km away from Wadi Musa, the trail was going down a canyon said to be more impressive than Petra's Siq (according to the book), then continue up through the connecting Wadi Sabra to the ruins of a Roman village. From there a steep climb was following up Wadi Betahi in order to eventually reach the highest peak in the area, Jebel Haroun - Aaron's Peak - where Aaron is said to have died and where his tomb was erected right on top of the mountain. A little mosque is housing the tomb and its white dome is visible from the distance. From there the trek continued downhill and to Petra.

Loaded with my usual sleeping stuff, camera, tripod, book, diary, some processed cheese, 4 flat breads and 11 litres of water I started my adventure from the village of Taybeh where I got dropped off. The views from the high end boutique hotel which happened to be the starting point were gorgeous: the big mountains in the distance were impressive but the labyrinth of domes and wadis down below was simply fascinating. I had a hard time to keep going and not just stop for a picture every few meters.

At first there was a descent on a dirt road into the basin below where I discovered several bedouin tents indicating that bedouins were living right there. They had donkeys and goats and some even a car. A few caves in the rock walls were also inhabited or at least used. They had doors and even locks. A couple of boys spotted me, came up the dirt road and then accompanied me down into the basin. Their English was worse than my Arabic, but I still exhausted my Arabic vocabulary fast. Then all I could do in response to their questions was to either shrug my shoulders or repeat my itinerary like a lithany "Wadi Tibn, Wadi Sabra, Jebel Haroun, Petra, Wadi Musa".
We said good bye to each other near the beginning of the Tibn valley.

The trail descending into the canyon was dusty and the canyon did not look very impressive here. It was quite wide and there were lots of pink oleanders growing in the river bed.
However, the more I walked through the canyon the more impressive it actually became. The walls got closer and higher; there were big boulders to walk around or squeeze beneath and there was nobody else around. There were footprints and faint goat trails, but otherwise only lizards and birds. It was hot but the scenery was lovely.
I was steaming under my heavy pack and walking was not always easy because of the sand or rocks. There was nothing more than plain walking but my boots which I had not put on for more than 2 months felt much too tight. My feet were by now used only to walking barefoot or in sandals. However, given their by now very poor shape my comfortable sandals had become unreliable for this trek and now my feet were hurting more and more.
The canyon became truly spectacular soon and towards the end it was extremely narrow for a fairly long stretch. Narrower than Petra's Siq, it was indeed extremely impressive. I was happy that I managed to get through with my big pack as I had trouble before in a couple of spots sliding or scrambling down some rocks. Towards the end of the narrow section I discovered some Nabatean inscriptions high above me. They were not easy to spot but I somehow noticed them. Interestingly enough my book was not mentioning them and so I suddenly felt extremely excited. I could easily imagine myself being an explorer in a remote spot on Earth. Hmmm, this felt so good!

A place called "Waters of Tibn", "signposted" by an old tree and some more vegetation marks the spot where in spring there is water available in pools. By this time of the year there was no water, but a nice little patch of green with lots of shade. I first heard voices, then a flute. A woman and a boy were sitting on a big rock amid their goats. I said hello and they responded and looked at me in disbelief. I presume they were expecting some other people to follow or something. Where was I coming from, like a camel on two legs ? I sat down nearby for a few minutes and listened to the flute. Its clear sound was fitting perfectly in these surroundings.

From here there was a little uphill to enter Wadi Sabra, because of a boxed canyon. Therefore, the trail went up a fairly steep ravine and then continued on ledges high above the canyon, then around and down on the other side. Once on the other side I found myself in a wide river bed. The terrain features were less dramatic. If Wadi Tibn could have caused claustrophoby to some, this wadi clearly gave you space to breathe and look around. My feet were hurting badly and little did it matter that I was walking on flat terrain.

About 13km and 7 hours from the start I reached the ruins of the Roman village. There was not much more than a few stones and walls to see but for me it was a most expected landmark. I dropped my pack and started looking around for a spot to overnight. Except for the river bed where there the vegetation was now much too dense there was hardly any flat spot. And wherever there was a small flat surface it was just all covered in dust. I was expecting to see goats around based on the million goat footprints, but I did not.

The Roman Theatre was a little further and I went to inspect it. It was amazing how it was built there, in the middle of nowhere and into the mountain. Above it was a big dam partially still in place and more signs of herding goats. It was close to sunset and I needed to find a spot to sleep before dark. My feet were hurting terribly and so, after looking around unsuccessfully for a slab or cave, I decided to give the theatre a try. There was a wider ledge that could have been big enough for me to sleep on. And so it was. Lovely!
The moon had been full just the night before and now it was still very big and bright. As I lay there in my sleeping bag at night I could clearly see the mountains and distinguish all the terrain features around. It was fantastic. The only thing bothering were my feet which had fairly big blisters :-)

The next morning I had a surprise. There was heavy dew and my sleeping bag was quite damp. Therefore, I had to place the sleeping bag in the sun to dry out and wait. In the meantime I just took my time with breakfast, nursing my blisters and taking pictures of Pepe and I in the theatre.
When I finally got ready to go I heard voices and goats and saw a herd of goats coming down the wadi. A woman and two men with donkeys were walking with the goats. I said "Salaam" and also raised my hand to salute. The older man walked toward me and asked me where I was going. Except for the dark bushy moustache his face reminded me of an African mask. It was almost black from smoke, dust and age. I told him my story: "Wadi Tibn, Wadi Sabra, Wadi Betahi, Jebel Haroun, Petra". And used my hands also to provide additional details. He gave me a toothless smile and nodded. Then he started talking to me. I guess he was giving me all sorts of details. From signs I could figure out directions and such but, really, all I could pick up from the long story was his name: Farahj. I smiled back at him, repeated my story, said thank you and good bye and I continued my hike.
A little further ahead I left the wide flat wadi to go up Wadi Betahi. I was still fairly close to the bottom when I turned around and noticed a man on a donkey stopped in the wadi below. He had seen me and, I guess, was wondering about my presence. I dropped my pack and descended. He came closer and we had a similar conversation as I had with Farahj. I forgot his name, though. And he also offered help, to carry my stuff up with his donkey. I thanked him but declined. I also got his confirmation that this was Wadi Betahi and then I went back up. Going up the wadi took about one and a half hours. It was quite steep but I was happy for the goat trails winding around the rocks and boulders. It was wild and steep terrain with big cliffs and narrow gullies.

It was only when I reached the saddle on top of the wadi that I got to see my target - Jebel Haroun. At over 1800m it is the highest peak in the area. But a long wide stretch still separated me from the foot of the mountain. It took me little more than one hour to cross the barren slopes and wadis separating me from Jebel Haroun. There was no tree, no shade along the way. Fortunately the views of the mountains ahead were fantastic and helped me through several ups and downs across unexpected little wadis. And I also had the unexpected privilege to find a flower along the way. It was a tiny pink flower growing out of the rocky terrain. Of course I dropped down my pack, took pictures and looked for some more. I could not find another like it.

Once I got onto the trail coming from Petra I started encountering people. They were actually groups led by a local guide. They usually had a donkey or two to carry water and food and stuff for them. At first they all looked at me as if I were an alien. In a way I was, since nobody else had a backpack like mine :-)

It was early afternoon when I finally reached the plateau beneath the peak. The ruins of a Byzantine church were dominating the plateau. Beneath the peak, in the shade offered by the rocks there were a couple of groups having a rest and lunch and drinking tea. A local guide welcomed me an asked me if I would like some tea. Sure, I wanted. Thank you! My appearance had stirred his curiosity and so we talked for a while. He was impressed by my trek and told me that he used to lead part of it for German and French groups. He also said that some locals had never been in those areas. I really felt proud of myself. He also asked me whether I had seen the inscriptions in Wadi Tibn and I was so happy to get his confirmation regarding the inscriptions.
A bedouin woman on a donkey also asked me where I came from and what my name was. Her name was Soraya and when I told her about my itinerary she asked "did you meet Farahj?" Farahj seemed to be a well-known person in the area as the guardian later also asked me about him. I felt proud to have met and talked to him :-)
After the nice chat and the tea we said good-bye and I walked up the stairs to the top. Breathless I arrived there to take in the beautiful views. I have to admit, the views from Mt Sinai are by far better, but these were very good, too. Pretty much in all directions but W-NW were mountains. The area where I had come from looked very distant and dramatic. To the NorthEast was the Petra basin with its domes and white and pink coloured rock. The desert of Wadi Araba to the NW-N was not dead flat, but clearly not mountainous. Rather like a randomly dropped sheet of ochre velvet, with numerous folds.
I was happy to be here and thinking of spending the night right here on top of the mountain. I wanted to witness both sunset and sunrise with these superb views.
After visiting the little mosque housing the marble tomb of Aaron I accepted the guardian's invitation for a tea in his little "home" down on the plateau. And this is how I met Mohammed. He did not let me sleep on top of the mosque but he offered me his home and the flat rock next to it, if I rather wanted to sleep outside. I accepted the offer.
Mohammed, 66, had served in the army for more than 25 years. He was now retired and worked as a guardian up here. He had 14 children from 2 wives: the first 60, the second 28 years old and pregnant. He was very nice and his English good enough to tell me lots of stories. And he knew a lot and had been through a lot. He invited me for tea in his little cave which he had fixed 14 years ago. Back then the cave was very small and he worked hard to make it a little bigger. Inside everything was very nicely arranged, everything had its esignated spot and it was clean and bright (he had painted the walls white). Every three weeks he spent a week up here in solitude.
Mohammed invited me also for dinner and he didn't accept a "no". I got to lie down on his mattress and he brewed tea on the little stove he had. Sipping tea in a cave in the warm light given by an old gas lamp - I had not expected to do this on top of the mountain. Mohammed shared with me everything he had and I felt honoured and happy and enjoyed his company and storytelling.

At night Mohammed showed me from the top of the rock the many lights to the West and NorthWest. That's where the barren desert of Wadi Araba is and he explained to me that all those lights are army camps. Wow!

Needless to insist, I spent a lovely time on top of the mosque. I descended to te plateau when dusk was already setting in and walked up early in the morning before sunrise. I had the place and views all to myself. It felt like being on top of the world.
After another pot of tea in the morning and a few more stories I packed my stuff and said good-bye to Mohammed. I was happy to be able to leave him some water ( I still had a lot left) and cheese and my bread. He was going to stay there for another 6 days, I was going to be back in Wadi Musa soon. Then I started my descent.

How do you know by looking at a donkey where the group of tourists comes from? Nothing simpler than that. If there are about 5 or 6 Deuter backpacks dangling off the poor animal it's obvious: they're Germans.
I always tried to make out things by observing details. And to have fun doing it. I noticed the Deuter packs maybe because I'm a Deuter backpack fan. Anyway on the way down I met a group of Germans. And Soraya was with them and greeted me like an old time friend. That was fun. Further down her kids were at under a tree at an improvised tea stop offering cold drinks and tea to the tourists.
The descent and trail to Petra was enjoyable taking you past mountains and caves as well as Nabatean tombs. It offered great views and was also a simple walk.

It was about 2 pm when I reached Petra and started facing the crowds. Rather than rushing to Wadi Musa and a hotel I dropped my pack and went up Al-Habis, the hilltop with the ruins of a fortress. It not offered great views over the basin, but was also not very popular. The colonnaded street and Great Temple were right there at its feet and farther ahead were the Royal Tombs carved into the mountainside. It was very hot, my feet were hurting, there was nobody around. I decided to make myself comfortable and so I sat down in the dust leaning on a big stone and took off my boots and socks. I sat there contemplating the views for about 2 hours until the light became softer and the crowds had diminished. It was lovely.

I walked out of Petra slowly, stopping many times and taking more pictures. I was saying good-bye to this fabulous place in my own way.
A couple of times bedouins on donkeys shouted after me "Canada!Hello Canada! Back from Jebel Haroun?" I guess recognizing me was trivial if they had seen me on the mountain the day before :-)

The next day I left Wadi Musa.

Petra

2008-10-20T10:09:00.000-07:00

There is a lot of dust in Petra. There is the dust of history shrouding everything, creating mysteries and feeding our imagination. There is the dust of the crumbly rose-red rock falling apart slowly under the scorching sun. Then there's the dust raised by the goats and donkeys on their pseudo-migratory routes in search of food and water along the wadis.

Petra is magnificent in its exquisite appearance, but also in the way past and present coexist here and the way it brings us closer to our ancestors. It is a very busy place during the day when some are trying hard to make a living while others are there just to enjoy. But when the dusk sets in and the night falls the ghosts can finally rest as the sounds fade away and the rock cools down again.

How best to describe Petra? It is very busy, and that I didn't like. It is very vast also, and that leaves still a lot of space to avoid the crowds and explore. It is extremely beautiful, especially when the setting sun sets the rock on fire and the monastery seems carved in a block of gold. The Treasury, a masterpiece of carving, welcomes you upon exiting the narrow canyon that leads you into Petra and back in time. It is this image that most likely haunts you before even setting foot in Petra and it is this image that will always come to mind when thinking of Petra.
The bedouins have long lived in the caves of Petra. Only concerns related to the preservation of the site and tourism have forced these people to move out. But, if you think that people have long forgotten about living in caves you're wrong, dead wrong.
Around Petra you'll see many bedouins still living in caves, you'll see cars parked in caves if you look around the corner in Petra, or donkeys kept there and, most unfortunately, garbage dumped there.

Where does history end, where does present begin ? Are these "cave-people" closer to me or closer to my ancestors? How do I differ from them? Petra threw these questions at me right there in my face and I did not find the answers to them yet.

The Nabateans were extremely smart. They did a brilliant workaround by putting their best skills at work to create that what they were not skilled for. Architects they were not, but excellent carvers and sculptors they were. And so, using the feature of the terrain they had available they carved a city into the rock rather than build it from rock.

The books I had were not only providing descriptions and explanations of the tombs and monuments there, but also descriptions of hikes, walks and treks in and around Petra. For two days I explored Petra on the beaten paths. But I also did a couple of short hikes offering great views over Petra or moments of most welcomed peacefulness.

There is, for example, the short hike up to a spot above the Treasury where you most likely get to enjoy the views in solitude. Not also in silence since the voices and sounds from the Siq (canyon) and area below seem amplified yet distant at the same time.
Then there's the steep stairway leading up to the monastery, a crowded route and a busy plateau till sunset. But if you wait up there for the sun to set and the monastery to put on its golden mask you will feel privileged and certainly rewarded for your patience. The crowds are gone by now, this show is for you only :-)

And then, in case you have missed to observe how fantastic this whole area is with its maze of white and pink rock domes, its myriad of caves and labyrynth of canyons you can always try the other way into Petra, via the Al-Muthlim canyon. Starting from the impressive tunnel carved into the rock (80m long) by the Nabateans you enter this fabulous landscape of red and mushroom shaped rocks and a wadi sprinkled with wild pink-flowered oleanders that gets narrower and narrower until it becomes just wide enough to let you squeeze through and slide down its smooth walls and little bowls. And then, when you least expect it, suddenly it spits you out again into the bright sunlight and through the backdoor into Petra. A short yet wonderful adventure giving you the foretaste of what the area can offer if you have missed to notice that until now. The likelihood of meeting other people here is very little.

And then, after you did all this what's left to do? Well, if you're greedy like me, and if you want to explore these stunningly beautiful surroundings some more you just pack your stuff and go trekking. And don't forget the book with all those great route descriptions.

The Call of the Desert

2008-10-15T11:01:00.000-07:00

My next planned desert outing was shorter but expensive. To reach the areas I wanted to go to I needed a lift and a jeep in Wadi Rum - or Jordan in general - is not at all cheap.

First came Burdah Rock Bridge, a gigantic arch spanning high above a huge precipice and offering breathtaking views of the surrounding area. It is one of the scrambles people usually hire a guide for. Route finding can be a challenge, but fortunately there are always cairns you can rely on. The route description in my book was certainly accurate and so I had no doubts about going by myself. I just needed to be dropped there and then picked up the next day and dropped at the other location.

The drive through the desert to the bottom of the mountain was an amazing experience itself. The scenery here had a broader colour pallette with white rock and sand alternating with the pink one. Also the domes were smaller and more numerous, dotting the desert in a random arrangement offering a fabulous view from above.
There was nobody around in the early afternoon and after a bit of resting in the shade I headed up. The scramble over slabs and rocks, through a chimney and a narrow gully was fun, every single step being rewarded with better views and different angles.
I had the mountain, the bridge and the whole area all to myself and I greatly enjoyed this. Pepe and I spent time up there contemplating the panoramic views and taking pictures. Too bad I had not taken the tripod up this time :-(

Route finding on the way down seemed to be more tricky and that simply because I didn't pay enough attention on the way up. Never follow blindly some cairns, was the lesson reinforced that day :-)

When I arrived at the bottom one of my sandal straps was broken and I fixed it - as usual - with duct tape. Great invention, the duct tape! I had by now camera, backpack, pants and now my sandal duct-taped. What next? I wonder.

The following day I was supposed to climb up Um Adaami, the highest peak in Jordan at over 1800m. It is actually a simple hike up over scree and uninteresting rock according to the guidebook, and also to Awad. The excellent views from the top are breathtaking and unequalled, it is said. But Awad somehow convinced me that another area - Khashkhash - was far more interesting than this mountain. And I was stupid enough to let him persuade me. And so I ended up in the area where the white and red desert meet and few tourists go.
Awad dropped me next to a cave I could use to overnight and left. Of course the next thing I did was to repack my stuff leaving extra food and water behind. I wasn't going to stay there, a spot with no views and too much litter around. I was hoping to find a way up one of the big mountains around and spend the night there overlooking the area. Then I would return the next day to be picked up by Awad.

Frustrated I took off and explored a narrow canyon which - based on the tracks - seemed to be used a lot by shepherds. There were a little dam, a water cistern, a few fire places and countless goat tracks to be seen here. The denser vegetation also confirmed that in winter this place had more water than the surrounding area. Unfortunately I wasn't able to find a way up the mountain and I just scrambled up and around some domes. Eventually, since the sun was going to set soon I stopped on a higher mound of brittle rock and scree which offered good views around. It wasn't quite what I had dreamed of, but I tried to make the best out of it. Of course I was pissed off at myself for being so easy to persuade :-)

In the morning I took my time with pictures and breakfast and then continued exploring the nearby cracks and canyons. While doing so I scrambled up a higher dome and discovered stunning views to the North, behind the mountain. There, at my feet lay a maze of domes and mounds like a display of intricately carved sculptures created by a playful artist. I wished I had found the spot the day before... I took lots of pictures and then explored some more the area. Scouting around I thought I identified the routes up the adjoining mountains. When I walked over to check one of these I only got my confirmation.
However, I have seen bedouins climb in this area and I must admit that they are the most natural rock climbers I've ever seen. The ease, lightness and surefootedness with which they climb is absolutely amazing. At least the bedouins around Wadi Rum are at home on (this) rock. I was soon to watch little Ibrahim (13) free climbing some walls as if it were the most natural thing to do. I was watching him worried from below, fearful at every one of his moves whereas his parents were having tea relaxed nearby. This was their children's playground in the end :-)

Having said that I must admit that here, on a bunch of these routes up, I couldn't manage to get over the start. It was the first 3-4 meters section, sometimes with a little bit of overhang that stopped me short. That it was the route up and not just my phantasy I could tell by the bedouin steps (a pile of rocks to reduce the gap) below and sometimes even the presence of cairns. I managed to find an alternate route up this mountain in the end but had to leave my camera and stuff back. I simply couldn't haul myself up with the few kilograms on my back :-) And, being by myself, I didn't want to go up some rock and then get stuck there unable to climb down.

In short, I ended up having a great time scrambling and exploring this area. I wished for more time, but that was not possible now. Therefore, I decided that, if I ever managed to return to Wadi Rum, I would not just go up Um Adaami but also return to this spot for further exploration and rock delight :-)

I was happy to see Haya again when I arrived back in the village. She had left for university during my previous trip but had now returned for a couple of days. My plan was to leave Wadi Rum after another day but the family planned a desert outing the following day (and night) and they wanted me to join them. How could I resist ?Therefore, I changed my departure plan without regrets. The desert was calling me clearly and I enjoyed returning and seeing yet another area.

Running up and down the sand dunes with the kids, watching the starlit sky at night, listening to the bedouin stories around the fire while sipping a cup of sweet bedouin tea - all this added to the magic of the desert.

Wadi Rum is a unique spot where you find beauty and tranquility; where you can meditate and search for answers undistracted; where you may, as well, play in the sand or scramble up rocks to exhaustion.
It is a place I hope to go back to.

Dinner and a Movie

2008-10-13T11:32:00.000-07:00

Wadi Rum, Jordan

Call me stupid, but I didn't realize I had a date.

Mohammed came at the convened time at our meeting place. From here he drove West to "the best spot for sunrise and sunset", as he said. It was too fast of a drive for me. I just saw beautiful domes and towers flashing by in the most beautiful warm sunset light. Eventually, we stopped in between some domes and he pointed out one saying "you can take pictures from there and I will make tea".

I ran up and installed my tripod and took some pictures. It wasn't quite what I expected but nevertheless beautiful. Facing West I could watch the sun nearing the horizon and the countless layers of ridges like an endless pallette of gray shades against the light. But there was no picture the other way, one emphasizing the red sand and rock glow.

Eventually, I remembered the tea and started descending. Halfway down I met Mohammed who was coming up with the tea pot and 2 cups. We sat down and enjoyed the tea. "Hmmm, very good" I said. "Special tea for a special friend" was his reply. Why so special I wondered...
After finishing the tea and some chatting he went back down and I went back to my tripod and camera. I stood there until the sun disappeared behind those distant ridges and then descended. He was waiting in the car for me and said we were going for dinner at his cousin's camp. I could also take a shower, he added. Shower? I wondered. Unbelievable what they do for the tourists, like carrying water by truck to the bedouin camps so the tourists can enjoy a shower and flushing toilets in the desert. Now that's a desert experience, for sure, not to mention the a-la-carte meals.
Well, shower was not much of an option for me since I had no change. I was dirty and stinky and had to stay like that. But when we finally reached the camp at dusk and I met the Czech couple staying there I felt embarrassed. I was really too stinky to join them for dinner. And so I went and splashed some water on me and changed my underwear and the dirty shirt against the T-shirt I used to sleep in. A minor change in stench intensity :-)

The dinner was delicious and the Czechs very nice. But after tea Mohammed was in a rush to leave. Back in the car we drove like mad - or so it seemed to me - in the dark to some place next to a big mountain. Mohammed took out a mattress from his car and put it down. Then he sat down and invited me to sit, too. For a while we sat there in silence. The sky was beautiful, the desert magical.
I don't really know how it started, but suddenly Mohammed was talking about enjoying this with a friend and sleeping together. I just caught these last words and interrupted him. "Could you please tell me what you really mean by that?"
"Well, you know like friends, kissing and hugging and sleeping together."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not in for that. This is a mistake. Friends is one thing, sleeping together something else. Plus, I am married."
"No, just like friends, kissing and hugging and sleeping together like this" and he gestured a hug.
I sat there for a second thinking. I tried to think of all my male friends. I have a lot of good and old-time friends and I certainly like hugs, but what Mohammed just suggested was not on my menu.
"I'm sorry, Mohammed, I don't do this. We can be friends and I would like us to be friends but I don't do any kissing or hugging or sleeping together. This is wrong and I feel bad because I probably misled you into thinking this was possible."
"You know, we could spend the night and more time together. I can take you to other places, more remote and more beautiful. I can show you the desert and we could watch the stars together and enjoy."

Interestingly enough I didn't feel scared or anything. I actually didn't feel much but a weird detachment. It was like watching a movie, except for the fact that I was somehow in this movie. This is it, I thought, here goes my solitude and trek. I wanted to be by myself and enjoy the tranquility and beauty of the desert and now I got into this stupid story.

"You know, I think we should go back to camp or to the village. This is wrong", I continued.
"No, no. You don't know what is in my heart. The first moment I saw you I liked you so much, when you arrived in Rum. I longed so much for you, I came looking for you all night. If you don't want or don't feel the same I go back."

There were some more romantic proposals and words, including flying to the moon. Too bad I have nothing left for romance. I felt sorry for him. He was nice and trying to be even more.
"Thank you for everything, I hope to see you again" I said to speed up his departure.
"I don't know," he replied, "my heart hurts so bad. You don't know what's inside me, how it hurts. Maybe I have to go to hospital. My heart..."

I was thankful for the darkness because I could not suppress my grinning at this grotesque image of him having to drive from the desert to the hospital now because of his broken heart. The darkness did not betray me. It was simply too hilarious. But I had to secretly admit that, in all honesty, I did not know what was inside him. Do we ever really know what's inside somebody else's heart and soul?

Eventually he got up and left. I listened to the sound of the engine fading in the distance. Silence took over again but the magic of the night was gone.
My mind was going circles - how did I get into this? Well, for sure I made a big mistake. I misinterpreted his worried search for me at night for the worries of Haya's family. Then I felt bad about it and agreed to meeting him later. That's how it all started.

And then I started to laugh out loud. Here I was in one of the most stunning spots on Earth. This man had offered to spend days and nights with me in the desert gazing at the stars and exploring the desert, to enjoy the peacefulness and beauty of this place. He did not care about my stinking and dirtiness or anything. And I just turned him down. Don't I just deserve my fate? Which other man will ever offer me gorgeous nights under the desert sky ? Who else will ever crisscross the desert late at night looking madly for me ? Maybe search and rescue, if they introduce it here :-)

I had a hard time falling asleep that night. It was more or less a sleepless night, so I read from my Lebanese novel and updated my diary. I did not know exactly where I was, but that did not worry me at all. On the way to here I had noticed the village lights to the right. So I knew I was somewhere South of the village, most likely still in the Rum wadi. What was worrying me more was the fact that my disposition was ruined by now and I wasn't going to be able to enjoy the remaining time here.

Desert Trekking My Style

2008-10-12T11:33:00.001-07:00

Wadi Rum, Jordan

When I left Canada a year ago I took this awesome trek description with me from one of my favorite magazines - TREK (it's a French magazine). Illustrated with beautiful pictures the pages provide the outline of a one week trek from Petra to Wadi Rum. I wanted to do this trek.

Then, when I started doing some research on the internet, it turned out that a trek like this was much too expensive to do independently. I had also contacted a guide in Wadi Rum via email and the reply was discouraging. He basically said that to go on any kind of tour with just one person especially during peak season was not just very expensive but pretty much impossible.
Therefore, I decided to make the best out of it and see the most interesting places with minimum expenses. I invested in the book by Tony Howard and Di Taylor depicting various walks, treks, scrambles and climbs in Jordan. There was the option to buy one specifically for Wadi Rum but then I wasn't going to stay that long in Wadi Rum nor climb by myself :-(
I also searched online for the tours offered by the tour operators in Wadi Rum and carefully defined my route.

Basically I wanted to go from the village and back in a big loop taking in two of the most beautiful and more accessible canyons: Rakabat and Barrah. The two of them couldn't be more different. Whereas Rakabat is a very narrow canyon involving some really good scrambling and route finding skills and is tortuous enough to make you spend days there in exploration and also to potentially get lost, Barrah is a very wide canyon, flanked by equally massive rock walls and mountains but sunny and spacious and simply a pleasant walk. It, too, offers opportunities for exploration in the side cracks and canyons but getting lost here or not finding the way out of it means you're plain stupid.

Given the heat and the fact that there was no water on the way, not to mention that few people did this kind of tour on foot I had to take plenty of water with me and be self sufficient. I definitely wanted to go alone and enjoy the peacefulness and beauty of the desert at my own pace. I was looking forward to the clear starful nights and the magnificence of these mountains.

I did not want any support along the way, no car or horse or camel to carry me or my stuff nut after some thinking I decided I needed a "lift" for my stuff in the beginning. Rakabat canyon was narrow and a scramble. Carrying my heavy pack through that seemed to be eliminating the fun. Not to mention that I didn't know how difficult the terrain was going to be. Now i know I would have got stuck with my pack in a few spots. Therefore I needed a camel to carry all my stuff to a spot at the end of the canyon. From there I was going to be on my own.

I packed 12 1.5litre water bottles in my big backpack plus a 2litre bottle which I had on me. To eat I had some flat bread and 12 boxes of cream cheese, some almonds, 2 chocolates and a little box of feta cheese. Nothing more.

Day 1. The scramble up and through Rakabat canyon was awesome. I was happy for the cairns in addition to my route description, since the terrain was not easy. Where I made wrong decisions I paid for them, having to climb in a couple of spots something I shouldn't have done. All the time I kept thinking that I had to be very careful especially since I was on my own. Any mistake could have costed me a lot plus it would have created trouble to other people. My little pack with all the camera gear , some food and water was heavy enough in spots where I had to lift my body up. But it was great fun. The views of the village and Rum valley from above were priceless and the scenery along the whole hike simply breathtaking: huge vertical walls, narrow twisted passages, jagged ridges, delicately eroded holes and columns. there were plenty of narrow side canyons to explore and I had to just control myself to keep follwing the route. Ali was waiting anxiously a the other end and was happy to get his pay and leave. I was on my own.

That afternoon I explored some more the area, the canyon ended in a wide wadi with some more speacular views and I spent both sunset and sunrise there on a huge red sand dune taking pictures and contemplating this fantastic scenery.
In the evening I made a little fire next to the rock wall where I had my little camp. I had dinner and then read a bit and wrote a while in my diary and by 8:30pm I was sound asleep.

Day 2. The next day I spent all morning backtracking Rakabat canyon and exploring corners and side canyons I did not have time for the previous day. I dicovered the fantastic echo some areas had by a wonderful chance. It was about 12:30pm and I had reached the soaring walls of the Eljil mountain in a spot where the transition from this to Kharazek canyon required an abseil. Suddenly this godly voice started chanting behind me "Allaaaaah!" It was the prayer from the village mosque, but much louder and fuller than you ever heard it in the village. It was reflected and amplified by the rock walls to the point where it sounded more like a chorus. It was simply overwhelming and beautiful.
In the afternoon I had decided to move camp. I had calculated that the approximately 4km to the beginning of Barrah canyon should at most take me 2 hours considering that by now I still had to carry about 15l of waters plus the rest - I figured more than 20kg. The terrain was mostly flat though sandy making walking more strenious. To avoid the heat I had planned to start at 4pm, which gave me about 3 hours of daylight.

I reached my target in time to set camp and even explore a bit the area and take pictures. The night was beatiful and I picked a higher spot this time. It was more exposed to the wind which kept the annoying mosquitos away. The views I had were great and a nearby dome provided a good spot for sunrise pictures.

Day 3. The next morning I took my time with sunrise pictures then had breakfast and reorganized myself. I planned on taking enough food and water with me to allow me an overnight stay anywhere along the canyon or at its end, depending on where I simply liked to spend the night. The next day I could return to this spot, probably spend a night and retrieve the water and food I now stashed in a crack.
By 8:30am I was on my way. At this early hour I had the place to myself, the groups on safari in bedouin driven jeeps were only roaming around later. The canyon was spectacular bordered as it was by huge massive blocks of rock - real mountains with enormous climbing potential. Actually it was in Wadi Rum the first time during my travels that I wished I were with company so I could have gone rock climbing or dared some more scrambles. As it was, whenever the exposure was increasing I was turning around slightly frustrated. But I simply could not afford to get into trouble alone in this remote area.
I stopped many times to take pictures, dropping my big heavy pack and wandering around with my camera for half an hour at a time. This is how I discovered the delicate beautiful white desert lilies. What they are exactly I don't know. I just know they have bulbs and are unexpected and beautiful. The first I saw sticking out of the sand took me by surprise. I stopped, looked again, closed my eyes, looked elsewhere and back. Maybe it was the heat playng tricks on me. But no, there it was lonely, delicate and beautiful. I stopped for pictures and later discovered another one nearby. Over the course of the following days in the desert I noticed a few more, about five or six. I'm sure none of the people in the jeeps noticed them. Not at the speed the cars were driving around.
It was on this second day around noon that suddenly a jeep coming the opposite way through the canyon headed straight for me and stopped. A broad smiling Mohammed greeted me. He had been looking for me everywhere, worried. I had disappeared from the Rakabat canyon camp and he had been driving around looking for me in the desert until 2am last night.
Oops, all of a sudden I felt bad. Why all these worries?
He wanted to drive me around and show me some plaecs, ore beautiful than these.
But I didn't want to go elsewhere, I didn't want to go by car.

Anyway, I felt so bad about him looking for me for so long that I gave up resistence in the end. I would go with him to those places but tomorrow.
No, he wanted tonight, he would come and pick me up from some place.

After a while I simply gave up. OK, tonight at 5:30pm at the beginning of Barrah canyon. We used the map to make sure we agree on the spot and then off he went.
All of a sudden my mood switched and I was furious and frustrated. here went my freedom away. Why did people not trust me and worry about me unnecessarily? I hated deadlines and here I was in the middle of the desert having one. I had to be back at my starting point in 5 hours time. And I had not even made it to the end of the canyon in these 4+ hours( which was supposed to only take 2 hours, by the way). This meant that I could not spend time taking the pictures I wanted, could not wait for the best light and could not spend the night as I had planned. I was so mad that it took me a few hours to calm down. I actually only forgot about this on the way bck when I bumped into another lily.

I think my appointment with Mohammed deserves a separate post and so I will skip it for now. Suffice to say that, fortunately the next day I could continue my trek without any help or a car!!!

Day 4. After a pretty much sleepless night the next day I spent around Khazali. I scrambled up a couple of domes in the area and overcome by heat and exhaustion I had a 3-hours nap under a boulder on a rock in the shade. Then I stayed there for sunset pictures and returned to my stashed stuff by dusk. I made a little fire again, had dinner and slept like a baby.

Day 5. This day I decided to start heading back for the village. I had about 12 km to cover and sufficient water for another 2 or 3 days. I wasn't in any rush to return to the village. I loved the serene beauty and tranquility of this place, the sky at night, the unexpected flowers, the magnificent mountains and the fun scrambles.
Therefore in the morning I took my time with more pictures and breakfast, I burned the paper and finally headed back North. Walking at the foot of Khazali I couldn't but gaze up all the time at the sheer majesty of this giant, like a huge battleship in the desert. When I reached its Northern tip I dropped my big backpack somewhere beneath a boulder in the shade and started walking around to the East exploring. The small but interesting Khazali canyon was quite close, one of the main attractions on any desert safari. That you could tell not just by the guidebook but also by looking at the size of the parking area and soon by the number of people coming by. Hordes.
I reached the canyon early enough to enjoy it alone, but since I started taking pictures and that took ages I ended up overwhelmed by the many groups. What's so special about this canyon. Well, for once it's very spectacular and so short that anybody can come and "walk" it. In reality it's not quite so, but that's unimportant. However, this canyon preserves some fantastic Thalmudic inscriptions on its vertical walls, proof of the fact that these unhospitable areas have been inhabited so long ago. The inscriptions depict various animals and people as well as hands and feet. They are truly impressive.
After the canyon experience I enjoyed a efw cups of bedoui tea in the nearby bedouin tent. Set to offer tea and coffee to the tourists and some souvenirs, the tent was a comfortable place to rest for a bit in the shade. Too few tourists really stopped there. Never the groups, that's for sure.
After returning lazily to my hidden backpack I sat some more in the shade of a boulder pondering. I hd now a longer stretch of desert to cross in front of me. Maybe 4km or so. The village was about 8 km away and the views around were very inspiring. I knew that at sunset and sunrise I would greatly enjoy being around. Fortunately there was one of those mounds/domes somewhere midway and I set that as my target. I was going to try and stay there overnight. I clearly did not feel like returning among people.
After my rest I headed for the dome and found the perfect spot to sleep. I dropped my big backpack nearby and climbed all the way up to the top from where I had breathtaking views. That's where I spent the rest of the afternoon until sunset marvelling at this place and nature in general.
Back at my campsite I enjoyed dinner with great views at dusk compensating for the monotony in my diet: more processed cheese. The bread by now was blue-black with a very thick layer of mold. And I had nothing else left, chocolate or candies or almonds.

Day 6. I slept like a baby that night up on the flat top of the mushroom-shaped rock offering awesome 360 views. In the morning I was up for the sunrise, took some more pictures and only packed and got going late. Interestingly enough shortly after leaving my "dome" I bumped into another one of those stunningly delicate white flowers. Of course I immediately dropped all my stuff and spent about half an hour taking pictures and scouting for some more. There was no other around :-)
I returned to the village before noon and enjoyed a nice shower at Haya's home.

Everybody was happy to see me again. And I was actually also happy to be back among them. By the way they talked about me and praised me I could notice that I had gained their respect with regard to the desert. I enjoyed playing with the kids and planned already my next desert outing.

But the desert at Wadi Rum had put its spell on me. I was in love with it and no later than that same night I was back in the desert for one night thanks to Awad. This time we went to his uncle's "camp", ie their current location for goat herding, a beautiful spot in a different area.

My Bedouin Family

2008-10-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

Wadi Rum, Jordan

My bedouin family is big. There's father, 2 wifes and 17 children in total. I was adopted by and stayed with the second wife and her 7 children.
How did I land there? Nothing simpler than that. I took the minibus from Aqaba to Wadi Rum. It was crammed as usual and last minute I gave my seat to a woman with 3 little children. My big pack was blocking the aisle, the small pack was in the way, too, and, of course, heavy. On the back seat row there were already 4 women and a boy. They squeezed together more and made some space for me. Next to me sat Haya, only her beautiful eyes visible and the friendliness in her voice. Her English was sufficient to chat a bit and she invited me to stay with her family. She lived in Wadi Rum. I thanked her, but declined. Then, when we arrived in the village and she invited me to her house for a cup of tea and water I accepted. I had read about the famous bedouin hospitality and did not want to offend Haya or her mom.
In the shady courtyard under the olive trees I was invited to sit down. Haya disappeared inside the house, a slim gracious silhouette in black. Then, minutes later, a beautiful dark-haired young woman in a red sports outfit stepped out. That was Haya. She brought me water and tea. It was still Ramadan time but as a non-Muslim guest I could eat and drink to my liking, they said. Then the invitation came again and I could not find any excuse. I stayed.

If this were all the family it would be easy. It so happened that the following day was the end of Ramadan, the second most important holiday, the Eid-al-Fitr. And my family suggested I stay home to be part of the celebration and learn more about their traditions. It was an incredible experience.
Over the course of the morning there seemed to be like a procession. All cousins and aunts and uncles and sisters and brothers came to visit. The women all had their head covered, the men were wearing their traditional robes - jalabiyya - and headscarves (keffiyeh). The children were all dressed up in their best and most beautiful clothes.
This is how I met the extended family, a few dozen cousins and about a dozen aunts and uncles. I lost track of the names and relationships and the number of hands I shook, but I certainly had fun. I drank more tea than ever before in my life, the sweet bedouin tea served in tiny glass cups.
Communication was a bit of a problem, I have to admit. The men usually working with tourists mastered English a bit better than women, but most of the women did not speak any English. A few kids spoke some basic stuff. However, with the kids it was anyway easy. We could play and fool around together. I had little Sultan - maybe 3 years old - have a crush on me and eventually won the heart of my little sister Heam(5) over the course of my stay. The youngest in the family, beautiful Sana(3) is a princess with a very strong personality. She could give you a very frightening look or the warmest smile. She is adorable. And the oldest in the family, Awad(28) very artistic and yet forced to be pragmatic and support the large family played the oud for me and drove me around when I needed.

I spent hours playing with the children with a punctured ball in the little family orchard or writing on the red sand that carpeted the courtyard. We had a family outing in the desert and there we ran barefoot up and down the sand dune, the kids and I.

It is quite hard for me to describe the whole experience in words. I wish I could do it in images, at least, but I respected my family too much to bug them with the camera. I certainly took pictures of the kids once they felt more comfortable about it, but I did not want to offend anybody and so I mostly watched and captured those precious moments and images in my soul. Believe me, it could have been an award winning documentary had I filmed all this. Well, I never film so this has been taken care of :-)

Any special occasion requires a festive meal and that comes down to slaughtering a goat. For Eid there were 4 goats butchered right in front of the house and in the dark we all sat around the large trays eating the traditional dish - mensaf, the women in one courtyard, the men in the one next door. The baking of bread in the morning was interesting to watch, and the fresh bread, thin and crispy - called shrak - was delicious.
I watched Haya's mother make bread several times, I watched father Mohammed in what looked like his underwear but with his keffiyeh (traditonal checked headscarf) on slaughter the goat in front of the house, then skillfully skinning it. It looked like pulling a soft and heavy something out of a furry bag. Then came the cutting and chunking. The traditional dish - mensaf - is cooked in a huge pot over the fire. The chunked goat is cooking in a broth based on water, milk, salt and spices. Then the meat is piled up on a bed of rice or freshly baked shrak bread on large trays. The gaping head of the animal tops the main tray. The broth is poured on top.

Sitting around the tray everybody eats with their hands tearing chunks of the bread and grabbing pieces of meat. I have to admit, for someone like me it takes some getting used to. It's an acquired taste. And, if the first time I just picked a few bites pretending to eat, the last time I enjoyed such a feast I was starving to the point that I was happy even for the fried guts of the recently butchered goat. Yes, the guts. And I realized how much sand these goats were eating given the sandy crunchiness of what was inside these guts.
I discovered among other things that I have a better survival instinct than I thought. If it has to be goat or goat guts, I'm fine. My sister would have said it's all unhygienic the way it's prepared and eaten, my mom would have become nauseous by maybe just looking. A vegetarian would have suffered big-time. Instead I found the resources to enjoy this experience and appreciate these people and their lifestyle. I think in many ways they're closer to our ancestry than we are. They have given up their nomadic lifestyle and all have TVs, satellite dishes and mobile phones now, but they have not yet sold their soul to the devil. They are closer to nature and simplicity than we are.

Have you ever seen a car assaulted by goats? On the family outing occasion we all drove to the desert camp (well, a little tent and a goat enclosure in the rock wall) in a fabulous location where Mohammed's mom was herding their goats. She wasn't at "home" when we arrived and so we drove around to look for her. When we found her she got into the jeep and we caught up with the goats which were already slowly heading back to camp. As soon as she called them the goats started running towards us and stopped only halfway up the jeep peering into the car. What an easy task it was to pick out a goat to be sacrificed for the family feast. As we were driving through the desert back to camp the scared goat between our legs in the back seat, whining and bouncing like crazy, the other goats were racing to try and keep up with the car. They must have felt abandoned. We left them behind in a cloud of dust and they arrived a little later to camp. By that time their companion was already history and turning into a festive meal.

The morning ritual of giving water to goats, donkey and camels, of feeding them when there was not enough around, the milking of the camel and the taste of fresh camel milk, all these things are hard to describe for me. But they all are evidence of the strong bond between people and animals in these harsh surroundings.
I have now more good friends I certainly want to see again. I have a place to go back to and a family looking forward to see me again.
Insha'Allah! as they say.

Camel Trekking in Sinai

2008-09-27T06:48:00.000-07:00

Sinai, Egypt

Let me tell you upfront: a tripod on a camelback is useless. And, if you get seasick easily, wait until you get on a camel!

Oh, there's one more thing to keep in mind: a tripod in a slot canyon is equally useless.

Riding a camel - I think - is somewhat related to belly dancing. I discovered that one way to make it enjoyable was to let my waist act as a loose spring, simply letting go of it. My lower body was out of my control anyway, bouncing and swinging and twisting at the camel's leisure. But, if I kept my upper body somehow straight, it all worked somehow. Well, all except taking pictures.

Yd and his young camel Zourloul - ie Baby - were waiting for me at the beginning of a wadi where the bedouin boss dropped me off. Here the camel got loaded, I got packed on top and off we went.
We entered a scenery out of the picture books. I felt like a fake Laurence of Arabia, but equally blessed and enchanted to see and walk through this scenery. The red desert was barren except for a few herbs and some acacia trees. But the colours and the shapes of all the ridges and boulders and peaks were beyond anything you can imagine.
In the morning the breeze was carrying the delicate scent of the blossoming acacias all the way through the wadis. I simply breathed it in deeply and closed my eyes. It was divine.

The wadi became narrower and more twisted, sometimes it was just wide enough to allow a camel to pass. Above us were towering peaks and steep walls or slopes with crumbly terrain and boulders - an extremely spectacular landscape.
We only met people on our first day. We stopped for a break in the shade of an adjacent wadi. And here, around a tiny fire, there were a bedouin, Maya and her little daughter, Luna and the dog and 3 camels they had with them. Maya is a young Israeli woman who likes travelling and trekking. She was now on a trek similar to mine together with her beautiful daughter. Around 4-5 years old, Luna was walking and running barefoot on the rocky terrain, wearing only a colourful summer dress. And she looked comfortable and at home in this environment like a princess of the desert. She was playing with the little baby camel like two old time friends. And clearly the baby camel was enjoying that. It was lovely to watch them together.

Their bedouin guide was busy making fresh dough and we arrived just in time to share some of their salad and the fresh bread. It was actually Yd who took over the bread baking. All the charcoal was gently swept on the side, the spot evened out and the dough placed on the ground. Then the charcoal was spread out evenly over the dough. At some point the flat bread had to be turned around and in the end Yd beat it and scraped off the coal from its surface. It was fresh, crispy and simply delicious!

After some more walking in the afternoon we reached our "campsite". On the way we had a little incident which, luckily, ended well. We were going up a steep slope and the trail was a mix of sand and scree, plus some bigger rocks. The trail was actually bordered by bigger rocks piled up by the bedouins. It all happened in a second. Zourloul slipped, hit the rocks, fell down and the rocks started rolling down. I merely had time to jump on the side and out of the way of the smaller rocks. Fortunately, the big one, about the size of a Pilates ball stopped short. The camel was scared, trembling and crying out loud. Its whining was heartbreaking. I felt bad thinking that it had broken a leg or something. Yd acted quickly by unloading it and tying it down. He then started to work feverishly to make room around the camel and even out the trail ahead. With his bare hands he was digging in the dust, rolling rocks and boulders or lifting them and throwing them away. Then he basically pushed the camel sideways away from a sharp rock he could not get out from beneath the camel. Only after he was satisfied with what he had done did he untie Zourloul and led it safely further up. I felt relieved and helped Yd carry up all the stuff. There was a lot: a big cannister of water (40l or so), his blankets, the vegetables and cans of food, a box with mineral water bottles, pots, food for the camel, my sleeping bag, Yd's ancient radio-cassette player :-)

The campsite was on a wide flat area that could have been the bottom of a lake. It was bordered by high peaks and ridges and it was barren except for a few acacia trees. A little further back there was a little oasis though where a few huge palm trees and a few very young ones seemed to thrive. Behind some grass Yd showed me where the water was: a small pool of still water. It was not good for us, but good for the camel, he explained, because the water was salty. Apparently the water in this wadi was all salty, unlike the neighbouring wadi. We had passed on the way up another spot where some huge palm trees were tucked beneath an impressive wall. And their sight was totally unexpected, such was the contrast between their green healthy leaves and the apparently lifeless surroundings. The desert clearly had many secrets, a magical place to explore.

We were the only people on this planet of tranquility and mystery. There were a few birds around, too, but they only voiced their presence in the early morning hours.
I watched Yd for a while climbing up one of the acacia trees and cutting little twigs for Zourloul to eat. He stayed up there in the tree for more than an hour carefully cutting the twigs and letting them fall down where the camel was eating happily. I feared he would eventually chop down the whole tree so I went exploring the area and scrambled up all the bumps and mounds nearby. The views of the distant ridges at sunset were stunning. I felt blessed and happy to be there.

Later I watched Yd making a little fire and brewing fresh tea for us. He added a little twig from a little bush he had pointed out to me earlier and the resulting fragrance and taste of that tea was amazing. He cleaned and cut vegetables and cooked for us and I enjoyed watching his face lit by the warm glow of the fire and his forehead all wrinkled in concentration.
We also chatted a bit but the communication was not the easiest. Again I wished I knew some Arabic. But we understood each other well, even with our limited vocabularies. Snippets of our conversation went like this:

- Children? he asked.
- No.
He nods.I sigh.
Pause.
- Doctor? he asks.
- Yes.
- Allah, he says turning his eyes up to the sky.
I nod.

After dinner and tea we lay there in silence watching the sky. We kept refilling our tea cups and he smoked his cigarettes. I saw 2 shooting stars before I surrendered to sleep.

The next day we didn't move from camp until the early afternoon. We went to the water with the camel in the morning and Yd cut some more twigs for Zourloul. I noticed that the young hungry camel was picking up all the wilted flowers from beneath the acacia tree and so I spent a while collecting handfulls of flowers and feeding them to a happy camel.

By 2 pm, after cooked lunch and some more tea we headed for the canyon. The reason why we started this late was to avoid the police checks in the area. Yd was walking fast ahead. I actually had trouble keeping up with him on the dusty slopes :-) The trail went up a ravine then across a wide wadi, over another hill into yet another wadi and then it turned right.
This is where the canyon begins in a very benign way. Up a short chimney we first made it onto some sort of a plateau. The views of the eroded rock walls and towers around us were amazing. However, from here things became more and more spectacular. The trail on the plateau dropped a little bit and entered a narrow canyon which became narrower and narrower. At times we had to do some stemming to get over a spot or up, at other times we had to crawl under boulders. It was fun! It was also incredible to notice the complexity of shapes and the richness in pink-red shades the rock presented. By the time we emerged at the other end into the bright sunlight I was thrilled. It was nice, cool and shady in the canyon, so different from outside of it.
But the fun wasn't over yet. We were here above another canyon, wide and bright and we descended into it. In the distance high on a ridge Yd pointed out the police check booth and the coffee stalls. That was where the parking lot was. People usually parked there and then walked down to here for about half an hour had a coffee or tea and went back. They actually missed the fun!
Following this new canyon we were actually closing a loop. Again I was in for a big surprise. Gradually the walls changed their colour and consistency and the canyon narrowed more and more. It became what is commonly called a slot canyon. It was twisted and very narrow. The walls were smooth and with beautiful concavities. Sometimes the ground was not sandy anymore but a smooth round bowl carved into the rock by the force of water during flash floods. We had to stem, crawl, jump, squeeze our bodies through. My backpack took a toll. The side pocket mesh at the end of the canyon had holes in it from the friction against the rock in places where I had to push myself through. And the tripod bag had one, too :-)

I loved this trek for the sense of adventure it gave me. But not just that. The beauty of the lines and shapes was simply stunning. The force of nature was incredible and the results mindblowing creating magnificent, dramatic work of arts along millions of years. And the remoteness and tranquility of these places is simply touching a string in me. I could spend days after days there without longing for any of the civilization's benefits.

To return to "civilization" we backtracked our steps with a notable exception. Nearby the spot where Zourloul had the little accident on the way up and I noticed the palm trees Yd suddenly stopped and said: "You can go up there and take pictures and come down the other wadi. I wait for you at the junction below with tea."
That was lovely! Behind the ridge there were more palm trees. It was a lush green spot in an otherwise dusty and dry environment. I did not find the water hole, but there was clearly water there. It was incredible. And the tea at the end of the wadi delicious.

Upon saying good-bye Yd pulled out a little thing out of his pocket - a souvenir for me: on a black string a green glazed ceramic heart, all handmade. I felt extremely touched. And I found it very hard not to hug this man. It would have been a big misbehaviour, going against his culture and tradition.

Me and My Bedouin

2008-09-26T12:23:00.001-07:00

Sinai, Egypt

His name is Yd.
I fell in love with him.
We spent a couple of wonderful, unforgettable nights together.
He is soft-spoken and quiet.
He has a great sense of humour and a warm broad smile.
He does not know how to read or write. But he reads the desert better than anybody.
He liked Pepe.
He cooked, brewed tea and baked bread for me.
We laughed together a lot.
He told me stories.
We played hide and seek.
He helped me get on and off the camel.
He guided me and explained me about all the things we saw: plants and footprints and mountains.
He was patient with me, smoking his cigarette calmly as I was running around as usual.
He never complained about me being hyper.
He is 45, married and has 4 kids.

Soft Beach

2008-09-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

Nuweiba is a small place. Unlike other small places at the sea in Sinai it is quiet and not very touristy. I just like that.

The reason for getting here was Petra and implicitly the ferry to Jordan. But as soon as I saw this place I could not resist it. And so I ended up staying here for a few days.

I arrived in the dark and only in the morning did I realize the beauty of this place, similar to what I experienced in St. Katherine. Sandy beaches, turquoise waters, pink mountains in the background. It's a postcard perfect spot. The camp I'm staying at - Soft Beach Camp - is nice and quiet. Although I pay for a little hut I take my sleeping bag onto the beach every evening and sleep under the stars. The relaxing sound of the waves less than a dozen meters away is lulling me into sleep.

I've never been a beach fan. I'm not into lazing around in the sun sipping drinks and not doing anything. But I love the water and so I spend hours a day in the water swimming and floating. Then, quite often, I walk on the shore to dry and in between I read. That's awesome, too, reading for hours.
A major attraction here at the Red Sea is the underwater life. There are corals and many kinds of fish and shellfish. It's an amazing universe I only got a glimpse into by wading through the waters. Diving and snorkelling are very popular, but somehow I do not feel attracted to it. Someday I'll probably regret it...

The Sinai is spectacular - offering both sea and mountains, the dry red dust of the desert and the brilliant lush green of the oasis. It's a place you can fall in love with and definitely a place worth exploring.

Hence I made the decision to go on a camel trek. I had read about some beautiful canyons not very far from Nuweiba and, when I had to choose, I picked the camel trek over the jeep ride. 3 days in the desert, I figured, would give me a foretaste of what Jordan has to offer. Plus it comes at a much much smaller price. And so, out of the few days spent here on the Red Sea coast I spent 3 of them out there somewhere in the red desert criss-crossed by wadis and big mountains. It was a dive into beauty and solitude, a unique experience unlike any other I had so far.

Spectacular Sinai

2008-09-22T10:46:00.001-07:00

I arrived in St Katherine in the dark happy for a shower and rest. It was only when I woke up in the morning that I realized the beauty of the place I had landed in. The village is cradled between stunning mountains and ridges. The road dead-ends here. The sky is of an intense blue and cloudless and the ridges change from pink to golden to orange at the sun's mercy. The houses in the village are made of the local stone, low and flat, blending perfectly into the landscape. There is very little vegetation, but the care and love the people tender their trees and little plants with is amazing. The "work horse" here is the camel, and camels are happy, too, for anything green. So you see little plants and trees fenced up for protection.
There is a small mosque in the village and the prayers encompass the whole valley as the mountains make the warm beautiful sound reverberate. I enjoyed the mornings with the bird twittering and the prayers waking the village to life as the sun was rising from behind the ridges.

The bedouin camp was beautiful and quiet. I can only recommend the place warmly. I actually liked it so much that I stayed 3 days instead of just one.
Here at camp I met a lovely girl from Cairo. Lubna is a journalist, a smart and open-minded person with already some very interesting and serious professional experience. I enjoyed her company and I hope to some day read the book she would like to write. I wished I had met her in Cairo, her home town, but who knows, maybe I'll return to Cairo sooner than I think...

To the St. Katherine monastery some 3.5 km away I walked and I didn't mind it. I traversed the village and admired the scenery. I took it all in at my pace, even stopping for pictures on the way. The old Greek Orthodox Monastery was founded in the 4th Century BC. With its millenia of history, its superb location and its biblical importance it is a place that attracts not just the faithful pilgrims but also a lot of tourists on their way through Sinai. Therefore, it is crowded.
The chapel is small and not overloaded with ikons and such. The ancient carved wooden doors are splendid. I liked all that and I liked the little orchard well taken care of and the benches and small walls you could sit on in the shade of the very old olive trees.

The monastery is situated at the foot of Mount Sinai, where the Ten Commandments were given to Moses by God. Hence its name - Jebel Musa, ie Moses' Mountain. The mountain itself is not visible from the monastery being hidden behind a closer ridge but climbing it is a must for anybody visiting the place.

There are 2 routes going up the mountain: the gradual Camel Trail and the steep Stairway of Repentance. I intended to go up the stairway and come down the other way. But I missed the start of the stairway as I was too focused on avoiding all the questioning about where I came from, where I stayed and where my guide was. Of course I did not have a guide and I was prepared to stay overnight, carrying 3+ liters of water, my sleeping bag, magic carpet, camera and tripod.

The way up the camel trail was easy and gentle. it offered sweeping views of the surrounding area, ridges upon ridges of the same pink baren mountains. Petrified dunes, mountains talking about folds and torments, mountains crumbling down slowly and spectacularly.

The Camel Trail is dotted by many rest-houses, places where you can stop for a drink or snack and where you can rest. Carrying water and so much weight in the top heat of the day seemed a stupidity. But I had all this scenery and the views for myself. Nobody was coming up or going down at this time. Mind you, I had started shortly after 12:30pm and it was scorching hot. But I took my time and once I hit the 2000m high Elijah's Basin I stopped and explored the area. The views were only getting better. On the way up I had noticed a couple chapels perched high up on steep slopes with a zigzagging trail leading up to them. Were they closer to God up there? Not sure, but certainly more isolated and most likely requiring some faith to go up there.

The higher I got the more spectacular the views. But, at the same time, the bigger my disappointment and anger. The last stretch, ie the last 200m elevation or so, was littered by garbage bins and little shacks as well as the locked wooden boxes that once open turn into small souvenir stalls. Then there were blankets and mattresses all over the place. The keepers of the little shops were renting them out for the night to the tourists/pilgrims coming up. There was too much commercialism here. And too much garbage. There was no way to take a picture without some bin or roof in it. Was this really the top of the mountain, the place you would come as a pilgrim? I felt terribly disappointed by the lack of holiness of this place, at least judging by the sight. But I had the place to myself all afternoon and I tried to apply my aquired skill: to focus on the views and their beauty and try to refrain from letting disappointment and frustration take over. And the views were mindblowing. To the West only the peak of Mt. Katherine at over 2600m was higher, and all around there was this sea of mountains and ridges, from close by to the distant horizon. It was incredible and beautiful. I let their spell work on me.

I set up my tripod and took pictures until the sun set and then the dusk gave way to the night. It was already dark when suddenly I could hear distant chanting. It was Orthodox chanting from the monastery carried away by the warm air, facilitated by the silence around and amplified by the echoes. It was a magical experience.
I had already picked a spot and laid out my mat and sleeping bag about 100m below the summit. I enjoyed a sandwich and then wrote in my diary for a while and read some more Arabian stories. I actually finished the book up here. I fell asleep gazing at the stars...
But it wasn't really a good night's sleep. People started coming up and moving around way before midnight. The main bulk started to arrive after 2am. At least I was warm and comfortable in my sleeping bag and only got up around 4:30am.
By the time the sun rose from behind the dozens of ridges there were dozens of people on the top. Maybe a couple hundred. Some were here gathered around their priests and they had a short ceremony afterwards. But the different songs and gospels sung by groups and even some (Korean ?) nuns were not just beautiful but also felt appropriate. There was silence and peacefulness as everybody was waiting for the sun to come up. The ridges were like layers in various shades of grey then brown, the more distant the lighter.
It was a special emotional experience, hard for me to describe in words and even images. There was curiosity, interest that drove people up there but there was definitley also faith, a deep moving faith for some of those who had struggled to get up there.

I started my descent along with others but then I stopped to let everybody go in order to have the trail and mountain for myself. I preferred it that way and enjoyed the stairway at a slow pace with stops and side explorations.

After Mt Sinai and the St. Katherine monastery there was still a lot to see in the area. Walking and camel treks were possible in the area but they all required a guide and the costs were not that small. But I was curious to see more and so I walked up a couple of ridges around the village and enjoyed the views at sunset.
And then, since I had detailed trail descriptions printed off the internet I dared go on my own. It wasn't anything difficult at all, but I was stressed about being stopped and asked what I was doing alone in those areas. Nevertheless, I went.

The valleys in between the ridges are called wadis. They are ancient river beds. During rains they also turn into flood beds. Their width and size varies from very narrow to hundreds of meters wide. They can also surprise you, clueless tourist. The descriptions I had were mentioning orchards and it somehow didn't make sense.
The area was so dry, the terrain so crumbly and sandy, and yet...

The wadi no further than behind the first ridge around the village was long and narrow and hosting several orchards. The delicate fresh green was in stark contrast to the rock and valley walls. Yet they were surviving and thriving and I could see apple and pomegranate trees amoung others. Then there were lots of herbs growing wild in the dusty soil. I was gently rubbing their leaves and then sniffing my hand. Lovely!
I discovered the well, not more than 2 little pools carved in rock. The water was dripping slowly down the rock wall and collecting into these pools. That was it. The marvel of nature.

An old bedouin came along the wadi and he asked me through gestures what I was doing there. Also through gestures I explained that I came from El Milga (the actual name of the bedouin village) and going back there. He nodded.
He had seen me sniffing the herbs because all of a sudden he offered me a short stem with tiny purple flowers. He indicated me to smell it. Hmmmm! That was divine. Suddenly I jumped up and grinned and thanked him. He nodded again, turned and walked his way. Only now I noticed he was carrying a bag of apples on his back and a bunch of herbs in one hand.
I was in heaven. I felt so utterly happy all of a sudden; this brief encounter had told me so much about these people, it was simply fantastic. Boy, I was excited. I kept sniffing at my flower all the way back with the grin still on my face. Then, eventually, I picked up a couple yellow flowers and decided to dry them all and keep them as a very personal souvenir from Sinai.
On the way back to camp I was greeted by other bedouins from their orchard. They waved and smiled at me. And when I reached the "outskirts" of the village I met a very young - and handsome! - bedouin who welcomed me and asked me if I needed any help. I had got used to this by now and in a sudden impulse I asked "How do you say beautiful in Arabic?" True to myself I had to learn this word along with "hello", "please" and "thank you". My magic words for travelling.

The hike was lovely and it didn't confirm my fears. On the contrary, it showed me that people were very nice and friendly and it was worth spending more time exploring the area.
However, after 4 days spent here I had to go. My next stop was Nuweiba, a small town at the Red Sea, the place to take the ferry to Jordan from.

Reaching Nuweiba took a lot of time and was tiring, mainly because the direct bus isn't working anymore and you have to haggle with the taxi drivers. I arrived in Nuweiba in the dark, exhausted and drenched in sweat. However, one step closer to Jordan.

Leaving Cairo

2008-09-21T09:52:00.000-07:00

My second day in Cairo was marked by the heat.

I spent an hour at the post office trying to send a little parcel: a few clothes I could not afford to carry around, clothes that were left by me in January in my trekking backpack which I was now taking with me. It was a frustrating hour but I stayed calm and smiled all the way. When I left the office I had not just survived but the parcel was on its way. And I could go someplace to calm down :-)

After a break in the shade and a cold drink in a quiet corner of the Nile Hilton garden (it's so good to know peaceful corners in busy, crazy places! ) I went over to the Egyptian Museum. I wanted to see again those treasures and save some energy. The museum was within walking distance from my hostel, very close actually. I did not feel like walking across the city in this heat although I would have loved to see the old Islamic part of the city again with its superb mosques.
In the museum it was very crowded as usual and I had to sit down a few times and rest. The heat was unbearable. Unlike the first time I did not even try to look at the things that were not of major significance. I focused on Tutankhamun's treasures and the Old Kingdom, Ashkenathen and the beautifully painted Roman mummy masks which I liked so much the first time.

When I left the museum I felt exhausted and went back to the shady garden for a break. After a coffee and an orange juice and some reading I left for a walk along the Nile. Eventually I crossed over to Zamalek, the high end residential area and wandered on its streets. I found the lovely "Diwan" bookstore and spent some time there. When I left the bookstore I had 2 new books to read: a novel written by a Palestinian writer and a collection of Arabian short stories.

I forgot to mention: it is Ramadan time and so during the day Islamists fast between 4am and 6pm. It is a very interesting time to be here. The prayers are much longer than usual and their chanting fills the air mornings and evenings in a wonderful way. I do enjoy that very much, and I often pause to listen whereever I am and whatever I'm doing. In the evening the side streets are lined up with tables where poor people and actually anybody can eat for free. It is a very interesting sight. When I left the bookstore the prayer was echoing across the city and people were eating at the tables under the bridge and along the Nile. The sun had set and the dusk was taking over. I missed my camera realizing that it was the first time that I did not carry it with me. Both days in Cairo I just left it behind at the hostel. The heat was getting at me.

I strolled back on the bridge across the Nile and stopped again in the quiet garden to read until the darkness took over completely. Because of the heat I had drunk all day a lot but I had not been able to eat anything. Now I thought that maybe an ice-cream was appropriate and so I walked back to town and ate an icecream. I had dreamed about eating all those things I liked in Cairo: fuul at Felfella, tabbouleh at Nagib Machfouz's cafe, ice cream at my favorite parlour, etc. But I did not manage to enjoy any of those. It was simply too hot and the time too short. I was feeling sad and already nostalgic for Cairo.

The following day I got on the bus to St Katherine, the old Christian monastery in Sinai at the feet of Mt. Sinai, a place of pilgrimage and historic significance.

The bus left Cairo at 11 am. As soon as we left behind the last suburbs of Cairo we entered the desert. A flat, dead, ugly desert. It simply had no appeal. And the settlements looked desolate with shabby worn down buildings, no colours and no greenery. I fell asleep soon.

It was only after about 6.5 hours on the bus that the scenery changed. At first we had the sea on the right as we reached and passed Suez but then it all changed dramatically into the unique spectacular landscape Sinai has. The sun was setting just about this time and we had less than 1 hour of enjoying the views of the barren red ridges and mountains: wrinkled, broken and tormented. Layers upon layers of these.

It was close to 8pm when we arrived in St Katherine which had an impressive display of street lights considering the size of the place. In the dark I found my way to the El Malga Camp and was happy about the nice welcome. There did not seem to be anybody else there except for me. I took a much needed shower. It had been hot and sticky in the bus without the air conditioning working.

I had a bed in a dormitory - dormitory which I did not share with anybody throughout my 3 days there - but the air was so pleasant and the sky was so gorgeous with an almost full rising moon that I stayed outside in the bedouin tent. It was very comfortable to lay there on the carpets and cushions to read, eat or sleep. I read a bit and then decided to sleep there in spite of the mosquitos. Oh, yes, the mosquitos. I had completely forgotten about them but now they were simply feeding on me. I decided to ignore them the best I could.

It was too wonderful to fall asleep gazing at the stars to waste my energy on mosquitos.

Not My Lucky Day

2008-09-20T08:56:00.000-07:00

First day in Cairo, Egypt

I arrived in Cairo as planned. That is after a bus ride (instead of a 100+ minutes delayed train plus subsequent subway and bus), some 5 hours waiting in the airport in Bucharest, a flight to Athens, 3 hours in Athens and another 2 hours flight to Cairo. I arrived in Cairo at 1:45am. In spite of the very short and fast formalities the queues at the airport for passport control and visa were long and slow. By the time I retrieved my luggage it was around 2:30am. I escaped the very pushy taxi drivers and looked for a seat in a corner.
My plan seemed to work so far. I planned on sleeping a few hours on the airport then make my way into the city in the morning by daylight. This way I saved the cost for a night at the hostel (would have been a very short one anyway) and I could go early to the Syrian embassy and apply for the visa. I did not sleep but lay there over my pack across 2 seats. From time to time somebody came and asked whether I needed help :-)

It was before 6am when I headed out of the airport. Some information I had was wrong. The bus terminal was at the other airport terminal, so I took the shuttle and with some asking around found the bus terminal and got on a bus. That costed only 2LE instead of the 100LE a taxi would have charged. I got off at Nasser subway station and from there walked to my hostel. It was very pleasant in the morning hours. The traffic was not very bad yet, the birds were twittering and the temperature was still ok. Very warm but ok. I walked based on my instinct and gut sense. I had walked a lot in Cairo in January and so felt quite confident about it.

And so I arrived at Paris Hotel at 7am. But 7am is way too early. At this time all shops are closed and all respectable people are still in bed. I sat down on the stairway and read for 1 hour and a half. I finished my book. I finished the second book since I left my mom's place. I loved that. First it was Voltaire's "Candide" which was extremely entertaining and now a book I had taken out of an impulse: a young man's survival story in winter in the Himalayas. 43 days without food and much else spent at around 3500m. A gripping story of determination and family support and love. This reading was also good for another reason: it meant lightening my pack.

To cut it short, after a warm welcome from the hostel owner I left my bag there and headed for the Syrian embassy. Getting there was straightforward as it was in the neighbourhood of the Ethiopian embassy. I'm quite knowledgeable about embassies in Cairo it seems :-)

At the embassy the answer to my request was similarly straightforward. No. I cannot get the visa. Why didn't I apply in Canada? But there was no time for explanations and so I left the building disappointed, very disappointed.

Alright, plan A did not work so I had to switch to plan B now. Except there was no plan B. Well, not until I reached the corner of the next street. And I went even further than that: there's a plan B and a plan C. Suffice to say that the latter would add beiruth to the list of keywords.

Maybe it was the lack of good sleep, the dehydration or the heat, possibly the combination of all these on top of which came the disappointment, but as I was walking away from the embassy I suddenly felt very weak and about to faint. I stopped and bought something to drink right away. It was hot and sticky and the sweat was dripping off my face and body.

Since my favorite internet cafe was in this neighbourhood and went there only to find it closed. Another disappointment.

I decided to go check out the bus terminal before returning to the hostel and getting some rest. I needed to find the long distance bus terminal and see if I could get bus tickets for the Sinai ahead of time. Getting to the terminal was not very straightforward mainly because the directions in Lonely Planet were misleading. I walked the shorter and straightforward way on the way back. The good news was that I could get the bus ticket now. And so, out of disappointment I decided to not stay until Thursday as initially planned, but leave on Wednesday. I wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. It was hot, too hot, dirty and polluted.

On the way back to the hostel I calmed down and enjoyed the things that I liked so much about Cairo. The people, the livelihood, the colours, the contrasts, the architecture. And as I just pushed back my earlier disappointment I suddenly felt sad about leaving Cairo so early. I was stupid. Why did I just act out of an impulse? Oh, well, that was it now. Nobody to blame but myself. I missed the chance to see some more beautiful places and revisit others. That was stupid.

I returned to the hostel and took a much needed shower. I was stinking dirty. Then I decided to take a nap. The heat was giving me a very hard time. And my nap lasted from about 2pm to almost midnight. That was my first day in Cairo. Not the best one, for sure :-)

I Got It!

2008-09-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

I got it! I got it!

Oh, it's so great to have friends! Dolly is simply a genius. She came up with this crazy idea of camouflaging in the desert. I might even be able to kidnap a bedouin's camel, I figure. The disguise is so good that the poor camel wouldn't be able to tell me apart from its owner. Oh yeah! Now I'm ready to go. Psst, it's me, Pepe :-)

Bedouin Roads

2008-09-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

It's time to put on the pack and trekking gear and go. Time to take out the camera and abuse it. To feel overwhelmed by new impressions. To have my senses overwhelmed by new tastes and flavours, new scents and shapes. It's time to raise the awareness level beyond the ordinary and soak everything in like a dried-out sponge. To leave comfort behind and get assaulted by an unfamiliar reality. To appreciate water again properly. To accept dust as a protective layer. And to acknowledge tiredness as the best sign of being alive.

I have long ago given up the very philosophical stance of "Cogito ergo sum" ("I think, therefore I am") and assumed a more pragmatic point of view. It's neither a better way nor the way I would defend. It's just the road I have taken at some point. I need more than just thinking to feel alive. Aren't our thoughts sometimes our own worst enemies? They can make me dead tired much too often.

Very soon this road of mine will cross the bedouin roads in the Jordanian desert. And, with a little bit of luck, it will meet the Silk Road in magic places like Damascus and Palmyra.

I dream of spending the nights in the desert under the stars. And so I take my magic carpet with me - the dirty dusty beaten up yellow foampad that has been with me everywhere, from Nepal to South Africa and Kilimanjaro - and hope for the best.

My Friends and I

2008-09-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

We've been here for a few weeks now. Oh, it can get so boring sometimes! Except for a few hikes and a bike tour I was most of the time in bed. As if I were tired. As if I needed to rest.
Thank God my cousin Dolly (or Lola, as Veggie likes to call her) is here. I like her very much, but she's a little too pretentious for me. She never goes out and she NEVER EVER gets dirty! She just likes opera and ballet and watches TV most of the time. She told me when we first met that I am spoiled and I felt quite offended. She has a big heart, though.

And then, there's also Fritz. She's damn smart. She's stressed out working on her PhD thesis. Dolly and I are giving her a hand with that. She'd be totally lost without our support. However, sometimes we still need to ask Veggie for help. You see, Excel tables and such are not really my strength. But I'm becoming very knowledgeable in that area soon. Or maybe not, since we're leaving in a couple of days. Hmmmm, travelling again...

To be honest I'm anxious, eager to travel again. It's a huge world but there are relatives of mine pretty much everywhere, I discovered. So I feel at home everywhere. The only thing I'm not really looking forward to is that old smelly backpack I'll be in again. Especially now that I am clean and smelling so good. Veggie took her time to prepare a bubblebath for me when we got here and I think it paid off. I smell soooo good!!

I'm looking forward to the desert. I wonder whether we'll go sandboarding again. I loved so much being in the sand. Those were my softest landings ever. I enjoyed so much the dunes at Sossusvlei that I actually jumped out. In hindsight, I think it was good that Spiros found me, I would have frozen at night there. Plus, I would have missed so many places. Oh, and Veggie would have missed me, too. Yes, it's probably better this way.

Anyway, I better get to do some more packing. Veggie is almost ready with her preparations and I'm still stuck with the statistics for patients suffering from chronic pancreatitis.
But I'm not yet sure about my attire. It's definitely not going to be the orange "African" silk scarf. I need something more appropriate for the Middle East. I guess I better ask Dolly for advice. Plus, Veggie might come any minute now and find me here on the keyboard.

Pepe

Cycling in Romania

2008-09-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

Cycling has become quite popular in Romania. There are a couple good shops in any big town; there are more young people cycling than ever; a mountain bike magazine is being published monthly; lately there are a lot of races and competitions.

Needless to say how much I miss my bike. Baby Oryx just made it over the border from the US to Canada, still not yet in Vancouver almost 4 months after handing it over to the shipping company in Cape Town :-(

Apart from the bookstores and mountain gear stores I have also visited all the bike shops in Brasov. I nearly bought a bike. It was orange but too expensive for my current pocketsize. My frustration just grew steadily. And so I could not resist a very tempting project: a bike tour in and around the Caliman mountains.

Lacking a support vehicle and panniers we had to improvise. And so with a minimum of stuff we cycled for 4 days almost 300km. The distances after an endeavour like TDA may seem negligible, but overall the tour was not that trivial. The dirt roads were worth of Ethiopia and some paved roads not unlike the bad ones in Zambia. And the pouring rain reminded me of Malawi and the day we left Chitimba Beach.
With a little over 9kg on my back (including Pepe and my camera), the tour was quite strenious at times and reminded me of TDA. Yep, the pack was much heavier than in Africa.
The plan was to leave the car in Toplitza, ride up and down the mountain (South to North) and then ride for a stretch westwards through beautiful countryside before traversing the mountain again North to South and back to our starting point. As an alternative on the way back we could just ride around the mountain in a larger loop. On top of that we wanted to do a couple of hikes. We carried rain clothes and minimal warm and change clothes, snacks for the day and water, sleeping bags and cameras.

Day 1. After about 2km on paved road we turned right onto the dirt road and gained 1340 m in elevation over some 22km. What started as an even almost flat road became steeper, bumpier and rockier the higher we got and was quite bad on the last section. It was in the end more like a deactivated logging road traversing meadows, then pine forests and eventually zigzag-ing up the grassy slopes to the Retzitzis meteorological station and the hut at around 2020m.

It was a hot day and we had to carry not just our sleeping bags but also food for dinner and breakfast next morning. Up here there was no place to eat. But the sweeping views were - though not spectacular - beautiful and peaceful. I couldn't stop thinking that I would love to go back in winter on snowshoes or skis. The gentle slopes and open areas must be fairy tale like covered in snow. The pack was heavy and it was very hot but the water we fetched in different spots from little creeks or wells was extremely cold and refreshing.

In the afternoon we did a short hike on the plateau. There were lots of juniper trees and rhododendron. It was too late to go for the 6hours hike we had intended. But the plateau walk was relaxing and the views at sunset simply beautiful.

Overall less than 30km riding with the continuous climb making up for the short mileage.

Day 2. Bright and hot again. The descent on the other side of the mountain was on a dirt road that was worse than many dirt roads I rode on in Africa. About 400m from the hut I had a first snake bite. Less than 200m further I had a second one. Fortunately we had enough patches. It wasn't looking good. We had to slow down and go over the sharp rocks with more caution. After a few kilometers and a few hundred meters lower finally the dirt road became a bad paved road that kept improving.

We passed a sulphur exploitation which - in spite of the chromatic appeal - is an ecological disaster the way it has chopped and butchered the mountain and littered the area with abandoned machinery and buildings.
Approximately 1000m below the top plateau we stopped and "parked" our bikes at a guesthouse. Our plan was to go for a hike to the 12 Apostles - some rocky formations on a nearby ridge - about 750m elevation gain.

The hike was lovely: it took us over meadows and pastures up hills and steep slopes with great views of the main valley and mountains. The meadows were sprinkled with hay stacks and there were some cows grazing around. After traversing the pine forest we emerged on the top ridge carpeted with blueberry bushes full of ripe fruit. Yummy! We just picked hands full and ate them on the spot. We enjoyed lunch sitting on the rocks and took some pictures before returning to the village and our bikes some 5 hours later. After enjoying some cold drinks and ice cream we got back on our bikes and continued as planned towards Vatra Dornei.

The countryside was beautiful with nice villages and just farming land around. We had not made arrangements for the night and decided not to stop in town. Being Friday afternoon it was also hard to find available rooms. But we were enjoying this so much that we couldn't care less. When it got dark we just put on headlamps and I put on my reflective jacket and we continued. There were a few hills but nothing major. It was pitchdark and late after 9pm when we found a place to overnight after flipping a coin to decide whether to keep going or stop at a pricey guesthouse.
Overall we had done almost 70km on the bike and a 5 hours hike. Not bad.

Day 3. This was the hottest day. Staying on a major road we climbed up the Tihutza pass gaining over 600m elevation before descending on the other side. There were sections with construction work going on and we definitely moved faster than many cars did. The houses in this area were decorated with woodcarvings, sometimes not just on the window frames and shutters but on the whole facade.
It is a very picturesque area with rolling hills and pastures bordered by forest, all towered by mountains in the distance.

We wanted to go to the Colibitza lake and so we did: another 6.5km uphill on a dirt road in scorching heat. My pack felt heavier and heavier. However, on the other side we were rewarded with the views of the lake and a tasty meal on a nice patio. The heat was unbearable, the water too tempting and so we cooled off in the lake. That was extremely refreshing.

Our initial plan was to overnight here and return to the car in Toplitza the next day over the mountain following logging road up and down the top. Fortunately, during one of our stops (a coke stop in a pretty little town) I heard people talking about the weather forecast. The next day it was going to rain. Actually the forecast was for thunderstorms and extremely heavy rains. Under these circumstances our initial plan sucked. We could not be on a dirt road of uncertain condition and high up in the mountains in bad weather. Therefore, we decided to stick to the main road, go down to Bistritza and return to Toplitza over a longer but weatherwise safer route. And so we did.

We rode to Bistritza and past and ended in some god-forgotten villages. We had to stop and ask for directions from time to time. Dusk caught us going uphill on a sandy road but then it went downhill and down a large valley. We kept going up and down in the dark. But I did not want to stop and put on the headlamp. But there was nobody around at night except for us. It felt crazy and more challenging to ride the dirt road in the dark. It was also quite risky. I could not see anything ahead other than the road slightly lighter than the rest, the fields and bushes on the side. We had no overnight arrangements again and also not much of an idea where and how far we were going to get tonight. Above us the stars were twinkling but the moon was nowhere to be seen. I felt wonderfully free and happy.

Again we were lucky. In the village of Sieutz where we arrived around 9:30pm and stopped at a junction to check the map and put on headlamps I dared ask locals about any possibilities to overnight. They were very nice and helpful. We ended up sleeping on the carpeted floor in their living room.
Today we had done more than 120km.

Day 4. It rained overnight. In the morning the air was fresh and there were dark clouds in the sky. We started early without breakfast. We stopped further in a village and had some snacks in front of a little grocery shop. The sky behind was dark and stormy, we were trying to just stay ahead of the storm. Before hitting the main road again we rode some more on dirt roads over beautiful hills and through a few villages. We could see the sky lit in the distance by the lightnings and we could hear the rumbling thunders. The storm was getting closer and closer and we were pushing to stay ahead.

Soon after we reached the main road the rain started. The road was following the course of the Mures river, a beautiful picturesque valley and a scenic drive otherwise. But the trees and hills were now hidden in the clouds. It rained very heavily at times reducing visibility to a few meters only. We were soon soaked and getting splashed continuously by the passing cars. We cycled through the thunderstorm with the lightnings hitting so close that the thunders sounded like deafening gunshots. But it was fun and I could not help but remember the similar downpours in Africa. When we finally arrived at the car it was almost 3pm and we were quite tired and still drenched after 60km in the rain. Looking back it felt incredible to have been up the mountain a couple of days ago. And we were happy to not have followed the initial route. It would have been at least miserable to be caught up in the mountains in this weather.

We had done around 100km today and almost 300km in total.

This was a great adventure: it included a bit of everything without any prearrangements and much certainties. I loved that and wish I had more of these. Considering my current lack of shape ( I admit walking the bike a few times, not to mention my turtle speed uphill and the many stops :-), the fact that I wasn't used to the borrowed bike and the heavy backpack it also felt like an achievement. It had also been a lot of fun to see the look people gave us. Obviously some thought of us being nutcases. Knowing that I'm not the only nutcase around is very reassuring though :-)

Carpathian Adventures

2008-09-03T06:20:00.000-07:00

Well, that sounds much more challenging than what I really did. I was fortunate enough to have good friends on vacation when I arrived in Romania and so I went on a few hikes with them.
To be honest both Pepe and I were eager to go hiking and enjoy some more days outdoors. Not to mention that we both missed the bike. Pepe was pushing and so we went :-)

Piatra Craiului is located nearby Brasov, my hometown, and is a jewel among the Romanian mountains. It is also the one that reminds me most of the Alps. The white rock, the big vertical walls, the jagged ridge with superb towers and spires - I find it simply fascinating.

The flora is also very pretty with a few delicate endemic flowers and the rare edelweiss.

Spotting mountain goats is almost "unavoidable". Over 2 days we scrambled up to the ridge, slept crammed ( 10 in a shelter for 7 - I slept under the sleeping platform) in one of the fiberglass shelters high on the ridge (above 2000m) and then descended to the valley after a spectacular ridge walk. The descent itself was steep and very tough on our knees.

I paid the toll for this treat: on a second trip there I had to bail out of a challenging scramble. My knees simply hurt too much.

Hasmasu Mare is a "softer" massiv and less popular. There's still a lot of forest, and vertical rocks are towering over vast pastures. Traditional shepherding - you can still encounter that effortless around here. Peaceful and picturesque, the mountain offers beautiful views of the countryside and hills and the distant mountains around.

Piatra Mare is a smaller mountain very close to Brasov. It is terribly busy on the weekends but still has a lot of charm. It is great for a dayhike and the plateau perfect for a picnic. And that's exactly what we did.

Further North from Brasov the Caliman Mountains are not very popular. Apart from the terrible scar in the shape of a semi-abandoned sulphur mine they are more pristine and peaceful. Lots of juniper trees and rhododendron still grow in this national park. I had not been here before and a bike tour through and around the national park sounded like a great idea. It was an awesome trip.

What next?

2008-08-30T14:02:00.000-07:00

When I left Vancouver a year ago I was determined not to return unless I was financially broke. I'm close, much too close to that. And I had to already make some decisions because of it. I am here in Romania to see my mother and sister and also to prolongue my vacation a bit. It's also the best Bed&Breakfast deal, I discovered. However, since I can't behave like a complete parasite I make up by doing things around the house: digging, weeding, planting, cleaning and fixing. The best part of all this is the fact that all these things require physical effort.

The one place I still want to see before returning is Petra and the desert in Jordan. I've had with me for months now the magazine pages detailing out an 8 day trek around Petra. The time has come for it. July and August were too hot. If I'm lucky and get the Syrian visa I'll not just see Jordan but also Damascus in Syria and then return overland to Romania.
First, I'm flying to Cairo where I pick up my pack with all the trekking gear. From there via bus, ferry, bus and possibly camel I'll make my way to Petra.

When am I coming/going back to Canada? After this last adventure. I do not have a deadline but I'd love to catch some skiing and snow-camping this winter. I missed that.

Looking Back

2008-08-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

It's been a year today since I left Canada. I had a one way ticket to Kathmandu and the only other thing that was certain was the start of the Tour d'Afrique - January 12 - I had enrolled for. I had Pepe with me, my most faithful supporter and friend, my camera and the backpack stuffed with trekking gear and a few books. Well, there were also some old dreams and a whole bunch of fears and strengths I carried with me but I wasn't too much aware of all these.

It's been an amazing year of experiencing and learning, of discovering places and people but also discovering and learning about my own resources. I have managed slowly and with persistence to leave stress behind; to focus on big things and ignore the details when the latter were undermining the experience, the joy and learning. And, at the same time, to notice and care more about the details when they were giving more shape and meaning to the big picture. There is a fine balance to try and keep and I'm still far from mastering it.

For the first time in many years I took time to listen to my thoughts and I also let them wander. I have laughed and smiled like never before and, boy, that felt so good! It's been the best medicine and nicest gift to receive everywhere: a warm smile.

I met wonderful people and made new friends. I am confident in the strength of these friendships across time and continents. This alone is a wonderful thing.
I do feel rich and fortunate. It's a richness you can't buy and nobody can take away from you. I close my eyes and travel all over. I'm in the mountains in Nepal breathing the thin air or resting my gaze on the green rice terraces. I am walking through the mist in South Africa or exploring the dry, hot desert in Sudan; I am climbing the Big Wall in China or listening to a gospel song in Zambia; listening to the drums in Tanzania or watching the fishermen floating in their nutshell-boats on Lake Malawi. And those are just a few examples.

There is a good or positive aspect in everything. And there is always something to be grateful for, even if it's only the lesson learned or the scar left as a precious reminder. Having a scar ultimately means still being alive. (Plus, I discovered, unless left with a scar people do not remember or learn a lesson.)

I am, in all honesty, grateful to my ex-husband for giving me the opportunity to experience all this and to learn more about my strengths and fears.

Dreaming of Africa

2008-08-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

Africa. I think I got under its spell. My mind wanders again and again back to it. And, if my heart doesn't long for it all the time, it gets reminded daily in the weirdest way.
I was born and lived for most of my life - before coming to Canada that is - near a zoo. Yes, a zoo. And this small and miserable zoo always had lions which filled the nights of my childhood with their deep terrifying roars. I don't like zoos and I haven't been to one (this one merely a few hundred meters away) in the last 20 years or so. But these days when the deep roar sounds at various times of the day or night it cuts through me and takes me back to Africa instantaneously. I know I will go to the zoo one of these days and I'll just whisper something pathetic to the lion suffering so far away from his homeland.

Colours at Work

And then there are the last pictures taken in Arusha in the early morning hours. They make me feel very nostalgic. A few people were busy sweeping the streets. The warm hazy air was filled with bird twittering. The town was waking up to life as the people were taking their produce to the market and traffic was slowly picking up.
There are sweat and colours, rhythm and endurance, need and plentifulness, noise and silence, an entire palette of contrasts and so much more that I see and feel looking at the pictures.
The rhythm of the swinging hips, the gorgeous colours of the dresses, the sweet taste of the juicy ripe fruit, the sound of the birds - my senses are longing for those moments and treasuring their memory.

Crazy Backpacker Confessions

2008-08-01T13:43:00.000-07:00

I'm a backpacker. And yet, sometimes I am plagued by doubts. I don't think I even qualify into that category. I've been called crazy and that may be closer to reality.

What makes a backpacker? The backpack? The number of backpacks? The travelling pace? The curiosity to discover? The wealth in experience? The scarcity of means?

When I left Vancouver I left 4 backpacks behind in different sizes and for different purposes. I took my good old big backpack and my beloved small all-around backpack. Then, in Nepal, on my first trek with a porter-cum-guide I realized that the small pack was too small to work as a daypack and so I bought a bigger small backpack.

However, on my next trek when I went solo I took the old little pack and stuffed it in the big backpack. It worked perfectly for the daytrips I did from time to time as well as for the photo sessions at sunset and sunrise.

Then, before leaving the Asian continent, I realized I had to get rid of some stuff and one of the small packs and I said good-bye to the new one, being too emotionally attached to the old and worn small backpack.
To my disappointment in Cairo I had no choice before starting the Tour d'Afrique but to give up the big backpack. In hindsight I now know I could have asked for a favour and got the backpack and the trekking things loaded on the truck along with the permanent bag. But I didn't dare ask and so I left the pack there. The small backpack I carried on my bike for the duration of the tour except for 3 days when the rain was too heavy. My camera was always with me this way.
When the TdA ended in Capetown and I now wanted to go hiking and backpacking I had no choice. First thing in CapeTown I bought a big backpack. Then, when I decided to go back and climb Kili I realized that my good old small backpack was too unreliable by now besides being a bit too small. The zipper had given me headaches for months now. To cut it short, I bought a small backpack but still didn't give up the old one.
I left Africa with all 3 backpacks and still think back about the old pack semi-wrapped in duct tape that I left in Cairo. Sometime this fall I hope to get there and pick it up. My gore-tex layers, trekking poles and a few more items are stuffed inside.

Does any of this qualify me as a backpacker? Yep, I guess you're right! Whether it makes me a backpacker or not is irrelevant, what is certain is that I'm crazy.

Little Red Riding Hood

2008-07-31T12:57:00.000-07:00

I have long ago come to the conclusion that jewellery could be a much better and cheaper interest than others. Too bad I don't like jewellery. Any hobby or interest can turn into an addiction and a weakness. And, in my case, along with books it's mountain gear. I can go and look at stuff over and over again. And I never stop craving for more. As well as for more time out there in the hills.

A couple of days ago I went to town with some clear tasks. I had to send some paperwork to the shipping company in order to get my bike back in Canada. The details of this story are too many and upsetting to get into them. Fact is that my bike shipped from CapeTown more than 2 months ago is stuck in US customs. And then I was supposed to buy some vegetables and bread.

After getting the first task done I was on my way to the market when I walked by an outdoor gear store. The temptation was too big and I had to enter and inspect the sleeping bags, climbing shoes, etc. The store didn't carry the fuel cartridges for my new little stove and so I was advised to try another store.
The next store had more stuff and also the fuel and I was happy to buy it. But I opened my wallet to fetch the money and realized that I only had enough money to pay for it, no money left to buy bread and vegetables.
"Oops, I'm sorry", I excused myself when I suddenly realized the situation. "I guess I'm like little red riding hood. My mom sent me to buy bread and vegetables and instead I got carried away by all this stuff. I'll come back to buy it since I don't have enough money with me now".
The salesman looked at me startled and, hopefully, amused :-) And shortly after I found myself laughing out loud on the street remembering the scene...

How old am I? Darn, I should carry a mirror with me all the time. It's only when I look in the mirror that I am reminded and realize that, yes, I am forty even though I mostly feel like a teenager.

Out Of Africa

2008-07-27T14:37:00.000-07:00

It is the first time that I come to Europe and feel completely uninspired. Days before leaving Africa I was looking at the options for cancelling my flight or postponing it for another month or so.

I feel like I walked up to the roof of Africa and rolled all the way down and beyond its boundaries.

No stranger said hello to me, no stranger smiled at me over the last few days. Everything is clean and orderly and everybody is busy. People are busy going someplace and working. They're busy eating and talking and I presume sometimes they're busy being busy. Every time I am in a car I'm stressed: the car drives on the wrong side of the road...

I'm out of Africa, yes, but where am I ? My pace is different and just about everything else about me seems to be in contrast to the people around me. I feel like running away and back into the bush...

Hakuna Matata

2008-07-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, be happy!

Over the course of the 8 days spent on the Kilimanjaro trek/climb I've heard this hundreds of times. Hakuna matata! No worries.

I wasn't there to worry. I was there to be happy.
That was at least one argument for me not wanting to climb in March in only 5 or 6 days. I've had my experience with altitude, I had been sick for a day/night in Nepal and only Pepe knows how miserable I've been there and then. I also knew from back then how great I felt once acclimatized and how much I enjoyed being up in the thinner air. To the point where I was running and jumping out of happiness and excitement. No, a fast approach was not for me.

The Shira route our group followed is a beautiful hike: a courtship of Kilimanjaro. At least that's how I felt during the 6 days before we summitted. From West to South-East we walked around the mountain, watching and admiring it from the different angles.
We entered the alpine region right on the first day and enjoyed being high above the clouds for the whole trip. I felt stranded on this solid big mountain like on an island in a sea of clouds. It was a white fluffy sea covering everything beneath, only pierced by the top of Mt. Meru in the distance and the Kilimanjaro and Mawenzi peaks here. The mornings were perfectly clear, and so were the nights, too. The afternoons were marked by a pilgrimage of clouds shrouding the peak in mystery and haze, but by sunset this was over and the rock was glowing orange and then red in the setting sunlight. At night the sky was lit by a bright Milky Way and an ever growing and brighter moon. You could see the mountain throughout the night in the silvery moonlight. This fact only was fantastic!

The hike took us from the moorland and giant heather region into the alpine semi-desert where the little heliochrysum bushes were the only vegetation. The delicate white daisy-like flowers were glittering in the sunlight dotting the otherwise dry, dusty and rocky scenery. And then there were some small yellow flowers and purple thistles. From time to time we encountered giant lobelia plants, a few even in blossom. They were perfectly shaped with their many layers of green leaves like giant scales and the deep blue flowers almost hidden beneath them. The giant senecio trees were a huge surprise: they clearly preferred some valleys and slopes where they grow up to a few meters high. In a way their shape and silhouettes reminded me of Namibia's quivertrees or some giant cactus.

Our summit bid began at midnight along with many other groups. At first the walk made me think of a pilgrimage. In a way it was: in the dark and cold air we were all aiming for the summit as the climax of a long personal journey, the fulfillment of an old personal dream. But soon I discovered this was much more than that. It was a journey through a surreal landscape, bare and cold, beautifully lit by the full moon. What a great coincidence this was: to have the full moon lighting our way up. We didn't need headlamps. We had our goal all along ahead of us visible and bright. Even during this night we could see Mt Meru in the distance sticking out of the blanket of clouds. Our slowly advancing line of dark silhouettes mirrorred by the line of small black shadows made me think of characters in a fairy tale. We were the dwarfs in a twisted story of this SnowWhite giant. Tough to describe.

The crater was covered in snow and there was also some frozen snow along the crater rim. The snow and glaciers were glittering silvery in the moonlight but when the sun rose it turned everything from silver to gold. It was magnificent. And too short for my taste :-) I was hyper as usual. I reached the peak last and left it last, too. There was simply too much to see and get excited about or take pictures of. I didn't really want to come down but I had no choice ;-)
How excited I was? When we reached the crater rim at Stella Point on the way up Richard - one of the assistant guides - and I sang the "Jambo" song. We had sung it many times over the last few days but I still did not master the words. And so we always sang together... I guess it wasn't too fair towards the many people struggling in the thin air but my excitement was quite borderless at that point :-)

The descent was quite hard on our knees because of the elevation drop and the terrain: all scree and rocks for the 1200m+ back to our camp.

On the way down the mountain after traversing again the alpine desert and heather regions we walked past beautiful protea bushes (some even with a few white flowers left) before descending into the rainforest with its trees wrapped in lichens, delicate purple orchids and pink impatients growing beneath giant ferns and colobus monkeys roaming the trees.

Should I just offer an idealized image of this climb? Was everything smooth and easy? Nope. We had very strong winds for 3 days before the Barrafu camp. It was extremely cold at night and, for the first time ever, I felt very cold at night in my sleeping bag. Darn, was it cold :-) I also had headaches at some point during the acclimatization days and eventually decided to take a small dose of Diamox. But none of this prevented me from singing out loud, from running around to take pictures and from enjoying the whole experience. And I had a huge appetite throughout the whole trip. In fact, I think I just gained some more weight on this trip.

Throughout the time spent in Africa and Nepal I discovered and reconfirmed again and again the fact that the challenges you face while travelling are often not identical to the ones you expect and that the things you are prepared to be impressed by may be less impressive than others. And Kilimanjaro was no exception.

The scenery was fantastic and the hike wonderful. But watching the porters and guides was a bigger treat for me. If I may call it so. I was extremely impressed by the warmth and sense of humour of these people, struggling to make a living mostly away from their families, carrying heavy loads on their head, defying the cold and the wind ill-equipped and often suffering. For so little money and with hardly any expectations for their future. And yet their broad smiles, their jokes and their gospel songs have touched me so deeply.

Just like in Nepal I found myself more interested in spending time around the porters and locals rather than my Western companions. And I was rewarded with so many smiles and friendly chats. Besides, I had so much energy to burn, as usual. So why not help pitch down a tent or share my chocolate and tea with a shivering guide.
And when I sat down to listen to the singing coming out of the tent where most of the porters were crammed together at first the gospel singing stopped but then it picked up again shyly. Yes, Kilimanjaro was a unique experience with and thanks to these people!

To the Roof of Africa

2008-07-11T23:08:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Arusha after an 11 hours long bus ride from Dar Es Salaam tired and sweaty and with a headache bigger than my head. The bus had been comfortable, no complaints, but the strong cheap perfume someone had generously used and the not so great ventilation did it. I had looked forward to this ride because I knew how beautiful the scenery along the way was. To my frustration there seemed to be this stupid rule about having all curtains down. And I was sitting on the aisle feeling trapped. No views from Dar to Moshi, ie about 9.5 hours, but the loud sounds of a pretty dumb movie :-)

It was only in Moshi that more than half of the bus got off and I could swiftly move over to the window seat and pull the curtain away. Where was it? I had missed it in March and it seemed that I wasn't much luckier today. I was here to climb it. Was I going to climb the elusive mountain? The mountain you never got to see from the bottom? There were dark heavy clouds hanging in the air, graying the horizon, hiding the scenery and I sighed in resignation. Maybe I'll see it the day we'll come for the climb...
And then, somehow, this brighter top cloud captured my eye. WOW! There it was. YES!!! I jumped up. The big white top of Mt. Kilimanjaro was towering the clouds. It was all covered in snow and glittering. Oh, wow! I said to myself again. Was that really where I was going to be in a few days? The butterflies in my tummy seemed to multiply exponentially.

I have so far never freaked out in the mountains. Not that there were no opportunities but, somehow, my instinct told me that in those moments it would have been the worst thing to do. However, I freaked out many times preparing for the mountain. And the last few days in Cape Town when the butterflies in my tummy first started and just became more and more nervous, I was continuously on the verge of freaking out. I don't like to be unprepared, not when you deal with something as big and serious as a mountain, and so I never felt confident about whether I had the right gear, enough gear, etc. The expenses on my credit card and the pile of bills - I had never planned for - seemed to contradict my fears and reassure me. Eventually, I had to stop and get going. And now I was here 2 days away from the start of the climb.

Having a one day buffer before starting the trek was good. I walked around Arusha and discovered places I missed in March: the good coffee shops, the ice cream shop ... I went back to the Indian restaurant Maria, Spiros and I liked and I just indulged myself in fresh fruit juices. Hmmmm...

And yet, what I enjoyed most was just watching the town wake up in the morning: the people pushing or pulling their little carts loaded with fresh fruit or vegetables; the women in their strong coloured dresses carrying baskets of fruit or other stuff on their head walking towards the market; the people sweeping the main street clean in the early morning hours and everything else going on before the bulk of the people invaded the streets. I loved sitting and watching all this activity. There was nothing random there; there was a simplicity and a rhythm in the simplest tasks and movements that fascinated me. These were just snapshots of African life but I loved them.

The trip started at a luxury hotel, the Impala Lodge. I'll never understand why white people need to be spoilt in Africa. The room I had at the backpackers hostel was smaller than the bathroom I had here. It was all so shiny and expensive.
Shortly after I arrived I got a phone call from somebody from the trekking agency. I needed 5 minutes before coming down, I said, and I rushed. But once down in the lobby the person was gone. When I inquired the woman at reception told me it was "a green, very green man". Now I was left to wonder. Was it a very environmentally aware person, a sick person or maybe an alien ? After almost one hour of waiting and walking up and down the lobby I came to a conclusion. It was an alien :-)

However, in the early evening hours the alien materialized again and I also met the other group members. We were 5 in total: 2 Brits and 2 Irish guys and me. We were going to have a 23 person crew. Oops ...

Forty - An Essay

2008-07-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

My mom has no picture at forty nor any from her forties. She's anxious to see me again after an almost one year long odyssey. Ever since I started travelling she keeps asking for pictures of me. And I hardly ever fulfil her wish. Very soon she will celebrate her birthday and so I took the time to work on a present for her that I know she'll like.

During my travels I took lots of pictures in Africa and elsewhere: mostly landscapes but once in a while I dared even approach people. And - I have to admit - a few times I was quite surprised by the results.

Over the six months spent in Africa I have been steadily encouraged by friends to overcome my fears. I've never excelled in self-confidence, to put it mildly. Without them, my friends, I'd never have even attempted this. And Pepe takes some credit, too.

Rather than being an act of narcissism I see these pictures as a proof of the simple factors that are important in photography (and not only): light, angle and good knowledge of your subject.

I hope you'll enjoy them, mom! Happy Birthday! I'm now off to climb Kilimanjaro. Wish me luck.

Kindergarden Parade

2008-07-04T15:38:00.000-07:00

Etosha National Park, Namibia

You are sitting and watching the stage with amazement and yet in expectation. You are always in the front row and you know there's always a new actor showing up, others leaving the stage, there's another variation and improvisation on the same theme. And yet it's always new and funny and entertaining.
If you're alert enough you will see them coming in the distance. At first it's just a pair of ears that slowly becomes an individual. And then another, and another and soon it's like a pipe. It's an amazing parade. Apart from the first and last individuals which are usually big and constitute the security guard, the line is a random mixture of kindergarden ages and sizes accompanied by their parents. The elephant kindergarden is on its way to the waterhole - their playground and socializing scene. Over thirty elephants in this case.

As the line approaches the scene it makes a turn and the individuals become more and more distinct. You notice the youngest ones walking almost between the legs of the adults. And they're all coming at a slow pace slightly swinging their bodies.
When they reach the scene all other actors retreat respectfully and the guards post themselves around it. It's a precious moment for the actors as well as for the audience. Here, around the waterhole the elephants socialize and teach their young ones classes.

How to lift a hind leg and stand on the trunk? How to powder with sand and dust? How to roll in the dust? The adults sometimes make a demonstration. The young ones then mimic it, but imperfectly, and earn just a benevolent approval. The audience is exhilarated and sometimes unable to control their laughter.

The elephants are the biggest actors on stage, with even the smallest baby elephant larger than a rhino.The kindergarden comes separately from the bulls which seem to have serious business to discuss when they meet there. Their eye-contact, their sounds and their trunk gymnastics clearly indicate that there is a protocol they follow. An isolated bull's presence may not be approved by the others despite its humble attempts to please. It's not a simple world, the world of elephants...

The show around the Okaukuejo waterhole in Etosha National Park, Namibia, is absolutely incredible. The waterhole is permanent and very popular with the park inhabitants. On top of that it is lit at night. Sitting on the benches in the semicircular audience you only have to watch and be quiet. Talking in whispertone is fine. You see, there is no curtain falling down: it's a perennial show.
During the day it can get hot so you may relax with a cold drink. In the evening or during the night you can enjoy the show while sipping a glass of wine with friends. In the chilly winter nights you can still sit there cuddled in a warm sleeping bag.
There are many waterholes in the park and the ones next to the campgrounds are lit at night. But Okaukuejo seemed more frequented by wildlife.

After the initial excitement at viewing from such proximity dozens and dozens of springbok and zebras you end up taking them for granted. There are thousands of zebras in the park and the springboks are in the tens of thousands. During the day there seems to be a pipe of zebras streaming towards the water. Hundreds and thousands of them are coming. With them it looks like a pilgrimage. Therefore, you get more excited to spot the giraffes and especially watch a giraffe bending its front knees hesitantly almost kneeling down in order to drink. They drink in long sips. In between they need to stand up to avoid dizziness.

The wildebeests, kudus, impalas and oryxes are clearly outnumbered by the zebras, but still present at almost all times during the day around the waterhole.

As for the rhinos, there are slim chances to see them during the day. Their slow and silent entry on stage at dawn or dusk is thus more mysterious. Also at nighttime you can see them socializing around the pool. Occasionally there's a "falling in love" scene when the rhino couple seems to meet for the first time and approach each other shyly. They make eye contact, they very slowly walk toward each other and when they finally delicately touch their noses - and the audience is watching with tension and delight! - they quickly step back as if struck by fear and emotion. It takes another few minutes of slow motion steps before they make contact again :-)

We didn't see any big cats during our 2 nights' stay in the park but we couldn't ignore the lion's presence next to camp. For a whole night every now and then we heard its deep roar. It was cutting through the silent night and making the air vibrate, filling us with fear but also expectation. But it never came onto the stage. Maybe because we were still too many in the audience late after midnight. He is the king and therefore can afford to act with more concern for his privacy.

The experience around the waterhole could be viewed as a form of safari, too, but after being on safari in Serengeti and Ngorongoro I think that watching the show around the waterhole complements rather than substitutes a safari.

And the kindergarden parade, believe me, that's something you don't want to miss!

Entering Surreal

2008-07-02T15:41:00.001-07:00

Images of the Sossusvlei dunes and the dark silhouettes of the dead trees in the nearby Deadvlei have haunted me for years. I remember the first time I saw a picture from the Deadvlei thinking that it was made up. It was just too perfect. And abstract.

Reaching the place on a freezing morning after a very early rise we watched the scenery gain contours as the sun was rising from behind the dunes. Entering the Deadvlei it felt like entering another world, a surreal world, lifeless and still, with few colours and perfect lines and shapes.

How to define the perfect curve? You'd say that perfection doesn't exist in reality but only as a target to aim for. Is there such a thing as the perfect curve? My answer is yes, it exists. And it exists in many variations in the sea of dunes at Sossusvlei. Abstract scenery, apparently lifeless.

The extremely fine sand is a deep sienna red due to the richness in iron oxide. The so-called desert varnish, a dark colouring of the sand in some areas, is due to other oxides existing there. And last but not least the different shades in colouring are due to some microorganisms which absorb moisture from the air at night and release it during the day. The desert is so complex that there is a whole science around it. A fascinating science it must be, but I prefer the fascination of its colours and shapes and contrasts and the mystery it preserves.

There is a sense of timelessness when you look from the top of a dune over the sea of dunes surrounding you. Breathtaking! It is a very harsh environment but undoubtly compensating in beauty for its inhospitability.
You won't see many animals around other than the scarabs climbing up and down the dunes. The ridges - at least the ones easily accessible from the dirt road - get scarred only by human footprints yet, fortunately, they will fade away soon with the wind.

In the Deadvlei I felt like courting every single tree. Of course I couldn't do it, for several reasons: first it was freezing in the morning, then the crowds arrived, then it was scorching hot, then we had to go because it was late :-) But I took it all in, those images have forever impregnated my mind and soul.

We spent an afternoon, a whole day and then another morning at the dunes. We were the exceptions, the weirdos who got there first in the morning and left last, who didn't get enough of this abstract geometry and surreal environment.

Like everybody else we had to walk up dunes and gain a bird's view of the area from the top. Mind-blowing. Picnic on top of a dune? Why not? It was fantastic. And the run straight down the dunes was another great experience, too. Barefoot, up to your ankles in the deep fine hot sand you would let gravity help and run, run, run down. And again you learned a lesson you knew about, but ignored. How deceiving this environment is, how distorted your perception. What looked like a few meters away turned out to be in the hundreds, what looked like a 30 seconds run down took minutes. And down on the flat white scorched Deadvlei there was a small lake... No there wasn't, of course, but the desert mirage was there, perfect, with all the dead trees reflected as if by the silvery surface of a lake.

The first afternoon we got there we didn't leave until dusk. And we were surprised and rewarded by a perfect full moon rising from behind the dunes. A full pale moon over an abstract scenery. We were in awe and stayed in awe for the following couple of days until we finally pulled ourselves together and continued our trip further North.

Namibian Treats

2008-07-01T15:42:00.000-07:00

On our way from CapeTown to Fish River Canyon we backtracked the equivalent of a few days of our cycling tour. I was overcome by lots of memories. The off-road days in Namibia were among the highlights of the whole TdA. And I had enjoyed and savoured them so much! Every turn and hill reminded me of something, some little detail I thought forgotten. It was quite emotional. Darn!

Standing on the rim of the Fish River Canyon at sunset until the darkness took over had the same deep effect on me as it did the first time. Here it was this grand work of art chiseled over hundreds of millions of years that will most likely survive us by some more millions of years. I cannot feel other than dwarfed, tiny and insignificant, in awe and inspired, aware that all my personal questions and issues are irrelevant and negligible in the cycle of nature...

From Fish River Canyon we continued toward the Namib-Naukluft National Park and the famous dunes at Sossusvlei on the scenic route. We were in for a series of treats.

The Namibian dusty dirt roads in this area take you through some of the most stunning scenery I've seen in Africa so far. "Why didn't TdA go this way?" we kept asking ourselves. But in spite of this frustration we had to admit we were lucky. Had we not come this way now we would have missed this again and most likely forever.

From the chromatic point of view the scenery was fantastic: the honey-yellow grassy plains dotted by springboks interrupted and bordered only by so-called "inselbergs" -brown ridges of volcanic rock or fossilized dunes rising unexpectedly and abruptly from the flat plains. During a stormy afternoon the sky was lead-coloured with the compact clouds pierced only by lightnings from time to time. The red colour of the road cutting through the landscape added to the drama.

The fences on both sides of the roads provided countless opportunities for abstract or landscape compositions for us camera-freaks, Spiros and I.

The amount of wildlife we saw on this route was amazing: hundreds of springbok merely blinking when a car drove by, lots of oryxes and ostriches and some wild horses.

Our first stop was Aus where we arrived just in time to hike up a ridge and watch a spectacular sunset over the dramatic landscape. The orange glow of the ridges slowly lost brightness and the scenery turned into a magical monochromatic image. Landscape in sepia...

We went to see the wild horses nearby Aus without any clear expectation. And the surprise was immense. Hundreds of horses, wild and beautiful, were dotting the plain. They were resting, grazing, playing or galopping freely. What a show to experience!

The stunning landscape was clearly addictive for us. We felt compelled to stop every few hundred meters for more pictures. Would we ever make it to the dunes at this pace? A stretch that normally takes about 4-5 hours took us two full days :-)

When we finally reached Sesriem, entry gate to the Sossusvlei dunes, we quickly pitched up our tents and drove to the dunes. We were going to spend another couple of days here making daytrips into the surreal desert scenery. But more on this super-treat in a separate post.

After Sesriem we headed for Swakopmund merely a few hours drive away. Oh well, a few hours drive away for normal people. For camera-freaks like us the stretch of a few hundred kilometers required 2 days. And it took us 2 days ONLY just because we ended up wishing for a stretch of ugly, boring road that would not tempt us to stop. And indeed that happened as we approached Walvis Bay.
The road to Walvis Bay had more surprises for us. Although our guidebooks did not mention anything special about it, the scenery surprised us again. The plains eventually became hills and a sea of bumps. The erosion had created a unique landscape hard to describe in words. This bumpy terrain could easily turn into a labyrynth for anyone walking down and along the troughs. The vegetation was scarce, the same dry yellow grass on a hard rocky soil with some miniature trees randomly scattered on the slopes. These leafless trees had character and definitely beautiful silhouettes. The bark was deep golden in the afternoon sunlight. Slowly, as the sun went down the landscape started loosing depth and becoming more and more abstract. In the end it was only an abstract pattern of thin bright curves against a dark background. We had reached the record speed of 6km/hr here with more than two dozen stops over a few kilometers of road. Still away from any campground or settlement we chose to desert camp. We had all three missed that since TdA had come to an end ...

We were sitting on a tarp and chatting after dinner while looking up at the fantastic sky. "Where is the moon?" we asked ourselves at some point. We had watched the full moon rise over the dunes in Sossusvlei the day before and thus knew that it was still fairly "full". But right now it was nowhere to see - meaning that it was an incredible time to gaze at the stars. A while later the moon did peek out and it was like a switch had been turned on. It still looked almost full and so big and bright that the landscape around us was shimmering silvery. We could read at the moonlight. We felt happy and free, lucky and privileged.
We enjoyed the same views at dawn with the scenery catching contours as the sun rose on the other side. And it was the reverse phenomenon from the day before. The abstract image got more and more depth as the overlapping bumps were eventually touched by the sun.
A perfect sunset followed by a perfect sunrise in an incredible spot. How not to be in awe?

Back on the road we drove through some more breathtaking scenery. It seemed that the layers of volcanic rock were struggling to reach the surface. Sheer cliffs and oblique layers were sticking out of the terrain. There were canyons and hills all standing proof of a long history of twisting, folding and erosion. A wealth of surreal scenes formed by the curves and patterns of the terrain. Another treat...

Swakopmund was extremely humid. The fog settled over the town at night and never bothered to leave again. The tents were wet as if after rain. But Maria and I went sandboarding and - luckily - the dunes were a stretch away from town and in plain sunlight.

"No way! This looks scary going head-first on a plywood board down this steep slope." The baby run actually looked the scariest. That's also because it was the first one we tackled. But we discovered the fun of sandboarding as well as its secrets. One of them is to try and not laugh unless you like the crunchiness of sand.
Jealous, Pepe asked to be included in this fun activity and so he went sandboarding with us reaching speeds of over 70km/hr. He is quite a spoiled brat by now, used to benefit from all adult activities, have his own seat in a restaurant and - in general - to attract a lot of attention.

We had to give up the initial project of going to the Skeleton Coast. After talking to several knowledgeable locals it became obvious that we would have been disappointed. The stretch of desert along the Atlantic is notorious. Not only is it an arid desert but it is treacherous as well. The cold Benguela stream along the coast gives birth to a specific phenomenon: a dense fog covering the desert as far as 50km inland night after night. On top of that the shore is rocky and dangerous. Many shipwrecks dot the coast and the few survivors who may have made it to shore relieved to have survived from their sinking ships found themselves in the most unhospitable environment: there was absolutely no water or life around. They were doomed. Hence the name: Skeleton Coast. But the stretch of coast we had in mind with the spectacular Valley of the Thousand Dunes is farther North, close to the Angolan border, a restricted area accessible only via fly-in safaris. So much money we did not have to spend and so we headed inland again and North towards Etosha National Park. On the way we knew there were a few more things to see.

We were back on flat desert terrain but only made it as far as Spitzkoppe a little over 100km away from Swakopmund. Also nicknamed the Matterhorn of Namibia, the mountain rises 1759m above the desert, a beautiful rocky peak with an exquisite shape. The reddish colour of the rock only gains in saturation in warm sunlight and the show is not to be missed. We had to stop. The park was not big but a playground for climbers, boulderers and photographers. We camped in a beautiful and secluded spot on the Western side. It not only provided a great angle for the mountain but also the best spot to be at sunset. Perched up on the warm rocks we sat and watched the scenery transform as the light changed quality. Yet another perfect sunset.
Geologically Spitzkoppe is also an interesting phenomenon. Apparently it is the result of an underground volcanic eruption that happened hundreds of millions of years ago. Back then the lava never made it to the surface but due to the millions of years of erosion it eventually surfaced. A layer of 1700m of soil eroded? I cannot imagine that, but nevertheless I like and appreciate the result. Spitzkoppe is not the only "inselberg" - as these spectacular mountains rising abruptly from the flat desert are called - but it is definitely the most spectacular.

The next highlight was Brandberg, a big mountain with its own ecosystem. Although it is a great hiking/trekking destination it is more important for housing some prehistoric rock paintings which are up to 5000 years old. Guided by a local we walked around and saw the "White Lady" - the most famous painting. It is actually a misnomer as the scientific research proved that the figure that was thought to be a woman actually is a man painted and adorned according to the rituals of the time. The guide also explained us about the different plants and trees we saw there. It was an extremely interesting experience.

The World Heritage site at Twyfelfontein was next on our schedule. The site is organized excellently and the guides are very good. Seeing all these rock carvings depicting people and animals that have defied the passage of time is very impressive. How close they make you feel to those ancestors. And how similar we are to them, I thought. To this day humans are capturing information through images and drawings and passing it over to others.

We also saw the nearby petrified forest, another amazing thing. It is thought that the wood was drifted away by floods, soaked and eventually got buried underground. But the trees were buried so deep down that they were sealed and so couldn't rot. Instead, in combination with the minerals absorbed from the water they gradually turned into stone. The area is also dotted by welwitschia plants. Welwitschia is a unique plant only growing in the Namib desert. It can get as old as 2000 years and survives in the harshest conditions. Its root can grow up to meters deep and looks like a huge sponge absorbing moisture and thus allowing the plant to survive these very hot and dry conditions.

From Khorixas we chose again the scenic route to go farther North through Damaraland and to Etosha. Big towering rocks, table mountains and huge features marked the landscape on this route. The sweeping views from the high pass near Grootberg were breathtaking. On the way we also saw a few desert elephants near the road and even a few giraffes. The numerous springbok by now we took for granted.

Etosha National Park was incredible, unexpected and very rewarding. It deserves a separate post ...

From Etosha we drove back to CapeTown following the highways only. Nothing remarkable in terms of scenery in Namibia along the highway except for the encounter with a young French guy cycling by himself from CapeTown to Tanzania. Blissfully ignorant, without a map and food and with an extremely heavy and improperly balanced bike he had made it to Namibia and was definitely going to make it. What he lacked in knowledge he certainly didn't lack in determination. Good luck Alex! Enjoy the ride!

Cape Town welcomed us with its most beautiful smile - a chilly, sunny perfect day. It didn,t quite make up for the feeling of nostalgy and sadness induced by the fact that we knew our African adventure was soon to be over, but it was a very nice way of saying that we were welcome to come again :-)

The Pearl

2008-06-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

I was asked about ranking the Fish River Canyon and the Otter Trail. In all honesty, I can't do that. Both are extremely spectacular with the same sense of wilderness, though being so different in other respects. But then I came to understand that it's the same fundamental story over and over again: the struggle between the elements, earth and water, where each submits to the other at times, shaping each other, beautifying each other.
The canyon is ultimately a giant scale scar in the surface of the earth while at the same time the twisted path for the water to reach the sea. The rugged coastline is the fringed edge of the earth washed, flooded and beaten by the fury of wind and waves.

My good friend Mel pointed out the essence of a pearl as being beauty born from suffering and pain. And the more I ponder about it the more I realize that that kind of beauty is the one that never wilts away. It rather sets us in awe, imposes respect and inspires us. Whether in nature or human dimensions.

And surely both these places qualify for this category.

Hiking the Fish River Canyon

2008-06-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

The first time I set my eye on the canyon I knew I wanted to come back and hike it. Coming back from South Africa wasn't even that hard. Though my initial attempts were to join a South African group leaving for the canyon from Cape Town I was fortunate to go there with Maria and Spiros with whom and thanks to whom I actually did a big Namibian tour :-)
The second largest canyon in the world after Grand Canyon, the Fish River Canyon is about 160km long and its width ranges from very narrow to about 27km. The canyon walls drop as much as 600m down in some spots. It is desert country and the actual Fish River looks benign, often more like stagnant water. It seems incredible to think that this peaceful river could force the rock into submission and carve its majestic path the way it did.
It's been a very good rainy season this year and the river now at least was a continuous stream rather than a series of isolated pools as it apparently is in other years or later in the season.

The hike through the canyon takes you on a stretch of 90km downstream from the park entrance at Hobas. It is yet another classic and famous trek, one of its kind in the world. Considering that you would expect the area to be more spoilt but it surprises you wonderfully. Apart from the sign posted at the trailhead there are no signs or markers on the trail. In the end it's common sense: you need to follow the river and the sketchy map gives you an idea of where you are based on the bends you follow. There are also a couple of shortcuts which, at that point in time, are more than welcomed.
There is little vegetation down there: a few trees and some cactus but a lot more thornbush than expected in the larger canyon sections. There is also a suprisingly high number of flowers, I found: yellow ones forming lovely islands on the sandy beaches, white trumpet flowers, tiny pink or yellow flowers barely visible on the dry dusty soil. And the blue flowers of some brushes and so many more that we probably missed. In the desert, I find, you need an eye for detail and you'll be amazed at what you'll discover.
In the morning we were greeted by the twittering of birds but at night the scenery lit by the moon was so bright you could see the contours of the rocks and walls and you could walk around without any other lightsource. It looked surreal and the total silence only added to that feeling of isolation and remoteness. You could hear your heartbeats and your breath.You could listen to your thoughts...

Hiking the canyon is about enjoying wilderness and remoteness, about taking in the silence at night, gazing at the stars, contemplating the red canyon walls glow at sunset, leaving footprints on sand only to be wiped away by the next wind, sitting on sand around a small campfire on a secluded beach, marvelling at the scenery, spotting wildlife, discovering the tiny plants and flowers surviving the desert and feeding your soul with beauty and peacefulness.

Starting the hike in the early morning hours we were lucky to spot lots of wildlife on the plateau on the way to the trailhead: mountain zebras, springboks, ostriches and even a couple of klipspringers. "Where was all this wildlife a month or so ago when we were here with the TdA?" we asked ourselves. To be honest we asked ourselves this question several times as we spotted so much wildlife on our way to here and later.

The hike starts with a steep descent, a bit of a scramble at the top eased considerably by the presence of some fixed chains. Once you negociate the descent in about 1 hour you hit the canyon bottom and from here it's all flat and easy. Or so you think.

The terrain is far more challenging than expected and it alternates all the time between lovely sandy beaches, banks of river stones and areas full of boulders strewn over sand. In soft sand the walking is not easy and rather slow. On the river stones you hop from one to another trying to stay balanced at all times, even if the stone under your foot seems ready to roll away. On the big boulders you may hop or scramble or walk around.
The river varies, too, in depth and width. In the shallow areas the surface is dotted by the rocks peeking out. At sunset or sunrise, when the water shimmers golden reflecting the glowing canyon walls the image is almost surreal. And then there are deeper stretches and huge pools where you can enjoy a refreshing swim. Dolerite boulders form natural dykes in several spots. Sometimes the shore is a huge slab platform gently falling into the water.

The sandy beaches are lovely and secluded and you may get the feeling of being the first human stepping there. The only indicator of the human presence other than the very rare encounter with other hikers are the footprints persisted in sand in some areas. There are more animal tracks at times than human footprints and we were lucky enough to spot their authors as well a few times: beautiful wild horses and loud but unspoiled baboons.

To make your hike easier, or shorter, it is best to stay on the inner side of the bends. This actually comes down to crossing the river whenever appropriate. And sometimes it's just the terrain forcing you to cross, when the shore becomes too steep or the huge boulders are unsurpassable. Overall we negociated 36 river crossings. Sounds like a lot but it was a lot of fun. The water was fresh and clear and it never was deeper than knee-high where we crossed. Our Keens proved once again of invaluable help as we waded through the water without problems with the cameras dangling around our necks. Actually, since the first river crossing on our first day I didn't even bother putting on my heavy boots again :-) A 5-day hike in sandals only, isn't that awesome, too! Not to mention the mandatory dip - or swim! - in the water which I could not miss!

Dwarfed by the scenery, yet enlightened by the experience, we emerged from the canyon on day 5 tired and stinky yet positive and happy, anxious to discover more of the natural wonders Namibia had in stock.

Black Man Can't Swim, White Man Can't Dance

2008-06-06T11:22:00.000-07:00

In British Columbia, Canada, we have a "Sea-To-Sky" highway that links Vancouver to Whistler. Indeed, the road takes you from the seashore to areas so much closer to the mountains and only the sky seems to be the limit there.

Here, on the spectacular Eastern Cape coastline I've hiked on a fantastic trail literally from sea to sky and back through the Tsitsikamma National Park. The beauty of the Otter Trail ranks it alongside the best treks in the world. In my ignorance little did I know about it before. It's not clear to me why it's called Otter Trail as I didn't spot any otter but, if it were called Sea-To-Sky Trail, I would find it perfectly justified.

Ignoring the common knowledge that you can only get on the trail if you made reservations a year in advance, whilst encouraged by friends to push my luck and count on someone's cancellation I went and waited patiently at the trailhead for 3 days.

And I was lucky!

I was lucky in many ways.
Firstly, I managed to get on the trail.
Secondly, I couldn't have wished for a better company on the trail.
In third place, we were lucky meeting others on the trail. They helped us out when things got rough.
And last but not least, we had excellent weather.

The group I joined was maybe unrepresentative for the hiker community, even uncommon I dare say, but it was so much more representative for the place and country I was in. Four young Africans from Soweto, near Johannesburg. Young, smart, strong, educated and funny they are - unfortunately - the only Africans I had, let's say, "a casual encounter" with rather than the formal one that has been bothering me for a while. Namely, if you go to a cafe or restaurant, to a campground or lodge the only Africans you'll encounter - with very very few exceptions - will be part of the staff, fact which made me feel uncomfortable many many times. It's hard to have a conversation with a busy waiter. Not to mention that coming from a "hi guys" culture where I feel perfectly integrated amongst the "guys" the warm yet formal "Good morning, madame" I very often was greeted with sometimes made me look behind me. Where's that madame?

This time the "madame" was part of the group and we enjoyed the hike together. We shared and helped each other. In the evenings at campfire we had interesting conversations. About social problems, education, relationship, religion, racism and life in general. Above us the sky was heavy with stars and the sound of the ocean, the almost rhytmic pounding of the waves was wonderful to listen to and was later lulling you into sleep.

It is hard to describe the beauty of the trail in words. At least for me.

The coastline is rugged, the waves gigantic at times breaking with fury against the cliffs. The trail takes you up and down through indigenous forest and across the fynbos plateau. You never go higher than 200m above sea level. Yet from up there you enjoy sweeping views of the coastline and you feel high up in the sky with a blue carpet beneath you. One day we spotted dolphins. We also briefly saw a whale which never showed up again. We nicknamed it the "elusive whale".

Though short the uphill sections are sometimes stiff climbs. The downhill sections bring you back to the sea and, quite often, to little coves and beautiful sandy beaches. You can go in for a swim wherever you like and I surely used the opportunity a few times.

The small wooden huts are always close to the shore and offering great views. It is either a sandy beach or a band of cliffs separating you from the ocean. The outhouses are pure luxury: they have windows and share the same view. I never enjoyed so much a stay in the outhouse :-) Not to mention that the toilets are flushable and the nice seats are sitting on a pedestal you reach by going up 2 steps. They made me think of a throne and the views are definitely worth a kingdom.
A couple of times we were welcomed by bushbucks on arrival to the huts. It was their territory and they roamed around and walked on the beach as they pleased.

The trail offers some additional excitement when it comes to river crossing. There are altogether 11 river crossings and while some of these can be as easy as hopping over boulders or wading through ankle-deep water a couple of them are notorious for their difficulty. The books, the maps and the video at the start of the trail warn you. The images in that video are actually very intimidating. At high tide the water may be so deep that you need to swim. It may also be rough. That depends on the time of the year and the amount of rainfall. In that case it is only at low tide that you can cross the river and you have to make sure you bring a survival bag. Backpack, boots and clothes go into the survival bag. Properly tightened up it floats on the water. Walking or swimming across the river you push the bag in front of you safely. Worst case scenario: you can also use it to help you float.

A timetable at the office informs you about the low and high tides. That's precious information. However, there's something I didn't know: in winter time the difference between low and high tide is merely about 0.5m. That's not very much.

We reached the Bloukrans river in the afternoon of our 4th day. Ahead of us and taking a break on the shore was the other group that started the hike the same day. They were all seasoned hikers and well prepared. They are winemakers from Franschhoek.
I turned out to be fairly unprepared on this hike. For once I had a stove that wasn't working. Contrary to common knowledge and my usual approach I had not attempted to try out the new stove I had bought right before coming here. It turned out not to work and so I had to rely on my new friends' stove. That worked out well. The other thing, and that was more important, that I missed was a survival bag.

So here we are on the shore of the river. At its mouth it is pretty big. The dark waters look intimidating. On the other side the shore is rocky. It is not yet low tide but, as we learn from the winemakers we shouldn't expect much difference in 2 hours time. One of them checks the water and reaches the other shore easily. "You can basically walk for about 2/3 of the way and then you have to swim as the water deepens" he says. We do not take this news with much enthusiasm. I am not a good swimmer and in this case the big pounding waves are quite intimidating. But I also go check the water only to find out that every wave almost knocks me off my feet even in hip-deep water. Great!
I do not have a survival bag but so do 2 of the Soweto guys. We basically have 2 bags for 5 people. That shouldn't be a problem! Let's try and put 2 backpacks in one bag at a time.
That turns out to be an unfortunate decision. As the water deepens and the waves keep coming it is easy to lose confidence and control especially if you're not much of a swimmer. On top of that comes the fact that the huge bag holding 2 backpacks now flips over you when you try to "climb" on top of it.
The winemakers by now have easily and elegantly crossed the river and are watching us from the other side. I think we offered some good entertainment. But we were also very lucky to have them there. As one of us drops the bag and is about to drown the winemakers come to rescue.
Conclusion: do not put 2 backpacks in one bag. Alright. So now on the "departing" shore we unpack the bags to only hold 1 backpack each. The winemakers also "donate" one of their bags and come over to help. The water is not very cold, but the sun has hid behind clouds, it is a bit windy and the waves seem more furious than before. When I'm in the water walking or swimming I'm warm but once I get out I'm shivering.

Crossing a river like this is not really something you want to do if you fear water. But with support it is doable. With help from the others the rest of us safely make it to the other shore. Once the panic is over we can laugh again and we are deeply grateful for the rescue and the help we received.

"They don't say for nothing that black people can't swim" says Nkululeko with humour and a hint of irony. "It's common wisdom that white people can't dance, black people can't swim". I start to laugh. I have not heard this before but I have now the proof for the second part. I had crossed the river now back and forth 5 times but I couldn't dance around the campfire :-)

All in all it's been a wonderful hike and a great experience. I made new friends. And I've learned an African word of wisdom :-)

My Garden Route

2008-06-03T02:24:00.000-07:00

I made new friends here in South Africa! And I went hiking!

Friends in Cape Town had told me that - since I am so much into hiking - I should not miss the Otter Trail, an extremely beautiful and famous 42km+ trail in the Tsitsikamma National Park along the coast of the Indian Ocean. It is a must for any serious hiker and reservations are usually made a year in advance. Only 12 people are allowed per day since the huts along the trail accommodate only 12 people. No camping is allowed.

I had now set this as my goal: to get onto the Otter Trail. And since there was no opening for the next while my only option was to count on a cancellation.

I left Cape Town by bus going straight to Nature's Valley and the Wild Tongue Backpackers a few hundred kilometers East of Cape Town. The place was a surprise: a large farm in the forest with great views of the distant mountains at sunrise, beautiful old oak and maple trees and a wild colourful garden. Lots of driftwood sculptures and craftworks were adorning the place. It has known better days, but its charm and magic are there as strong as always.

The next day I could not get onto the Otter trail and stayed in Nature's Valley.
Jenny, the lady owning the place, gave me a ride to the start of the Salt River Mouth Trail. And I was on my own walking through the native fynbos, then through indigenous forest and finally downhill to the river and the little cove at its mouth. From here the trail led along the rocky shore over cliffs (or the hill, depending on the tide) to the wide and beautiful sandy beach of Nature's Valley.

The beautiful little cove with shallow clear saltwater had a small sandy beach washed by the tide and sometimes by the runout of a bigger bolder wave. It was dotted by many beautiful shells. The river was deep enough to swim. The water had the light brown colour the tannins lend it, yet was clear and fresh. I checked the water by dipping in my feet and it felt soooo good. Those who know me better can already imagine what followed.
I cannot resist the temptation of a clear lake or river unless it's much too cold. I looked around to make sure there was really nobody around. I placed Pepe on watch and I quickly stripped off my clothes before dipping into the fresh clear water. That felt great! Hmmm, lovely winter on the Garden Route...

I reached the village beach after another couple of hours of wandering on the cliffs and around taking lots of pictures and inspecting and enjoying the many flowers thriving there: some yellow daisies clinging on to the cliffs, flame red lilies and white khale growing sheltered beneath the rocky walls. What a wonderful winter, I thought, with so many flowers to choose from... On the way down through the fynbos I was lucky enough to find a few fresh red protea flowers amidst the many dried and wilted ones.

I enjoyed some more wandering around the farm and hiked on short local trails at sunrise and sunset. Jenny shuttled me around the next day again and eventually drove me to Storms River Rest Camp beautifully located in the Tsitsikamma National Park. This is where the Otter Trail starts, but I had yet to wait for a spot.

The setting of the rest camp is stunning. The scenery is magnificent: the rugged coastline in sight and the rocky shore pounded by huge waves and populated by lots of birds and wildlife. The steep hills above are covered in indigenous forest or fynbos. The firy red aloe flowers looking like huge candle holders provide strong accents to the seascape. I guess pictures can express this much better than any words. I'll let them speak...

For 2 days I wandered around or simply sat watching the waves. I did a couple of hikes and took lots of pictures. I listened to the sound of the ocean and observed the birds and dassies. I saw dolphins while sitting on a bench in the late afternoon and I watched bushbuck roaming around. My hopes to get on the trail dropped by the third day. And yet that day - while I was sitting on the rocks watching the waves - I got the awaited call from the ranger.
"Do you still want to get on the trail? There's a group of 4 here. They should have been 6." YESSSS! I ran to get my backpack and plunged into the next adventure.

Five days later the Otter trail ended on the same sandy beach of Nature's Valley I had been on more than a week ago. I had new friends and we hugged each other warmly when the time to say good-bye came. They were going to drive back to Jo'burg, I was returning to Cape Town.

Jenny picked me up once again from the village and, after spending another night on the farm and enjoying another spectacular sunset and sunrise, I got on the bus and returned to Cape Town in the rain.

My Garden Route did not have any stops whatsoever along the coast. And there were lots of beautiful places: clear blue lagoons, beautiful quiet beaches, wonderful forests and parks. I missed most of these by passing by on the bus.
And yet I felt that I had been blessed with the essence of it all during the days of hiking the Otter trail. Furthermore, it also felt as if I had had everything just for myself without sharing it with crowds and the "civilized world".

Life After Tour d'Afrique

2008-05-30T02:03:00.000-07:00

"Is there such a thing as life after TdA?" I asked myself for days in a row. And the answer I had was negative in the beginning.

For about a week I felt continuously nauseous. Slightly, not sufficient to prevent me from eating, but enough to create some discomfort. Looking in a mirror after a long while I noticed changes: those legs were not mine, and I had also grown out of my bikini swimsuit. I was eating continuously, as if on a weight-gaining diet, thousands of calories a day while barely burning anything now. "Calories, more calories", my body was craving for. When in bed I was getting cramps in my legs. As for the bed, I had a hard time sleeping on a soft surface :-)

Clearly my body wanted something else. And my brain was stuck, suddenly unable to make any decisions. My system definitely had a hard time to switch to standalone mode. I was running around like a headless chicken.

The weather seemed to reflect my state. It was cold and grey and rainy. I felt trapped in a golden cage: Cape Town is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, yet winter in Cape Town did not seem to have very much appeal. It was time for a change. And so I left Cape Town shrouded in its winter mist and went on the famous Garden Route.

Thoughts At The Finish Line

2008-05-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

I think you cannot measure Africa in kilometers but rather in hills and villages, in smiles and trees, in the echo it has in ourselves and, hopefully, in the impact it will have on our lives.

Personally, I know I merely scratched the surface of an amazing continent. With my camera I have captured a tiny bit of its magic; with my heart I felt its warmth and diversity, its struggle and endurance. The learning only started, nourished by an obsessive question: How can I make a difference?

The Day I Was Beautiful

2008-05-17T01:13:00.000-07:00

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It is, in the end, just a personal way of seeing. It may sometimes be an indicator of external factors like, for example, alcohol consumption. And, if you suddenly hear in one night at 40 more compliments than you ever heard at 20 you must not look too far ...

And yet, the night we finished the journey, the night we reached Cape Town and stopped and partied I did feel in a way beautiful. However, it was neither the treasured colourful dress I wore nor the makeup that gave me that feeling.
I had been sad for days in a row trying to come to terms with the series of good-byes to follow and the breakup with this lifestyle: nomadic and very energetic.

Letting go is very hard and at least I had to work a little more on that. But over the last couple of days in the mist of the Atlantic ocean, and during evening strolls on the beach I had found my peace. And I felt good and beautiful in my own way: I had stayed truthful to myself. I had given my best, my all time best energy probably. And I had felt more alive than I had done in a very long time.

And alive is beautiful, whether it means being lost in tears or choking in laughter.

Ignorance Meets Beauty

2008-05-16T06:16:00.000-07:00

TDA Days 115 to 120
South Africa

Born and raised in a Communist country I grew up with lots of misconceptions. Political and economic factors contributed to limiting access or visibility to much of the beauty that Romania has to offer. Furthermore, my views of places got tainted by the flavour of the political and social situation. Having said that I can only confess my ignorance regarding South Africa. A country plagued by racism and social problems - how could that ever attract me as a travel destination ? And yet here I am today: startled, fascinated and excited: ready to review my thinking and learn some more. My ignorance has finally met the beauty of South Africa.

South Africa: more hills after crossing the border. And wind and rain and mist blocking visibility and concealing the beauty of the rugged landscape. Beautiful succulents on the roadside offering so many opportunities for exploration and discovery: tiny pink and yellow flowers; large yellow flowers similar to water lilies in shape. And white kale along the highway and pink geraniums. A whole new universe of plants. The vineyards covering rolling hills. The flat red desert interrupted by steep funny shaped hills and ridges.

We traversed a now bare Namaqualand and the wine country and reached the shores of the Atlantic in Lambert's Bay. The sound of the ocean had been audible for a while now. It was going to accompany us for the remaining 3 misty chilly days into Cape Town. And we had another camping experience in Elandsbay and Yzerfontein: camping next to the beach, in mist and wind and the ever louder sound of the waves breaking on the shore.
A few of us dipped into the ocean but we all enjoyed the heat and warm light offered by the campfire in the evening hours. Those were days we wanted to stretch out more as the awareness of the imminent tour end grew. Those were days of thinking ahead and trying to adjust to the coming change. Long walks on the beach in the late afternoon and evening watching the waves and the clouds metamorphose continuously. That's what this was all about: metamorphosis, whether individual or as a group.

In a way we all said good bye to the tour before hitting Cape Town on the ocean shore at Kleeft Beach. From there a convoy led us safely into the city where we were cheered by crowds next to the downtown waterfront. The ride was officially over.

Red Desert and Canyons

2008-05-15T05:53:00.000-07:00

TDA Days 104 to 114
Namibia

Finally Namibia! For years I dreamed of and wanted to come to this place. I have longed for the sand dunes with their fantastic shapes and contours and the surreal dead black trees standing upright in the desert defying the passage of time. I wanted to come for a photography workshop years ago but the costs had kept me away while at the same time Charlie Waite's photographs have lured me.

The tour did not bring us close enough to the dunes but we certainly got a taste of and a glimpse into what Namibia has to offer: a photographer's dream at least.

The first riding days were in no way distinct from what the scenery looked like in Botswana: flat endless plain, little vegetation or just plain bush, some game or cattle farms and very few people. Only upon approaching Windhoek did the scenery improve with red cracked hills offering a beautiful backdrop to the modern city.

In Windhoek, a modern city, we spent a couple of rest days and pampered ourselves with all sorts of food and shopping. I spent hours on end on a borrowed laptop just going through pictures and selecting some for upload. But the city itself for me was a disorienting experience and even a shock: for the first time in a very long while I saw fat people again. Lots, young and old, all white. What is there about a good life that makes people forget about a healthy life?

The more picturesque campground ever on the tour was in "quivertree country". The fantastic silhouettes of the quiver trees were competing in beauty and uniqueness with the piles and mounds of red rocks and boulders. At sunset and sunrise the landscape was of incredible beauty, the rocks and the tree bark glowing red as if set on fire.

The highlight of the Namibian tour was yet to come on the few days on unpaved roads winding through canyon land, past the Fish River Canyon, through Gondwana Canyon and Ai-Ais National Parks. Hilly, bumpy, dusty roads through a fascinating landscape. Here we had our last desert camps, enjoying the dramatic sunset colours on the clouds as well as the depth and brightness of the sky at night. Spectacular shapes and terrain, strong colours and magnificent proportions.
The Fish River Canyon, second only to the Grand Canyon, is overwhelming; the views from the rim breathtaking even in the worst light (which we unfortunately had). Instantly I knew I wanted to come here again and attempted to make the reservation for a trek. "I'll be back soon for that", I told the campground owner. "We'll be expecting you", he replied.
The ride through this countryside only gave birth to new ideas and projects. Riding through Grand Canyon - is that possible? Or Capitol Reef National Park. I remember the dusty roads through the fascinating scenery. Cycling will never be the same for me, so why not dare think of these ?

Our days in Namibia ended on the shore of the Oranje river cutting through some more dramatic red rock scenery. The boat ride on the river was fun and offered a glimpse into the rich birdlife in the area. But nothing could come even close to the lasting impression left by the landscape we had traversed from Hogas on. Namibia, I'll be back soon for more...

Hippos and Waterlilies

2008-05-13T04:41:00.000-07:00

TDA Days 95 to 103
Botswana

A couple of warthogs stand on the side of the road pondering whether to cross the road or not. "Please, don't cross now!" I ask them kindly. We have entered Botswana a few hundred meters ago yet the line of waiting trucks seems endless. I'm not in a rush but prefer not to have to stop here. Our campsite is only a few kilometers away on the shore of the Chobe river bordering the Chobe National Park. This afternoon, if lucky, we'll be able to go on a boat trip on the river and spot some wildlife.

The campground is nice, the swimming pool small but clean and inviting. As usual I am unable to resist and jump into the water in my cycling clothes. It's the best refreshment and I'm back hyper again.

The boat trip is absolutely wonderful, I hope for everyone. I am so excited by now that I can hardly sit and mostly jump around taking lots of pictures. I am a huge stress factor for the others, I fear. We get to see a few elephants and quite a lot of hippos. There are also a few antelopes, a couple of lizards and a crocodile, all on the rivershore. But to just enumerate these is a dry and meaningless thing to do. It's not a zoo, neither a parade. What makes this boat trip so special for me, however, are the light and the colours, the contrasts and combinations of elements. I was hoping to see elephants in the water yet I wasn't prepared to see an elephant emerging from beneath a patch of white waterlilies. And certainly wasn't I prepared to see the hippos dotting the water - some with their ears and noses barely sticking out of the water - among more patches of waterlilies. All of a sudden Disney's Fantasia became less of a fantasy. Hippos dancing - why not?
Gliding over the peaceful water we watch a fantastic sunset bathing everything in the most beautiful warm light. The water and the trees, the sky, the waterlilies and our faces are all tinted golden where touched by the sun.

Botswana offers us long riding days traversing endless bushland; quite often there's strong headwind. The terrain is flat and quite monotonous. The bush is not offering much to see in terms of rich wildlife. We keep looking though and luckily the elephants show up on the roadside next to a waterhole. Wow! It is the Elephant Highway, indeed.

Since we left the hills behind we have encountered headwind. It's only fair, I think, that's what we are here for: to be challenged. It would be just too easy to ride hundreds of kilometers of flat paved road with tailwind.

Whenever we bushcamp there's a campfire. That just fits well into my African fantasies. I love the flickering light of the fire and the smell of the smoke. Pour me some red wine and nothing can beat this: no fancy restaurant or trendy wine bar. Just like every shower is a well-earned reward and the ultimate luxury. It's my kind of luxury: going far places to enjoy something as simple as this.

The road is monotonous and keeps the secrets of this land well. We only get a glimpse at Planet Baobab: about 1 km away from the main road a beautiful little resort around an enclave of baobabs. The place suprises with its beauty and design. The baobabs are absolutely stunning: the biggest I've seen so far. I wish there were more time to stay and explore the spot/area, to enjoy the fabulous swimming pool and take some pictures. These trees have been here for hundreds of years, they'll be here for a few hundreds more, probably. What secrets could they tell, how much history could they teach? How many more baobabs are still left in the area around? What other things could we find nearby if we had the time to explore?

The little town of Maun is the gateway to the famous Okavango Delta. Visiting the delta is a must, included in all "top n destinations" lists and books. Yet my body does not want to accept this and so, for a change, I dedicate the rest day to resting and relaxing. Surprisingly, it feels good in spite of the thought surfacing at some point that I might regret not taking the flight over the delta.

Botswana, with its long flat stretches challenged me to think about and remember many things and moments I had pushed back. It brought me back to my fears and their confrontation. You only turn 40 once. You better make sure you don't run away from your fears as they catch up with you just like age does. A good way to start: catching up on hugs :-)

Where's Zambia?

2008-05-12T06:19:00.000-07:00

TDA Days 85 to 95
Zambia

It's been a very long time since I have last been homesick. Of all places in Africa it was on a winding road up hills and more hills in Zambia that it struck me. There was something about those hills and the forest that touched me. And then there was the foliage colour on some: yellow and red and rusty. "It is fall!" I suddenly realized and homesickness took over soon.

Yet on these days I did not take pictures. Spiros was sick and as much as I tried to overcome it I felt sad for days in a row. Not even Pepe was able to cheer me up consistently in spite of his efforts. The beauty of the rolling hills and clouds finally reached me only the day we rolled into Lusaka. Over the many sleepless hours I kept thinking about this journey and the strength - or weaknesses - it made you discover in yourself and others. We had all come here for challenge and with some expectations. And yes, we were all challenged in many ways, yet the strength that was tested - and we discovered - was not always what we had expected. It was not the physical aspect of the tour but the mental and emotional one that was most challenging.

We passed sunflower fields and beautifully painted round mud huts. Quite often only the tall bags full of charcoal lined up on the roadside indicated the presence of people. The roads were all of a sudden devoid of people, the villages hidden behind the tall golden grass bordering the road. On the roadside large patches of bright orange flowers were asking for attention. Solitary red gladiolis felt lost in the tall grass.

The hills mellowed down into flat land shortly before reaching Lusaka. Lusaka, a very modern city, had a shocking effect. It somehow did not fit into the picture of the countryside we had just ridden through. This was not the same country of soft smiling people wishing you a safe journey but a buzzing place with busy people and lots of mzungus around the huge malls. Cinema and ice-cream, cappucinos and pizza - this was a place we all pampered ourselves one way or another before continuing our tour to Livingstone.

Livingstone, the town on the edge of the famous Victoria Falls offered some more pampering. An expensive resort catering to people from all over the world and offering some employment opportunities to the locals.

But, as I learned from a conversation with the "kind man born at midnight" as Lusungo's name translates into, finding a job was tough and not always was the employment matching the skills. Lusungo, a handsome young father of three with big sad eyes was working as security guard in the expensive resort. Six days a week, almost 11 hours a day. Cook by trade he wasn't able to find a job as a cook and did not have the spare time to look for it, either. He touched my heart, the kind man, telling me about his family's daily struggle. In a country with an extremely high rate of HIV and poverty children's education is by far the most important means of fighting this plague and ensuring a future. Yet providing that education to his children was not an easy task.

The encounter made me think again about how fortunate I was. And how many things I took for granted and often forgot to be thankful for. Like the simple fact of being here and being reminded of this. Africa - a lesson in beauty and humbleness - I only liked it more and more every day. Yet it felt like trying to understand the secrets in the depth of a sea by just watching the waves. Our journey only touched the surface of this sea, we hardly peeked beneath it.

Here at Victoria Falls we all spoilt ourselves with some unforgettable luxury: from bungee jumping and boat trips to flying over the falls. I chose the helicopter flight over the bungee jumps and admired in awe the size and splendour of the falls and the Zambezi river gorge at sunset. There are hardly any words to express that. And neither do I have the pictures to show their magnificence.
Further up along the Zambezi river we could spot hippos and elephants. On the shore within the resort a few "tamed" zebras and giraffes were providing a confortable wildlife experience to the visitors.

The day we left Livingstone we entered Botswana on a small shuttle ferry across the Zambezi river.

By entering Zambia we had clearly entered the world of Christian songs and gospels; the gospel song of the villagers praying and singing on a Sunday morning somewhere close to the road echoes in my heart forever. The warmth of the voices combined with the strength of the worshippers' faith - no recording could ever create or reproduce that lasting impression.

I don't feel yet educated as to where Zambia is on the world's map, yet I know where it is on the map in my heart. It is the place where homesickness strikes you and the human song transcends the human dimension.

Mzungu Says Hello

2008-05-11T06:17:00.000-07:00

TDA Days 76 to 84
Malawi

"White man wandering aimlessly while nursing a hangover" - that's what the guidebook explains the word "mzungu" means. In short: foreigner.

Yes, we were the mzungus rolling in on wheels. Dozens of children, sometimes reminding of Ethiopia, would scream "Mzunguuuuuuu" and "Hello". "Hello to you all!"

We entered Malawi on a beautiful hot afternoon rolling down from the Tanzanian hills onto flat rice farmland. Little mud huts were dotting the rice fields. A sudden change in colour intensity: the deep dark green of the trees and tea plantations got replaced by the light delicate green of the young rice plants. And, as soon as we crossed the border, we were overwhelmed by children. Beautiful, cheerful children often demanding money. Extreme humidity and heat made the first night almost unbearable, but fortunately we rolled back into hills soon.

Only for a day did we witness the hardships of the field work: peasants ploughing their land knee deep in mud. Heading to Lake Malawi we entered more hilly terrain before reaching Chitimba Beach, a beautiful spot on the shore of Lake Malawi where we enjoyed a rest day.

On the way we rode through a small fishing town with beautifully carved boats lining up the beach. The huts were small and crammed into each other. Sardines were drying out in the sun on large flat beds. The place was buzzing with people.

At Chitimba Beach the carved out boats lay on the beach like worn shoes dropped off randomly, others floated like nutshells on the water. Every evening the fishermen paddle onto the deep waters and return the next morning with their catch. A small crowd on the beach in the morning constitutes the fresh fish market.
We did not escape the rain this time, but the storm clouds only made sunrise more spectacular. A photoshooting session at sunrise. I had been missing that for quite a while. And the huge dark clouds pierced by solitary rays of sunshine were offering dramatic images only amplified by the reflections on the water. The place was extremely picturesque.
Later, when the rain was just pouring down mercilessly I decided that a walk on the beach in the rain was just something very special. And so I went and ended up swimming in the dark waters of the lake next to the local women who each had piles of cycling clothes to take care of: our laundry service :-) Luckily the afternoon was hot and beautiful and things dried out in time.

The next morning we left Chitimba Beach in pouring rain. It was warm rain at least and I certainly enjoyed it very much. What initially started as a statement - when within the first few minutes my shoes, socks and clothes got soaked and I stopped feeling the pain in my hurt and infected big toe - ended up as a song. And I made sure I performed it for every passing TDA rider to their entertainment or dislike but, fortunately (or hopefully), not grief. Stupid little song, yet brought up smiles in the rain.

My socks are wet,
My shoes are wet
And so are all my clothes.

It's fun to ride the bike in rain
And not feel any pain.

The rain is warm,
The road is worn
The scenery is grey.

It's hard to ride and hard to smile
For yet another mile.

The rain will stop,
The sun will shine
The views will soon unveil.

We'll get to camp and party light
For getting there alive.

My bike is clean
My mood is mean
And yet I feel so light,

'Cause I like to ride my bike in rain
And not feel any pain.

:-) ;-) :-) ;-) :-) ;-) :-) ;-) :-) ;-)

We climbed up the hills we had looked up to from the beach and then continued further over ever more hills. This day with the views it had to offer would have probably been the highlight of the week through Malawi had the rain and mist not taken care of any visibility. We could only guess and imagine how beautiful these green steep hills were like.
Over the next few days we rode over more and bigger green hills than any of us had expected. We had more rain and miserable weather. But we were also rewarded with beautiful rainbows and little ponds covered by light purple waterlilies along the road: beauty accents brightening up the long exhausting days. The coke stops became more frequent and longer. Furthermore they were sometimes complemented by ice-cream. Pure luxury!

The capital city of Lilongwe impressed us with its modern infrastructure. But it didn't really invite me to exploration. I rather focused on laundry, bike maintenance and resting. The campground had a lovely swimming pool and I made sure I made extensive use of it under the starlit sky at night. Yet another luxury!

We left Lilongwe on a sunny morning heading to Zambia. The air was filled with the scent of fresh cut grass. And so my memories of Malawi are more olfactory than others: the scent of fresh cut grass, the scent of fresh timber, the scent of the rained upon dust.

TDA - Days 65 to 76

2008-04-23T03:36:00.000-07:00

Tanzania

After the long break in and around Arusha we finally got on our bikes. We left lush Arusha and its coffee plantations behind guarded by Mt. Meru shrouded in thick clouds. The air was filled with drizzle, the sky was heavy with dark leaden clouds. Only to the South far away did the grey mass of clouds give way to some light: like a lid just cracked open over this green land, I thought.
Heading South we traversed the plains dotted red and purple by the Maasai herding their cattle.

We rode through Tarangire National Park and beautiful savannah. The pavement lasted one day only followed by delightful days of off-road riding spiced up by numerous flat tyres and thorns. The unpredictable roads made me think of redefining "good" and "bad" road conditions. There's no such thing as bad roads, just good roads with bad stretches or maybe bumps :-)

The red dirt road winding up hills was cutting through lush vegetation. And solitary sunflowers smiled at us from time to time from the roadside. Every uphill was rewarded with long downhills and fantastic views over lush valleys and fields. Sunflower fields; potato fields; corn fields. The biggest surprise were the sunflower fields brightening up the slopes like a massive flower beauty contest.

The light was fantastic, the clouds absolutely dramatic. Some of the most spectacular sunsets and sunrises spoilt us every day: dark menacing clouds filtering the warm sunlight, turning pink, purple, gold, red or orange at the sun's disposition.
The land was beautiful with saturated colours and stark contrasts. Quite often the view ahead made me think of a painting: it felt like riding into a huge canvas. Van Gogh would have loved this country.

But time passed very fast, the days were too short for the many sunflower smiles and the countless flat tyres.
Snapshots on the camera are complemented by snapshots in memory: the sunflowers against the dark leaden sky in the early morning light - not an image I'll be able to forget too soon; the large baobab trees along the road spending the much sought after shade to both people and cattle; the clouds so perfectly shaped and distributed across the sky as if painted by some rigurous artist; the lush jungle in the morning mist full of mystery and beauty; the children greeting us "Jambo" on their way to school; the wide golden-brown sandy flood beds cutting through the greenery; the late afternoon sunlight before the storm; the women carrying stacks of firewood on their head; the tent soaked in the pouring rain, puddles in every corner; the shadows casted by the clouds over the land; clouds of white and yellow butterflies; the green and brown patterns created by the furrows on the slopes around Mbeya; the women carrying their sleeping babies on their back hanging sideways just about to fall; the red roofless shells of the abandoned brick and mud houses pointing to the sky as if in prayer, some barely visible in the sunflower riot ...

The most memorable experience in Tanzania: watching the men and women work the land in the rhythm of the drum. There was rhythm and grace and music along with the sweat and pain of working the land. The sound of the huge drums echoed across the land. Finding them took longer - walking through fields and jumping over furrows. The sky was heavy and ready for yet another thunderstorm, the sun ready to set, a group of workers walking rhythmically to the new work area, the drums beating obsessively. But the people of Tanzania were camera-shy and I respected that. Yet I can close my eyes any time and see the scene and feel the beat again ...

Signs of Life

2008-04-20T06:38:00.000-07:00

10 minutes in an internet cafe. Wonderful comments I find. Many warm thoughts reach me finally. Thank you. And I miss you, too, though I'd like this trip not to end this soon.

I feel fortunate to be here. I feel fortunate for having you all there to think of me and follow me. And to come back to and hug you. Boy, I miss the hugging :-)

I will be back in a few days with hopefully some posts. And hopefully some pictures. If not in Namibia then South Africa. Tomorrow we continue through Botswana. I'm happy to be here.

Orange Confessions

2008-03-26T07:25:00.000-07:00

To those who only know or see me as an orange-fanatic it may come as a surprise that I love other colours, too. And that the sunflower yellow I treasure much more than orange. And then there's the strong red that I love - and sometimes wear, yes! - and so, probably with the desire to not be unfair to any of these, I combined them into the weakness for orange.

What's wrong with it? The Buddhist monks wear it with pride and dignity. The butterflies harbour it in the air. The marigolds brighten up the flower beds. The Dutch identify with it officially.

It's bright and healthy and bold and warm. Yes, I think that's what I like most about it - the warmth. The passion of red tempered down by the strength of the sunshine.

The Art of Seeing

2008-03-26T07:17:00.000-07:00

Tanzania

A few years ago I went to visit the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. I wanted to see again and then some more of the wonderful sunflowers.

Near the entrance hall there was an exhibition of photography. Someone had retraced Van Gogh's steps through several places and streets he had lived at and worked. The pictures were all black and white telling a black-and-white story. The images were bleak, dull, boring and depressing. They were reflecting an ugly and uninspiring reality. Yet the artist - the ARTIST - managed to see and find so much beauty around him, to find inspiration and create so much more beauty. It felt almost incomprehensible.

Travelling through Africa at bike speed I feel once again fortunate and happy to see so much beauty so obvious on display. You don't have to be an artist, you don't need any divine inspiration, nor genius to see the beauty around. It's here for everybody to admire and enjoy. It's open and welcoming.

I hope I might have a better understanding of John Berger's "Art of Seeing" on a second reading given my latest experiences.

The Grace and the Power

2008-03-14T16:47:00.000-07:00

The grace of the feline walk;
the grace of the gazelle barely touching the ground in its leaps;
the grace of the flamingos, dark delicate silhouettes on the golden surface of the lake at sunset.
The power of the leopard dragging its prey up the tree away from other predators; the power of the elephant breaking and eating whole branches and bushes at a time; the power of the hyena's jaws instilling fear even in larger predators.

How not to be in awe when seeing all this from close-up in the African savannah.

Nowhere else are grace and power so closely linked to each other, so beautifully blending together and supporting each other.

African Safari

2008-03-14T05:58:00.000-07:00

Tanzania

My childhood was dominated by books and the lure of wilderness. One of my favorite books was a picturebook about Ngorongoro which I got from my grandfather. Hours and days I would browse through its pages and go on imaginary safaris down the magic crater.

The Thompson gazelle was my favorite. Small and graceful it was the most perfect creature. I loved its colours and its perfect eye makeup. I didn't like the Gnu antelope - aka wildebeest- at all. It was big and dark, bearded and hunched. It looked grumpy and - unlike the gazelle - not at all playful. The lion was majestic and powerful, the cheetah slender and agile, the elephant huge, funny but reliable. The hyena was definitely ugly and lacked backbone. The hippo was sociable and chubby with a large pink smile. The rhino, however, was solitary and menacing. I loved the fancy outfit of the zebra and the bold design of the giraffe. The baboons were naughty and playful whereas the flamingos graceful and delicate.

Over the years I watched numerous documentaries about the Serengeti and the crater and the wildlife inhabiting them. I read National Geographic articles about the African wildlife and never forgot the fascinating name of Ngorongoro.
And yet, no matter how much I read or watched documentaries about these places and their animals I wasn't prepared for the encounter.

Entering the Ngorongoro Conservation Area I entered the world of my picturebook.
I was witnessing the migration of wildebeest raising clouds of dust, filling the air with their "moo"s and grunts.
I was following the gazelles running and leaping elegantly out of our way.
I was suddenly watching the cheetah devouring its fresh kill under the watchful eyes of the hungry vultures blood dripping from its mouth; the lion stretched out in the grass satisfied after its copious meal; the hyena running, blasting off the group of vultures and dragging away the still bleeding carcasse.
I was admiring the ostriches parading in a line along the horizon; the zebras bobbing their heads while walking or rubbing and resting their necks against each other; the giraffes twisting and braiding their long delicate necks together while staring at you from dark eyes under the most beautiful eyelashes in the world; the elephants hugging each other's trunk tenderly; the little lion cubs playfully climbing on the back of their mother.
I was there amidst hundreds of zebras and wildebeest watching out for the predators. And I was watching fascinated and torn apart at the same time, feeling sorry for the baby wildebeest lost and confused on the endless plains of the Serengeti yet wanting to see the lion feed its cubs.

However, neither place is only about the wildlife. The scenery, the background itself is stunning.
The Serengeti plains are endless, as the name says, and hence the solitary tree in the distance, merely a green dot on the border between the vast green and blue seas of the plain and the sky, respectively, strikes you as bizarre yet so beautiful. It breaks the balance of those spaces whilst creating a new one; it makes you follow it, search for it and rest on it. And so are the boulders scattered around sparsely like rocky islands on the grassy plain.
And then there are the acacias dotting the rolling terrain, the umbrella trees with their delicate crown like a lace spun over the branches - the unmistakable staple of an African landscape.

The colours are fantastic: golden, green, brown, blue. The light has a special quality here and the effect is stunning and surreal. The perspective creates layers upon layers of colours and exquisite patterns; you can see how the zebra fits in with its stripes. Just another mirage.

When the giraffes popped up almost towering the delicate umbrella trees the drawers were missing and so were the melting clocks hanging off the trees. I could see, though, that they guarded well their secrets and I could feel the time running at a different pace, melting away any instrument in the slow cycle of nature. This wasn't a landscape imagined by Dali but a more grandiose place created by an invisible magician. And it was fascinating and overwhelming to be there.

The Ngorongoro crater: a concentration of beauty. A delicate green jewelry with a precious diamond at its center: the shallow lake reflecting the blue of the sky and the clouds glistens in the sun. The edges are dark green and lush surrounding the flat grassy caldera. A ring crowned by a diamond - a magic place.

Ethiopian Picturebook

2008-03-14T05:51:00.000-07:00

Women carrying big earthen water jugs on their back, their strong green, red and yellow dresses in stark contrast with their chocolate skin;
small children framed by a narrow gate in the wooden fence waving and laughing at us;
the vultures devouring a goat;
men ploughing the field with their oxen;
the supersize puzzle of field patches in distinct shades of brown and golden;
the young chocolate girl with the wide brimmed straw hat and a bright smile;
the young mother holding and feeding her son;
the solitary tree on the hillside;
the herd of cattle returning to the village in the late afternoon shrouded in clouds of dust;
the hundreds of golden straw stacks dotting the field after harvest;
the huge well entrance dug deep into the limestone allowing access to the water to people and cattle;
the acacia tree in blossom;
the pelicans on lake Tana;
the woman filtering the hulls out from the grains;
the golden lake at sunrise;
the vivid colours of the monastery paintings;
the old blind man praying in front of the monastery;
the shepherd under the large tree;
the chocolate girl arranging items in her little souvenir shop;
the stunningly beautiful young girl looking at and through me from gorgeous yet sad eyes;
the crowd cheering on top of the hill;
the boys dancing around me at dusk, singing and clapping their wooden sticks;
the abandoned tanks rusting along the roadside;
the young women walking on the market balancing big bags on their head their hips swinging synchronuously;
the lovely little blue bird in the morning;
the little round huts dotting the hillside like a set of identical hats on a shelf; the random arrangement of rocks in the water;
the gorgeous amaryllis thriving in the garden;
the orange butterfly;
the beautiful castle in Gondar;
the jacaranda trees;
the twisted thorntree against the blue sky;
the white termite hill reminding of a Buddha statue;
the layered ridges of the Blue Nile Gorge at sunset.

Many pictures have I taken with my camera. A lot more I've taken with me in my mind and heart and it is these that I'll carry with me everywhere I'll go.

Ethiopian Sightseeing

2008-03-13T03:29:00.000-07:00

Although I missed famous Lalibela I have greatly enjoyed historic Gondar. Here I spent a wonderful morning wandering about and around the castle complex listed among the World Heritage Sites. It was beautiful and peaceful, a park in the city centered around the old fortress and inhabited by marvellous birds and large shade-spending Jacaranda trees.

Located on the shore of Lake Tana Bahir Dar offered a glimpse into the worlds of wildlife and birdwatching and the opportunity to visit some old monasteries with beautiful wall paintings. Though small, its market was picturesque and inspiring.

Addis Ababa strikes as a modern city with people open for change and full of initiative. The huge open market provides grounds for exploration and artistic inspiration.

The town of Arba Minch is the gateway to a national park and more stunning scenery around its lakes. It is the gateway to the Southern part of Ethiopia where the changes in colours and hairstyles, facial figures and clothing only confirmed the ethnic diversity in the population.

Yoyo-ing in Halloweenland

2008-03-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

TDA - Days 46-49 (Still Ethiopia)

We left Addis Ababa and Arba Minch behind and are heading towards Moyale and the border to Kenya on a new route.

It's Halloween country. The termite hills are standing in the most bizarre shapes. Tall drunken men; fat seated men; old crooked women; little naughty baby ghosts. The range of shapes varies as much as the size. And so does the colouring. The figures are mostly red, the rust red reminding me of other remote and fascinating places like the American Southwest. But the white limestone hills are just the large size materialization of any possibly imagined Halloween ghost character. Or maybe they are the fabulous sandcastle artworks of a local artist.

The road is a thin straight line cutting through the thornful bushland. It goes up and down the hills and disappears somewhere on the horizon line. Between the water stations on top of the hills we yoyo on wheels. Sometimes the momentum is wasted as you need to slow down or stop and let the cows, camels or donkeys cross the road at their convenience. At other times it is the headwind that brakes your enthusiastic ride down. And all this under the watchful eyes of the termite hill ghosts, looking benign during the day yet fairly spooky at dusk and in the dark.

The Weak and the Gorgeous

2008-03-12T02:32:00.000-07:00

TDA - Day 36 (Ethiopia)

Whether it's because I'm too weak or too lazy or maybe I'm far too distracted by the surrounding scenery, there is no doubt about me being the slowest rider on the tour. I am slow. And on the uphills I definitely suck. All I had to do - I figured - was to learn how to do it with dignity.
We reached the rim of the gorge by mid-morning enjoying sweeping views of the huge land fracture and the surrounding slopes. We could not see the road down, long and relatively steep in spots but we could clearly see the way up on the other side. The road was snaking up the slope gradually, without any hint of shade or mercy. I knew it was going to be a grind.

The descent was long and fun alternating between pavement and gravel and offering spectacular views of the area. On the way up I found myself to be - as expected - last and extremely slow.
It was very hot and the ~1500m elevation gain over 20 km did not appeal to me very much. But the walk! Walking at trekking speed I had all this beauty for myself. I was singing, talking, smiling, taking pictures. I was sweating and thirsting and yet declining all the ride offers from the stopping trucks. I knew I could walk 20km easier than ride them. And I also had the support to do so from our awesome tour leader, and - for a fair stretch - enjoyed the company of Dr. Luke. Eventually, I was ok to let go off my bike and trek the remaining way up without it provided Dr. Luke rode the bike up.

To have all these fantastic views for myself I felt happy. And seeing them at my pace made me even happier. I could bet that I saw a lot more of the scenery than anybody else: the trees and the cliffs, the little villages on the way, the locals returning home from work in the field, the golden fields below and in the distance. Little did it matter that I got to the rim - and camp for that matter - only shortly before sunset, a great place to watch the sun go down from.
In the warm sunset glow the landscape looked magical and fascinating. Ridges upon ridges of escarpment were fading in the distance.

The next day shrouded in haze at dawn the gorge looked mysterious and cold. The views from the rim were sweeping yet not capable to encompass the whole span of the gorge. Farewell Gorge-ous!

Tuscan Impressions

2008-03-11T07:17:00.000-07:00

TDA - Days 31-39 (Ethiopia)

Anybody who has been to Tuscany or has seen pictures of the Tuscan landscape is marked for life. The hills have the most perfect shape there, only accented by the tall slender cypresses dotting or crowning them. Hills rolling endlessly and beautifully. The warmth of the light at sunset and sunrise is amazing surrounding everything in magic. The colours of the soil, the blue of the sky and the puffiness of the clouds are absolutely fantastic. There you will encounter all possible shades of brown and golden. Like nowhere else in the world.

Well, that's what I thought until I discovered Ethiopia.

After 2 days of dusty unpaved roads climbing up and down hills under a scorching sun we left behind the scenery reminding of places like the Grand Canyon - a land of red soil and big towering ridges. The slopes were dotted by large trees and the air filled by the twittering and the bold colours of the countless birds. The villages were a collection of huts blending in seamlessly colourwise.

The spectacular escarpment gave way to beautiful endless rolling hills and fields only scarred by the grand gorge of the Blue Nile. It was harvest time and the golden and brown shades of the land were glowing in the light of the setting and rising sun.

Focusing on the paved stripe ahead of me was hard as my eyes kept scouting the horizon, right and left, ahead and behind for more images, for more beauty and inspiration. Memories of Tuscany came flooding to me, triggered by a solitary tree, a slope, a certain contour or a hue of brown or golden.
This place was stunningly beautiful, observing the harvest a privilege and riding there a treat. It was Tuscany at its best with few substitutes: the tall slim cypress trees were replaced by some other kind of trees equally beautiful; the villas were only simple straw and mud huts; the rolls of straw dotting the Italian fields were perfectly cylindrical and machine-made whereas here the little straw heaps were extremely pretty and, obviously, hand-made.

Ethiopian Encounters

2008-03-10T03:26:00.000-07:00

Riding at my own speed I had extremely interesting encounters with the locals.

I had an English class on the hilly road to Gondar with a 12 year old boy whose mind was sharper than his tongue.
A young man offered me a demonstration of his riding skills in the historic town of Gondar.
Several times I had young children push my bike up the hill when the going got tough. "You not can drive?" was the inevitable question under raised eyebrows. "Nope" was my smiling reply. And right away they offered their help. Crowds cheered and encouraged me when I was slowly making my way up the hills and into the villages grunting and sweating.
I had men taking their hat off when greeting me, women showing me their brightest smile and children screaming at their loudest, their little voice failing out of too much excitement.

Of Hunger and Travelling

2008-03-09T07:10:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that travelling has always been the means to still some kind of a hunger. To still the hunger of people and animals the nomads have invented travelling. To still the hunger for adventure and knowledge people have always travelled and do it to this day. It's this hunger that drives us to remote places and the money that makes it possible.

We, Westerners, go places to see and enjoy. We stop to look and snap pictures. We do not hesitate to walk close to people - locals - and take pictures of them. In their face, invading their space. The photograph is the modern trophy, the photographer - the modern hunter.

Yet when the locals come and surround us and stand there watching us, even staring at us we don't like it. Yes, they are probably hungry when they stand watching us at lunchtime but it is not this hunger that drives them to do so. It is their form of travelling, of stilling their curiosity and interest in the world and their hunger for entertainment and novelty.

For every single one of the children we've encountered in Ethiopia the night spent around our camp must have been or become a memorable event. An occasion to see and learn about the other world they can't go see but comes to them through us, its representatives. It is, in the end, the poor man's form of travelling.

Of People and Beauty

2008-03-08T03:18:00.000-08:00

Ethiopia

No woman is more beautiful than the young chocolate woman walking on the roadside. Her barefoot slender figure is wrapped in a white dress. On her head a yellow bag of grains, on her back her little baby in a leather holder adorned with bone rattles at the seams she walks so lightly that she barely touches the ground. Her chocolate complexion glows in the warm sunrise light.
Sometimes she wears a different dress. Often she holds an umbrella over her head to protect her from the sun. At other times she carries a bag of charcoal or cow dung on her back. But every time she walks she has the same upright posture, the same dignity and beauty radiating around her.

And no man is more handsome than the tall slim dark man in his sparkling white clothes holding his long wooden stick across his shoulders. When he smiles his face brightens up with warmth. He is a shepherd even though his sheep or goats may have got lost in time.

Deconstructing Myths

2008-03-07T05:56:00.000-08:00

Ethiopia

Salaam.

Confronting our fears and expectations with reality can be a very rewarding and enjoyable or, on the contrary, a very frustrating process.
Hence it is interesting to observe how certain images, events or experiences stick to our mind and gradually take control over our perception and perspective of things. Science has big wonderful words for the involved methods: extrapolation, generalization, elimination, negation.

Inasmuch as I sometimes wrongly build pedestals I also like tearing them down if inappropriate. Myths and prejudices are there to give us comfort, but at the same time they are there to be debated about, argued about and, potentially, destroyed.

With regard to Ethiopia I have to admit that I was blatantly ignorant before coming here. Ethiopia to me was equivalent to famine stricken population, poverty, heat and drought and bare monotonous scenery. Little did I know that I would discover a fertile country with stunning scenery: paradise for birdwatchers, inspiration for photographers and destination for trekkers. A country with beautiful, warm people and extremely open and sharp-minded children roaming the countryside and welcoming you everywhere.

The facts that I knew about Ethiopia were dry pieces of unrelated information: Ethiopia is the cradle of Christianity and - according to a study I read about in a scientific magazine - the people living at elevations of 3000m or more in the Ethiopian mountains have the best adapted mechanism for living at high altitude (in contrast to South American people like Peruvians who suffer from chronic altitude sickness - according to the study).

To me Ethiopia revealed itself as a biblical place. Every day I had moments when I felt like walking through scenes and pages of the Bible. The clothes, the scenery, the daily rhythm and the traditions, all contributed to that feeling.
I saw the holy family walking in the morning haze to the fields behind its little donkey; I saw it at noon resting in the shade of a tree; in the evening I saw it walking back home tired after a day's work in the fields. Regardless where and when throughout Ethiopia the image spoke to me of traditions and peacefulness, of harmony and unity with the surrounding land and nature and of extreme beauty.

I have travelled through Ethiopia in slow motion, I wandered around as much and often as I could lured by the scenery and the people. I said hello to and waved at children hundreds of times a day. Every hello was echoed back by dozen of little voices. And every time I smiled I was rewarded with dozens of smiles back. It was lovely and fantastic. It was another expression of this fertile land, magical and mythical.
And yes, I have seen the occasional rocks flying towards the riding targets - or me for that matter - but they were just the echo of our own unwillingness to smile and pay attention, to be friendly and patient. They were the expression of the same frustration we encounter when we see new interesting places go by and we are incapable to stop and explore them. From the reverted perspective we happened to be the places and the children the travellers.

I enjoyed Ethiopia, admired its scenery and loved its people. I wished I could spend more time there and see more. It was a great experience and a good lesson to learn.