Anyone who has been following my blog may have been disappointed by the lack of a concluding post. Well, better late than never, so here it is.
Our final week was spent in Marrakesh, the urban cultural heart of Morocco. Many of the events that filled these last days have already begun to fade into imperfect recollections ... this is less likely because they were unremarkable than they have been overshadowed by the grand finale that has since dominated my memories.
After an (admittedly tiring) 5 month existence as dirty and penny-pinching nomads, we treated ourselves to two final nights of comfort in the trendy, yet thoroughly Moroccan Riad Akka. We celebrated our last night with a deliciously extravagant dinner complete with Moroccan wine and belly dancers. Unbeknownst to me, the night's highlight (actually, the trip's highlight to be precise) was yet to come. Back at the riad, Russell concluded the night with a question that stunned me through and through and flooded me with girly, giddy excitement with the thought of a lifetime together.
So if you haven't yet figured it out, we are engaged!!!!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
America the beautiful?
Now that our trip is quickly wrapping up, I realize that one of the most fascinating and eye-opening aspects of our experience has been the variable responses people give after learning that we're from the U.S. Whether these destinations don't see many Americans or we just don't perfectly fit the American stereotype, I can't be sure; but for some reason there's almost always a dominant element of surprise in the reaction. Then after this initial shock ... the fun begins.
Starting east in Japan and China, our interactions with locals were unfortunately minimal, probably a combined result of language barriers and relatively reserved cultures. However, as we've migrated westward communication has become increasingly free and frequent, notably in Egypt and Morocco. Here in Morocco, after several incorrect guesses of "Français? Allemand? Anglais?" our "Non, Américain" is frequently greeted with "Vous êtes les bienvenus!" (You are welcome!) But it's hard not to cringe when this is followed, all too often, by "Great country" or "America - number one", always delivered with a poorly concealed tone of sarcasm. Alternatively, they'll immediately guess that we're from New York, California, Washington or whatever other U.S. location they've heard of. The other night we even got a curious "What part of America? Canada?".
Equally common is the politically based response. If the international community had any say in American politics, Bush would have been impeached long ago and Obama would be a shoe-in for November. Sometimes the first and only comment we hear from taxi drivers, shopkeepers, etc. are some variant of "Bush - very bad" or an anticipatory "Obama will win?!" Russell has a great pic of a typical Tanzanian painting and accompanying graffiti promoting "Obama for president" (yes, you should definitely pressure him to post it on Flicker). Just last night, while wandering through the night festivities at Djemaa el Fna in Marrakesh, we stumbled across a vendor selling a toy "911" figurine set of Bush in a tank in hot military pursuit of Bin Laden.
Three particular experiences come to mind that exemplify the unpredictable and often entertaining global impressions of American society that we've encountered ...
America .... It's not America
Considering the financial obstacles and immigration restrictions our country imposes, a visit to the U.S. is an impractical dream for much of the non-Western world. We recently met one Moroccan who had somehow (don't ask how he managed to get a visa) just returned from an extended trip to California, Arizona and New York. His overall impressions seemed positive, as he loved San Francisco and San Diego and likened Arizona to M'Hamid, the desert village he calls home. Great - one point for the states! However, the sadly amusing part of the encounter was his interpretation that California and Arizona "are not America". Since his positive experiences in these states were incongruous with his expectations, he reasoned that these states must be the anomaly, rather than the stereotype being faulty.
America ... racist and perverse
Morocco seems to have a disproportionate number of male students, many impressively in touch with - or at least interested in - western culture. The receptionist at our hotel in Ourzazate, a college student of American society, is one example of education gone wrong. Throughout the course of our conversation, he eagerly shared his expertise on America's one-dimensional attitude towards foreigners. Namely, we don't like them. Apparently, we would like nothing better than to completely close our borders to all immigrants and would never welcome visitors with the same hospitality and tolerance extended by Moroccans (okay, so maybe this isn't entirely off). He continued with a disturbingly fascinated inquiry into ... surrogacy of all things. He had learned the term in the context of American culture and despite our explanation otherwise, believed it to be a common practice in the states, where love, sex and marriage are bound by no rules.
America ... seriously?! No way!
In the village near Todra Gorge, where we passed two wonderful days, word spreads fast and even tourists cannot remain strangers for long. For example, in a shared taxi ride our second day, the driver and two of the four other passengers were men we had met on prior occasions. By consequence of his limited French skills, the driver had assumed we were French and, although not unfriendly, treated us with relative indifference. Just as we were preparing to leave the taxi he learned from another passenger than we were not in fact French, but American. He immediately burst into excited chatter and became an instant friend. American?! What time did we need a ride to the bus station tomorrow? He would pick us up from our hotel. Did we email? We must exchange email addresses. Misunderstanding my apology for not having small change as a statement that I was poor, he graciously tried to refuse payment for our ride to the gorge. In so many countries our nationality has been synonymous with expendable wealth, to which many feel naturally entitled. But this man was somehow blind to the image of American riches and embraced us with a fundamentally human welcome and understanding ... Almost too much for my jaded traveller's mind to grasp.
Starting east in Japan and China, our interactions with locals were unfortunately minimal, probably a combined result of language barriers and relatively reserved cultures. However, as we've migrated westward communication has become increasingly free and frequent, notably in Egypt and Morocco. Here in Morocco, after several incorrect guesses of "Français? Allemand? Anglais?" our "Non, Américain" is frequently greeted with "Vous êtes les bienvenus!" (You are welcome!) But it's hard not to cringe when this is followed, all too often, by "Great country" or "America - number one", always delivered with a poorly concealed tone of sarcasm. Alternatively, they'll immediately guess that we're from New York, California, Washington or whatever other U.S. location they've heard of. The other night we even got a curious "What part of America? Canada?".
Equally common is the politically based response. If the international community had any say in American politics, Bush would have been impeached long ago and Obama would be a shoe-in for November. Sometimes the first and only comment we hear from taxi drivers, shopkeepers, etc. are some variant of "Bush - very bad" or an anticipatory "Obama will win?!" Russell has a great pic of a typical Tanzanian painting and accompanying graffiti promoting "Obama for president" (yes, you should definitely pressure him to post it on Flicker). Just last night, while wandering through the night festivities at Djemaa el Fna in Marrakesh, we stumbled across a vendor selling a toy "911" figurine set of Bush in a tank in hot military pursuit of Bin Laden.
Three particular experiences come to mind that exemplify the unpredictable and often entertaining global impressions of American society that we've encountered ...
America .... It's not America
Considering the financial obstacles and immigration restrictions our country imposes, a visit to the U.S. is an impractical dream for much of the non-Western world. We recently met one Moroccan who had somehow (don't ask how he managed to get a visa) just returned from an extended trip to California, Arizona and New York. His overall impressions seemed positive, as he loved San Francisco and San Diego and likened Arizona to M'Hamid, the desert village he calls home. Great - one point for the states! However, the sadly amusing part of the encounter was his interpretation that California and Arizona "are not America". Since his positive experiences in these states were incongruous with his expectations, he reasoned that these states must be the anomaly, rather than the stereotype being faulty.
America ... racist and perverse
Morocco seems to have a disproportionate number of male students, many impressively in touch with - or at least interested in - western culture. The receptionist at our hotel in Ourzazate, a college student of American society, is one example of education gone wrong. Throughout the course of our conversation, he eagerly shared his expertise on America's one-dimensional attitude towards foreigners. Namely, we don't like them. Apparently, we would like nothing better than to completely close our borders to all immigrants and would never welcome visitors with the same hospitality and tolerance extended by Moroccans (okay, so maybe this isn't entirely off). He continued with a disturbingly fascinated inquiry into ... surrogacy of all things. He had learned the term in the context of American culture and despite our explanation otherwise, believed it to be a common practice in the states, where love, sex and marriage are bound by no rules.
America ... seriously?! No way!
In the village near Todra Gorge, where we passed two wonderful days, word spreads fast and even tourists cannot remain strangers for long. For example, in a shared taxi ride our second day, the driver and two of the four other passengers were men we had met on prior occasions. By consequence of his limited French skills, the driver had assumed we were French and, although not unfriendly, treated us with relative indifference. Just as we were preparing to leave the taxi he learned from another passenger than we were not in fact French, but American. He immediately burst into excited chatter and became an instant friend. American?! What time did we need a ride to the bus station tomorrow? He would pick us up from our hotel. Did we email? We must exchange email addresses. Misunderstanding my apology for not having small change as a statement that I was poor, he graciously tried to refuse payment for our ride to the gorge. In so many countries our nationality has been synonymous with expendable wealth, to which many feel naturally entitled. But this man was somehow blind to the image of American riches and embraced us with a fundamentally human welcome and understanding ... Almost too much for my jaded traveller's mind to grasp.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
du Maroc
I've just returned from a morning run through Todra Gorge, along a magnificent route beneath towering rocky cliffs and past the occasional goat herd. (No, there's no internet here ... I actually pre-date those rare posts composed in remote deserts, mountains, etc.) Naturally, my blood is filled with endorphins and my mind with awe. It's day six in Morocco and I don't know where to begin with the multitude of reasons I love this country. In all honesty, when we arrived from Egypt traveler's fatigue had set in deeply and the task of adapting to yet another country felt more daunting than usual. But my weariness has been successfully abolished by the warmest of welcomes and the richness of Moroccan culture.
This country has a definite advantage over the previous six we've visited in gaining my favor: they speak French. For the first time I need not rely on others' knowledge of English and can finally communicate in their - almost - native tongue. (Arabic is the official and most widely spoken language, which I tragically do not speak.) Not only is it just pure fun to revive my dormant French skills, but everything is rendered much more pleasant when coated in a French accent. The cries of "Où allez-vous?" and "Qu'est-ce que vous cherchez?" fail to annoy like their English equivalents.
Relative to most of the countries from which we've come, Morocco is an absolute oasis of beauty, cleanliness and kindness. On one level, the colors and intricacies of the majestic mosques and riads are aesthetic wonders. This architectural beauty is complemented by the stunning mountains, desserts - and now - this unearthly gorge! But undoubtedly Morocco's greatest asset is its people. I can confidently say that we've been befriended by more locals here than during the entire rest of our travels. On countless occasions has a friendly "Bonjour" evolved into an extended chat session with young locals about travel, music, work, you name it - always accompanied by a generous offering of thé à la menthe (or whisky berbère as they affectionately call it). In refreshing contrast to similar experiences outside Morocco, only one such encounter here was spawned by a subtle sales pitch for some camel hair rugs and cactus silk linens. As a friend from the gorge put it, "Il y a des hommes et des omelettes". By staying open and resisting those omelette tendencies, I've discovered ample opportunities to make a friend, glimpse into "real" Moroccan life and of course, refine my rusty French conversation skills.
This country has a definite advantage over the previous six we've visited in gaining my favor: they speak French. For the first time I need not rely on others' knowledge of English and can finally communicate in their - almost - native tongue. (Arabic is the official and most widely spoken language, which I tragically do not speak.) Not only is it just pure fun to revive my dormant French skills, but everything is rendered much more pleasant when coated in a French accent. The cries of "Où allez-vous?" and "Qu'est-ce que vous cherchez?" fail to annoy like their English equivalents.
Relative to most of the countries from which we've come, Morocco is an absolute oasis of beauty, cleanliness and kindness. On one level, the colors and intricacies of the majestic mosques and riads are aesthetic wonders. This architectural beauty is complemented by the stunning mountains, desserts - and now - this unearthly gorge! But undoubtedly Morocco's greatest asset is its people. I can confidently say that we've been befriended by more locals here than during the entire rest of our travels. On countless occasions has a friendly "Bonjour" evolved into an extended chat session with young locals about travel, music, work, you name it - always accompanied by a generous offering of thé à la menthe (or whisky berbère as they affectionately call it). In refreshing contrast to similar experiences outside Morocco, only one such encounter here was spawned by a subtle sales pitch for some camel hair rugs and cactus silk linens. As a friend from the gorge put it, "Il y a des hommes et des omelettes". By staying open and resisting those omelette tendencies, I've discovered ample opportunities to make a friend, glimpse into "real" Moroccan life and of course, refine my rusty French conversation skills.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Jekyll and Hyde
Luxor is a moody city to say the least and over the course of the past five days we've witnessed both faces of her personality. Take yesterday for instance. We began the morning with a ferry ride to the west bank to meet our taxi driver, Said, for day two of temple and tomb-viewing. Along the way we were approached by flocks of Said's "brothers", "cousins" and "uncles" advising us that Said would be unable to meet us, but they were happy to be his replacement driver for a good price. Oh so sneaky and cutthroat! To no surprise, Said was waiting to greet us across the Nile, true to his word, with a big smile and heart of gold. Despite knowing minimal English he worked hard to communicate and welcome us to his city and his taxi 291. He expressed his kindness by ensuring cheap cold water and Coke, pointing out the many commission-based alabaster shops not to patronize and inviting us to his home for lunch. He even concluded our memorable two-day sight-seeing expedition with a gift of a small alabaster statue.
The evening presented no less contrast between the beautiful and the ugly corners of the Egyptian spirit. After dinner and sunset, when the city awakens and emerges from hiding from the scorching heat, we headed to the midan overlooking the illuminated Luxor Temple for some people watching. A young boy approached us to display his collection of foreign coins in request for a new exotic addition. As he neither appeared to be trained with the usual tourist-trapping English phrases nor had the persistence of most begging children, we gladly gave him a stray Indian rupee. This was not only enough to satisfy and please him, but also to pique the curiosity of his family picnicking on the grass across the square. After several shy glances and smiles, his sister and mother (?) ran over to graciously offer us sweet rolls and hurriedly rushed away. The events that unfolded next were in such contrast to this family's generosity and gratitude to verge on amusing absurdity. Seeing the luck this first boy had at getting money from us, a crew of street boys swarmed and begged with feigned misery and almost admirable perseverance. Naive Americans that we are, we made the mistake of giving a single coin (50 Tanzanian shillings) to share between 8 or so boys. There was no hint of appreciation is these boys' response. Rather, a hideous and thoroughly disheartening scene erupted as the enraged 10-year old mob shouted, hit and tackled one another to attain the prize - valued at a mere 20 cents. Dog. Eat. Dog.
The evening presented no less contrast between the beautiful and the ugly corners of the Egyptian spirit. After dinner and sunset, when the city awakens and emerges from hiding from the scorching heat, we headed to the midan overlooking the illuminated Luxor Temple for some people watching. A young boy approached us to display his collection of foreign coins in request for a new exotic addition. As he neither appeared to be trained with the usual tourist-trapping English phrases nor had the persistence of most begging children, we gladly gave him a stray Indian rupee. This was not only enough to satisfy and please him, but also to pique the curiosity of his family picnicking on the grass across the square. After several shy glances and smiles, his sister and mother (?) ran over to graciously offer us sweet rolls and hurriedly rushed away. The events that unfolded next were in such contrast to this family's generosity and gratitude to verge on amusing absurdity. Seeing the luck this first boy had at getting money from us, a crew of street boys swarmed and begged with feigned misery and almost admirable perseverance. Naive Americans that we are, we made the mistake of giving a single coin (50 Tanzanian shillings) to share between 8 or so boys. There was no hint of appreciation is these boys' response. Rather, a hideous and thoroughly disheartening scene erupted as the enraged 10-year old mob shouted, hit and tackled one another to attain the prize - valued at a mere 20 cents. Dog. Eat. Dog.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
In 105 degree heat ...
there's nothing better to do than smoke a shisha and drink a Stella.
That is, if you can't bear one more offer for a felucca ride along the Nile (which we actually did) or a horse / camel / donkey ride for temple and tomb viewing. For once I will be concise and leave it at that, as there's little else to being a tourist in Luxor, Egypt.
That is, if you can't bear one more offer for a felucca ride along the Nile (which we actually did) or a horse / camel / donkey ride for temple and tomb viewing. For once I will be concise and leave it at that, as there's little else to being a tourist in Luxor, Egypt.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Mummies, Muslims and Malaria
Egypt is unlike anywhere I have been or anything I expected. Forewarned of Cairo's mobs, touts and scams, I was prepared for the worst and never hoped to discover a people so kind and welcoming. We've certainly encountered the city's chaos and touts, but these cannot mask a core of genuine friendliness. Already we've met countless locals eager to chat over shai and - of course - offer detailed advice on exactly what to see, buy and eat while in Egypt. Hesitant to deal with potential anti-American sentiment, we've selectively varied our nationality between the states, Canada, South Africa and even France when asked the inevitable question "Where are you from?" Surprisingly, the response is consistently "We welcome you to our country". That is, with the occasional adjunct "George Bush is a bad man" when we claim to be American.
But at the heart of the nation's intrigue are undoubtedly it's mysterious historical roots. From the ancient artifacts and treasures at the Egyptian Museum to the Great Sphinx and pyramids in the suburbs, Cairo easily transports you back to a civilization of millennia past. Words cannot capture the experience of staring into the eyes of an exquisitely preserved mummy. Her hair, skin and fingernails recount not just an obscure ancient society, but her personal existence several thousands of years ago. Similarly, gazing up at the base of Giza's wondrous pyramids, images of their original splendor immediately come to life, and you can effortlessly envision the bustling society around which the structures were built 4600 years ago!
Over Cairo's core of friendliness and historical magnificence is a third layer of its Islamic tradition. One particularly memorable moment beautifully captures this religious element. We were lucky enough to catch the midday prayer while sitting before al Hussein Mosque, one of the most important mosques in Cairo. The song of the imam's call to prayer is so beautiful as to move a non-Muslim like myself, despite being unable to comprehend a word. What a breathtaking site to view a sea of men overflowing from the mosque to fill the square, all bowing is unison towards Mecca. Again, my ignorance of Islam prevents me from fully understanding their worship, but it was a magical sight nonetheless.
On a lighter - or scarier, depending on your perspective - note, our second night in Egypt was spent trying to navigate Cairo's health care system. After a delicious (and apparently contaminated) street-side dinner of Kushari (a mish-mash of anything and everything) the previous night, Russell passed the day battling fever, headache and violent stomach issues. By bedtime I was convinced that he contracted malaria in Tanzania, where the disease is both rampant and of its ugliest form. Not only did Lonely Planet describe Tanzanian malaria with exactly Russell's symptoms, but the (probably faulty) thermometer we bought read his temperature as over 41C (106F)! The paranoid girlfriend that I am, I dragged him out of bed in search of a malaria test. Three visits to the pharmacy and a failed hunt for a doctor later, we were sent home with a provisional diagnosis of traveler's diarrhea and a pack of drugs. Readers should rest assured that I am just that paranoid and Russell has not died of malaria.
But at the heart of the nation's intrigue are undoubtedly it's mysterious historical roots. From the ancient artifacts and treasures at the Egyptian Museum to the Great Sphinx and pyramids in the suburbs, Cairo easily transports you back to a civilization of millennia past. Words cannot capture the experience of staring into the eyes of an exquisitely preserved mummy. Her hair, skin and fingernails recount not just an obscure ancient society, but her personal existence several thousands of years ago. Similarly, gazing up at the base of Giza's wondrous pyramids, images of their original splendor immediately come to life, and you can effortlessly envision the bustling society around which the structures were built 4600 years ago!
Over Cairo's core of friendliness and historical magnificence is a third layer of its Islamic tradition. One particularly memorable moment beautifully captures this religious element. We were lucky enough to catch the midday prayer while sitting before al Hussein Mosque, one of the most important mosques in Cairo. The song of the imam's call to prayer is so beautiful as to move a non-Muslim like myself, despite being unable to comprehend a word. What a breathtaking site to view a sea of men overflowing from the mosque to fill the square, all bowing is unison towards Mecca. Again, my ignorance of Islam prevents me from fully understanding their worship, but it was a magical sight nonetheless.
On a lighter - or scarier, depending on your perspective - note, our second night in Egypt was spent trying to navigate Cairo's health care system. After a delicious (and apparently contaminated) street-side dinner of Kushari (a mish-mash of anything and everything) the previous night, Russell passed the day battling fever, headache and violent stomach issues. By bedtime I was convinced that he contracted malaria in Tanzania, where the disease is both rampant and of its ugliest form. Not only did Lonely Planet describe Tanzanian malaria with exactly Russell's symptoms, but the (probably faulty) thermometer we bought read his temperature as over 41C (106F)! The paranoid girlfriend that I am, I dragged him out of bed in search of a malaria test. Three visits to the pharmacy and a failed hunt for a doctor later, we were sent home with a provisional diagnosis of traveler's diarrhea and a pack of drugs. Readers should rest assured that I am just that paranoid and Russell has not died of malaria.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Lions, tigers and bears, oh my!
Okay, no tigers or bears - but lions, yes. Packaged vacations and guided tours are about the furthest thing from my idea of a good time. So after learning that it's nearly impossible to see the African wilderness either independently or cheaply, I was less than eager to join the khaki-clad safari crew. Nevertheless, Russell convinced me and we signed our lives away for an all-inclusive (safari, flight, lodging, meals) 2-day adventure in the Selous Game Reserve. I doubt that the words that follow will do justice to the surprisingly phenomenal experience.
To begin with, the lodge - Selous Impala Camp. Sure our room was a tent, but an en-suite tent with electricity, running water and eucalyptus scented pillows. The quality was less that of a "camp" than an upscale resort, minus the uncomfortable pretentious vibe. Sensational multi-course meals were served riverside and under the stars. The attentive staff welcomed you as their immediate friend and transformed the camp into a family. It boggles my mind how they maintain such class literally out in the middle of nowhere - an expanse of African bush equivalent in size to Switzerland! To add a bizarre element of romance, I was about the only girl not sporting a shiny new band with matching diamond solitaire. We kindly refrained from telling the many honeymooning couples that we got a great last minute deal by booking our ticket the day before, while they paid the standard astronomical price by booking months in advance.
Although the camp was an experience in itself, I have yet to describe the best part - the animals! They say the Selous is the ideal reserve in which to observe "authentic" untouched Africa, and I believe it. At our camp we mingled with the resident hippo Andrea, wandering elephants and frolicking impala (antelope). For two full days we stalked the animals and explored the bush by open-air jeep, boat and foot. What raises the safari experience so superior to say, a zoo, is the raw purity of each creature in its element in perfect harmony with all the surrounding organisms. And you're repeatedly reminded how completely untamed the animal community around you is, where any walking must be accompanied by an armed ranger and even the night walk from our tent to dinner required a stick- and knife-carrying Masai as an escort. Our awesome guides taught us about the complex relationships within the animal community and took us to all the right corners of the wild, where we gawked at giraffes (my absolute favorite and oh so elegant!), zebras, wildebeest, elephant families, impala herds, swarms of baboons, lazy hippos and sneaky crocs, not to mention the vultures, kingfishers, bee-eaters and countless other exotic bird species.
At risk of boring you with way too many details, I must mention a few highlights - those moments when your heart skips a beat and leaps from your chest in awe. Like ... the 2 week old baby giraffe with umbilical cord still attached ... or the lounging trio of wild dogs, among the scant 4000 left in the world. And the safari finale couldn't have unfolded better if planned. As our last game drive was nearing an end, our guide heard rumor of a lion sighting and proceeded to race our jeep across the reserve in hot pursuit. We soon found ourselves looking eye to eye with an entire lion family - the dominant male, his multiple "wives" and their many playful cubs - feasting ravenously on a fresh kill of bloody wildebeest. As an encore to this amazing performance, Andrea (the hippo) decided to bid us farewell the morning of our departure by meandering curiously around our tent, keeping me trapped inside in nervous wonder.
To begin with, the lodge - Selous Impala Camp. Sure our room was a tent, but an en-suite tent with electricity, running water and eucalyptus scented pillows. The quality was less that of a "camp" than an upscale resort, minus the uncomfortable pretentious vibe. Sensational multi-course meals were served riverside and under the stars. The attentive staff welcomed you as their immediate friend and transformed the camp into a family. It boggles my mind how they maintain such class literally out in the middle of nowhere - an expanse of African bush equivalent in size to Switzerland! To add a bizarre element of romance, I was about the only girl not sporting a shiny new band with matching diamond solitaire. We kindly refrained from telling the many honeymooning couples that we got a great last minute deal by booking our ticket the day before, while they paid the standard astronomical price by booking months in advance.
Although the camp was an experience in itself, I have yet to describe the best part - the animals! They say the Selous is the ideal reserve in which to observe "authentic" untouched Africa, and I believe it. At our camp we mingled with the resident hippo Andrea, wandering elephants and frolicking impala (antelope). For two full days we stalked the animals and explored the bush by open-air jeep, boat and foot. What raises the safari experience so superior to say, a zoo, is the raw purity of each creature in its element in perfect harmony with all the surrounding organisms. And you're repeatedly reminded how completely untamed the animal community around you is, where any walking must be accompanied by an armed ranger and even the night walk from our tent to dinner required a stick- and knife-carrying Masai as an escort. Our awesome guides taught us about the complex relationships within the animal community and took us to all the right corners of the wild, where we gawked at giraffes (my absolute favorite and oh so elegant!), zebras, wildebeest, elephant families, impala herds, swarms of baboons, lazy hippos and sneaky crocs, not to mention the vultures, kingfishers, bee-eaters and countless other exotic bird species.
At risk of boring you with way too many details, I must mention a few highlights - those moments when your heart skips a beat and leaps from your chest in awe. Like ... the 2 week old baby giraffe with umbilical cord still attached ... or the lounging trio of wild dogs, among the scant 4000 left in the world. And the safari finale couldn't have unfolded better if planned. As our last game drive was nearing an end, our guide heard rumor of a lion sighting and proceeded to race our jeep across the reserve in hot pursuit. We soon found ourselves looking eye to eye with an entire lion family - the dominant male, his multiple "wives" and their many playful cubs - feasting ravenously on a fresh kill of bloody wildebeest. As an encore to this amazing performance, Andrea (the hippo) decided to bid us farewell the morning of our departure by meandering curiously around our tent, keeping me trapped inside in nervous wonder.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The Chase
Over the course of our trip I've come to terms with foregoing my regular runs. In many of the countries we've explored the uncomfortable gawking and giggling just aren't worth it. In my naivety, I reasoned Africa may be different. The birthplace of many of the world's greatest distance runners, it's culture must be more hospitable to runners. Well, this is what I get for generalizing over an entire continent.
As I've already mentioned, Matemwe beach in Zanzibar, Tanzania is truly paradise. The sand is a fine white powder that stretches for uninterrupted miles in both directions. In the morning when the tide is low, it becomes a level, firm expanse of running decadence. So of course, on went the running shoes. It's safe to say that the course and ocean views did not disappoint, although the experience did hold a couple unexpected surprises. More than once as I passed groups of playing children, they immediately dropped their sticks and wheels and frantically raced after me. Limbs flailing in excitement, the mob of children would chase behind and beside me, incessantly screaming "Jambo! Jambo! Jambo!". Once I was even met with the same reaction from a full-grown woman. Seeing my approach, she abandoned her seaweed-drying duties and rushed urgently to my side. She proceeded to run alongside, shouting at maximum volume a repeated Swahili chant (incomprehensible to my ignorant American ears of course). This continued for several awkward minutes until she eventually tired of my stunned grin and trailed off chuckling. Evidently Matemwe is not where those legendary marathoners come to train.
As I've already mentioned, Matemwe beach in Zanzibar, Tanzania is truly paradise. The sand is a fine white powder that stretches for uninterrupted miles in both directions. In the morning when the tide is low, it becomes a level, firm expanse of running decadence. So of course, on went the running shoes. It's safe to say that the course and ocean views did not disappoint, although the experience did hold a couple unexpected surprises. More than once as I passed groups of playing children, they immediately dropped their sticks and wheels and frantically raced after me. Limbs flailing in excitement, the mob of children would chase behind and beside me, incessantly screaming "Jambo! Jambo! Jambo!". Once I was even met with the same reaction from a full-grown woman. Seeing my approach, she abandoned her seaweed-drying duties and rushed urgently to my side. She proceeded to run alongside, shouting at maximum volume a repeated Swahili chant (incomprehensible to my ignorant American ears of course). This continued for several awkward minutes until she eventually tired of my stunned grin and trailed off chuckling. Evidently Matemwe is not where those legendary marathoners come to train.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Time Travel ... Further Back
Having left India a month ago now, I'm beginning to appreciate what a truly unique country it is. I think I can summarize our experience with a few variations of one all too common conversation.
"Hello! Rickshaw!"
"No."
Or when in Varanasi ...
"Hello! Boat!"
"No."
Or outside the urban chaos, where there's time to make a quick friend ...
"Hello! Where are you coming from?"
"USA."
"How long in India?"
"One month."
"I have nice shop ... silk ... saris ..."
"No thank you." (Begin to walk away.)
"Good price just for you!"
"No."
"Come in!"
"No!"
"Just look!"
"No!!"
This may give the misleading impression that our experience in India was a negative one. In fact, the period I've failed to blog about now holds some of my most wonderful memories of the country. Starting with ...
Munnar
Upon recommendation from a fabulous couple we met in Nepal, we spent several days in the intriguing hill station of Munnar, Kerala. Set amidst rolling hills covered in tea fields intermingled with vibrant flowers and the occasional palm tree, the town felt like a hybrid of Darjeeling and the tropics. I never knew green could be so green until Munnar. As the town is a hot tourist destination for Indians but few westerners, we caused much confusion by our habits of lazily wandering through the hills and gardens and seeking out restaurants in which to sip chai and read. Why weren't we rushing between tours of tea plantations, and didn't we need a guided tour of the town? The charming but slightly bizarre spirit of Munnar is perfectly captured in our encounter with a local family. Having witnessed Russell snapping photos of some children, they rushed out of their nearby home and ushered us ecstatically into their house. We exchanged questions about family and work, they chatted and giggled incessantly, and we drank fresh brewed chai and awkwardly looked at family photo albums. This was followed by an extensive family portrait session (which they insisted we join) and culminated in some crying children and a mother irritated at my reluctance to play dress-up in saris and gold bangles. Moving on, one day-long bus ride south to ...
Varkala
Supposedly a happening place in the dry season, this small beach town perched on a rocky cliff became rapidly deserted as the monsoons were just around the corner. All the more space for us to enjoy the phenomenal sunsets and surreal cloud formations. Luckily the beach police hadn't yet abandoned, keeping bikini-clad tourists protected from prowling local boys. Now for the finale ...
Mumbai
I wouldn't exactly say we partied Bollywood style, but we indulged as extravagantly as our scrubby bodies and frazzled brains could take. The trigger to abandon our stingy ways came after our first morning spent battling the touts, scams, heat and crowds of Mumbai. After being greeted by a "lost" and money-hungry cab driver, we began a long, unsuccessful search for some reasonably priced lodging. To top things off, the obnoxiously friendly "guide" who had been following us from hotel to hotel exploded with raging hatred after he failed to scam his commission from us. Apparently, we had come to India with the evil intent to betray all Indians and accordingly deserved to be cursed out. Exhausted and disheartened, we agreed it was time to see the less ugly side of Mumbai. What a hilarious sight we must have been, lugging our backpacks into the lobby of a five-star waterfront resort, covered in filth and sweat, desperately asking for a room. Safe in our room, we were suddenly surrounded by all the comforts we could want and it made me - literally - sick to my stomach. It had been ages since we had seen such luxuries, but in all reality we could easily afford them. In contrast, the majority of the Indians living in poverty outside our hotel walls would never experience such extravagance in their lifetimes. Nevertheless, the shock soon gave way to appreciation and finally to giddy excitement. And that giddiness persisted through every moment of our final 2 days in India, while we smoked hookahs and drank overpriced beer at Mocha cafe, checked out work by local artists at the Jehangir gallery and even while the first rains of the monsoon thoroughly drenched us.
"Hello! Rickshaw!"
"No."
Or when in Varanasi ...
"Hello! Boat!"
"No."
Or outside the urban chaos, where there's time to make a quick friend ...
"Hello! Where are you coming from?"
"USA."
"How long in India?"
"One month."
"I have nice shop ... silk ... saris ..."
"No thank you." (Begin to walk away.)
"Good price just for you!"
"No."
"Come in!"
"No!"
"Just look!"
"No!!"
This may give the misleading impression that our experience in India was a negative one. In fact, the period I've failed to blog about now holds some of my most wonderful memories of the country. Starting with ...
Munnar
Upon recommendation from a fabulous couple we met in Nepal, we spent several days in the intriguing hill station of Munnar, Kerala. Set amidst rolling hills covered in tea fields intermingled with vibrant flowers and the occasional palm tree, the town felt like a hybrid of Darjeeling and the tropics. I never knew green could be so green until Munnar. As the town is a hot tourist destination for Indians but few westerners, we caused much confusion by our habits of lazily wandering through the hills and gardens and seeking out restaurants in which to sip chai and read. Why weren't we rushing between tours of tea plantations, and didn't we need a guided tour of the town? The charming but slightly bizarre spirit of Munnar is perfectly captured in our encounter with a local family. Having witnessed Russell snapping photos of some children, they rushed out of their nearby home and ushered us ecstatically into their house. We exchanged questions about family and work, they chatted and giggled incessantly, and we drank fresh brewed chai and awkwardly looked at family photo albums. This was followed by an extensive family portrait session (which they insisted we join) and culminated in some crying children and a mother irritated at my reluctance to play dress-up in saris and gold bangles. Moving on, one day-long bus ride south to ...
Varkala
Supposedly a happening place in the dry season, this small beach town perched on a rocky cliff became rapidly deserted as the monsoons were just around the corner. All the more space for us to enjoy the phenomenal sunsets and surreal cloud formations. Luckily the beach police hadn't yet abandoned, keeping bikini-clad tourists protected from prowling local boys. Now for the finale ...
Mumbai
I wouldn't exactly say we partied Bollywood style, but we indulged as extravagantly as our scrubby bodies and frazzled brains could take. The trigger to abandon our stingy ways came after our first morning spent battling the touts, scams, heat and crowds of Mumbai. After being greeted by a "lost" and money-hungry cab driver, we began a long, unsuccessful search for some reasonably priced lodging. To top things off, the obnoxiously friendly "guide" who had been following us from hotel to hotel exploded with raging hatred after he failed to scam his commission from us. Apparently, we had come to India with the evil intent to betray all Indians and accordingly deserved to be cursed out. Exhausted and disheartened, we agreed it was time to see the less ugly side of Mumbai. What a hilarious sight we must have been, lugging our backpacks into the lobby of a five-star waterfront resort, covered in filth and sweat, desperately asking for a room. Safe in our room, we were suddenly surrounded by all the comforts we could want and it made me - literally - sick to my stomach. It had been ages since we had seen such luxuries, but in all reality we could easily afford them. In contrast, the majority of the Indians living in poverty outside our hotel walls would never experience such extravagance in their lifetimes. Nevertheless, the shock soon gave way to appreciation and finally to giddy excitement. And that giddiness persisted through every moment of our final 2 days in India, while we smoked hookahs and drank overpriced beer at Mocha cafe, checked out work by local artists at the Jehangir gallery and even while the first rains of the monsoon thoroughly drenched us.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Time Travel
As promised, I'll jump back a couple weeks to finish the South Africa story where I left off two posts ago.
After a few days in Cape Town we jumped into a rental car and set out for a week's exploration of the Western Cape. A short drive down the coast brought us to Cape Point, where you can gaze out towards the South Pole and witness the Atlantic and Indian oceans converge. From the coast we headed east along Route 62 through wine country. We of course made frequent stops for tastings at the innumerable wineries, where a mid to high range bottle goes for 30-100 Rand ($4-12). If the cheap and delicious Pinotage, Syrah - and even port - weren't indulgence enough, our daily drives led us through mountains and valleys boasting exotic and diverse vegetation, waterfalls and unbelievable rock formations. These natural wonders continued as we made our way through the Garden Route, home to quaint seaside villages and a smattering of national parks.
By our return to Cape Town we had become entirely spoiled by a place that seemed the bay area's distant twin. Cape Town - with its progressive, creative spirit and phenomenal restaurant and bar scene - mirrors San Francisco. The charming upscale towns lining the coast recall the yuppie equivalents of Marin county, while the Route 62 wine country reeks of Sonoma and Napa. Basking in the comforts of home, Russell and I decided to actually make it our temporary home and extended our stay in Cape Town. Although feeling slightly guilty for our lack of adventure, I enjoyed every moment spent cafe hopping, running along the waterfront and experimenting with happy hour cocktails. What I wouldn't do for a decaf Americano from Depasco Cafe, some high-speed internet at Geek or a veggie burger from Royal Eatery ... mmm.
After a few days in Cape Town we jumped into a rental car and set out for a week's exploration of the Western Cape. A short drive down the coast brought us to Cape Point, where you can gaze out towards the South Pole and witness the Atlantic and Indian oceans converge. From the coast we headed east along Route 62 through wine country. We of course made frequent stops for tastings at the innumerable wineries, where a mid to high range bottle goes for 30-100 Rand ($4-12). If the cheap and delicious Pinotage, Syrah - and even port - weren't indulgence enough, our daily drives led us through mountains and valleys boasting exotic and diverse vegetation, waterfalls and unbelievable rock formations. These natural wonders continued as we made our way through the Garden Route, home to quaint seaside villages and a smattering of national parks.
By our return to Cape Town we had become entirely spoiled by a place that seemed the bay area's distant twin. Cape Town - with its progressive, creative spirit and phenomenal restaurant and bar scene - mirrors San Francisco. The charming upscale towns lining the coast recall the yuppie equivalents of Marin county, while the Route 62 wine country reeks of Sonoma and Napa. Basking in the comforts of home, Russell and I decided to actually make it our temporary home and extended our stay in Cape Town. Although feeling slightly guilty for our lack of adventure, I enjoyed every moment spent cafe hopping, running along the waterfront and experimenting with happy hour cocktails. What I wouldn't do for a decaf Americano from Depasco Cafe, some high-speed internet at Geek or a veggie burger from Royal Eatery ... mmm.
Jambo!
Well, I've built up quite the debt since my last post. South Africa felt so much like home that I've repeatedly needed reminders of the vast oceans separating me from the states. Now that we've been in Tanzania for several days, a sense of the distance and differences has returned, as has the urge to blog about them. But I realize that in addition to our African travels, I've also managed to omit a huge chunk of our experiences in India - namely, Munnar, Varkala and Mumbai. We've got a lot of ground to cover here.
Please bear with the thoroughly cheesy metaphor that follows - I just can't resist, during this transition from South Africa, home to delicious pinotages and muscadels. In my first sip of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam struck with aromas of disheartening poverty and frustrating touts, mildly reminiscent of our recent days in India. Not subtle on the nose, but compared to South Africa, convincing enough as the scent of Africa. So far no wild animal sightings, except the few at our hotel Q-Bar which doubled as the hottest spot on the Dar bar circuit. Here, decked out locals mingled with scrubby backpackers, music (and drunken fights!) continued until early morning, and scantily dressed women suspiciously scoped out desperate old men.
Two days and a ferry ride later, we landed in Stone Town on the island of Zanzibar. On the palate, Tanzania became full-bodied with the lingering presence of touts but strong overtones of laid-back playfulness. The vibrant town is set alongside crystal blue waters where local boys pass hours on the beach playing soccer with a basketball and perfecting flips off old tires. It's nearly impossible to walk down the street without hearing offers to arrange spice tours or take you to the nearby beaches. But just as often, you'll get unsolicited lessons in favorite Swahili phrases, which include the well-loved "hakuna matata" (which means "no worries" if you're having trouble recalling Simba's voice).
Which brings me to the present moment ... watching the sun ascend over an infinite stretch of white sand lining stunning turquoise ocean in Matemwe. This idyllic beach and charming village are so far removed from the Tanzania from which our dalla-dalla (public minibus) took us. The sleepy Muslim village nestled behind the beach comes to life at low tide when the women emerge to harvest seaweed and the children chase after you with exuberant cries of "Jambo!". I've easily been passing the days reading, writing and being an utterly lazy beach bum while Russell is training for his scuba diving certification. Powerful finish with unexpected notes of tranquility, beauty and friendliness.
Please bear with the thoroughly cheesy metaphor that follows - I just can't resist, during this transition from South Africa, home to delicious pinotages and muscadels. In my first sip of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam struck with aromas of disheartening poverty and frustrating touts, mildly reminiscent of our recent days in India. Not subtle on the nose, but compared to South Africa, convincing enough as the scent of Africa. So far no wild animal sightings, except the few at our hotel Q-Bar which doubled as the hottest spot on the Dar bar circuit. Here, decked out locals mingled with scrubby backpackers, music (and drunken fights!) continued until early morning, and scantily dressed women suspiciously scoped out desperate old men.
Two days and a ferry ride later, we landed in Stone Town on the island of Zanzibar. On the palate, Tanzania became full-bodied with the lingering presence of touts but strong overtones of laid-back playfulness. The vibrant town is set alongside crystal blue waters where local boys pass hours on the beach playing soccer with a basketball and perfecting flips off old tires. It's nearly impossible to walk down the street without hearing offers to arrange spice tours or take you to the nearby beaches. But just as often, you'll get unsolicited lessons in favorite Swahili phrases, which include the well-loved "hakuna matata" (which means "no worries" if you're having trouble recalling Simba's voice).
Which brings me to the present moment ... watching the sun ascend over an infinite stretch of white sand lining stunning turquoise ocean in Matemwe. This idyllic beach and charming village are so far removed from the Tanzania from which our dalla-dalla (public minibus) took us. The sleepy Muslim village nestled behind the beach comes to life at low tide when the women emerge to harvest seaweed and the children chase after you with exuberant cries of "Jambo!". I've easily been passing the days reading, writing and being an utterly lazy beach bum while Russell is training for his scuba diving certification. Powerful finish with unexpected notes of tranquility, beauty and friendliness.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Africa, what?!
The past few days have been a blur of culture shock and disbelief, as we try to deal with the unexpectedly difficult transition from India to Africa. It's been a continuous struggle to process the contrasts of wealth and poverty, the lingering racial tensions and sense of both hope and despair permeating everything.
Jo'burg
Stepping off the plane after an overnight flight from Mumbai, my immediate reaction was one of awe at the open spaces, cleanliness and magnitude of the city. The suburbs of Johannesburg could easily have been any American suburb, where shopping malls, SUVs and chain restaurants fill every neighborhood. But closer inspection revealed a stark contrast to the comforts of American middle class life. Homes are securely enclosed with electric fences and barbed wire. Despite a population of 4 million, the streets are remarkably desolate, since residents dare not walk down the street for fear of being mugged, raped or murdered. Just the other day the owner of our guest house was held at gunpoint during a routine guest drop-off, but was fortunate to escape unharmed.
Reasons for the persistent underlying fear are obvious. Apartheid may officially be abolished, but the country's scars are deep. People openly discuss the - understandable - black resentment for whites, and racial segregation lingers in everything from occupations to neighborhoods. During our tour of the massive township of Soweto, our guide proudly bragged that the previously (apartheid-era) all-black township was now interracial, with a 2% white population. Soweto residents are gradually becoming self-sufficient, he explained, empowered to own their own shack-like homes and shop at their very own malls, rather than travel to the white suburbs.
Cape Town
After two stir-crazy days of being bound to the museums, malls and shuttles of Joburg, our arrival in Cape Town offered a welcome change. Set against the backdrop of the surreal Table Mountain, the city center (near which we're staying) is oozing with hipster trendiness and youthful creativity. The streets lined with uber-chic cafes, bars, art galleries and boutiques create the powerful illusion that I've been transported back to San Francisco. This surely can't be Africa. While the populated streets attest to the relative safety of Cape Town compared to Joburg, the barred windows and gated doors on hotels and shops bring you back to reality... ahh yes, this really is South Africa.
Jo'burg
Stepping off the plane after an overnight flight from Mumbai, my immediate reaction was one of awe at the open spaces, cleanliness and magnitude of the city. The suburbs of Johannesburg could easily have been any American suburb, where shopping malls, SUVs and chain restaurants fill every neighborhood. But closer inspection revealed a stark contrast to the comforts of American middle class life. Homes are securely enclosed with electric fences and barbed wire. Despite a population of 4 million, the streets are remarkably desolate, since residents dare not walk down the street for fear of being mugged, raped or murdered. Just the other day the owner of our guest house was held at gunpoint during a routine guest drop-off, but was fortunate to escape unharmed.
Reasons for the persistent underlying fear are obvious. Apartheid may officially be abolished, but the country's scars are deep. People openly discuss the - understandable - black resentment for whites, and racial segregation lingers in everything from occupations to neighborhoods. During our tour of the massive township of Soweto, our guide proudly bragged that the previously (apartheid-era) all-black township was now interracial, with a 2% white population. Soweto residents are gradually becoming self-sufficient, he explained, empowered to own their own shack-like homes and shop at their very own malls, rather than travel to the white suburbs.
Cape Town
After two stir-crazy days of being bound to the museums, malls and shuttles of Joburg, our arrival in Cape Town offered a welcome change. Set against the backdrop of the surreal Table Mountain, the city center (near which we're staying) is oozing with hipster trendiness and youthful creativity. The streets lined with uber-chic cafes, bars, art galleries and boutiques create the powerful illusion that I've been transported back to San Francisco. This surely can't be Africa. While the populated streets attest to the relative safety of Cape Town compared to Joburg, the barred windows and gated doors on hotels and shops bring you back to reality... ahh yes, this really is South Africa.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Phew
So I'm opening with a totally random coincidence. Beginning to type the first few words of this post at an internet cafe in Kochi, Kerala, I just glanced over at the TV playing some obnoxious American movie. And what do I see flash on the screen? The Van Ness - California cable car about to explode at the very corner of Russell's old apt on Pacific Ave (all you San Franciscans will know what I'm referring to). Well, that was a complete tangent to my original train of thought, but as such an out-of-place sight, I had to mention it.
As I mentioned, we are now in the southern state of Kerala, a tropical paradise of cleanliness and tranquility compared to the past week. We spent about three days in Varanasi, which were passed primarily hiding from the scorching heat, the relentless touts and the intrusive stares ... funny how I prefaced our visit with stories to Russell of how beautiful and magical the city is. I'm sure that beauty I originally saw in the holy city still exists, but apparently the summer heat and the aggression of the touts in the low season suffice to mask much of it.
Amused by Varanasi's absurdity but completely worn down, we decided to treat ourselves to an upgrade from "Sleeper" class to "2-AC" for the train ride south. And in retrospect, I have no regrets! 54 hours on a train is much better spent with the luxuries of air-conditioning and a blanket to sleep on. Despite a few moments of stir-crazy delusion, the journey was a much needed refuge in which to think, read and of course ... make the chai-wallahs rich. By the end of ride, we had even aquired the endearing titles of "auntie" and "uncle" by the adorable family with whom we shared our sleeper compartment. Needless to say, I'm relieved that my legs remember how to walk and that my stench (after 3 days of no shower!) was not permanent. But I think I'm even more relieved to have landed in one of India's great treasures, where the air feels pure to breathe, the sky is phenomenally blue and people's smiles and curiosity are refreshingly genuine.
Off to go catch another peak at the water before the sun sets behind those fishing nets ..
As I mentioned, we are now in the southern state of Kerala, a tropical paradise of cleanliness and tranquility compared to the past week. We spent about three days in Varanasi, which were passed primarily hiding from the scorching heat, the relentless touts and the intrusive stares ... funny how I prefaced our visit with stories to Russell of how beautiful and magical the city is. I'm sure that beauty I originally saw in the holy city still exists, but apparently the summer heat and the aggression of the touts in the low season suffice to mask much of it.
Amused by Varanasi's absurdity but completely worn down, we decided to treat ourselves to an upgrade from "Sleeper" class to "2-AC" for the train ride south. And in retrospect, I have no regrets! 54 hours on a train is much better spent with the luxuries of air-conditioning and a blanket to sleep on. Despite a few moments of stir-crazy delusion, the journey was a much needed refuge in which to think, read and of course ... make the chai-wallahs rich. By the end of ride, we had even aquired the endearing titles of "auntie" and "uncle" by the adorable family with whom we shared our sleeper compartment. Needless to say, I'm relieved that my legs remember how to walk and that my stench (after 3 days of no shower!) was not permanent. But I think I'm even more relieved to have landed in one of India's great treasures, where the air feels pure to breathe, the sky is phenomenally blue and people's smiles and curiosity are refreshingly genuine.
Off to go catch another peak at the water before the sun sets behind those fishing nets ..
Thursday, May 15, 2008
invisible in Kolkata
After feeling a bit stranded in Darjeeling for several days, we gave up our attempts to get a train and finally made it to Kolkata by air 2 days ago. This city - complete with heat (100F), chaos and color - is the India I remember. Most of the day-to-day sites and experiences are quite familiar, from the street treats of 2 rupee chai and paan to the amusingly obnoxious touts to the disturbing enormity of poverty and class division.
However, I've been astonished by one difference between this trip and my past visits. Being a woman traveler, life can be radically different depending on whether or not you have a male companion. Up until now my India trips have mainly been girls-only, meaning we got the full-on experience of gawking, groping, kisses and hollers from those over-eager Indian men. Now with Russell by my side, it's as if I have a buffer from all that male zeal. It's been blissful, really, but with the "protection" his presence offers also come the frustrating realities of a male-dominated society. These past couple days have awakened a feminist within me of which I was not aware. Sure, the gawking men still gawk, but they dare not speak to me ... really ever. In all business transactions, social interactions, anything, they always address "sir", make eye contact with Russell, expect him to order, pay bills, etc. Even when I do speak, the response is usually directed at him. I guess I need to habituate to gender inequality fast, or one of these days I won't be able to restrain the urge to scream "I exist! I am a woman and I exist - just as much as the man by my side!!!!! I have a brain and a voice, and it's okay to acknowledge my presence!" Ahh, never a dull moment in that complex love-hate relationship with India ... you're guaranteed some emotional mish-mash of hysteria, ecstasy or frustration.
However, I've been astonished by one difference between this trip and my past visits. Being a woman traveler, life can be radically different depending on whether or not you have a male companion. Up until now my India trips have mainly been girls-only, meaning we got the full-on experience of gawking, groping, kisses and hollers from those over-eager Indian men. Now with Russell by my side, it's as if I have a buffer from all that male zeal. It's been blissful, really, but with the "protection" his presence offers also come the frustrating realities of a male-dominated society. These past couple days have awakened a feminist within me of which I was not aware. Sure, the gawking men still gawk, but they dare not speak to me ... really ever. In all business transactions, social interactions, anything, they always address "sir", make eye contact with Russell, expect him to order, pay bills, etc. Even when I do speak, the response is usually directed at him. I guess I need to habituate to gender inequality fast, or one of these days I won't be able to restrain the urge to scream "I exist! I am a woman and I exist - just as much as the man by my side!!!!! I have a brain and a voice, and it's okay to acknowledge my presence!" Ahh, never a dull moment in that complex love-hate relationship with India ... you're guaranteed some emotional mish-mash of hysteria, ecstasy or frustration.
Friday, May 9, 2008
yummy ... SFTGFOP1
Day one in Darjeeling. We've had a refreshing and unexpected welcome to India with a lack of touts and relative calm. If we hadn't spent those characteristically inefficient couple of hours trying to cross the border, I would still believe we were in Nepal from the gentleness and relative reserve of the locals. We even saw the obligatory overturned jeep halfway down the hillside during the drive up the mountain yesterday ... ahh, just like home. Apparently, the natives too perceive themselves as distinct from the rest of the country, as the region is filled with postings and chatter advocating independence for "Ghorkaland".
It sounds like the bizarrely early monsoon-esque rains will be keeping us indoors for many afternoons, but we were lucky enough to have a dry morning to explore the town. Our tour of the "Happy Valley Tea Estate" was surprisingly thorough and educational ... who knew the best SFTGFOP1 (Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe - grade 1 !!!) tea is produced by 19th century machines and under German management? Tea touring was promptly followed by an equally amusing trot through the local zoo (the highest zoo in the world, I might add) and then onto the Mountaineering Museum, where we learned all about the many - both successful and failed - Everest expeditions. Hmm ... seeing this all in print, I feel pretty accomplished for the day.
In retrospect, I now recall how humorous these past couple of days have actually been. Starting with the 5 minutes spent arguing with the immigrations official yesterday over my (obviously!) incorrect statement that my nationality is American. My passport cover says USA, so why didn't I write USA?!?!? I mean, what an incompetent error that is backing up the otherwise impeccably efficient process!!! And then those peaceful moments at the zoo observing the Bengal tiger, interrupted by a raging tourist who - by several elbow jabs and a hearty push - made clear that she had the rights to my tiger-viewing spot! And by far the most amusing anecdote of the day ... according to the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute's brochure, their store's equipment is available on a "First Cum First Serve Basis". Hmm. Won't be buying any gear from them.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
a bien tot, Nepal
It's our final day in Nepal ... on to Darjeeling, India (famous for their yummy tea, which I am eagerly anticipating!) tomorrow. I'm ready to move on from the congestion of Kathmandu, but not quite prepared to leave the tranquility of the mountain villages which are already fading into memory's blur. It's little consolation to think that we're trading the "energy" of this city for the maddening chaos of India.
I knew it was inevitable ... just a matter of time ... the pressing urge to once again be a productive member of society. These past two months have been truly magical, and restorative on so many levels. But everyday the ache intensifies from a pent up energy to create, produce, DO something besides support the tourism industry. My body is now loudly whining for not feeding my running addiction, and my mind is quickly turning to mush. Interesting how easy it is to feel overstimulated on the perceptual level, yet so understimulated intellectually. As testimony to my very deep science-nerd roots, this morning was spent in the educational district, hunting down the best biochem textbook, and this afternoon passed ravenously reviewing acid/base chem over some delicious masala tea. I guess I should stop complaining, since life really cannot get much better than chai and science!
I knew it was inevitable ... just a matter of time ... the pressing urge to once again be a productive member of society. These past two months have been truly magical, and restorative on so many levels. But everyday the ache intensifies from a pent up energy to create, produce, DO something besides support the tourism industry. My body is now loudly whining for not feeding my running addiction, and my mind is quickly turning to mush. Interesting how easy it is to feel overstimulated on the perceptual level, yet so understimulated intellectually. As testimony to my very deep science-nerd roots, this morning was spent in the educational district, hunting down the best biochem textbook, and this afternoon passed ravenously reviewing acid/base chem over some delicious masala tea. I guess I should stop complaining, since life really cannot get much better than chai and science!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Back to earth
My life is feeling more like a dream every day that passes ... not necessarily in the "utopia" sense of dream, but more in the way that dream scenes shift rapidly from one theme, environment, state of mind to the next. Just two days ago Russell and I came back to civilization (Pokhara, Nepal, that is) after 14 days trekking through the Annapurnas. Days were both predictable in the sense of routine - wake early, hike hike hike, scarf down dal bhat, read or chat with trekkers and locals, then pass out completely exhausted - yet entirely unpredictable in what the mountain, your mind or body would throw at you.
Each day's journey was like an entirely new world full of its own fresh sights and education. Starting from the lush green base up through the rocky climbs, forests and snowy peaks, we witnessed scenery and lifestyles that I didn't realize have survived the chaos of modernity. Often our only companions for hours would be the occasional donkey train or crying goat (their cry is just so absurdly cute!). It seemed that just as I would begin to feel completely drained and uninspired - whether from the altitude, cuts and bruises, or just the damn mountain! - a local Nepali would humbly trek by to put the situation back into perspective. These men (and women) hike the same mountain, but in flipflops with packs filled with - get this - rocks, beers (for us needy tourists), or 10 ft long metal poles ... supported by their head! No kidding! Gee, my comfy job sitting on my tush all day was so taxing ;)
It's certainly been a bit of reverse culture shock to return to a town with roads, consistently running water and even internet! Where are all the yaks?!
Each day's journey was like an entirely new world full of its own fresh sights and education. Starting from the lush green base up through the rocky climbs, forests and snowy peaks, we witnessed scenery and lifestyles that I didn't realize have survived the chaos of modernity. Often our only companions for hours would be the occasional donkey train or crying goat (their cry is just so absurdly cute!). It seemed that just as I would begin to feel completely drained and uninspired - whether from the altitude, cuts and bruises, or just the damn mountain! - a local Nepali would humbly trek by to put the situation back into perspective. These men (and women) hike the same mountain, but in flipflops with packs filled with - get this - rocks, beers (for us needy tourists), or 10 ft long metal poles ... supported by their head! No kidding! Gee, my comfy job sitting on my tush all day was so taxing ;)
It's certainly been a bit of reverse culture shock to return to a town with roads, consistently running water and even internet! Where are all the yaks?!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Namaste, Kathmandu
Well, it's our last day in Kathmandu, at least until we return from our Annapurna trek in a few weeks. As with all of our recent temporary homes, this city is starting to feel so familiar just as we're leaving. But I have to admit I'm pretty eager to trade some of the smog, congestion and touts for some mountains and open space.
We seemed to have arrived at possibly one of the most critical moments in Nepal's recent political history, only two days after their elections. Talking to a few of the locals at our hotel and some shops, it seems that the people really are quite divided over what they feel is best for the country's future. The Maoists continue to hold an overwhelming lead as the election results still trickle in, and the rebel support is certainly obvious here, between the prevalent red flags and the rallies marching through the city center. However, it's hard to interpret this, when it's contrasted with the fear and frustration of those who see a future under Maoist control as complete economic and social collapse.
On that note ... the next few weeks up in the mountains should be interesting to say the least, although right now I'm equally nervous as excited. Our trek is is supposedly one of the uber-touristy ones, lined with comforts like your occasional lodge and tea shop, but rumor has it that it can get pretty freakin chilly ... like negative, negative degrees F. And considering that we haven't done much exercise besides lift the occasional cup of Nepali Masala tea, I have little faith that my O2-deprived muscles can carry both my body and pack up a 17,000 ft mountain.
We seemed to have arrived at possibly one of the most critical moments in Nepal's recent political history, only two days after their elections. Talking to a few of the locals at our hotel and some shops, it seems that the people really are quite divided over what they feel is best for the country's future. The Maoists continue to hold an overwhelming lead as the election results still trickle in, and the rebel support is certainly obvious here, between the prevalent red flags and the rallies marching through the city center. However, it's hard to interpret this, when it's contrasted with the fear and frustration of those who see a future under Maoist control as complete economic and social collapse.
On that note ... the next few weeks up in the mountains should be interesting to say the least, although right now I'm equally nervous as excited. Our trek is is supposedly one of the uber-touristy ones, lined with comforts like your occasional lodge and tea shop, but rumor has it that it can get pretty freakin chilly ... like negative, negative degrees F. And considering that we haven't done much exercise besides lift the occasional cup of Nepali Masala tea, I have little faith that my O2-deprived muscles can carry both my body and pack up a 17,000 ft mountain.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
blogger rant, catching up
My blog having been frozen for over 3 weeks now, it's time for a brief rant about Blogger's spam filtering functionality. Apparently, my writing resembles spam so they locked my account and required that I request a "review" three times before confirming that I am in fact, a human being. After finally giving up hope, I created a new blog at Wordpress just moments ago, only to discover that Blogger's promise to unlock my blog was not empty. Fantastic, but in the meantime, I've lost weeks of precious posts to my early AD. Grr.
In the coming posts I will attempt to access some of the spared memories while they're still relatively fresh, but they may trickle in slowly. My last post places us in that magical land of Japan, which already feels like years ago. In the past few weeks we've trekked westward to Hiroshima, then through China from Beijing to Hong Kong and Chengdu, and finally arrived in Kathmandu, Nepal yesterday. Since China isn't fond of the concept of free speech and blogger.com was inaccessible anyway, I suppose my posts may have been limited even without the spam tag.
The contrast between Nepal and China is stronger than I expected, while that between India and Nepal is negligible. It seems that the further west we go, the more chaotic and well - dirty - the lands become. However, there's something comforting in the familiarity of the incessant honks and bells, roaming cows and aromas of spice and tea. Although our itinerary isn't exactly working out as planned, I don't think we could have chosen a more exciting time to visit this part of the world. With China pulling the reins on Tibet, they have closed the region off to visitors with the (unlikely) promise to reopen borders May 1. So while we've been unsuccessful sneaking into the country, our flight from Chengdu to Kathmandu yesterday plopped us right into the Lhasa airport for an eerie layover. The only flight at the abandoned airport, we were fortunate enough to sneak a peak at the surrounding mountains and breath a couple breaths of Tibetan air. I must admit that my anger towards China grew exponentially every minute in that airport. And Nepal is no less politically "vibrant" right now ...
Hmm ... apparently we've OD-ed on this internet cafe for the day, so more to come soon on "free" Nepalese elections and tracing our recent footsteps through Asia.
In the coming posts I will attempt to access some of the spared memories while they're still relatively fresh, but they may trickle in slowly. My last post places us in that magical land of Japan, which already feels like years ago. In the past few weeks we've trekked westward to Hiroshima, then through China from Beijing to Hong Kong and Chengdu, and finally arrived in Kathmandu, Nepal yesterday. Since China isn't fond of the concept of free speech and blogger.com was inaccessible anyway, I suppose my posts may have been limited even without the spam tag.
The contrast between Nepal and China is stronger than I expected, while that between India and Nepal is negligible. It seems that the further west we go, the more chaotic and well - dirty - the lands become. However, there's something comforting in the familiarity of the incessant honks and bells, roaming cows and aromas of spice and tea. Although our itinerary isn't exactly working out as planned, I don't think we could have chosen a more exciting time to visit this part of the world. With China pulling the reins on Tibet, they have closed the region off to visitors with the (unlikely) promise to reopen borders May 1. So while we've been unsuccessful sneaking into the country, our flight from Chengdu to Kathmandu yesterday plopped us right into the Lhasa airport for an eerie layover. The only flight at the abandoned airport, we were fortunate enough to sneak a peak at the surrounding mountains and breath a couple breaths of Tibetan air. I must admit that my anger towards China grew exponentially every minute in that airport. And Nepal is no less politically "vibrant" right now ...
Hmm ... apparently we've OD-ed on this internet cafe for the day, so more to come soon on "free" Nepalese elections and tracing our recent footsteps through Asia.
Friday, March 21, 2008
officially mochi-ed out
The rain having finally subsided today, we took advantage of every minute under the sunshine to thaw out ... I think my shoes have actually dried. Our timing was just right - for once - as we hit the once-monthly "flea market" at To-ji temple in Kyoto, where we browsed through craft vendors, antiques and filled up on the obligatory dried fruit and pickled-veggie samples. The day's highlight by far, however, was getting molested by tame deer in the Nara parks hungry for biscuits, starbucks and tourists' sweatshirts. The Todaiji temple (largest wooden building in the world) was pretty impressive too, but doesn't quite measure up to the deer. Considering the abundance of zen gardens and temples, I'm starting to understand how this country can have such an air of peacefulness and contentment.
And that amazing cup of cinnamon tea sent me reminiscing of those blissful sips of indian chai ... so soon, so soon.
And that amazing cup of cinnamon tea sent me reminiscing of those blissful sips of indian chai ... so soon, so soon.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
week ichi
Despite some pressure from my fuzz-headed partner, I couldn't quite force myself to do a joint blog. However, I did succumb to the pressure of many others who have requested a blog, period.
Almost a week into our journey already, many of the early memories from Tokyo and Kyoto are beginning to fade slightly, as I struggle to recall the many details that have expanded the past 6 days into an eternity. To summarize my impressions so far, this country is one of impressive efficiency and organization, and really admirable patience and kindness. I have yet to witness any display of anger or selfishness from these people, and I find myself highly aware of my own "east-coast" roots emerging as frustration and impatience.
To touch on a few highlights so far ... in Tokyo, cherry blossoms beginning to bloom in some random Tokyo garden ... the generosity of Jan to play tour guide for a day ... free milk tea at the cyber cafe :) ... temples tucked in amongst skyscrapers ... Shibuya crossing to people watch and become frozen by stimulus overload ... everything being clean, on-time and efficient!
in Kyoto, mochi mochi mochi! can`t seem to get enough of nishiki market ... the overeager welcome cries of our Ryokan owner and the green tea that always awaits us when we return home ... the one-man chef show last night that whipped up some innovative gourmet veggie grub at our red lantern pub ... and today, the surreal bamboo forest sheltering the Tenryu-ji temple ... a yudofu feast of tofu hotpot ... yummy.
and how surprisingly freeing it is to rid your life of hair, make-up, and all but the bare necessities. although an income would be nice to have again.
Almost a week into our journey already, many of the early memories from Tokyo and Kyoto are beginning to fade slightly, as I struggle to recall the many details that have expanded the past 6 days into an eternity. To summarize my impressions so far, this country is one of impressive efficiency and organization, and really admirable patience and kindness. I have yet to witness any display of anger or selfishness from these people, and I find myself highly aware of my own "east-coast" roots emerging as frustration and impatience.
To touch on a few highlights so far ... in Tokyo, cherry blossoms beginning to bloom in some random Tokyo garden ... the generosity of Jan to play tour guide for a day ... free milk tea at the cyber cafe :) ... temples tucked in amongst skyscrapers ... Shibuya crossing to people watch and become frozen by stimulus overload ... everything being clean, on-time and efficient!
in Kyoto, mochi mochi mochi! can`t seem to get enough of nishiki market ... the overeager welcome cries of our Ryokan owner and the green tea that always awaits us when we return home ... the one-man chef show last night that whipped up some innovative gourmet veggie grub at our red lantern pub ... and today, the surreal bamboo forest sheltering the Tenryu-ji temple ... a yudofu feast of tofu hotpot ... yummy.
and how surprisingly freeing it is to rid your life of hair, make-up, and all but the bare necessities. although an income would be nice to have again.
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