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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
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.
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