Becky of Arabia - Part 2

My New Travel Journal

2010-08-03T03:13:00.000-07:00

I am starting a new chapter in my life and I felt a new journal was needed.

Please go to http://journals.worldnomads.com/rtumicki

to follow me as I volunteer with elephants in Thailand and Cambodia, explore Vietnam, to knit my way across India and finding Zen in 2010.

Random Photos of Bangladesh

2010-02-17T21:26:00.000-08:00

The last few days in Dhaka.

Waleed and his cousin.

My host family who welcomed me like their own.

A celebration in Dhaka

Looks like he will follow in the footsteps of his father.

A quiet boutique hotel for the last two nights.

I could live here.

Any time is tea time.

Yemen - Eid Day

2010-01-22T04:29:00.000-08:00

Eid day and morning prayers are heard over the 12 minarets at dawn.

The view from the school's roof top.

Another direction from the roof.

Walking through a nice park. There are not many and this was fairly clean and well kept.

Following men through the maze of old houses.

I started talking with these women and they invited me to their house for the Eid meal.

It was very good. Everyone sat on the floor: the two women, their husbands, and 5 kids.

Three of the kids, the others were babies. We had a nice afternoon together. They are in their new clothes.

Yemen - Eid Eve

2010-01-22T03:39:00.000-08:00

This morning started with my first language lesson. It ended an hour later with the teacher saying he could not teach me because I did not have good enough Arabic and he did not know English. Another teacher would be available in the afternoon allowing me to roam around the souq. I was glad to remember directions from my last visit and with it being Eid eve, the souq area was packed with people. It was a great day to roam.

Going to Bab Al Yemen gate.

This is the place to go if you are having a hard time finding the right knife for a certain outfit.

At the same shop, the shop worker demonstrated how to load an antique gun.

Now this is more like it, lots of pretty jewelry.

The Yemen gate. If you look real close, you will see a canon hole in the upper right corner of the door. Not sure what year that is from.

Lots of people coming and going.

Notice the three different style of hats of the men sitting by the door? A base ball cap, a local cone hat, and the knows-no-boundary umbrella hat.

The mound of power is henna.

There was not an inch to be had in this square. To add to all this excitement a fight broke deep inside the crowd involving a large group of men. The police came and it didn't look like they were getting anywhere among the shouts and tussles but they ended up hauling away a few men. Minutes later another fight happened in the same spot and this time a man came booking out of the crowd to be trailed by a group of vigilantes minus pitch forks and sledge hammers. The man in front ran into a warehouse with crowd in tow and I am sure it did not turn out pretty.

As you might have noticed the fashion for men is a dress and a suit jacket.

A favorite stop of mine.

The camel is used to turn the press. He is on his lunch break.

I like his thinking. I decided to go to the Burj Salam hotel and have my lunch on the top floor. It has an incredible view of Sana'a.

Back to Yemen

2010-01-08T04:40:00.000-08:00

I had five days to play with in late November and wanted to go some where but not too far away. I wanted a place I could walk around and also a place I could continue with Arabic lessons. Even though I would be there over the Hajj Eid holiday and this was rather last minute, the manager at CALES was more than helpful to line up a teacher.

Yemen is a special place and one that needs to be seen.

Journal entries.

November 26, 2009

It is Thanksgiving Day in all American hearts wherever they may be. Before I left on this trip my friend Andi from CO asked in an email “what meaningful way will you spend this day”. The word “meaningful” stuck with me because how often do I do meaningful things for other people – the ones I know and strangers? Today I hope I did something meaningful as I walked around Old Sana’a stopping to talk with people, taking photos of smiling men, and trying to converse in simple Arabic with children.

Selim is the one who reached out by welcoming me to Yemen and inviting me to tea right in the heart of tea/kabab/bread/motorcycle square. Sort of like Marrakesh’s food court but the fraction of the size increasing the congestion. It was GREAT. He suggested I try some local food and it was shredded meat mixed with minced meat all boiling in some oil with a blob of something like a green, watery dumpling. Turns out this was saltah and is made from clover and gravy. All this comes in a very hot stone bowl and the food continues to cook while cooling. This is eaten with a hearty roll or flat bread and it just so happened I had some rolls with me (seconds earlier I stopped at the bread stand and could not resist the fresh whole grain rolls).

In this food court area, old women are selling flat bread and everyone is fair game to get tugged at for a sale. The ladies have a black tie-dyed scarf over their faces and then something like a table cloth for a cloak. I was told these are the old Bedu ladies.

During lunch Selim told me his story. He could speak decent English and I asked him where he learned it. He said at the University in Aden. Selim continued to tell me he was born in Mogadishu, Somalia and his parents are now in a refugee camp in Kenya waiting for the lottery to go to America. Selim lives outside Sana and has a wife and four little kids. His rent is $40 a month and he has no job – his teeth were in dire need of saving. He asked if there was a way to help him. He did seem to be in need something/anything because he was awfully thin.

We walked through the qat souq and he took photos for me in this very male-centered area of the souq. He had no problem asking men for a photo, and, in fact, people here like getting their picture taken. It was a nice hour together and then we parted ways. Will the $20 I gave him be for his kids tomorrow for Eid or for rent or for qat? That is his call. As a side note, later that evening I was reading somewhere in the school to be aware of a local man chatting it up with students and then asking for money. Was this the man? In the spirit of Thanksgiving I was thankful for what I had and wanted to share it with someone else.

Selim and friends.

Qat is big business. Smiling faces in odd places.

Next Stop Bangladesh

2009-12-15T09:01:00.000-08:00

It is break eve to me this is the best part of a holiday - the anticipation.

I will be traveling in Bangladesh for 2 weeks with a family I know there and to connect with a distant cousin.

Been tardy with posting the Ecuador letters because I can't copy and paste the text into this box without getting error messages. Oh well, I guess you will have to wait and buy the book.

Ecuador - Latacunga

2009-08-10T13:12:00.001-07:00

We stayed in Latacunga for three nights using this place as a home base to take day trips. We went to crater lake, Banos, and a local market.

A wonderful meal in Quito before leaving for Latacunga about two and a half hours south.

By afternoon we are at crater lake located above 9000 feet and it is cold.

A local child.

This man is making local taffy.

This man is just about to jump from a bridge. After he jumps he will swing like a pendulum over the rushing river below.

Big pots of market food.

Anyone for a pig head?

Too cute.

Knitting with the sheep.

Guinea pigs for sale. The next day I tried one. They are part of the diet in this region.

Mandarins and bananas are every where.

On the last day the volcano showed itself.

Ecuador - Otavalo

2009-08-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

Traveling in July was a perfect time to go. The weather was pleasant and with the cool nights it was excellent for sleeping. My friend and I started the trip in Quito and then went on to the jungle staying at Yachana Lodge (a marvelous experience), Latacunga to visit crater lake, Banos, and the local market, and the last stop was Otavalo for the art market and little did we know that we would hate leaving Casa Del Sol. Here are some pictures from the Otavalo leg.

Hard to resist buying something from them.

The Saturday market attracts people from near and far.

Packing up at the end of each day.

My first purchase, a typical shigras bag.

Casa del Sol, a wonderful B&B to stay at.

Seven Shades of Green

2009-07-03T09:14:00.000-07:00

A simple pleasure - feeling rain.

Catching a boat to Ross Castle

Traffic on the Gap.

At the start of the Gap.

Time to put on all the rain gear.

Sheep enjoying a snooze.

Finally, a place cold enough to have a fire.

Inside Killarney National Park which is across the street from where my sister lives so I am there every day on an adventure.

10 minutes after getting off the plane my sister and I are here for lunch. You must come to Ireland.

Why all the pictures get bumped up to the top I do not know - it is frustrating.

Photos of Lebanon

2009-06-27T05:00:00.001-07:00

Go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/35215585@N08/ to see all the photos.

Christmas in Lebanon 2008

2009-06-27T04:58:00.000-07:00

Finally, the last installment for the three week trip in December 2008.

December 24
Woke up to a morning of thunderstorms with lightening and downpours. Several storms passed over the course of the morning while Lilian, Roy, her nephew, and me slowly gathering ourselves over tea, coffee, candied oranges, computer games, watching another storm and packing up to head to Lilian’s mom’s house in the mountains. Maybe snow up there?

Yesterday I had a painless, emotionally and physically, trip from Damascus to Beirut. I say physically because my stomach is churning over all the food I have been stuffing into it and I can feel something gurgling just below the surface waiting to erupt but glad yesterday was not the day. I thank my lucky stars even the twisty and gnarly roads of Lebanon and the dizzying traffic and exhaust of Beirut didn’t get the better of my sensitive stomach.

December 25
I woke up at 8:30 am after a sound nine hours of sleep under many covers to negate the cold. After watching and listening to the mom and another daughter battle it out over what to wear to church, mind you, this was performed in another language and I was not sure what the fuss was all about but it sounded life threatening, Lilian and I walked across the driveway to her brother’s house to wish her niece and nephew Rita and Chris ages 6 and 3 respectfully, a merry Christmas. We had yule log, cookies, and coffee to celebrate joy noel.

Lilan took me on a tour in the mountains while the fog lifted which was short lived. Snow and fog soon followed. We did get to see some ruins, an exclusive country club, the Intercontinental hotel, and strange rock formations. Now it is 1 pm and Lilian and her mom are cooking while I read and write until the next food fest.

Yesterday we arrived around 2:30pm relieved to be off the roads. The drive had bouts of torrential downpours, sleet, hail, and whipping wind. This did not bother Lilian in the least and that made me feel better. It was nice to relax in the kitchen by the old fashion wood stove used for cooking and heating. After lunch we settled into the room with a heater. The weather outside was damp, cold, and foggy. You could not see past the end of your arm it was that foggy. I could only imagine what the mountain scenery looked like. Two hours passed with knitting, talking, and TV. Then a two hour nap was followed by a visit to next door until 11pm.

With it being Christmas Lilian and her mom set out to cook chicken, beef, and other dishes. The house smelled like a house should smell on a holiday with whiffs of roasting meat coming from the kitchen. This serene scene quickly changed to people all dressed up coming through the door with plates of food. Two long tables were set up in the room with the heater and then piles of food were laid out. I didn’t know about this and I was still in pj attire. More relatives and children came for the gathering and all the food was good. Just as quickly as the people came, they left. We also left in the evening to the city.

December 26
Another restful sleep in the cold interior of Lilian’s apt. I had a quiet morning of repacking and reading Motoring with Mohammed. A quick city tour by car under a sunny sky, sun at last, we pass by the new mosque where Hariri is buried, the clock tower, martyr’s square and an old Latin church. With lack of time in the city, a return trip is on the list.

Arrived at the airport in plenty of time for the 2pm flight; bought two last souvenirs – a shot glass for brother Steve and a magnet for me.

Notes to remember: lots of billboards with the message, “Having Regrets? Tatoo laser removal” or ads for cigarettes, alcohol, and sexy images of men and women selling various things. Not use to seeing these larger than life images.

Rambles

2009-06-23T23:42:00.000-07:00

Rambles of Jeddah 08-09

it rained three times

I questioned my first night in Jeddah thinking "what have I done?" "I don't like living in AC, it is too hot for me" I still don't like living in AC.

Carolyn, thanks for Peet's Masala Chai tea

the escarpment road is finally open

weekend escapes to Taif and Al Hada

love the Yemeni souq on a Thursday morning (my photo of the vendor selling fish won 2 place in a local photo contest)

Najran is a place to visit with its unique architecture

nice to have a pool again for evening swims

too hot for tennis or am I just a wimp

went to the beach twice sort of funny because the Red Sea is right here BUT beaches are not

Papaya is my favorite new place to feel like you are outside when you are really inside

a magical sunset in the Old Balad on a roof top during the call to prayer

Munch Bakery for a brownie fix

Sanwar has been my guardian angel

Who would have thought finding an excellent tai chi master offering classes next to the school? She also teaches Kung Fu and qi gong and this has kept me sane during some craziness

beautiful abayas trimmed with crochet

where does all the time go?

old friends Martin, Marwan, Jana, Carol, Pat, Michele, Ron, Wendy, Edwin, Abdulaziz, Rami, the Al Zekys, Tasheen and clan, and wonderful new friends Areej and AbdulGhani, Annette, Mimi, Ajmal, Ali, Adam, Cresta, Tehmina

I could write a book just on tutoring stories alone

Found a trust worthy hospital close by

One major bad cold, some sinus issues when the weather changed, and a sore hand from correcting papers again

Aleppo Photos

2009-06-23T23:27:00.001-07:00

Ahmed with his bazuq. The entourage heading to the citadle.

Don't sneeze in the zattar please.

The covered souq and men buying bread from a road side bread stand.

Syria Part 6 - Aleppo

2009-06-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

I Believe in Syria – Part 6

Aleppo
December 2008

She Stays Inside

She is in her twenties
She is educated
She is not married
She cooks, she cleans
She laughs and talks
She is loved and protected
I say come LuLua, walk outside with me
La she shakes her head. She stays inside.

The next destination was Aleppo with unknowns. Where to stay? What to see? Where to go? Luckily, while visiting with the American ladies in Hammah the night before, one of them had a Lonely Planet and I wrote down names of places to stay. The Tourist Hotel sounded friendly and clean and that is where I asked the taxi to take me from the bus station. It was just my style. The price was right at 500L ($11) per night, it was clean, had decent size rooms, friendly staff, and a good location if you disregard the tire and auto mechanic shops down below. I knew a little about Aleppo’s famous old covered souqs and soap but I didn’t know about their towels, textiles, and the citadel. After studying a local map of the area, I decide I could use another day here but I had to make due with the day and a half I had.

With dusk turning to night I did not venture too far. There are many alleys branching off like a prime factorization tree causing me to get turned around and lost. The key is not to panic and to keep looking for well lit alleys leading to major thoroughfares. The little of Aleppo I did see that first night I could tell Aleppo was old as dirt. This important trading hub dates back to the 3rd millennium BC and has been a flourishing city, with a unique strategic position. This position gave the city a distinctive role from the days of the Akkadian and Amorite kingdoms until modern times. “It lies on a plateau 427 m (1400 ft) high, midway between the Mediterranean Sea and the Euphrates River. The second largest city of Syria, Halab is an agricultural trading center and has factories producing carpets; silk, cotton, and wool textiles; silverware and gold ware; leather goods; and embroidery.” http://www.galenfrysinger.com/aleppo.htm (there are nice photos at this link too)

Back at the hotel I met two fascinating people. The first was my neighbor, Naya. She is Korean and a retired teacher. She lives on the road for months at a time. I am inspired by her style of travel. Naya decides on a region to explore and then her first stop is to learn the language for several weeks. She studied English in the Philippines, Arabic in Yemen, and will be learning Spanish in Columbia. Naya is loaded with electronics. Half her weight must be dedicated to plugs, adapters, converters, headphones, laptop, camera, mobile phone, and a host of wires. Because of her long journeys, her meals are in her room consisting of bread, cheese, fruit, and tea. While this seems like the smart thing to do, I would find it limiting because I like to be out with the people and to have a change of scenery. In places like Europe I would be forced to eat picnic style because of the expense.

The evening when I was chatting with her, she was in the midst of a pickle with her luggage, she arrived in Aleppo but her bag did not. Now she had to decide whether to wait it out in Aleppo or head back to Damascus and leave the country. She did not have a very good introduction to Syria which is a pity. I wonder where Naya is now.
After my visit with her, I went out for a meal. The restaurant had a TV and local men gathered around watching a soccer match. I am not sure who was playing who but there was lots of cheering going on and some men were brought to tears. I can only assume cheers of joy. The meal of soup, rice and vegetables was 340 L ($8).
Back at the hotel, Ahmed, a Kurdish archeological student, entertained me with his sense of humor, honesty, and pride. He is self taught on the bazuq, an instrument long associated with gypsy music of Lebanon and Syria and is a long-necked fretted string instrument with 2 metal strings which are played with a plectrum, offering a metallic yet Iyrical resonance, and sings Kurdish love songs. He is the night watchman and full of stories and information. He is from a small border town and accompanying him to his village would be very special. It would be a glimpse into a life seen by few. Of course marriage was discussed but now I can use the card I am too old and children are out of the question, case closed. He was still interested in showing me his village and I would be honored to do so. Time was against me on this trip but maybe another time.

Bright and early the next day, well, not bright because it was overcast and stayed that way all day, I set out to find the citadel and souqs. Just as I was approaching the citadel an entourage of police and black cars were pulling up to the main gate. Camera crews were there following the well dressed crowd up the stairs for their tour. I guess that means no tour for me. I didn’t mind because I wanted to walk around and explore more. By mid afternoon I walked through several souqs “just looking”, taking photos, and getting turned around. I did buy 2 bath towels for 600 L ($13), 4 dish towels for 200L ($4) and a nice colorful striped bag for 400 L ($9).

By this time I was getting tired and weary from the dirt and pollution from walking around. I wanted to see more of the souqs but was not in the mood. I had lunch with Ahmed and that cheered me up. I stayed close by and explored an area known for its boutique hotels and shops. Too bad the power was out so everything was dark inside. I can tell this happens often because there are generators on the sidewalks roaring away outside the finer shops. Now add noise pollution to the mix of dust and filth. I could not hear myself think. I was feeling overwhelmed with all this and sat inside the Sheraton Hotel amongst the Christmas decorations realizing it was only days away.

Naya checked out of the hotel so I guess she wanted out of Syria or at least Aleppo. A Frenchman touring on his bike checked into the hotel and it was refreshing to talk with him and Ahmed for a few hours. I packed and said farewell to Ahmed in the morning. I would like to come back to Aleppo during the spring or summer to see it in another light or at least to have more daylight. Naya, Ahmed, and the covered souqs made this a special place in my book.

December 21 was a day dedicated to transportation. First it was a 25L taxi ride to the minibus park then a 10L mini bus ride to the main bus station and a 225L bus ride to Damascus lasting 5 hours ending with 160L for 2 oranges, 2 bananas, 2 sandwiches and 1 tea for the journey. Within a matter of thirty minutes I paid the equivalent of $9.33 for all this. Leaving the bus park in Aleppo was delayed a little I suspected as people started to approach the driver asking why the delay. The young woman next to me translated best she could. It appears there is an American on board and they have to do more paper work hence the delay. Sorry about that mister. As I was getting off the bus in Damascus a bus park worker tapped me on the shoulder and said the police wanted me to contact them to say I arrived in Damascus just fine. I asked where to find a policeman; he shrugged. I never did find a policeman but I figured when I check-in back at the art gallery for a room, they would have record my arrivial. I checked in for two nights and the power was out again. Candles were in the room giving it an inviting glow.

It was time for gift buying and I spotted some lovely items at the Anat center. Anat was founded in 1988 and has three aims. 1) to provide job opportunitites to women and to improve their skills. 2) to preserve the old textile handicraft skills. 3) to present these artistic works to the world and to promote mutual understanding of different cultures. Everything in there was exquisite. I could have purchased one of everything but still made a pretty good dent with buying small things for packing ease. This organization was in the midst of a fund drive to buy a bus to get girls in rural villages to school and part of the proceeds from the sales went to this drive. There is a link below for Anat for your browsing pleasure and I think you will agree their work is unique and special.

I ended the evening at a concert. A Christmas concert was being held at a lovely old church behind the craft store. The church was packed but I managed to find a seat on the side of the church. These seats are in a row and made of wood with ornate carvings. There was a children’s choir and an adult one. The music was heavenly and being in this setting was magical. I would gaze up to the painted domes and see angles in heaven. The red light coming from candles flickering in glass lamps gave it that special glow only found in churches. I felt honored to partake in this event. Leaving the church the weather was cold and drizzly but perfect for this time of year. Christmas was only 4 days away.

My last full day in Old Damascus had three missions. One was to find highly recommended juice bars listed in local magazines, another was to buy a few more gifts, and the last was to say good-bye to Mardini, the man with a name like martini but with a d.

I left Damascus the way I came, overland with a private car. I ended up sharing a taxi with a Syrian engineer living in Germany. He asked if it was OK to make a stop to pick up his brother-in-law at his sister’s house. I was in no rush and said fine by me. We stopped at a nice looking place and I was invited in. The son was home and he was young and handsome and a professional. I eyed some photos on the wall recognizing the Syrian president with other military men. I could only assume the man of the house was important. Turns out the man we picked up was indeed well known in military circles and before Syria troops left Lebanon, this man went over to Lebanon with an escort.

The border crossing was quick and easy. The weather in Beirut was raw and drizzly. I started missing the warmth and sun of Jeddah. I would be spending Christmas in the mountains of Lebanon.

This site does an excellent job describing Arab instruments.
http://almashriq.hiof.no/lebanon/700/780/fairuz/legend/instruments.html

Arabic Music
http://almashriq.hiof.no/base/music.html#music

Anat Center
http://anat-sy.org/

Bring on the Food

2009-06-18T21:52:00.001-07:00

End of school means the start parties. It begins the last week of school with a farewell party for everything. A farewell party for math, for science, for advisory, for the math club, for staff leaving, for staff staying, for tai chi and each party having at least one really good cake. These cakes are works of art and a taste sensation. There is a local lady making cakes out of her villa that are amazing. They are moist with a nice cream center and covered in fondant. Goodies, a Lebanese bakery, also makes heavenly cakes. To say the least, I have been eating cake. I am caked out.

Besides the parties are farewell meals with fellow teachers and friends as we part ways for summer travels. Last night five of us had a Chinese meal and two hours later I find myself eating again with neighbors across the parking lot. Three families gathered to have mixed grill with salads and pasta dishes. Two families are from Egypt and the other from Palestine. With it being close to 11pm and already haven eaten, I nibbled on wonderful home cooked food. This meal was followed by watermelon and then topped off with Turkish coffee. English was spoken by all so we had varied conversations.

Today I was invited out to a surprise location. I thought it would be an outdoor activity but it was lunch at Papayas. This place is my kind of place. It was an indoor tropical paradise with lots of plants, fountains, a glass ceiling, and comfortable sitting. We were a party of four and lingered over lunch. On the way home arrangements were made to have an Indian meal on Friday. Better swim the rest of the day.

2009-06-18T21:51:00.000-07:00

Syria Part 5 - Hammah

2009-06-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

I Believe in Syria – Part 5

Hammah
December 2008

The night was just what I imagined it to be. It was a night of stale cigarette smoke, yelling between floors, intimate talks, glaring emergency lighting, tossing and turning on an uncomfortable bed, and crying babies. The good part was, being in this part of the world, the hotel pretty much cleared out after the 5am call to prayer. I slept in peace before starting the day. I used the mini shower in my room, packed, and was ready to explore a little more before catching a taxi to the bus park.

The three hour bus ride to Hammah was restful watching the palette of browns pass by the window. The sun was out and this would be the last time I would see the sun until my return to Jeddah a week later. Feras met me at the station in his slick, black BMW with sheepskin covered seats. He picked up a friend and then we drove around Hammah having a mini tour since Hammah is rather small. We walked to the huge water wheels known as norias originally built by the Byzantines for irrigation. The omnipresent plastic bags are also here clogging the wheels. The water was filthy and it smelled. The walk around the old city didn’t take long either but it did have a small number of local artists in working studios and nicely restored khans used as restaurants. After this we drove to the surrounding hills for views. Afternoon coffee was at a roach coach on the side of the road. Maybe calling it a roach coach is a little severe because it looked clean and welcoming. The small truck converted to a coffee/tea stand with the typical offerings of Turkish coffee, espresso, Nescafe, tea or sugar.

The rest of the afternoon until midnight, when I could no longer hold my head up, I sat. There was one minor reprieve when the mom probably told Feras to offer to wash clothes and to suggest I might need a bath after a long journey. They weren’t kidding either. I had thirteen days of sweat, dirt, smoke, and BO clinging to my clothes. I am sure I was disgusting to be by. The bathing was an event in itself. The door had a tiny door within the door about shoulder level where I was to toss my stinking clothes through. The bath was Turkish style with a tiny stool next to the facets and bucket. A heater doubling as a jet engine was roaring away providing ample warmth. The soap and scrubby made me a new person. There was a bell to call the mom to bring fresh clothes and she passed over a pair of sweats and a nice heavy robe.

After the bath I returned to the sitting room to find an uncle had stopped by to join the mom, Lulu the daughter, and Mohanned another son. The uncle was a delightful man with a good sense of humor. He was not shy at all trying his English he learned years back. The rest of the evening was knitting and watching a Hindi film. They said they liked Hindi films because they were funny and they liked the singing and dancing. The movies have Arab subtitles allowing them to follow the story line. The sitting and TV room was nice and cozy with the gas heater in one corner. Leaving this room to go to the guest bedroom was a shock. It was cold in the rest of the house. More blankets were piled on the bed and I slept solid for ten hours.

The next morning from 11am to 2pm I sat again going a bit stir crazy. The idea of me going out for a walk was quickly rebutted saying it was best for me to wait for Feras to return. A delicious lunch was served at 1pm with small dishes of olives, olive oil, zatter, the good kind made in Syria of course, sheep labnah, cheese, butter, marmalade, cold stuffed eggplant called makdosh, boiled eggs, green onions, mint, bologna, and flat bread.

Feras dropped me off by the old city and I walked and walked and explored. It felt good to be out doors. I spent some time with a man at his tiny shop by the mosque inside the walled city. His name is Maheer and his family has been in the textile business for generations. He has lovely towels, table cloths and shawls and an amazing robe made from the heavy towels. I loved this robe even if it was $189. It weighed a ton. It could double as a winter overcoat it was that heavy and warm. Definitely not a thing I needed in Jeddah. We talked for a while, had tea and then I started to untangle some yarn he had. I started to braid the scraps of yarn thinking it would make nice cording for the felt sachets I make when I man going into the mosque asked what I was doing in decent English. I thought he was probably the English teacher at a nearby school. Turns out he lived in Santa Barbara for over fifteen years and returned home to Syria to take care of his parents in Hammah. His American wife came with him and he asked if I wanted to join his wife and other Amercian women living in Hammah. They were having coffee and I would be more than welcomed to talk with them.

My first response was a decline thinking he is a stranger and I don’t know him from jack. Then something made me say yes I would be more than happy to meet some other people. On the drive over to the meeting place, he told me it was hard adjusting to life in Syria. The mentality is different, the pace of life is different, and everything takes longer to do. But with him being the oldest son, it was his duty to come back and care for them. His old beat up VW bug sputtered away as I was lead into the courtyard of an old house. An American woman was living there with her Syrian husband and their sons. There was also another American woman ready to give birth any day now. The four of these ladies found themselves by accident in Hammah and have a close relationship now based on their similar situations. It was wonderful to spend an hour with them learning about their new lives. They all agreed they prefer to raise their young children here rather than in the states.

Time was slipping away and I hated to leave them but I also didn’t want to keep Feras’ family waiting. Dinner was ready when I got there and it was another tasty meal. Tears of the Sun was on TV and this time I could understand what was going on. The next morning after breakfast it was time to say good-bye. I enjoyed the family stay very much and Hammah is a place I could live with it being small enough to walk around and knowing there are nice people living in the area.

The next destination was Aleppo where I met the singing Kurd.

Last Day of School

2009-06-17T04:01:00.000-07:00

Summer has officially started today and already the last hectic days seem long ago. The students left yesterday under a very hot sun. The 6th graders were relieved when they read “promoted to next grade”. With the joys of school ending, there was also sadness with some students moving to new locations over the summer. Tears and hugs were shared by all.

Today it was the teachers’ turn to say good-byes and to swap summer plans. The two month’s rest is well deserved and needed. I depart Saudi on June 29 and until then I have many things here in Jeddah to keep me busy. For starters, I need to finish some trip letters so I better get crackin.

Sunday

2009-06-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

Summer is in sight! A goal before I leave on June 28th is to finish with Syria. It is a long time coming because of lack of time. The first symptom of killing one's dream is lack of time. Next school year will be different. I won't have to spend my Fridays there preparing for the week.

Part 5 is in the works so stay tuned.

Weather is getting hotter but still liveable.

Been playing the claim form chase at the hospital for insurance.

Won second place at a photo contest last night. My Yemeni guy with fish did the trick.

Syria - Part 4

2009-06-07T12:39:00.000-07:00

Old Damascus
December 2008

I love these kinds of days to walk about looking and stopping and trying this street or alley and then that café. My first encounter is watching a guy trying to free his bicycle from a huge shipment that was delivered the night before trapping his bike between the shipment and a street lamp. This poor fellow has to lift these huge and heavy bags of I don’t know what to get to his bike and it looks back breaking.

My first destination of the day is to the Hejaz railway station. Trains still operate from Damascus to Jordan. If I had more time I would be on the next train to Amman for an overnight. There is talk of continuing the line to its original destination of Mecca as it was envisioned long ago. Just recently in the Arab News, there was an article announcing, “Saudi and Turkey have reaffirmed their desire to restore and rebuild the historic Hejaz Railway that linked Damascus with the holy city of Madinah by a narrow-gauge rail line.” Syria and Jordan would also have to pitch in to rebuild tracks on their sides. If this project comes to fruition, and if completed as envisioned, it would connect Istanbul to Mecca. I would be first in line to buy a ticket for this historic route. As a matter of fact, the Hejaz railway is currently celebrating their centennial anniversary with the inaugural launching in 1908.

The railway station in Damascus is an easy walk down the street from the citadel. Lawrence of Arabia is by my side as the majestic station comes into view. I get goose bumps from the sight of it. I think of my cousins who are train buffs to the core knowing they would feel the same way. I also know they are going to ask all sorts of technical train questions so I seek out answers. Outside there is an old train engine and I take a picture of the engine to remember it by. It is an Arnold Jung Engine No. 120 dated 1908. This may mean something to them. Inside, the stained glass panes from above washes the floor in color. There are posters on display and an out of place book store inside. The bathrooms are surprisingly clean. A few people come and go buying tickets, probably not thinking too much of what the atmosphere was like 100 years ago in this very spot. I do, and want to be transported back to that time.

Back out in the brilliant sun I look for a place to change money. There is a bank across the street from the train station requiring two street crossings and with the traffic not much better than in Saudi, I look for people to cross with, safety in numbers as the saying goes. At the bank the wild goose chase starts. This bank does not change money, the one down the street does. With there being several streets I ask again at a travel agency. The nice agent tries to explain to me where to go but finds it easier to send the office runner to take me. He takes off in a mad dash and I semi walk run to keep up with him. Turns out the place is closed and I end up at a local hotel where men sit and smoke in a dark lobby. Mission accomplished; time to eat.

I end up at Al Arabic Restaurant, a mid range establishment with four tables and chairs and a busy clientele. Some restaurants look rather posh and expensive while others make sandwiches to take away. This one is perfect with food I can see before ordering and a place to sit and write. I am welcomed right away and have my tea and a host of plates splayed before me before I could even take out my writing materials. Everything looks appetizing and I can’t wait to dig in. There are many things to sample like cooked fava beans in swimming in Syrian olive oil which is highly regarded in these parts, a hard white cheese and a soft white cheese, apricot jam, a pile of pickles and olives, a savory cheese pastry, a hard boiled egg and pita bread. I take my time eating, writing, and thinking about where to next within the old city. I watch people come and go, mostly local men but two tourists also appear with their Lonely Planet planning their day.

With a hearty breakfast under my belt, I walk back towards the citadel to experience the covered souqs. The Al Hamideyah souq is by the citadel and the billboard with the president is right above the souq entrance. Once again, I step back in time. The place is dark and dusty and is slowly coming to life with shop keepers opening their doors and people walking around. This place gets really busy in the afternoons and evenings. A man is kneeling on white paper and is doing something. I go over to watch. He is demonstrating a classic American toy most American homes had in the 70’s – the Spiralgraph. Other men gather around him curious about how the plastic wheels makes these beautiful colorful designs. Some are intrigued and buy the small set. I look at the variety of window displays: clothes, lingerie, candy, spices, and soap. The end of this hall leads out to the plaza in front of the Grand Mosque of Damascus, also known as the Umayyad Mosque. What makes this exit/entrance so grand is the row of stalls selling foil decorations. It is a mass of glitz and shiny colors and with the sun setting them aglow, it makes for a festive welcoming to the mosque. Before visiting the mosque, I stand and watch small children chasing the pigeons and then I turn my back to see an amazing site. An old Roman arch giving hint to the grandeur of this city which played an important role in both religion and trade. They say Damascus is believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world and being in this spot makes me feel connected to the past and present. I would include this on my list of “23 places to see before you are 50”.

I have a bad habit of not researching a country until after I visit the place and this is one time I regret not reading about Syria before the trip. I enter the mosque and right away I am in awe of the beauty, the peace, and the holiness of the place. It is noon prayer and I sit, watch, breathe, and focus on being in the moment. I breathe in the calmness, the devotion, and the gentleness of the mosque and breathe out thoughts about the past and future. There are men, women, families, couples, pilgrims, and tourists all mingling together as in the past when Christians and Muslims lived side by side. I walk around the inner courtyard not knowing two important facts. One, the tomb of Saladin, the great Kurd leader who liberated the Arab territories from the crusaders, stands in a small garden adjoining the north wall of the mosque. Two, the mosque holds a shrine which is said to contain the head of John the Baptist. I missed both of these requiring me to return for another visit.

Not far from the mosque is the El A’zem Palace. This is a place I could settle into nicely. Plenty of rooms to host visitors, gardens to cool off in, and easy walking distance for shopping. I rest in the gardens with a guard/guide and we chat aimlessly and have a few laughs. I can tell not many people stop and listen to him describe the history of the place; another friendly soul making Damascus feel like home.

Here is a description of the palace I am borrowing this from SyriaGate.com
The Azem Palace was built, in the 18th century, as a palatial residence for Assad Pasha al-Azem, Ottoman governor of Damascus for 14 years. It is considered a great example of Damascene houses. The governor had diverted the waters of Barada to his gardens and summoned most carpenters and masons in Damascus. He also ordered for roman columns from Bosra to be brought in along with the ancient paving of Banyas.
It is divided into separate quarters, one for the kitchens, one for the haremlek, where the governor's family used to live in private, and the third was the selamlek where the governor and other male members of the family would receive guests and conduct their business. Along the south side of the selamlek is a liwan that is very deep into the wall to free it from sunlight during the day. Next to this liwan is a room where the governor would receive his guests, there is a beautiful fountain at the center of its marble floor. The selamlek is, for the most part, used as the Museum of Popular Arts and Tradition.
Each room is designed and decorated to show you some of the typical Damascene traditions, including preparation for Hajj and preparation for marriage.

I go back to visit Mardini, the soap guy, and he walks me down to his other soap shop, about ten shops away, and we sit and have tea. He tells me about his children and his soap business in Aleppo. I buy soap from him to take as gifts to families I am going to visit in the next few days.

I carouse the shops in “just looking” mode making mental notes of possible gifts to buy. I am like a kid in a candy store because I like everything. The old copper pots, the textiles, the glass, the soaps, the nuts, the furniture, the kitsch souvenirs, and the sweets. I remind myself to stick to my cardinal rule of traveling – only carry-on. A shopkeeper mentions a glassblowing studio outside the gate where I am staying. I get rough directions and set out to find this place. After seeing the glass studio at the Glass Museum in Tacoma, WA I wanted to compare the two. It is outside the gate in an industrial area. I stop several times to ask for better directions but still not sure how to get there. I turn around in defeat and walk back over to the gate. Something makes me turn around and try again. This time it is as if I know where the place is and I walk right to it. Inside the small studio two men are blowing glass to an audience of one – me. I want to take pictures but don’t want to distract the glass blowers. They are making a set of drinking glasses and they work with ease drinking tea and smoking as if they have made 1000 of these before and they probably have. The back section stores the glass inventory covered with a thick coat of dust. There is blue glass, green glass and clear glass. I buy a few small pieces and one is for my brother to add to his extensive shot glass collection.

With about thirty minutes before the sun is to set, I hop in a taxi to visit with students I teach in Jeddah. Their address was translated in Arabic and the taxi driver said he knows the location. He is probably in his late twenties and he is the first person I meet who is very angry with the government and, in particular, with the president. This guy clearly does not believe in the president because he says he has to work very hard for little money and everything is expensive. He is trying to raise a family and feels frustrated with not being able to get ahead. He is mad. He cools off while we drive around the same block several times looking for the address. Now I am the one getting mad as I try to call my friends using my mobile. It is not making out going calls. I try texting too but no response. The taxi driver does his best with the vague directions while I wait for the phone to ring. Finally it does and Tarek and Carol come out to the road to greet me.

It is lovely to visit them and their mom whom I met in Jeddah previously. I meet the last of the triplets, Tala, and the mom’s sister. The house is decorated for Christmas and the place is filled holiday excitement. They decide on a place to go out for a meal and it turns out to be Haritna, the very same place my friend Lina recommended while I was visiting with her in Beirut. As a matter of fact, I looked at the place yesterday while I was out walking around and peeked in to see a packed place with people smoking shesha, visiting and having a grand ole time. It looked like a popular place. I am excited to be going back for more than a peek this time.

The thirty minute walk over to the old city is a great way to see another area of Damascus and to see more Christmas lights. I notice that here and in Lebanon they have a huge manger scene under the tree. Let me rephrase that, they put a huge cave scene under the tree or just the cave scene minus the tree. This is the focal point and it can be quite lavish. I pass a few of these in front of churches as we walk along. The shops and cafes are trendy and are busy.

At Haritna we order food and shesha. Mounds of food arrive and and we plow through nuts, salads, pizza, dips and puff on shesha. Next comes the ice cream and I am thinking it is for the kids but Tarek tells me no because since it is cold outside they can’t eat cold food like ice cream. We relax and take in the atmosphere while Tarek decides to crawl under the table to go exploring. He comes back with a stack of ordering pads and sits down to draw picture after picture after picture. He goes back to get one for Tala and brings a magazine back for me. By the end of the meal it is decided I would join them tomorrow to go to Bosra for the day. I was planning to head to Hamma by bus but had a day to play with. That night I pack up not knowing if I would be staying with them the next night or if I would be looking for another place to stay. Either way I am ready. Sleep comes quickly under a pile of blankets on this winter night.

We have a beautiful day for Bosra. Because I did not read about Syria before coming, I wasn’t sure what the attraction is in Bosra. Turns out it was one of the first Nabatean cities in the second century B.C. When the Romans arrived the city went through a massive housing development being an important center for caravans as well as the seat for the imperial ruler. The Roman theatre is the main attraction and it is considered one of the most intact and beautiful theatres known. It is spectacular. The steps are narrow and steep and go straight up to heaven. There are wonderful views from the top. We walked through more ruins meeting the van and driver at another location and then drove the 140km back to Damascus. The adults were tired and resting while the kids came alive and sang, talked and getting antsy with being in the car most of the day.

We reached Damascus traffic and it was slow going. I still wasn’t sure what was to happen that evening until the van stopped at the Bab Toma gate and they said good-bye to me signaling me to exit the van. With the backpack strapped on I walk through the after work/school crowds thinking I would like to try a really cheap place to stay and experience that because I had three restful nights in a room costing about $48 per night and wanted to compare the two. I went back to the area where I had the great breakfast at the Al Arabic restaurant. Several hotels neighbored the restaurant and I went to the one on the end and he said it was $15 a night but had no showers anywhere. Each floor had 2 squat toilets and a sink. The rooms had sinks in them with really high faucets. Looks like a perfect mini shower to me. I take a room regretting my choice while sitting on the bed realizing how grimy the beds are. The mattress probably dates back to Nabatean times and no longer provides support and cushion like a normal mattress would. I didn’t dare sleep in the bed so I layered the blankets on top and bought a cheap sheet to place on top. From the chattering and yelling between floors I could tell this would be a long night. Walking from the room down several fights of stairs littered with old trays of food to the reception area, I observe this is not a tourist hotel but for men and families coming to visit the many mosques in the area. I still had about 5 hours to kill before bed time so I walked around looking for an internet place and maybe a movie theatre. I did find the internet café with help. After that I have juice, buy nuts for the road trip, and firm up plans with my friend Feras for our visit in Hamma. By 10pm I resign myself to the inevitable, I have to sleep at some time. I return to the hotel.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/35215585@N08/

http://www.syriagate.com/Syria/about/cities/Damascus/history.htm

http://www.syriatravel.co.uk/docs/arch_land%20marks%20of%20old%20damascus.pdf

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/syria/damascus-umayyad-mosque.htm

http://www.made-in-syria.com/busra.htm

Syria - Part 3

2009-04-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

Pictures: school buses, Al Shami House restaurant, should I sell soap or hot fudge, Mardini, the friendly waffle guys.

Old Damascus
December 2008

Old Damascus is an ideal place to explore without getting too lost. There are several main thoroughfares crisscrossing the walled in city. There are several pedestrian areas and these are marked with signs indicating the route. I see signs pointing to the Classical Route, the Crafts Route and the Souqs Route. I walk along a main road about the width of a kitchen table that some how accommodates two way traffic. The cars are small but every now and then a behemoth SUV enters the mix creating a mess. More honking tries to speed up the process of unblocking the road but to no avail, it only makes the mess more maddening.

I walk by many kinds of churches planning to return to see the insides later but that never happens. For now I just want to be out walking after a morning of sitting and waiting. A whiff of hot fudge stops me dead in my tracks. Coming from New England I know hot fudge and I think I smell Friendly’s hot fudge sauce but where is this coming from? I sniff a few more times until I see a Belgian waffle stand. The two young workers are eager to pose for a picture and then one wants me to crawl under the counter to have my photo taken in their tiny work space. I had to oblige. It sure does smell good and at night I notice they do a brisk business.

Dusk comes early at 4:30pm and I continue to walk as the evening crowd grows thicker and thicker with people returning from work, school children heading home, and people out shopping. Passing a fresh fruit stand I realize I am getting hungry too but don’t want to stop yet for a meal and decide to order a juice to go. Some places serve the juice in a glass to be consumed there or you can order it to go. I take mine to go and happily sip away passing by an old hamam, tempting jewelry shops, and cozy cafes.

I stop in an art gallery and learn there are many talented Syrian artists and this one gallery owner sees it as his duty to promote these artists. By the looks of the gallery, the owner must spend a lot of evenings there. He has a TV going and a small stove for making hot water. We chat some and on the way out he recommends a restaurant on the way back to the Mustafa’s. On the way there I take a small detour to explore a covered souq not knowing what this one is called or what it specializes in. I see soap, coffee, more soap, and cheese but this is only at the entrance. I call this the hodgepodge souq. With the recent tour of the soap factory in Lebanon, I want to check out the soap here and I approach a stall and start gazing at the piles and piles of stacked oil olive soaps. There were also bins of different shapes like half moons, paisley, stars, and squares. I like the look of them very much and the shop keeper picks up on this.

He introduces himself as Mardini and says, “think of the drink martini but change the t to a d and you get Mardini and that is me.” Then we go through the all familiar exchange, “where are you from?” “are you living here?” “you speak little Arabic – very good” “where is your husband?” “how many children you have?”. Mardini also has a shop in Aleppo and that is where the soap is coming from. Aleppo, like Sidon and Tripoli in Lebanon, also has a soap history. Aleppo was once a very important stop on the trade route from present day Iraq, Damascus and India becoming a huge business center and by the looks of it today, it still is. We talk soap until the shopkeepers start closing for the evening at 8pm. Now I feel hungry and walk over to the restaurant.

In side I am pleasantly surprised to see a fountain in the middle producing soothing water sounds with tables around it. The menu looks fine and affordable and there are plenty of empty tables. I amble over to sit by the fountain at one of the lovely tables but, whoopsie, these tables are reserved for parties larger than one I assume. The solo people sit on the outskirts in the dark. At this point, being too hungry to care, I order lentil soup and hummus and inhale the food while reading about the restaurant. The Al Shami House is a 17th century house belonging to the Ottoman ruler Medhat Pasha. The restaurant sits on a street originating back to the Roman age with the Roman arch still standing. And this is the arch I use as a landmark to turn down the street to the gallery.

Back at Mustafa’s I can still smell the hint of varnish and I make a mental note to add to my list of hotel questions, “has the room been recently varnished? Painted?”, “is there a bright light outside the window?”. It is cold at night and there is a space heater in the room but I prefer the good old fashion way of sleeping in the cold – under lots of blankets. Unlike my bedroom in Saudi where there is a high power security light outside the window and night is always day because of it, and come to think of it, the same was true in Al Hada with another security light beaming into my bedroom, it is dark and I quickly fall comatose.

I awake as quickly as I fell asleep. It is a new day and I am biting at the bit to get out walking again. It is 6am. I shower in the telephone booth, wrap myself in a sweater and shawl and proceed to exit the gallery waking everyone up in the process. I could not figure how to open the front door and I am banging it back and forth trying to figure out what lever or button I need to press to open it. The watch man on duty comes drugged with sleep and gives me an, “it is not that difficult” look and opens the door. Well, when I was leaving Beirut it was difficult to open the door because it was locked and I didn’t have the key to leave and it was 6:15am and I figured if I rattle the door long enough the watch man would hear it and he did. I don’t like being trapped inside but now I am outside and ready to set foot in magical Damascus under a rising sun.

An informative site. I should have read this before I left.
http://www.bietrumman.com/content/view/9/23/

Aleppo Soap
http://www.historische-aleppo-seife.de/engl_story.html

Syria Dec 2008 - Part 2

2009-03-26T10:05:00.001-07:00

I Believe in Syria – Part 2
December 2008

It is eleven in the morning and I walk outside with my newly acquired visa and the weather is still bleak and windy. I pause to look around and everyone is jammed into cars, mini vans, and buses; no one else on foot. I walk towards Syria and pass by guard booths but no one yells at me so I figure I am fine to walk on. The next set of what look like toll booths are for inspecting cars. Again, no one yells at me so I walk on and a big smile comes across my face as I relish in the fact I am now in Syria. This has been a long anticipated moment but never thinking it would actually happen. I have been dreaming about this for over four years but trying to get a visa on the Saudi side is a long process.

My bliss is broken as men start to yell at me. Taxis, private cars and shared vans are waiting to fill their vehicle to make the trip back down the hill into Damascus. No time is lost at all with men approaching me and yelling at me to go with them. It is windy and noisy with the vehicles revering their engines indicating they want to go but still need a passenger or two so yelling is a must. I thought a shared van was a safe option and I yell back how much. He yells back 40. My mind is still on the Lebanese pound with it being 1500 lira for $1. It sounds cheap enough to me so I jump in. Well, “jump in” sounds eloquent and graceful, similar to Matt Damon jumping to catch a moving train, but getting into these vans is not easy with the big step up, low roof and no room to maneuver in. Forget about having luggage, there is no space for it but people make do. I had to deal with my backpack. While the pack is comfortable on my back, it is not flexible at all with this new fangled internal frame. If I put it on my lap it blocks my view and I can’t squish it down. Because of the design of the pack, it doesn’t sit upright by itself so when I want to sit it down while I do something, it rolls over playing dead and this could be on a wet floor or an oil stained one like the van.

The van is packed like sardines making my entrance with the pack less than small. I thank my lucky stars there is still a seat up front relieving me of climbing over people and bags to get to the back. Fare money floats from the back of the van to the front and correct change is then passed back from hand to hand. Sometimes there is a dedicated person to collect the money and because it looked like the money was being filtered through this one particular clean-cut young man, I thought he was that person and give him my money. Fifty minutes later the van stops outside a large bus park and every one gets off.

Damascus is still off in the distances meaning I have to either take a taxi and pay a lot more or hop on another van. The clean-cut man notices me pondering my situation and kindly guides me to another van going near where I want to go. At this point, all I know is the name of the place where I am staying and it is close to the Bab Al Sharqi gate of Old Damascus. I just hope I am saying the name correctly or at least somewhat understandable. The nice young man tells the driver where I want to go and he nods with indifference about the stop but keeps turning around looking at me and my pack sitting beside me. He is giving me the evil eye but I am not about to have that clumsy pack sit on my lap until someone needs that seat.

As we get closer into the city more people are getting on and off, at this point I put the bag on my lap. I still have no idea when to get off and I doubt if the driver is going to tell me. I ask a lady on the bus if we are getting closer to Bab Al Sharqi and with a smile she says no. At the next stop the driver has had it with me and my bag and he turns around with vengeance and barks something in my direction, my back is to him. I am dumbfounded; what does he want? Ladies on the bus are saying, “stand up, stand up”. I half stand up hitting my head on the roof clutching my bag. He barks something else and the ladies point and say something. Again, I am asking what does he want? With hand gestures I am to put the bag in the corner by my seat. Is that all? Please let the next stop be mine, I want to get off.

The Bab Al Sharqi gate stop is by the gate but I have no idea where. Once again I am looking perplexed but walk on thinking I should look like I know what I am doing. I hesitate to ask people for directions thinking my inner compass will lead the way. This lasts about three minutes since I have no idea where I am or where to go and I have no map. A family approaches me while I am asking a man where to go and the mother, speaking decent English, suggest I follow them to the gate and from there they will tell me which street to walk down.

Walking through the gate into the old city feels like coming home again. I can tell I will like exploring this old place. I thank the couple and the street they direct me down has signs to the art gallery where I am staying. Mustafa Ali is a well known Syrian sculptor and his gallery is in an old khan, an old house with an inner courtyard with two levels and there are a few renovated rooms for visitors. My room is small and the bathroom compact, about the size of a phone booth. It has the tiniest sink I have seen and the shower is directly about the toilet but it is clean and it looks and smells recently completed, at least the smell of the last coat of varnish makes it seem that way. It is 2:00pm and this leaves me with two and a half hours before sunset.

With camera in hand I wander around the gallery, the office, the courtyard, and the roof. I like this place. It is in a quiet area, there are several small stores nearby and it is reasonable at $33 a night.

I spend the rest of the day getting happily lost in the walled in city.

http://mustafali.com/

My photos of the place
http://www.flickr.com/photos/35215585@N08/sets/72157615768576766/

http://www.syriatourism.org/index.php?newlang=eng

Syria Dec 2008 - Part 1

2009-03-26T10:01:00.000-07:00

I Believe in Syria
December 2008

This is President Bashar Assad’s tag line. He stands by this message on larger than life billboards plastered around Syria. I saw one outside the main gate going into the covered souq of Old Damascus. I wondered what the people thought. Do they believe in Syria? I wanted to see if I too, would believe in Syria. I had ten days ahead of me to find out.

The ten days there was a mix of solo travel and family stays. I started in Old Damascus, went on a day trip with a family to Busra, spent two nights with a family in Hammah, two nights in Aleppo, and then returning to Old Damascus for another two nights. I missed some of the highlights for this country, like Palmera, where the old castle is, and going to the sea, but this gives me a good reason to return along with the singing Kurd and a job offer to sell soap.

My entry into Syria was an unknown. I did not have a visa and was at the mercy of the border guards. I paid $30 to go from Beirut to Damascus but didn’t think I would make it all the way without a visa and, sure enough, when the shared car I was in arrived at 9:00am at the border I was told I had to get out and wait to get the visa. I would have to make my own way the rest of the way even though I paid for all the way. I wasn’t surprised but knew I had been taken by the man at the hotel arranging the ride. He knew my situation and said no problem. He made an easy $15. The driver was paid $15 for taking me as far as he could. Oh well, that is life in the big city.

The car left me on top of the pass with the wind whipping across the barren, rocky land on a bleak winter day. What would be my fate? I waited and knitted and waited. Many people came and went quickly through the lines but no other tourists. Two hours passed as I sat in my seat in direct view of the not so happy border guard. I wanted to be seen in case he needed me for something. He did come out once to ask something but never gave me an indication of how long it may be. I have been told it could take three to five hours on a good day.

Desperate for a toilet and with no WC signs inside the small wait space, I ventured outside heading toward the Dunkin Donuts sign in front of a large mall. I left my pack behind so the guard wouldn’t think I gave up and was going to cross illegally. The Dunkin Donuts is only a shell now. Another coffee shop is in its place. The bathrooms were inside the mall and were clean. On my way out I ordered a bad coffee wondering how much longer I would have to wait. Not much longer as it turned out. After paying the fee and a few stamping noises I was free to roam about the country.

A site I came across for tour information.
http://userwww.sfsu.edu/~pstanley/syrtour.htm

Yella Bye Lebanon, December 2008

2009-02-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

Yella Bye
Lebanon, December 2008

Lebanon is a country I would not want to drive in. The roads are narrow, very steep, in bad shape, and lots of traffic with crazy drivers. They appear crazy to me because they follow their own secret code of driving or the secret may be there are no rules, so anything goes. I will say I think these drivers are probably the best in the world at driving a standard on very steep, serpentine inclines with stops every few meters without stalling the car or burning out the clutch. My Lebanese friend Lilian is an expert behind the wheel and paid no attention to all my dashboard gripping and whimpers as she would back up steep and narrow hills with purpose and, somehow, knowing no car would come whipping around the bend. Color is slowing coming back to my knuckles two weeks later.

Besides this little bit of excitement, Lebanon offers a variety of activities, sights, and good food. My trip centered on friends, food and places. I came to Lebanon to be with old chums I met while living at Al Hada. Lilian is a PT who has a way with food like all Lebanese do. Laura is now in her fifth year at an international school and adapted easily to the Beirut lifestyle. Audrey is in her second year of teaching at the same school and enjoying the area and students. Lina is also Lebanese and has two children who were at Al Hada and now are back in Beirut to finish high school. We all gathered to have a mini reunion at Lina’s place for brunch. The food was amazing, no surprise there, with fresh salads, dips, savory breads, and vegetables. We ate and talked until dusk told us it was time to say a regretful we-should-do-this-more-often good-bye. This reunion was a highlight of the trip and a good reminder, as the year was about to come to a close, to stay connected.

If you know the Lebanese, you know their connection with food. Lebanon is one huge farmer’s market with fresh, local produce lining the streets. If you like bananas, then Lebanon is for you. If you like oranges and lemons, then Lebanon is for you. Needless to say, the food is always fresh, well prepared and healthy. The sweets on the other hand are rich, decadent and sinful. The bakeries are numerous and piled high with all sorts of temptations. Coming here you have to throw caution to the wind and eat every two hours to get in as much of the good stuff as possible.

An extra bonus of having Lilian as a guide was she knew where to go for the food. Within my first hour after landing we were sitting at Al Balal, a Lebanese restaurant on a very wet winter day in the heart of Beirut. We had plans to walk around the city under nicer conditions but the downpours kept everyone off the pedestrian mall and into the small cafes. Al Balad is small and cozy like a French café and it was packed with the tail end of the lunch time crowd. We sat outside under the canopy with heaters and gorged on olives, bread, potato coriander, seafood spring rolls and, my favorite, Fattah with eggplant. This dish consists of yogurt, mint, garlic and fried eggplant topped with fried pita pieces to give it some crunch. You eat this dish with bread or a spoon. We ended with a typical herb infusion tea. This is a meal I could get use to. Good thing it was on the light side because that night I was in for a treat at Bound Paris.

Lilian, being an extrovert and a people person, has a close knit circle of friends and a group of them were celebrating a birthday at Bound. I cannot remember when I was in a place like Bound last. It was trendy, elegant, sophisticated, and crowded. Our crowd of 11 was seated in the middle in the room and my seat faced the bar. The bar was well stocked from floor to ceiling and with well informed friends we started with a white wine. The bottles kept coming and waiters kept pouring. It was nice and light and went well with the dish of amazing nuts at the table and then with the hot goat cheese salad. The birthday cake came out with a sputtering roman candle and other decorations and in no time we finished the chocolate cake. Lilian and I finished the night with more herbal tea by her Christmas tree. It felt like the holidays now.

I’ll pause here from the food to mention the Christmas lights and decorations around Beirut. Much to my surprise and delight, lights and decorations were everywhere in the Christian areas. The decorations were reminiscent of the 1950’s with the classic shapes of bells, candles, and trees. One street in particular was lined with arch ways. A hillside was covered with a manager scene. The main Wooden Bakery had a big igloo outside and inside the young workers wore Santa hats. It was all very festive.

The next food encounter was sampling manoushi high up on a hill in Harrisa. We just came from walking around Notre Dame du Liban and were ready to sit a spell and eat. She ordered the traditional manoushis: zattar (thyme), cheese, and ham and cheese. They are made from dough similar to pizza dough and are cooked on a convex surface. The pizza shaped dough is heated first and then the filling is added and also heated. Then it is folder over several times and is ready to eat with olives and a plate of greens. With green tea it was a nice meal as we sat and talked looking at the Mediterranean Sea far below.

Twenty four hours later we were south in Sidon under a brilliant blue sky that melded with the blue sea. Lilian recommended the falafel at Abou Rami, a small take-out joint across from the castle on the sea. It is in a prime location and the hoards of people hovering around the counter indicated the falafels must be good. Dusk was settling in and the people around the counter grew exponentially thicker as it was getting darker and closer to prayer time. Lilian sat this snack out and I fended for myself in the crowd. I did manage to find an opening in the front by the counter and I was in for a treat. I had a perfect spot to watch the production line.

About thirty sandwiches are made at once. First the pita bread is laid out then down the center a row of three falafels is added along with some mint, parsley, dill pickles, something purple, tomatoes and, to top it all off, a splashing of tahini. This is all done at time warp speed and as the crowd senses the end is near with the wrapping of the sandwiches, they start pushing their way to the counter yelling out orders and waving money. Hands start flying wrapping the sandwiches and groupings of 6 or 10 falafels get bagged and passed to the rightful owner. Fearing I would not be able to compete with this crowd and missing out on trying the falafel, I resorted to making eye contact and waving the exact amount of 2 liras ($1.33) for one sandwich, and lo and behold, one appeared in my hand. For those of you who know the Chipolte chain of Mexican restaurants and their belly buster burritos, this is the Arab equivalent. This is Becky Bourdain reporting live from Sidon.

The next morning I walked off some of the falafel as I walked down the numerous flights of stairs to get to the main street to look for more local food to sample. Lilian recommended several places to stop at and I walked up and down the strip sizing each one up. I wanted a place with tables to sit and write with some atmosphere. I decided on the one in the middle of the business drag and for less than $4 I had Turkish coffee, and four small, savory pastries. I sat in the back area where there were four tables and a bucket and mop. The morning cleaning was in full swing. That I could have done without. This is a common occurrence of mopping, washing windows and appliance when people are dining. There was also an upstairs but I didn’t realize that until I was sitting down and watching people go up a hidden staircase. There was a man sitting at the table in front of me and he appeared to be connected to the place as men came in, greeted him warmly, sat and chatted with him and then took leave shortly to be filled in by another person.

Walking up the steps to Lilian’s apartment, I smelled food cooking. But was it coming from her place? It smelled like a big holiday feast was being cooked. I lucked out and it was her cooking up a storm with pumpkin soup, lentil soup, a layered casserole, and carrot cake. I sat with her in the kitchen becoming intoxicated with the mingling of the aromas. Did I mention already when you come to Lebanon be prepared to eat?

In addition to the eating, Lilian did a superb job as tour guide taking me to a variety of places. Byblos is north of Beirut sitting on the Mediterranean Sea. This is a lovely little albeit touristy place to shop in an old style souq, to walk along the break water wall, to watch the sunset from the church and to sit at an outside café like Chez Pepe Au Fishing Club. While Byblos seems more polished to me, Sidon also known as Saida, is the opposite. Here is how a brochure describes the place

The city bears the scars of the 20th century brutal mutations due to modernism, the earthquake of 1956, and finally the civil war, which marked it definitively.

I enjoyed walking around Sidon’s dark and dusty souq maze browsing, taking photos and keeping an eye on Lilian; I didn’t want to stray to far away and get lost. In the bowels of the souq is a hidden marvel of a museum. It is called The Soap Museum and is housed in the old soap factory dating back to the 17th century. It has been restored by the Audi Foundation and the thematic museum is well deserving of quality time to learn about the handmade soap making process covering various stages of its manufacturing and the diversity of its shapes and properties and to appreciate the architecture of the place. There are walls and towers of soap set out to dry and to photograph. One is transported back in time walking through this place. We ended at boutique selling their popular olive and laurel oil soap. I would go back to Sidon and stay a few days.

The last evening was spent in the Al Hammra area. The American Univ is not far away from this well known district for shopping and restaurants. I would need more time here too. I had an early evening because the next morning I was catching my ride to cross into Syria. I previously made arrangements and paid $30 for a seat in a shared taxi hoping I could make it all the way to Damascus with the car but also knowing I had to get a visa at the border. I gave myself all day and had contingency plans waiting in the wings so I was ready for anything. But I wasn’t ready to see a huge sign for Dunkin Donuts at the border.

For more information on the saponification go to www.foundationaudi.org

For Byblos go to http://www.middleeast.com/byblos.htm

Photos to be posted somewhere sometime.

Three Cups of Sugar with some Tea

2009-01-09T09:33:00.000-08:00

See pictures below.

Jordan
December 2008

I pinch myself at the King Abdul Aziz International airport in Jeddah as I wait for the Sama flight number ZS3026 going to Amman. Am I really traveling again? Will I wake up soon and find myself in the Littleton library with head down on the desk and my drool stained face stuck to notes on modality, metacognition, and formative assessments? The nightmare is only a passing thought and at 7pm the plane touches down and my three week adventure starts. Well, actually, the adventure already started trying to get to the correct terminal in Jeddah.

Jeddah’s airport has two terminals about 15 miles apart from one another, one for foreign airlines and the other for Saudia Airlines. The confusing part about this is when you fly outside Saudi you are going international and one might think to go to the foreign terminal. I was flying to Jordan via Sama airlines, which is a branch of Saudia Airlines, requiring passengers to go to the Saudia terminal. My friend driving had it in his mind to go to the foreign terminal and I had it in my head thinking, “I am so happy not to be going to the foreign terminal because it is very far out”. We were deeply involved in a conversation about travel while my eyes clipped a highway sign indicating Saudia terminal to the right and foreign airlines straight ahead. I made a mental note to mention this sign. Of course, by then it is too late and we are on the highway going those extra miles all the way to the foreign terminal, there are no other options to correct this mistake. At the foreign terminal we make a u-turn and drive all those extra miles back to catch the exit to the Saudi terminal but now there are also signs pointing to the Hajj and Umjah terminals; confusing to say the least. I make it in time and check-in with ease which, apparently, is not always the case. Read on.

G McMahon posted this review online on Nov 18, 2008.

The Saudia terminal continues to be renovated. Saudia staff are totally uninterested in being helpful or proving information. Signage is awful, you are left to try desk after desk asking where to check in, and the staff simply shrug their shoulder and gesture you away, continuing to file their nails and smoke their cigarettes. Business lounge has no power outlets or wifi. Food is cold and stale. Toilets are filthy and stink of urine; no paper.

I will say the renovations are an improvement in the departure lounge with it being newer and cleaner. It is hard to understand the departure announcements so I tend to ask and re-ask for the departure gate and hover there.

The other pre-departure fun I had was to go to the doctor two days before flying to get drugs for my nasty head cold or Hajji flu or sinus infection. Never did find out what it was but it stuck to me like super glue. My ears were aching and I was all congested and did not want to fly like this. The doctor prescribed a nasal spray and two sets of pills. The nasal spray and one set of pills got me through.

Once on the ground in Amman I am in for a big surprise. I was expecting to see my Jordanian friend outside the baggage claim area and then to meet with my California friends at their hotel. This is why I was caught off guard when I departed the ramp into the gate area and there was a man standing in my way as if to direct me to follow the mad dash to the visa area, when in fact, it was my Jordanian friend Abdelaziz. He finagled special permission to meet me at the gate and he was all dressed up in a suit and tie plus he had a “new look” as he told me about his new hair style. He really kick-started my trip on a high note. To top that off, he fooled me into thinking my friends were waiting for me at the hotel, instead they were down stairs waiting outside baggage claim; another bonus.

The three of them just that day finished their tour in Jordan. This left us with a day together before they had to return home. With Abdelaziz at the wheel, we crisscross the city going to the car museum, the roman theatre, the old part of town and a new part of town at the first circle and Rainbow street. Amman has eight major roundabouts and they are used as landmarks but those darn roundabouts are not numbered so how is a foreigner to know which roundabout they are at?

Close to roundabout one there are two very nice gift shops to support Jordan’s nature reserves and the development projects. Wild Jordan is a branded division of The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature. Their mission is to “develop viable nature-based businesses within and around RSCN’s protected areas in order to bring tangible economic and social benefits to local communities and generate financial, political, and popular support for nature conservation throughout the Kingdom”. A few years back I stayed at Feynan Eco-lodge and marveled at the design of the place, the service, and the food. If you ever come to Jordan, and I think you should, you must stay at one of their campsites, lodges or guest houses. All the information is at http://www.rscn.org.jo/. I can also recommend a very good guide and friend.

The Wild Jordan Nature Center is a wonderful place to stop and take in the views of old Amman and to do a little shopping. They offer unique crafts and gifts made by the people living around Jordan's nature reserves. Their items range from silver jewelry, painted ostrich eggs, goat leather goods, teas, olive oil soap, candles, and embroidery work. I am impressed by the craftsmanship, creativity, and presentation. For traveling sake, I keep my purchases small and thought a painted ostrich egg fragment and soap would travel well.

In walking distance is Jordan River Designs. This boutique displays items generated by the Jordan River Designs Project. The project employs 16 women and contracts with another 500 women to embroider traditional and contemporary home furnishings, gift items and fashion accessories.The embroidery project was set up to assist Palestinian refugee women with extra income, as well as to maintain and promote traditional Palestinian heritage while using a traditional cultural technique. As the project grew, other women from the surrounding area joined the project and different embroidery techniques from the different areas of Jordan were introduced. Since its inception, over 1500 women have benefited from the project and over 3 million Jordanian Dinars have been paid to the beneficiaries.

The quality of work is also high and hard to resist. I feel shopping at these types of places is a great way to support the local economy, women’s projects, the natural reserves and to preserve traditional arts and crafts. Needless to say, the three of us are impressed with what we see and learn.

We end our short visit together with a wonderful meal at a traditional restaurant joined by a mutual friend Rami. The setting is in a Bedouin tent with couches outlining the wall area and then big comfortable chairs by a large table with a traditional decorated circular tray on top. The set menu starts with mezze, an abundant array of salads and dips, and since we were all hungry we waste little time digging in. We pause to remember the mix grill is coming soon and not to fill up on the mezze but it taste so good it is hard to stop. After the mix grill a large fruit basket and sweets are set before us. Stuffed beyond belief, we sadly say our good-byes and go our separate ways but now sharing the love for Jordan.

I still have three days in Jordan and with Jenay’s encouragement not to miss the opportunity to dine on Abdelaziz’s cooked vegetables over an open fire in a Bedu tent and then to sleep there with the family, I decided why not. Abdelaziz and I drive to Wadi Rum and do a short tour inside the desert at sunset. We stop to take pictures by a unique rock formation and realize it is getting cold. I am glad to know a fire will soon be available in side the tent. Abdelaziz does his culinary magic with the vegetables and a little salt while I drink small cups of sugar loaded tea. Last summer I read the book, “Three Cups of Tea” about the ex-climber building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and now while drinking my tea, I come up with a title for my book, “Three Cups of Sugar with some Tea”. After dinner Abdelaziz leaves to find drinking water. No sooner than he leaves the tent, women of the family come from the other side of the tent to sit down and talk. The brother is still on my side of the tent so we do our best to communicate in Arabic, English and laughs until the headlights reappear and the women disappear. Sleep comes early in the tent and with the cold desert air, piles of blankets, and nothing to do or think about, I sleep like the dead until sunrise.

Now it was our turn to go our separate ways. Abdelaziz to his family to celebrate the Eid holiday and me back to Amman. He drives me to a bus park and no sooner than when we stop a scout is at the door asking for the destination. Avoiding all the offers for the two hour taxi ride I am escorted to the three hour mini bus going to Amman. Luckily I get to sit close to the front of the bus because I like to see how the buses are decorated. Each has their own style with trims, tassels, trinkets, and air fresheners. This one has fringe outlining everything from the dash board and the gear box to the steering column. Hanging from the rearview mirror is a big pink tassel. Would you ever expect to see this on a Greyhound bus in the states? The three hour drive ended at a big bus park outside Amman. The ten minute taxi ride costs me more than the bus, takes me closer to my hotel and I walk the last leg to stretch my legs after all that sitting.

The rest of the day I walk and walk and find myself back at first circle and Rainbow. I pause at the Good Bookstore and it is nicely decorated for Christmas. You can tell what kind of area you are in by the types of stores. This area caters to the expat community and has everything from high end stores, to cafes and restaurants, and books stores. This bookstore also has a coffee counter in the back with a few small tables scattered about and they are playing music and selling note cards. A few expats are in there with laptops and cell phones drinking coffee and tapping away. I sit down to write a letter, to sip sugar controlled coffee (I added it myself) and to soak in the atmosphere. Another artisan store catches my attention and I browse around day dreaming how nice it would be to have some of their “superlative” pottery pieces like the business card says. The shop is called Bawabet Al Sharq run by Majdi Qubti and the pottery studio is also in Amman. Their website is http://www.jordancrafts.com/ and maybe when the mood strikes me I will order the sconces.

I continue my walk around this part of town admiring the old buildings and clusters of homing pigeons whirling above in the sky. Their wings are like silk carpets as they turn from a gray to a shimmering white as they dart about in the late afternoon sky. Apparently, raising homing pigeons is a hobby in this region along with Syria and Turkey. At times while scanning the sky I could spot five different sets of pigeons flying in their groups.

I decide to walk until I get really lost knowing I can always take a taxi back to the hotel or until I recognize a landmark. I spot a sign to the old city and follow it taking me down many, many stairs until I am on the outskirts of the old city. Amman, being built on seven hills, has many long staircases. Where the stairs end the material shops begin. Narrow streets and alleys are clogged with vans unloading their trucks and people doing their Eid shopping. It is Eid eve and the old city is alive and buzzing like a busy bees’ nest. People are every where and each area of the market has its own thing going on. To get the full sensation, also image the roads jammed with traffic in a cloud of exhaust. Buses, taxis, and cars are all jockeying for position to move and they are not afraid to use their horns. The sidewalks are swarming with people, shop keepers are yelling out in a cadence announcing their specials, buses are chugging along simultaneously unloading and loading people and belching billows of exhaust, smoke rises from the kebab area, and the piles of fresh produce add color to the otherwise dingy backdrop.

I flow with the crowd with scarf over my nose and mouth to get some relief from the pollution. I pause in trinket shops, buy some sweets for the students I will see the next day, sample cookies, skip butcher alley with slabs of beef and entrails, and arrive at the big mosque. This I recognize and feel better but still not sure which direction to the hotel. As I start to walk away from the core shopping area I spot a rug store. This place is amazing. Up stairs it has piles and piles and more piles of woven carpets. This shop has been handed down from generation to generation and the inventory is ample. There are sheep skins, traditional Arab winter coats more like a cap than a jacket, and other commonly seen souvenirs to add to the mix. It is my kind of store. Upstairs in the back room they are just finishing cooking dinner and bring down the sizzling plate of beef. Three men sit around with the flat bread tearing the bread apart to grab pieces of meat. They insist I join them but with my meal waiting for me at the hotel I decline graciously and step out into the darkness.

The last day I walk without a destination curious to see where I would end up. The streets take me to stairs going up to another street where there is another set of stairs going up. At the top of the stairs I opt for the left turn because it continues to go up and I want to see the view from on top. Walking along I come upon a smaller set of stairs going up and to my surprise I am at Rainbow Street once again. This time I explore all the side streets on this quiet Eid morning. People and families are out for walk too and it is a nice leisurely morning. On one of the side streets I come across a doorway with a guard standing in it smiling and gesturing for me to come in. Not sure what this place is until I get inside and it is a bookstore with a café upstairs. The place is called Books At Café. Inside I linger over the books in this very tiny shop and watch as crowds come in going straight upstairs. Eventually I make my way upstairs and I am delighted with the layout and ambiance of the place. The left side, with big windows, has nice views of Amman because, as you recall, I kept going up. People appear to be enjoying their brunch or gossip time or quiet time reading books.

The right side has the bar with smaller rooms for nightlife. These are also stylish and trendy with big, bold wall paper, intimate corners, sleek furniture, and tasteful accessories. It is a hip place and I regret not being able to stay longer because I am not ready to sit yet. I move along wandering the streets again and end by the old section again but by day it looks totally different. Shops are closed. There are fewer people. The steady stream of buses is now down to a trickle. The excitement is no longer in the air. I walk back in the direction of the hotel thinking I have done a pretty good job of getting to know Rainbow Street and old downtown.

I spend my last night in Amman with two past students from Al Hada. They are brothers living in Amman continuing their studies in high school and university. They are as excited to see me as I them. Osama, the younger one, misses Al Hada and the diversity of friends he had there. Ahmed is in love and wants to marry his girlfriend of three years but the girl’s father says not until he has a good job and a house. If that was the case in the states, not many people would be getting married. It is very nice spending time with them and seeing what nice young men they are becoming.

Back at the hotel I pack my bags waiting in anticipation to experience Beirut.

Coming in the Lebanon letter will be food highlights, crazy roads and crazy drivers, a soap museum, an Al Hada reunion, Christmas lights, and snow.

Photos Jordan

2009-01-09T08:58:00.000-08:00

Photos from Jordan. December 2008. Mezze, the four of us, Wadi Rum, the Rock, Bedu tent, mini bus with trim, cookies by the kilo, Rainbow St, and the boys.

A Collection of Photos

2008-10-03T06:55:00.001-07:00

Here is an activity for you. Match the captions with the photos.

1. View from bedroom

2. Teacher Bob going to school

3. Full bus

4. Pool side

5. Apt building

6. Going to Taif

7. House under construction

8. Pouring concrete - a dirty job

Sept 13 - 21

2008-10-03T06:49:00.000-07:00

Saturday 13, 2008

Day one (Friday 12th): unpacking, visiting with Michele and Wendy and Georges, a quick swim in hot tub temp water at the pool, sweating, walking to store, visiting with Hany.

Day two: school, three classes, nice students, cleaning apt with Lita (120SAR), shopping for CD player, printer, clock, USB cable. Take bus to school but will mostly likely take a taxi after the break to get more done. The staff is wonderful at school; a very diverse set people. Waiting to hear about arrival of my boxes, I was told it should be tomorrow on the 14th.

Sun 14

What is it like to be back in Saudi? Crazy. The school bus for the teachers departs at 8am and arrives at school around 8:20. This morning I have first period free and prepare by getting supplies, cleaning the room, seeing what is in the cabinets, go back to office to ask for more supplies, log in to check school emails and announcements. My first class starts at 9:30 and lasts 30 min but with the students taking their time getting out their supplies class is almost over before we start. The little ones are cute but are slow as molasses. Next class study hall, they are good. Next class is a double period with six graders going over a quiz and starting another section. At the end of this class I am told to go to the hospital to get medical done and to have lesson plans ready for the last two classes of the day. I scribble notes while my name is being summoned over the PA system twice; it takes time to walk to the other end of the campus where the main office is.

Four of us newly arrived new hires go to the hospital and wait for paper work in between getting blood drawn and chest x-rays. We get back to school for the last class. I have algebra and the room is hot, I am hot, the kids are talking, a kid wants a pass to test out of this class, another kid comes to the door wanting my permission for him to attend another math class. A few students are chatters and social butterflies and don’t want to sit and be patient. I can sense I am fighting with them and that is not a good start. We take a breather do examples and it is better. The bell rings and it is 2pm. I am hungry. Need to eat. I have another 3 hours at school to crawl out of the hole. I fight with the new version of Excel as I try make spreadsheets and charts. I am losing precious time. I get a message progress reports are due in two days by 2pm by everyone, no exception. What can I say about my students? What do I give them as grades? What software program do I use and how do I use it? Needless to say, I feel overwhelmed; too much to do in too little time. The upcoming break will be the breathing room I need to get organized. But, I am happy to be here, working, socializing, swimming, and getting to know the students.

Mon 15th

The schedule takes some time getting use to. It is a 7 day rotating schedule so each week is different. I feel like a 6th grader not knowing what class is next. At least I stay in my classroom and the students come to me. My right hand is getting fatigued with correcting papers and using a mouse again. I realized I haven’t used my right hand for work like this since May when I ended my studies.

Tuesday 16th

The rotating schedule is confusing and even though I have four 6th grade math classes to teach each class is at a different place in the book. Some days I will go two days without seeing a class. A seasoned teacher says it is best to plan in 7 day blocks rather than 5 day blocks because after seven days all the classes will have been in class the same amount of time. I am learning. Right hand is getting worse.

Wed 17th

My right thumb no longer can grasp things. The base of the thumb aches. Spreading my hand apart is painful. Is this carpal tunnel? How will I ever be able to play tennis with Michele and I can’t hold the racket? I am very worried. I don’t want this to lead to surgery. Luckily I brought over a book on posture and it has a section about over use. I read the exercises they recommend and give them a try. The workspace at my desk is not ideal at all for using the computer.

I make it through the day with lunch duty too. I hunt and peck out keys to respond to emails. After a two hour tai chi and qi gong class I feel less tense and have self massage techniques to practice. The teacher is wonderful, the classes are offered in the compound next to school, and it is a bargain at $5.33 for an hour class. A small group of us attend the Sunday and Wednesday night classes.

We end the evening at Teyana, a tea house restaurant by our compound and stop by the Belgium chocolate store on the walk back.

Thr 18th

Four hours at school and then the rest of the day with my friend Edwin having a late lunch (3:30pm), resting, shopping at the souq to get things for the apt (lots of sweating and walking around the shops), dinner at midnight, coffee at 1am (it is Ramadan so everything happens later) and home by 2am.

Fri 19th

A day home to do school work, food shopping on the compound (it is about a 15 minute walk to the store), and relaxing. Hand is feeling better with giving it a rest and doing the exercises.

Sat 20th

Heard boxes are at the cargo section of the airport and I can go with Ralph, another teacher claiming his load, tomorrow at 9am. Ugh, more time away from the students – not good. I am trying to give pop quizzes, grade their shopping bag project, collect homework and get them ready for a test when they return after break. I feel like we are not making any progress. Some students have not even started to attend school yet. Families are returning after the Eid break when classes resume Oct 4th. I feel the first 5 weeks of school are lost.

The Advisory period, like a homeroom, have been getting together a team name, making a banner, and creating a skit to perform today. They are still a little rough but I assume the other classes are too. The middle school assembly has 15 teams to watch and judge. My team thanks to Hyunju has a great banner. She is an amazing artist and student considering this is her second year at school and last year she had to learn English. She is a hard worker and doing well.

I leave detailed lesson plans for the next day.

Sunday 21

9am the man taking us to the airport is no where to be seen. He is not answering the phone. I assume he is still sleeping. I go back to class asking to be called when he is ready. I am in class for 30 min and get called. Back at the office Ralph and I wait and wait. The man appears and starts asking about invoices and such. Ralph does not have a piece of paper the man thinks will be needed. This all could have been handled yesterday instead of waiting until we are about to leave. We leave hoping for the best. From 11am to 1:30pm Ralph and I tag along the man as he goes from window to window at the cargo area. It is like a big wind tunnel and it is hot and sticky. Poor Ralph is slowly melting in his shirt and tie. It is Ramadan so no drinking water in public. I can feel a wave of sweat running down my back and legs. It is loud and noisy as we watch pallets of boxes getting shuffled around. We wait more. A man with a hand cart comes out from the warehouse with my boxes – all ten of them too. I am relieved. Ralph has 84 boxes that came from Caraccus. A man in a fork lift comes over and asks if Ralph is waiting for 3 boxes. We say no, not 3 boxes but 84. Little did we know the man meant 3 crates. We lost time because of this. Now it is prayer time and everything stops. I go upstairs to find refuge in a hall way where there is a chair and AC. Good thing I went to the bathroom before coming here because I don’t think this place has a restroom for a woman. This is a man’s world here in cargo land.

Finally, Ralph, me and the man from school are standing by Ralph’s crates after the school man goes to a few more windows. Now, how to get the crates back to school? Trucks are hired and the crates are lifted on. 1:30 we are driving back to school but it is the worst possible time, school will be letting out when we get there. Traffic at school is a night mare with all the cars and compound buses picking up students. All of our energy has been sapped out of us and we are hanging on by a thread, especially the school guy. Glad this part is over.

Still Here? Sept 10

2008-10-03T06:38:00.000-07:00

Last day in Stonington

You’re Still Here?

I did have my doubts if I would ever make it to Jeddah at all. The not knowing and lack of consistent communication from school was the hardest part of the wait. When I had to start calling to ask about flights and passport, I started getting agitated and that is not a pretty sight. Not sure where the bottleneck was in all of this but the flood gates started to open on Thursday September 4 when six of the ten visas were stamped at 4:30pm and then Fed-Exed before people were flying on Saturday the 6th. Talk about being ready at a moment’s notice. Some of us new hires felt like we were doing the baby drill with having bags packed waiting by the door for when we heard, “it’s time”.

Mind you, we have been waiting since the start of August thinking we would be there by August 16 to prep for a week before school started. School has started and current elementary teachers were subbing for the middle and high school classes while other subs were in their classes. I think there was one too many sub steps in there. I have been very fortunate to have my friend Michele covering for me for the last three weeks. Luckily she is the 5th grade teacher so the 6th graders are adjusting to middle school with her guidance. She is not use to teaching high school students or algebra so she has been a saint needing lots of chocolate for surviving this type of torture. From what I gather, they have not been an easy bunch.

Now that I have my passport in hand and flight reservations, I should be in Jeddah by the 12th going via Rhode Island to Chicago to London to Jeddah. Time to get a pencil out for my new mailing address noted below. Feel free to use it at any time. I still like getting mail the old fashion way. Plus, I use the cards and postcards as pictures for the walls.

American International School of Jeddah
c/o Rebecca Tumicki
PO Box 127328
Jeddah 21352
Saudi Arabia

Here is the website for the school if you want to check it out: www.aisj.edu.sa

By the looks of things, once I land and get fetched from the airport, this time around it is only a 30 minute ride into Jeddah versus the five plus hours of wait and drive time for the last school, it will be heads down until December 4th when the winter break starts to get caught up with all the school work.

I am at the airport in Rhode Island now waiting for the 11:20 flight to Chicago recalling the year off. During that time I was tested on many levels; physical pain, mental anguish, calculus, teaching knowledge, bus routes, and patience. I was also blessed with incredible adventures, new friendships, support from family and friends and time to be.

September 4

2008-09-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

My haven for now at the public library.

Stay or go; that is the question. If the visas get stamped today, then we can go Sept 8. If they don't, then it continues to be a mental challenge.

The Visa Numbers are Ready

2008-08-27T09:45:00.000-07:00

August 27 and heard today the visa numbers has been released and, if nothing else goes wrong, we should be there by September 7. Alhumdullilah.

This photo was taken on a windy day this past May in Seattle.

Michele, my sub at school, is running from her 5th grade class to my 6th grade and algebra classes and then onto 2nd graders. She deserves lots of chocolate.

I have completed my 2 weeks of lesson plans and will learn more about Blackboard.

Tomorrow Westerly.

School Starts Today

2008-08-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

August 23, 2008
It is 7:20am and I just got up and the first day of school is already over. I wonder how many students arrived today? Were they all smiles? Were they nervous and anxious like I would have been if I was there to greet them?

What are their names? What did they do over the summer?

It is sunny in Stonington and I have been sitting in the library wondering what to do with the Algebra class. I will keep wondering.

Found a website to listen and practice Arabic. I stopped at Dhal.

Time to switch gears and work on illustrations.

August 13, and still waiting

2008-08-13T08:41:00.000-07:00

The contract for school starts August 16 and here it is August 13, 2008, and I am still sitting in Stonington, CT with no idea when I will be leaving. Boxes are sealed and bags are packed.

Today photos arrived of the villas where we will be living. They are furnished and seem spacious. There are swimming pools calling out my name. Can’t wait to start decorating the place and calling it home.

In the meantime, per the principal’s request, I am writing lesson plans to send to the school in case we, the new teachers, are not there when school starts. To be on the safe side, they said to prepare plans for the first two weeks of school. Right now it looks like we will get there in time for the September 10 day break starting September 23.

August 6, 2008 Waiting for the Visa

2008-08-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

August 6, 2008 and still no visa. The last message from the school was Aug 1 saying to be patient and, inshallah, the visas could be done around Aug 10. This visa process is a bottleneck because the rest of the logistical arrangements, like booking flights and shipping boxes, hinges on getting the visa. I can already see the writing on the wall, school starts with the students Aug 23 and we, the new 18 teachers, will arrive Aug 22 at midnight.
To prepare for this upcoming maelstrom, I have my ten boxes for shipping packed, sealed, weighed and measured with documented inventory with values. I am standing at shipping 160 pounds. I don’t really have to ship any of these things but then again I don’t really have anywhere to store these things and I could use these things to set up my villa. Not ready to totally let go of everything yet.
I called the shipping company making whatever prearrangements I can and they are even in the dark with the school. This is their first time working with the school so I am not surprised but I have faith it will all work out.
The checked luggage is also waiting on the sidelines and is getting a little heavier than I expected. Turns out the shipped boxes cannot contain liquids so my 24oz bottle of Vermont maple syrup and bottles of contact solution has to go with my books, music CDs, movie DVDs, and photos. All this adds up to heavy. But, will it be more than 23kg heavy, the allotted maximum weight for a checked bag? Guess it is time to get the scale out again and weigh them to avoid a repacking scramble at the airport.
Besides playing the packing game to pass the time, I have done what I can with start of school prep. I have my introduction letter to the students, classroom procedures, supply list philosophy and checklist, book sign out, grading policy, and words to live by like Simplify, Cooperation, and Think. My grading / lesson plan book is ready to enter names and daily lessons. Based on the student stats from October 2006 (the website needs a bit updating), roughly, here is the breakdown of students:
25% American
10% Egyptians
10% Saudi
9% Lebanese
8% Canadian
7% Korean
36% other 20 nationalities
Number per grade based on October 2006 data. I assume there will be more than this.
49 6th graders
54 7th graders
48 8th graders
Another thing I will do today to pass the time is to get two wisdom teeth pulled.

After Peace Corps 2005-2008

2008-07-23T09:15:00.001-07:00

Peace Corps Then 1989-1991

2008-07-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

Ender's Island Part 2

2008-07-23T09:04:00.001-07:00

Ender's Island, CT

2008-07-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

This is a place we use to go as a family a LONG time ago. It is still quiet and peaceful.

Mosaic Stairs in SF

2008-07-23T08:42:00.002-07:00

This is a hidden gem in the city.

2008-07-23T08:42:00.001-07:00

Summer Costal Living

2008-07-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

This area is called the Jewel of Connecticut and I am having a gem of a time walking to the beach, reading by the water, swimming in seaweed (that part is not so great), and hanging out with mom. Here are some photos of the area.

I will be here until mid August when I hope to depart to Jeddah to start teaching again. I have loafed too long now.

Cheers

Summer 2008

2008-07-08T09:02:00.000-07:00

My year off is nearly over and what a year it has been. I did what I wanted to do: walk the camino, take a calculus course, get certified as a teacher, write a children's story, and to update my blog.

I have added new links under the Links section to the right.
American International School of Jeddah - my new school, explore the site to get an idea of the school, students, and activities. I will be apart of the Middle School teaching math.
Felt Sachets - are examples of what keeps me busy at night.
Nothing Happens Until You Decide - photos, quotes, letters, essays

For now I will spend the next 5 weeks in Stonington, CT walking by the water, biking to Mystic, eating seafood, swimming in the ocean, and typing at the library.

April 2007 Trip Letter - Ethiopia

2007-06-08T20:52:00.000-07:00

Hello Friend, April 12, 2007

Good morning from one of the many Starbucks in Jeddah. This one is close to where I am staying but lacking a view like the ones along the Red Sea.

I needed to get out for the morning to stretch my legs so after my coffee I will go to another mall – there is not much at this one.

Spring vacation is here – finally! Need a break from the stupid questions and constantly correcting bad behavior – it is tiring. No more teaching for me – at least in this kind of setting. I would like to volunteer in other places and in other capacities.

The latest “I can’t believe they are doing this at school” is having the school repainted, having new tiling put down, and adding a snack shop in the shape of a large pomegranate and all this is to be done in 9 days during break. To get ready for this entailed boxing up everything in the main hall, the classes, the porta cabins, stripping down the walls, and finding places for storage. Most of it went outside – the baboons will have a field day with all the stuff to explore while searching for food.

The poor principal now has to stay and spend her vacation at school and she has been sick with stomach problems. The question is will all this get done before we get back and will everything be back in place? If not, the first day back will be a zoo just like the last two days of school trying to pack up with students around. They continue to amaze me around here.

I came across an interesting website called couchsurfing.com – you can look for couches to sleep on in private homes in different places the world over. I signed up as a member and started looking for places in Lebanon. I made a great contact there to start my trip in June. This site brings people together but is not a “dating service” as they clearly state, who share a love of travel, meeting new people and sharing adventures. I also have a teacher friend and other contacts to meet during my 5-7 day trip.

Next I will see what couches I can find in Damascus. I have families from here which is a good start. I plan to take this trip via the bus starting around June 14^th; $50 for a 20 hr bus ride from Jeddah through Jordan. Might stop in Jordan to see friends if I can get off and on with the same ticket.

3:20am Friday the 13^th – Jeddah airport

It has been a full day with window shopping at Pakistani shops (I could blow a whole paycheck there), lunch with Marwan and Edwin, shopping with Marwan, 3 hours with a former teacher at her place, then back to Marwan’s for a late dinner and to teach Mini how to knit. I got 60 minutes of sleep before coming to the airport. The international airport is hopping at 3:30am with lots of pilgrims departing.

12 noon Friday the 13^th

No delays with the flight but almost as I wandered the gate area not knowing they were calling my flight to board. I could not make out the garble coming over the loud speakers. Eventually I ask if this was the flight to Tripoli since it was boarding first at my gate and then the check-in guy recognized me and said, “We have been waiting for you, the flight is boarding now.” How could he miss me since I was the only foreign women circling the gate area?

Desta was at the airport to bump shoulders to greet me. After breakfast, coffee, and the bank we made plans to meet at 2:30pm to go to Entoto Mtn. His friend Samrawit from his area near Gondar is also joining us. Turns out Samrawit decided to come visit Desta the same time as me but he told her we had plans but she could join us. No problem with me but she is quiet most of the time.

After three mini buses and a heated debate between Desta and a Rastafarian about begging we made it to the top of the mountain to be greeted by colder weather, clouds and rain drops while in town it was hot. I was told it was the rainy season and I believe them. We walked around for 2 hours and then thought better to head down before it got really wet.

By now it was dinner time and Desta wanted to take us to Makush – a trendy place with art on the wall for sale and nicely decorated. The Italian food was good and the wine was fine. It was a very pleasant day out and it was only the first day.

Back at the hotel I had to battle with a facet not working. The hose to the facet was busted and kept coming undone. If I wanted to wash my hands I had to turn on the shower and this is in an all purpose bathroom where the water goes right on to the floor. No real hot water to speak of either. At least I slept great, no bed bugs, and it was quiet. Desta comes in 20 minutes to have juice at the Hilton and to meet my other friends – time to go get ready.

Had a splendid afternoon meeting new friends I met through my friend June from CA. We have all lived in the Bay Area at some point and talked about where we lived and our favorite places. Hailu and Aberash live outside Addis in what I would call the suburbs. There is lots of fresh air and open spaces and a large hill for Aberash to walk to and conquer every day. Aberash out did herself and made an amazing lunch. The best food I had on the trip. How can I not go back to Ethiopia now with meeting these wonderful people and needing cooking lessons on how to make the traditional food? Thank you Hailu and Aberash for your hospitality.

Sunday April 15 6:15pm

Left Addis this morning at 11am on a mini bus after playing hide and seek with police while waiting to pick up passengers to get a full load. This took about 45 minutes of circling. Finally, we headed south to Awassa into the country side about 275 km south of Addis.

I didn’t do much research for this trip and didn’t know what to expect but was pleasantly pleased. Awassa is on the road to Kenya and is a small weekend get away kind of place. There is a nice lake at one end of the main road that runs east west and on the other end is the an Ethiopian Orthodox Church – very impressive looking with the three gold domes lit up by the sun (have a look http://www.angelfire.com/trek/mytravels/ethiopia2002south2.html)

After settling into the hotel that Desta scouted out at a very reasonable price we walked down the road heading to the lake. It was a pleasant walk with Awassa being a flat and wooded area. We passed a grove of trees and on the top of these trees were big, ugly looking black buzzards; the kind with the long, droopy, red necks just like the cartoon buzzard that hops along and goes “ah, yup”.

Set in a volcanic crater, Awassa Lake is the smallest in the Ethiopian Rift Valley. For those of you who are interested in facts and figures the lake is located at 7:0N and 38:2 E with an altitude of 1,708m. The surface area of the lake is 129,000,000m² with a volume of 1,300,000,000m³. The shoreline length is 52,000m and the mixing type is Polymictic. The population of the area is 261,651.

We enjoyed the sunset before going to dinner at the government hotel near the lake. The fish was good and the beer was tasty.

The next morning we decided to go for a boat ride along the lake. This was nice because it was a row boat and we could better enjoy the peace and quiet of the lake and all the bird life. We stopped at a local park to look at traditional houses and the local fish market. I wouldn’t mind having one of these houses too. They make perfect bungalows for the back yard. The fish market was buzzing with bird life trying to get a free lunch. All kinds of herons, storks, kites, and more buzzards vying for fish the little children would throw into the water for the birds to fight over.

Tuesday April 17^th 1:10pm

Shaashamannee with a multiple of spellings, such as, Shashamane, Shashemane, and Shashemene is home to the Rasta Farians. The place is not overflowing with Rastas, or at least not yet. The government has plans to bring thousands of them to attend the Millennium celebration in September hoping some would stay behind I guess. We did find one shop burning incense, playing Raegae, and selling trinkets.

For some background information on Shashamane I found this at http://www.shashamane.org/history.htm

History of the Settlement

Shashamane, a small district village town, gained international attention in the African Diaspora when 500 acres of its fertile land were granted as a gift to the Black people of the West in 1948 by His Imperial Majesty Emperor Haile Selassie I, the then-reigning Ethiopian Emperor.

The Italian invasion of Ethiopia did more to ignite Pan-African sentiment than any other event in modern times. In the folklore of Africans in and outside of Africa, Ethiopia was the bastion and symbol of African freedom and independence. In the Bible, Blacks read that Ethiopia was the land of Queen of Sheba and its Monarch represented a direct genealogical link to the Solomonic and Davidic Throne. Ethiopia was the sacred land that the Greek historian Homer wrote about as the "land where the gods loved to be." Now Italy's threat to the Divine Motherland's Sovereignty, the subsequent invasion and occupation of Ethiopia and exile of its Sovereign, sparked a tremendous mass movement of international demonstration and support by Blacks for Ethiopia and its Emperor in the war of resistance. Rallies and fundraising events were carried out by Blacks throughout the United States and the Caribbean to help Ethiopia the last remaining free African Nation to regain her independence.

My first impressions were not unlike visiting other towns but I did have high hopes it would be a little different given its history. Maybe this will change after we spend a day exploring.

Now we are at a fairly new hotel serving Jamaican food. It is pouring rain again and glad to be dry inside drinking St George Beer and about to eat lentil soup. This morning we were in Wundo Genet at a lovely government “resort” in the hills. It was active with monkeys, birds of all kinds, resident dogs and puppies, workers, and weekday tourists. The grounds were lush, green and thick with flowers and all sorts of trees. You would not think a place like this would exist in Ethiopia.

This is how the resort is promoted on the web:

- Curative thermal springs cascading down from lush, green hillsides.

- Colorful flowering forest on the slopes of green mountains.

- Unique panorama of rich sunset across Lake Awassa.

- Swimming pools for adults and children with natural hot spring water.

- Modern restaurant featuring national and international standard cuisine.

- Ideal retreat for leisure groups, honeymooners and loving couples.

I’ll agree with the cascading thermal hot springs, the colorful flowery forest and as a nice retreat but the rest stretched the truth a bit. Lake Awassa is no where in sight, the swimming pool has been abandoned and is in need of repair, and the modern hotel serves standard food.

The hot spring was nearby. We walked through the place looking at the facilities and then took a quick hike up the hill to see the hot water coming out of the ground. Our outing was cut short by a massive down pour. By 8pm I was in bed hoping for a restful sleep but once again mosquitoes kept me half awake. During the night it thundered and rained heavy for a very long time. A strange sound coming from inside the room got me out of bed and this takes a pretty good cause for me to get up. The call of nature or an earthquake is pretty much it so this must be good. It sounded like a large rat was struggling to get out of the toilet bowl and making lots of splashing sounds. To my relief I saw nothing in the bathroom but never did find out where the noise was coming from. Back to bed.

At day break a funny sounding bull frog was making loud croaking noises outside. Every now and then it would get mad at something and croak away at high speed. What was this thing? It was that loud I thought it must be sitting under my window. When I peered out I did not see anything strange. On my way to breakfast I did discover what it was. It was a large, ugly, black bird with a white spot on the back of its head. I heard the croaking coming from up high in the trees and spotted him. He sat there very content croaking at regular intervals. For some reason he decided to jump down to the ground and waddle around croaking. Again, something must have startled him or he was protecting something as he croaked away at a faster speed. I also paused to watch the monkeys run from tree top to tree top without a care in the world.

After breakfast we packed up and walked the 3 km to the main dirt road. Surprisingly after all the rain the roads were not that muddy. It was an ideal morning stroll as we walked down the hill admiring the lush landscape, admiring the piles and piles of avocadoes and mangoes for sale on small benches by the road and happy the sun was out. At the junction we hopped on a local bus to Shaashamannee. The three of us squeezed into the back of the bus and as long as I was by a window I was content. I need to be by a window to allow at least some air coming in. Why in the hottest places on earth people insist to keep windows closed especially on buses when they are stopped?

It was a bumpy ride but only for an hour. From the bus park we jumped on horse carts, also very bumpy, to the Majestic Riff Valley Hotel. Not a bad place at all, in fact, it was great. The hotel is away from the main road, has a courtyard surrounded by trees, and the rooms are spacious and airy with functioning bathrooms.

The rest of the day we walked around looking for Rastafarians but hardly saw any of them against the rest of the local population. They say they live in a certain part of town. We went by their church and a museum on the way to Lake Loganno and made a mental note to visit these places on our way out tomorrow. We hired a very hip surfer looking station wagon taxi for an afternoon excursion to Lake Loganno, a favorite place among the expats living in Addis Ababa because it makes for an easy escape for the weekend. I am glad we did not plan to spend the night at the lake side “resort” because, one, the lake looks like it is filled with orange Kool-Aide – how odd to see this massive lake with a rusty tint to it. Never did find out why this is so. And, two, the resort is isolated and not much to do except sitting around looking at the brown water or watching the two white horses walking around the grounds. It was a nice stop but that was about it.

On our way back to Shaashamannee we stopped at a Natl Park not far at all from Lake Laganno. The park is large and I guess one would take a jeep to see the wildlife. We got there right as the park was closing but Desta in his charming ways got the guards to call the ticket lady to come back from her house on the park grounds to sell us tickets for a several minute visit. The full fare ticket entitled us to view the ostrich pen which we viewed while waiting for the ticket lady to arrive. Five minutes later we were back in the groovy taxi on the road again driving into the sunset.

Wednesday April 18^th 12 noon

Local time is 6am on their watches although the sun registers high noon. Desta is out looking for a way to get us back to Addis. There is always a minibus to take. I am sorry to be leaving Shashamane so soon. It was only this morning we discovered the Rastafarian businesses. There are two bakeries (these establishments could easily be doing well in the Boulder, CO area), a soya food roadside shop setup like an ice cream shop – you order from a window, some trinket shops and a museum and church that were closed. The Rastas were friendly and open. The ones we spoke to estimated about 300 families living in the area but they are also divided into different groups and the fellow I spoke to said they don’t believe in counting people. About 22 families moved here between 1952 and 1974. All in all an interesting place to spend more time.

April 19^th Addis

The air pollution here is BAD. Traffic is awful too. Juice is delicious and fresh. Coffee plentiful. People extraordinarily nice.

Hope to be back here again.

Becky

Post Trip

I had a day in Addis to go shopping with Samrawit while Desta attended to his appointments. We met for lunch at the Ghion Hotel and the gardens there could double as botanical gardens they were that impressive and what a nice haven to escape to in the city. Next we wanted to watch a movie but none where showing in English. Our conciliation prize was to eat ice cream at the best ice cream place in town. I agree with their claim.

Rather than jockeying for a seat on a bus during the height of rush hour we walked the 45 -60 minute trek to the hotel in a cloud of exhaust (cough, cough, hack, hack). At the hotel I watched in horror the Virginia Tech massacre as it was unfolding. Where is it safe these day?. Before I left for the airport I met up with an Ethiopian friend from Lalibela to say good-bye.

I must say my arrival back to Jeddah made up for the last one in January. This time I was greeted by the driver and was whisked away to the van for a speedy trip up to Al Hada twisty turns and all. It was a perfect 10 as was the trip to Ethiopia.

Links

http://www.awassachildrensproject.org/volunteer_vpp.asp

http://www.ilec.or.jp/database/afr/dsafr005.html - facts and figures on Awassa Lake

http://www.farhorizon.com/Africa/ethiopia.htm - great overview of the sites and looks like a good agency to travel with.

Ethiopia Part 5 - Lalibela

2007-04-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone,

Here is part 5 and one more to go. I got back April 20^th from my last vacation in Ethiopia. It was very nice to be back. This time I headed south and visited three towns. One was Shaashamannee – home to the Rastafarians. More on that later.

The count down has started! Time to seriously think about packing and organizing my summer travels. No plans for another job just yet.

Becky

Ethiopia Part 5 – Lalibela

The flight from Gondar to Lalibela was on time, the driver was there as well as Caroline the other tourist going on the walk, albeit a bit sick. So far everything was going to plan. It got even better as the reported three hour ride turned out to be less than two hours. The scenery was soothing, peaceful, mountainous, remote and pastoral. The road was dirt, dusty, and bumpy. We passed many pilgrims walking the road as they made their way to Lalibela for the Orthodox Christmas celebration in several days. We too would be making it back in time for Christmas.

Our directions were to meet at the SCUK office in Filakit and to join an American couple also going on the trek arranged through TESFA. TESFA offers wonderful mini treks in this area. http://www.community-tourism-ethiopia.com. The couple was not there yet and since they were taking a bus from another location we knew their arrival could be iffy. We asked the driver for a place to have lunch and it was a small place serving traditional food – meat and injera. Not what I was really looking for but not may options when it comes to food. The juice from the meat was very good with the injera and I picked at the meat not wanting to tempt fate with what Caroline had. She was not in the mood for solid food yet but needed something. Back at the office they made her rice. No sign of the couple yet. The driver left after we had a dispute over the fare. He wanted more than the agreed upon price leading to a he-said-she-said debate. We made arrangements through another man for the vehicle and driver. I hate these altercations. We met half way on the price.

Caroline and I passed the time talking about our time in Ethiopia and our backgrounds as the sun was shifting to the setting position. Now my mind started to wonder, “would the others get here in time to make the walk while there was still day light?” and “what happens if they never show?” and “do we start the walk ourselves?” After three hours of waiting they came covered in dust from their bus ride. They were late because there were two buses going to Lalibela passing through Filakit but there were not enough people to fill the two buses and to decide which bus would go ended up in a stale mate. People had to be called and consulted on which bus would go. Meanwhile the couple was anxious to get moving on any old bus.

It didn’t take long to get the donkeys packed to be on our way. We had our tall guide, the owners of the donkeys with one of the owners wearing one plastic shoe while carrying the other the entire time, and the four of us. It was great to be walking through villages, fields, and woods. With the late start we did have to walk in the dark and asked the guide several times how much further. The 20 minutes turned into an hour but with a nearly full moon and walking on relatively flat land it was not bad despite the protests from our feet and our stomachs. Arriving in the dark added an element of surprise and intrigue to the remote setting of three huts at Mequat Mariam sitting on the edge of the plateau looking over a vast canyon. Hot food was waiting for us in the food hut. We sat by lantern light eating wonderful rice, veggies, and bread followed by a coffee ceremony and cake. This type of meal after being physically exhausted is the best, bar none.

The accommodations were also in the primitive huts with very comfortable beds. We slept like the dead. The treat the next morning was watching the sunrise over the canyon. From the camp you don’t see anything else except nature. Huge birds circled over head. The moon was setting as the sun was rising. The colors of the canyon changed from browns to reds to purples to rust. Instead of eating inside they brought they table out so we could enjoy the canyon side view. The donkeys came over to join as did the locals working for TESFA as the accountant, guard, etc. A few men came by with their knitting and I had to join them. We shared our techniques baffled over each other’s. They use a long piece of rough wire with not a very pointy end making it more difficult to knit. I was knitting socks using 4 needles and they looked on utterly bewildered.

Caroline was weak and down for the count and requested a horse. We were off again under sunny skies walking past villages, herds, fields, water wells, and lots of children saluting us and eager to shake hands. It was a nice change from being asked for pens, money etc. In the afternoon several small boys were sitting by a small fire roasting something and they motioned for us to stop and have some. It was roasted barley – hot and chewy and nutty. It was a nice treat. I love these kinds of days; no rushing just walking enjoying the moment. This day reminded me of the tranquil hike in Yemen where we also leisurely walked from place to place among fields.

Our next overnight was in Wajela and also in huts but closer to other villages. This was also very scenic. Pizza bread was waiting for us. After a rest I went over to the food hut and watched the two ladies prepare food for the evening meal. The roasting of the coffee started and I asked if I could do the pounding of the roasted beans. It takes about 10-15 minutes to pound away using an oversize wooden mortar and pestle. The motion is more up and down than a squishing and takes endurance. I enjoyed this moment being with them and watching.

The evening meal was another special time by candle light and fire. After the meal Josh did his magic with his camera and took some incredible shots of the hosts at the camp. You can see his work at www.joshuscogan.com.

The next day was a few hours walk back to the main road to meet our transport to take us to Lalibela. I was sad to being ending the trek so soon. Next time I will go on a longer one offered by TESFA. As compensation for not wanting to end the adventure so soon there was a funeral going on in the field close to where we were waiting. Besides lots of people dressed in white, there were a slew of horses all done up in tassels and fancy décor. The small size horses were apart from the people and I just had to go over and admire them. Within seconds I was surrounded by men motioning for me to go for a ride. Being a funeral and all I declined. This didn’t deter the men one bit. Now they wanted to have their photos taken by their horses.

The van magically appeared and off we bumped down to Lalibela. It was Christmas Eve day and Lalibela was swarming with people. The roads seemed impassable with wall to wall people but the van slowly made its way to the hotel we were staying at. Another heated debate took place as the hotel people said the placed was fully booked and then asked us how much we would pay. They were demanding 500 bir because it was high season due to Christmas. How could this be I thought since I met with the manager in Addis and he was very helpful and knew I was coming? We even talked while I was in Gondar. I asked for the manager and he was out. I asked for the reservation book and the workers said they don’t keep one. I felt I was in no position to argue since the manager and I did not agree on a price. I was going off the guide book around 120 bir a night. I ended up going next door where Caroline was staying and they had a room for 200 bir and that I could swing as oppose to paying 500 bir. My foul mood went down the drain along with all the dirt and dust from a very much needed hot the shower.

People come to Lalibela to see an impressive collection of rock churches. A brochure highlights the place stating:

Lalibela has the highest concentration of Churches of such architectural elegance and overall engineering sophistication in one spot. Their lighting systems, channels, water works, network of interconnected subterranean passageways and the sheer magnitude of the whole project are mind boggling – just the excavated material is estimated to be enough to make 10 of the Great Pyramid of Egypt.

The Churches are attributed to King Lalibela (ca 1200 AD) who was later canonized by the Ethiopian Church and is referred to by Europeans as the legendary Prester John. According to legend:

Lalibela grew up in Roha (what is today known as Lalibela), where his brother was king. It is said that bees prophesied his future greatness, and Ethiopian folklore still has it that bees in a dream foretell greatness, social advance and coming riches. The king, made jealous by these prophecies about his brother, tried to poison him, but the poison merely cast Lalibela into a death-like sleep for three days. During these three days an angel carried his soul to heaven to show him the churches which he was to build. Returned once more to earth he withdrew into the wilderness, then took a wife upon God’s command with the name of Maskal Kebra (Exalted Cross) and flew with an angel to Jerusalem. Christ himself ordered the king to abdicate in favor of Lalibela. Annoted king under the throne name Gabre-Maskal (Servant of the Cross) Lalibela, living himself an even more severe monastic life than before, carried out the construction of the churches. Angels worked side by side with the stone masons and within 24 years the entire work was complete (11 churches total).

There are two mains groups of churches in Lalibela, one on each side of the river Jordan, and one other church set apart from the rest. While eating lunch at the hotel I made arrangements with the hotel staff to have someone guide me through one cluster of churches. I distinctly remember asking him, “is it better to go tomorrow considering there are many pilgrims now?” He said, “No, much better to go today since tomorrow is Christmas and there will be many more people.” I ended up going both days and Christmas Eve day was by far the worse day for crowds. Pilgrims were sitting everywhere making it difficult to go inside the churches and to walk around outside the churches. If you don’t like crowds then don’t go on Christmas Eve day. What do I remember most of seeing the churches? Walking in socking feet, no shoes allowed inside, on the hard, chiseled rock – oh, my poor tender feet were not use to this. With all the churches to go in and out of it would have been better to have sandals rather than tying and untying shoes over and over from church to church. I also remember how impressive these rock churches are with the sheer size of them being cut from rock some two stories high. See the links below for more information on these special churches.

In need of refreshment after the tour, my guide and I walked up the steep hill, Lalibela is located on a massive hill, to a Tej house for honey wine called tej. The place was packed. No surprise considering all the people about. I decided to relax the rest of the day and contemplate if to get up at midnight to walk back up to the churches for the vigil. Locals assured me many people would still be walking to the churches and I could join the crowd. I did get up at 12:30am, got dressed, and walked over to the street to see the street pretty much deserted except for three men walking. It is about a ten minute walk through dark isolated areas and I thought better not to go. I went back to bed but I did feel like I was right there at the vigil with the loud speakers doing a mighty fine job spreading the word directly into my room.

In lieu of the midnight walk, I did a predawn walk and the place was abuzz with pilgrims. Stalls were ready for business trying to get last minute sales as people headed back to their homes and villages. Standing in one place longer than, say, a minute attracts the male gender. I had three students eager to show me the animal market and other places along the steep hill up to top. At the top was a truck selling oranges – a welcomed sight. Instead of taking the long way down the hill to my hotel via the road, the boys showed me a short cut through a village where people were underway preparing for the Christmas meal – I saw a few goats being butchered at people’s houses.

My Christmas meal was an omelet minus the goat meat. With the whole day ahead of me and a full stomach I decided to go explore the churches on my own since my ticket was still valid. What a difference a day makes. There was hardly anyone there compared to the day before. How could my guide not notice this from past years? I assume he wanted to secure the job that day in case I changed my mind. I did a few churches having more time to linger and admire the art work but it was not long before two local guys came over to say hi while I was tying my shoelaces. Alex and Steve, about 17 yrs of age, are students and they like to practice their English. They also seemed a bit bored and were more than eager to show me some other churches. It turned out to be a very nice tour and we ended with Alex inviting me to his mother’s house for coffee later in the afternoon. I accepted and had a great time meeting his little sister, his mom, and all the other kids coming in and out of their small dwelling – no bigger than a size of a bed room. Alex said since he is no longer young, he sleeps with his friends wherever that may be and his mom and his sister sleep in the one bed in the tiny room. I had my camera and I asked Alex if he would like to take a picture of his family. He did but managed to cut his mom’s head off. While the coffee was being made I asked the kids sitting by me if they would like to sing a song for me. They sang and danced and shook their little bodies – too precious.

Along the walk back down the hill to my hotel Alex took me the back way and we ended up at St George’s church – the most famous or most photographed one because it is in the shape of a cross and you almost have to be standing on top of it to see it is in the ground. Mind you, it is still Christmas day and people have gathered at the bottom of the church singing, drumming, and dancing in circles. A crowd has also gathered at the top sitting down to watch the merriment below. The sun was about to set adding an element of joy and peace to all.

Alex not wanting to say good-bye yet asked if wanted to try tej at the Tej house later in the evening. That gave me enough time to visit with Caroline and to pay a visit to the manager of the hotel where I was originally suppose to stay. He explained the mix up and offered his apologies. To smooth things over a bit he said he would be going to the airport too the next day and could give me a lift. I accepted after reconfirming that it would not be a problem for him and that I had to be there by 9am. Can you sense something goes amiss with the ride?

Alex met me again and we walked back up the hill to the Tej house. It was packed again but decided to stay and sit out in the grass area littered with stumps and small make shift benches. We ended up on one by the smelly outhouse but at least it was in the cool air. Inside I am sure it was stifling. After drinking the Fanta colored tej, people watching and small talk, it was time to go. He walked me back down once again and asked very politely for a kiss since he had fallen in love with me.

The next morning turned out to be my worst morning of the trip. The short of it was the hotel manager left me high and dry. His vehicle had bad brakes and could not take me (it was the same vehicle that took Caroline and me to Filakit as it turned out) and then he said not to worry. I was already beyond worrying because it was getting late and the airport is far away and not many taxis were passing by. I was getting annoyed. The next time the manager came out of his office he said now I would be late and it would be hard to get a vehicle seeing most of them already took off to the airport – not what I wanted to hear. He disappeared again and now his brother at least stepped up to the plate and said I could catch a ride with another car going to the top of the hill. At the top of the hill the brother asked a random guy to make sure I find a ride to the airport and then left me. The random guy found me a 300 bir ride that would normally be 60 bir. I was fuming and time was running out! I hated to leave Lalibela like this but after thinking about the trek, the rock churches, and the kindness of Alex I couldn’t stay mad for long. The kicker is the flight to Axum I was trying so desperately to be on time for was delayed by over an hour.

The last installment, al humdolilah, is on Axum, the capital of a past great civilization. Axum also happens to be my favorite place I visited. Stay tuned to find out why there is a little of Denver, CO in Axum.

Ethiopia Part 3 -Bahar Dar

2007-04-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

Part 3 – Bahar Dar, Ethiopia

For the next 12 days I explore the northern area starting in Bahar Dar, sister city to Cleveland, Ohio, with a population about 167,261. I have three days to relax by Lake Tana, visit the Blue Nile Falls, to have laundry done and to celebrate the New Year. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the outdoor gardens and courtyard at the Ghion Hotel. The hotel sits on the southern shores of the majestic, mysterious, and massive Lake Tana. A brochure for Lake Tana describes it as such:

Set at more than 1,800 meters (5940 ft) above sea level, watershed for the Simien Mountains, Tana is the reservoir from which the Blue Nile draws its strength. The lake is 75 kilometers (47 miles) long and 60 kilometers (37 miles) wide, its 3600 square kilometer (1389 square miles) surface dotted with 30 islands – many which are the sites of monasteries and churches.

Arriving at 9:00am I am ready to relax by the lake to have a nice breakfast. The courtyard is dense with trees, flowers, plants, and birds. Not too far off shore is a flock of pelicans basking in the morning sun. The lake and I are calm and at peace. While I eat I watch a group of people wait for a boat to arrive to take them on a boat tour. I signed up for the afternoon tour allowing myself the remainder of the morning to explore the Saturday market. I also notice another tourist reading a guide book while he eats. Thinking he might also be newly arrived I ask if he is going on the afternoon boat ride too. He, Desta, said yes and we end up walking around Bahar Dar until the boat trip.

Turns out Desta is Ethiopian and is from the Gondar area. He has been living in the states for the past 18 years and is on a three month sabbatical from the rat race. We walk and talk for the next 3 hours stopping at the local market, the Tana Hotel, a government hotel also lake side, and the small harbor. The harbor has bigger boats for ferrying people to the many islands.

Desta, his cousin, and I wait an hour for our small boat to arrive. Secretly I am ready to call it quits as I watch the white caps on the water growing bigger and fiercer. Is this the same calm lake from this morning? The small motor boat with an awning on top finally arrives and the three of us board while the driver fills the tank with gas.

No life vests are in sight and this coupled with the waves makes me more nervous. At least I have a long sleeve shirt on to keep me warm as we head to our first stop about 45 minutes away. The first 30 minutes of the ride is fine and then we start hitting waves. Desta and his cousin get slapped on the back by waves and water pools in the bottom of the boat. We hit one wave after another and the poor boat sputters along. I look to see if there is concern on the driver’s face but no. I assure myself the driver does this day in and day out and surely he would have canceled the trip if he felt it unsafe or maybe not. Seeing other small boats struggling made me feel a little better too. At least we weren’t the only fools on the water.

Finally we make it to the “big” island and have a nice tour of Entonse Jesus Monastery. Again I am impressed with the paintings inside the monastery. Hermit monks and nuns live on this island with the help of donations. A pamphlet describes the history:

According to the tradition of our books, when the Holy Virgin Mary the beloved was exiled to the land of Egypt carrying her son our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ as stated in (Matthews Chapter 2 Verse 13,) that after staying in Egypt she came to the Land of Ethiopia and stayed for three months and ten days on the Island of Tana and in other monasteries.

Back at the small dock three one man papyrus canoes arrive with goods. These boats are a common sight used by the locals for transporting and fishing. We board and motor over to a smaller island with another nicely painted church. Here a priest awaits us and displays crosses and bibles belonging to the church. It makes for a very nice photo opportunity as the sun acts as a spot light beaming down on him through a window as he posses with the religious artifacts. Walking back through the fields I thought this small island to be an unspoiled place where kids are free to run around in the fresh air, where there are no roads or cars, and the inhabitants live in harmony with the land and water. The children do attend a school and cross a small straight by a papyrus ferry canoe to reach the school on the main land.

The boat ride back to the hotel is enjoyable as the waves are pushing us from behind. The sky begins to prepare for a spectacular sunset as it turns from blue to orange. Desta and I exchange mobile numbers to keep in touch. Later that night as I share a table with a Brit, he asks if I went to the “big” island. I say I think so because we did go to a big and a small island. As it turns out the “big” island is a 5 hour boat ride away and it is a common sight to see hippos in the water. Looks like I need to go back to the real “big” island on a real boat.

Early the next morning a tour is scheduled to leave at 7am to visit the Blue Nile Falls, locally known as Tissiat Falls. Keeping to Ghion hotel time, the tour leaves after 8:00am. Traveling solo I am shone to the front seat of the transport van. Ten of us and the driver set out to Tissisat village along bumpy and dusty roads. When a large truck comes barreling through kicking up dust, visibility is reduced to zero. One has to be very careful when driving at these times because huge hay carts will appear out of nowhere. The landscape in this area is barren with a few random huge trees scattered around with scraggy mountains in the background. After a 45 minute ride we arrive at Tissisat village, the last village before the falls.

The brochure on Bahar Dar does a good job describing the Falls.

The Falls are approached on foot from Tissisat village. After crossing over a castellated 17th century Portuguese bridge that spans a deep basaltic rift, a grassy rise is climbed and then the Falls suddenly appear – breaking the smooth unfaltering flow of the Nile into a boiling cataract and sending it foaming down the gorge below. The true name of the falls is called Tissisat Falls meaning smoke of fire. A constant spray mist cloaks the surrounding cliffs, creating iridescent rainbows. High about raptors circle on the thermals. In the gorge below metallic blue kingfishers, carmine bee eaters, song birds, and swifts dart through the fine droplets of spray before returning to their cliff-ledge perch.

The 1 birr note, their currency, depicts the falls as they were before a new $63 million, 450 megawatt power generating station called Tis Abay II dam came into action about 4 years ago diverting water on weekdays, but not yet on Sundays and holidays when there is less demand for the power. I was fortunate enough to go on a Sunday when the Falls were impressive but the local guide reminisced about the way they were before. It most of been amazing before.

Here is an excellent article on the Falls before and after. Richard Bangs was doing an IMAX project on the Mystery of the Nile and this took him back to the falls after a 30 years absent and he noticed something was seriously wrong. There are good photos too. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3727491/

In true Ethiopian fashion at the falls we had to decide what to do next as people were told different things about the tour and paid different prices. Option 1 was to walk back to the van and option 2 was to walk and make a big loop to get back to the van. Getting a consensus took time but in the end most of us opted to walk the loop while a few stayed behind to take photos. It was a gorgeous walk heading down to the an area closer to the falls where it constantly rains from the mist, crossing a river, climbing back up the other side and standing right by the falls daring to look over or not – I dared not.

The tour lasted the morning and having the rest of the day free and the rest of the 2006 to do as I pleased. I read, had half of my laundry done, sat by the lake, knitted, and took a walk in town with little ones in tow. I said good-bye to 2006 as I stood lake side looking at a full moon saying thanks for a great year.

My new year starts on a good note as I exchange the rest of my sweaty and dirty laundry for the clean batch. While at the desk filling out the necessary paper work for the laundry, Liyew, the desk clerk, reminds me he invited me on a walk to tour his university campus. With nothing pressing to do I accept the invitation and off we walk under a hot morning sun. He stops to buy me small pictures of St George on horse back slaying a dragon and the Virgin Mary. Liyew says I must have these to remember him by. We make a detour to the post office and he helps me adhere stamps to the post cards – a new experience for him as I show him where and how to adhere the stamps.

We walk in a new area of town and several times he asks me if I would like to walk or take a taxi. He never indicates how far away the school is and me thinking it is the one I passed on my first day we walk. After some time as it is getting hotter and hotter, I ask how far away is the school? He replies it is quite far and we should take a taxi. Now we play the waiting game to hail anything motorized; looks like we are standing in the wrong area, everything is full by the time it passes us. Eventually we share a small motor scooter thing with 3 people in the back and 2 up front by the driver. We take the Chinese road, a very new and freshly paved road built by, you guessed it, the Chinese, leading to the university. It stops 500 feet short of the entrance which is also at the edge of a stream. The bridge is out making people walk a long detour behind shacks selling juice, coffee, snacks, school supplies, and clothes.

The current Bahar Dar University, inaugurated in 2001, is a merger of the technical school and teachers school both in existence since the early 60’s. The old part of the university is set among trees while several newer parts are being built along side the Chinese road. It will be an impressive campus when it is done. We walk through the old part and he points out his class room, the dorms, the cafeteria, all looking a bit shabby, and continue along a path to the river. The hot sun has made my clean clothes sweaty already. As we walk back through the campus we see students playing fuss ball and table tennis at the student rec area. It is hard for me to walk by people playing table tennis without asking if I could join in. I play a game as Liyew watches on. He says his past times include running and soccer.

He suggests we go back into town for juice before he has to return to start his studying. We are dropped off on a corner and walk a few blocks to the juice stand. Passing by a photo store he asks me if it would be ok to get our picture taken together so he can member this special day. I am feeling like a drowned rat in my less than fashionable black and dusty pants, my tan, long sleeve, sweaty shirt, and a tan sunhat flopping over my eyes and ears. He insists and I agree. We go in and stand by a painted scene to have our picture taken. Liyew is very happy we did this.

At the juice shack I ask him to make sure no water is added to the juice. This narrows my juice choices down to one – papaya. I slurp on that while he spoons out his avocado juice. I hear from many people how good avocado juice is but not brave enough yet to try it. The other two patrons have also ordered avocado juice. I make a mental note to try it before I leave the country. I can tell Liyew is enjoying our outing because he is making sure I have whatever I need. He orders another juice for me despite the protest saying I am full. Our last stop is by the bus park to pick out music. I like these little music shacks because the clerks also act as good DJs. Liyew and the clerk pick out several tapes for me to listen to and I make my final decision. Liyew is happy for me to take home a piece of Ethiopian culture. The music is lively and fun. We part ways saying he will call me later that evening at the hotel. I wondered if he would now spring it on me I should pay him some money for his time and services but he didn’t. I think he wanted to be on a “date” with a girl and have a nice time and we did. Thank you Liyew for making my first day of 2007 a special one.

After a rest I head back on to the streets to take photos doing my best to discourage tag-alongs. Unhindered I snap my pictures and walk back to the hotel. I hear my name being called from across the street and I see Desta waving me over. I join him and his friends in their vehicle and we drive to an outdoor park for drinks. The park has nice gardens, trees, a play area for children, tables, sculptures, and a restaurant to order food and drinks. We have the local wine and talk the afternoon away. Desta and I plan to meet in the north as we are both traveling in that direction. That evening I pack, say good-bye to Liyew, and linger by the lake side realizing Bahar Dar is a special place. Early the next morning I have a flight to Gondar. What will be in store for me there?

All I Need When I Travel Is...

2007-04-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

All I Need When I Travel Is…

· Passport / money / ticket / toothbrush
· Spoon
· My black wool shawl
· A reading book
· Notebook
· Pen
· Flashlight
· Lungi
· Good conversation
· Walks
· Cafes
· Mountains
· A rainy day to relax
· A funny guide
· Cheap bus transportation
· New places
· Not to get sick
· A stolen kiss
· A moment in time to be
· A peaceful sunrise
· A romantic sunset
· A friendly face
· Local song/dance
· No mosquitoes
· New people
· The unusual
· The post office
· Patience with annoying kids
· A hot shower at least every three days
· Decent chocolate
· Moments of awe
· Moments of inspiration
· A church for solitude
· New food
· Post cards
· A local contact
· A roof top terrace
· A nail clipper
· A light load
· Comfortable shoes
· A reminder to reconfirm flights
· No bed bugs
· No biting dogs
· An alarm clock
· Some local language
· Memories to cherish

Ethiopia Part 4 - Gondar

2007-03-31T09:27:00.000-07:00

Part 4 – Gondar

The flight from Bahar Dar to Gondar was a short one with no delays. I shared a taxi into town with two local women. This gave me a chance to venture off the beaten tourist track to see where people live. Small shops and colorful one story buildings line the narrow dusty roads. Dogs, goats, and kids run randomly around oblivious to anything around them.

I stayed at the Quara Hotel for 150 Bir ($18) per night for two nights. The room was simple, decent and with a TV. This place also had a nice shaded courtyard in back away from the street; a very pleasant area to rest or have a meal. Right away on arrival ordinary looking guys inquired if I needed a guide. I guess if any male speaking English, French, or Germany and knows some history can be a guide. With limited work opportunities you can’t blame them for trying but someone else told me the certified tour guides are suffering because business is being taken away from them by these unofficial guides. I never asked for credentials. It is easier to make arrangements with the people at the hotel rather than seek out tourist offices or agencies. It is by luck or word of mouth if you get a good “guide”. I ended up with Samuel wearing a black t-shirt with an eagle and an American flag on it.

People come to Gondar to see palaces, castles, churches, angels and maybe as a stop-over to or from the Simien Mountains National Park 101 km away. The guide book calls Gondar “Africa’s Camelot”. The author of an article in Travel Weekly found Gondar “to be of only limited interest because the structures look positively European (they were built with the assistance of the Portuguese).” The Ethiopian Tourism Commission’s brochure reads, “Though its great days are past, its palaces and castles deserted, Gondar is one of Ethiopia’s most fascinating cities and one of the world’s most mysterious.” I don’t know about the mysterious part but I did enjoy my short time there.

Samuel in his black, pro American t-shirt and I walked up the hill from the hotel to the palace compound. In the 17th century Gondar became the royal capital of Ethiopia under Emperor Fasiladas. I enjoyed the walk around the grounds and inside the empty halls, audience chambers, and battlements. Tucked in a far corner of the compound is a working studio for local artists. I admired the weaver’s work on a loom entangled with many cotton threads but producing lovely scarves nicely trimmed in ethnic designs. In another corner was a painter working on a huge canvas taller than he. He painted in the style I have seen in the churches. I asked Samuel if these painters go to a school to learn the style. He didn’t know but thought maybe it is pasted down from father to son. That poses a good question, are women allowed to paint religious pictures? These religious paintings are a special part of Ethiopia’s culture and history. The folk-style, colors, and stories of the past to present evoke a sense of wonder and pride. Watching this man paint is a special memory for me.

The entrance fee for the palace compound also includes the Bath of Fasilidas, the emperor’s bathing pool and pavilion. This pool is one of the staple postcards but it shows it during a Timket celebration with huge crowds of people dressed in white lining the pool filled with water to be part of a mass baptismal ceremony. Today it is under renovation and a smaller cement pool has been built for Timket. One can still walk around the pool but cannot go into the pavilion. I found the jumble of entwined roots along one side of the exposed walls looking like something from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow intriguing and artistic and deserving of a photo.

After lunch and a rest it was time for part two of the tour. This was a highlight for me because ever since I bought my Ethiopian airline ticket I was curious about the cherubim faces on the ticket. It shows three brown faces with big eyes gazing off in different directions with a huge collar of wings around each face. Right away I wanted to see this painting but didn’t know where it existed in the country. My research answered the question. It is at the Debre Berhan Selassie (or Light of the Trinity) Church in Gondar – what luck, I was heading there.

The Debre Berhan Selassie church stands on raised ground to the north west of the city. It was constructed during the reign of Iyasu I (1682 – 1706). Samuel and I walked up another hill under a hot sun to be rewarded by shady gardens surrounding the church. The church is walled in and the entrance gate is a three story stone structure in a shape of a lion. Once Samuel pointed out what is the head and feet it is very obvious. I could have spent the afternoon here rather than the short time I had with Samuel because it was a charming spot. It reminded me of a summer cottage with a wrap around porch. Inside was the moment I had been waiting for; 80 cherubic faces looking down at me from the ceiling. The angle faces look amazingly well preserved as well as the other paintings and murals inside. The church has a wooden bench running along the wall for people to sit and look up at the ceiling and wall murals. Samuel relayed the story the pictures told and this when I wished I paid more attention in my religious studies class to be able to compare and contrast the beliefs of the orthodox Christians and Catholics. I still appreciated the beauty and passion of what I observed.

I had the rest of afternoon free and as luck would have it Desta was in town before going to see his family in a far away village. I met him and a cousin of his for refreshments (beer) before going to the Goha Hotel high up on a hill overlooking Gondar to watch the sunset and full moon rise. The hotel has a nice back patio and observations decks to view the tranquil valley below. It was a peaceful moment to be shared. Another one of Desta’s cousins was working at the hotel as a waitress so we sat down for coffee to chat with her.

After the beer and coffee it was time for solid food. Dinner was at a local place in town serving traditional food. We shared a big platter of the injera, doro wat (chicken in red pepper sauce) and yemiserwot (lentils in red pepper sauce), and other side dishes. The place reminded me of going to a rec hall where people come to gather, sit, talk and watch TV. The audience was 99% men and the TV was broadcasting endless seductive music videos. The men sat their eating their meal pacified by the TV. I silently hoped news or something more educational would come on but it was not to be.

The last stop of the night was to an Asmari bar Samuel mentioned. Not sure what is meant by an Asmari bar or Asmari for that matter, I looked it up.

Asmari is the Ethiopian musician caste. Besides singing Asmaris are known for their special instrument called a krar. The krar resembles a small harp and is placed on the knee and plucked as the singer chants a friend’s praises or on-the-spot poetic improvisations.

Desta’s cousin had to go back to the local university to study. Desta and I climbed the many steps leading up yet another hill behind the hotel and spotted the bar. The place was on the small side with low chairs and tables around the tiny dance floor. The tradition behind an Asmari bar is a place for people to gather to sing stories of people in the audience. The singer will continue the real or imaginary saga until a tip is given, to be placed on the forehead of the singer, and the singer moves on to the next victim, all in jest of course. Along with the singer is an Asmari plucking a lively tune on the krar, perfect for shoulder dancing. I think this art form has to be mastered while young in order to swing and jerk the shoulders about while not injuring one’s self. Desta was a pro. The tiny little place filled up quickly as a few locals came then a group of tourists with their guide. Now this was entertainment watching these foreigners trying to shoulder dance with no grace or rhythm.

Waking up the next morning I realize I have the whole day to myself – what to do? Where to go? Samuel found me in the morning and wanted to know if I decided anything about going for a four hour tour to go for a hike with the Simien mountains in the distance and looking for wildlife. With little prospect for anything else besides going to the post office we agreed on a price and he set off to find a vehicle to take us. A run down minivan appeared shortly after with a driver. We got water and fruit for the journey and Samuel had photos to give to the kids in the area of the hike. Five months earlier Samuel brought another tourist to this spot and the tourist took photos of the kids and sent copies to be distributed. I ended up doing the same – thanks go to Samuel acting as postman.

Not far from the hotel the paved road transitioned to a dusty dirt track. Now I understand why he got a mini van rather than a taxi to take us. The road is too rough for a small car. On the outskirts of Gondar is a village called Wolleka home to the local community of Falashas, the Ethiopian Jews most of which have “migrated” to Israel. Not knowing anything about this part of history I looked it up and this is what I came across.

On May 25, 1991, nearly 15,000 Ethiopian Jews were airlifted to Israel. This constituted almost the entire Falasha population. The massive airlift took place in less than 36 hours. The distance from Ethiopia is more than 1,500 miles. It took 40 flights to complete the mission…

You can read more about the Falasha at debate.uvm.edu/dreadlibrary/ebardfield.html

There was a small sign greeting vehicles passing through the tiny village and small stands displaying unique pottery enticing the vehicles to stop. We stopped on the way back to look at the primitive pottery. There were images of lions with a Star of David on their heads, little figures of Moses holding the 10 Commandments and figures preparing traditional foods. Keeping to my rule of traveling light, I decided on two small pieces, the size of large coins, one of a lion’s face and the other a Star of David. The lady was asking 20 Bir and I thought she was out of her mind asking for such a price for two pinched pieces of clay. Even Samuel was taken back by the price. We finally agreed on a reasonable sum.

The road to the hiking spot kept going up and up and up. Wonderful views of the distant Simien mountains acting as a nice backdrop to the rural villages and terraced fields. Several times I spotted sets of oxen going around and around in circles trampling on the fluffy piles of teff separating the grain from the shaft or at least this is what I got out of the translation.

High up on a ridge we stopped to start the walk. It didn’t take long for the kids from the photos to appear and did their eyes light up when they saw the pictures. Some of the smaller ones had to be told where they were in the photo not knowing what they looked like. It was then I realized why people of all ages are fascinated with looking at themselves on digital cameras – they get to see what they look like. They laugh and laugh pointing out their big ears, or short hair, or a missing tooth.

The hike was lovely and breathing fresh air again was a welcome change from the truck exhaust in town. Along the walk we spotted a great hornbilled bird sitting high on a tree. Next was to try to spot the reclusive colobus guereza monkey. Samuel took me to the rim of the canyon and said to stare at the trees far below waiting for movement in the branches. I was staring and concentrating hard enough to give me a headache. With no luck he asked some kids standing around where they have spotted some last. They were more than eager to go scouting the area running away with their axes and picks as they scampered up and down the steep terraces looking for the black and white monkey. We were lucky and got to watch one resting in a tree. As we said good-bye to this area I thought I would have to come back to trek in the Simien Mtn National Park. People who have been said it is an amazing place and very cold. Someday I think to myself.

I thanked Samuel and said I would send pictures to him when I got back. He flashed his brilliant white smile and gave me his address. I am happy to say the photos made it to him.

With the rest of the day to myself and a craving for French fries I went to the hotel patio to have my snack. It is not often I get the urge to eat French fries and here is the one time I get this urge and the power is out so they can’t make them now. No telling when the power will be back on either so I decide to go for a walk in the truck exhaust to see more of Gondar. I guess I wasn’t in the exploring mode as I did not walk very far and felt more like sitting in from of a TV. The power was back on at the hotel so I sat and watched TV while I knitted to pass time before my dinner of French fries. I guess I was really hungry because I ordered rice and veggies and French fries not knowing the rice and veggies comes with not only cooked potatoes but also with a side of French fries and a big basket of bread; lots of carbs that night. I took it easy that night knowing I had an early morning taxi ride to the airport to catch my flight to Lalibela. I was hoping this flight of all flight would not be late or canceled because I had arrangements to meet a driver to take me and another tourist to Filaket to start a 3 day 2 night eco hike. “Please let this flight be on time and that the driver be there” was how I ended my prayers and my time in Gondar.

For additional reading:
www.travelweekly.com Dec 4 2006 stating a case why Ethiopia can now be a tourist destination

http://www.allegro-music.com/work_search.asp?title=ethiopiques Asmari music

http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jonclark2000/africa-05-06/1136031060/tpod.html good photos

Ethiopia Part 2

2007-02-14T21:49:00.000-08:00

Ethiopia Trip Letter Part 2

I like the Dire Dar and Harrar area. It has a rural feel to it, lots of farm land, less crowds and pollution, and the sky seems bluer. Tourists travel to this spot to see the walled city of Harrar, supposedly the 4th holiest Muslim city after Makkah, Madinah and Jerusalem, to walk around and get lost along the many alleys and streets (all 362 of them). The Lonely Planet says, “Harrar is a must see. At the crossroads of Christian and Islamic cultures, it’s an awesome repository of culture and heritage”. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough or my guide didn’t work hard enough to uncover this convergence. Guide books comment on the colorful market outside one of the 5 gates leading into the city which I think I walked by with my guide but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary or maybe I have been jaded by the colorful ones in India, Malaysia, and Morocco.

Another reason to come to Harrar is to feed hyenas. No sooner than I purchased my airline ticket for this trip I read an article saying if you don’t like wild dogs running around then you certainly won’t like Harrar with the wild hyenas running free. I don’t like wild dogs and would I really see the hyenas roaming around like wild dogs? I hope not. If so, I would be spending a lot of time in the hotel.

I came to Harrar for these reasons too. My home base was at the Tewodros Hotel. Friendly staff greeted me right away and within the first ten minutes I had a guide lined up to take me around after lunch and joined a small group planning to attend the Kulubi celebration. Icing on the cake was my room. I was very happy to have a room with big windows to let the light in because at the Baro Hotel in Addis I had a dark and dingy room. Even with the light on it was still dark and dingy. I think the whole country uses only 40 watt bulbs.

With my planning out of the way, I was ready to start my walled city tour with Dedemous. Dedemous is a student, around 18 years of age, and has a love for country music. The tour was more like a chaperoned walk with him fending off any annoying behaviors like an old man yelling something at me, kids running up selling things, and idle young guys who want to talk with an occasional stop to mention a fact or a figure. We walked around half of the walled city before entering a gate in the rear to make our way back to the front. We pass through the butcher area and I notice the many big birds (vultures and falcons) sitting above waiting for an easy snack. Next we pass a donkey train carrying in firewood. Deforestation is a big problem in Ethiopia with many people still cooking on wood fires and the country being drought prone. As a side note, recently I read an article in the New York Times magazine titled, “The Price of Climate Change” about how three economists discovered that one of the most reliable predicators of civil war is lack of rain. Is Ethiopia far behind?

Behind the butcher area sits a very distinctive house on a slight rise. This house, some resources call it a palace, belonged to the French poet, Arthur Rimbaud (1854 – 1891). The house was truly lovely, inside and out, with the built in bookcases, fine wood carvings on the doors, walls, and ceilings, and frescos. The upper floor has big windows to catch the breeze and to offer excellent views of the area. This floor also housed an informative art gallery with photos and paintings during his stay. The first floor has a collection of his poetry and drawings. His poetic days ended by the time he was twenty to be replaced with commercial trading of coffee, perfume, gold, and ivory. He came to Ethiopia via Yemen for the coffee trade. It was nice to sit, read, and to escape the afternoon heat.

The next stop was a surprise and a delight for me. I am sure this is not part of a typical tour. Dedemous suggested we go to his mother’s house to listen to country music since it was on the way back. While he rested I wrote:

3:20pm Dec 26 Harrar
If you were here with me you would be sitting in a single room house belonging to my guide Dedemous, his mother, and maybe a brother or sister. The place is small with one single bed, a mattress on the floor, a TV with stereo in the cornercurrently playing Shania Twain, a few night stands piled high with stuff, a corner dedicated to kitchen things, and another corner with trunks and blankets. The mom sits on the floor by the door chewing tchat – the green leaves – and Dedemous lies on the mattress tapping out the music with his foot. I can tell this is his escape. To image a whole life, a whole family packed into a 15 ft by 10 ft space.

Before calling it quits for part one of the tour, we stop at a coffee roasting company and did it smell heavenly! Inside was a new and highly automated roasting machine sitting next to the dinosaur. Progress is even reaching Harrar.

Part two was going to see the hyenas. At dusk we set out to walk to the back area of the walled city where the hyenas gather to be fed. A man comes with baskets of meat and a stick. He sits on the ground in the light from a pickup truck’s headlights. Having a running motor was annoying but I guess the light is needed for taking photos. The man spears the meat with the stick and then calls out a name. A hyena approaches and quickly snatches the meat from the stick. The man does it again but this time he holds the stick in his mouth. Another hyena comes and snatches the morsel. I counted ten hyenas some pacing some lying down. I counted twelve tourists some standing, some sitting, some apprehensive, some feeding the hyenas. The stick in the mouth method looked like it would make a better story after the hospital visit but I decided to play it safe and hold the stick the old fashion way – by hand. It was over before I knew it and no hospital visit – I was happy.

Safe and sound back at the hotel I watch from the safety of the balcony hyenas sprinting across the vacant lot. Where could they be running to? After a more careful inspection of the lot I notice a drainage ditch running behind the hotel and this drainage ditch is also a massive garbage dump, a perfect hangout for the hyenas. People staying on the lot side of the hotel were blessed with wild hyena calls all night long. It appears they make a lot of noise.

The last agenda item for the day is to plan the next day’s trip to Kulubi to witness and partake in St Gabriel’s celebration where huge crowds arrive to pray for their health, for a new baby, for a special favor, for a good harvest or to give thanks for wishes already granted. At the table was Nabir, the guide, two French couples Sofi and Flo and Vibona and Patrick and me. We ironed out the details and the costs, well, there were still a few wrinkles at the end when Nabir forgot to mention his transport and food would be paid by us in addition to his guide fees. The extra charge was minimal but there always seemed like something was not included and more money was needed. We also had to pay for the night at the Tewodros Hotel when we would be away in Kulubi to secure the room upon our return. The trip in a nutshell included driving, walking, staying at someone’s house in Kulubi, and joining the masses to do just that – join them. We adjourned with a departure time of 9am the next morning. With minor delays we left at 9:30am and the next thirty hours was a true travel experience.

Crowded transportation, a walk through terraced fields, nice views, a huge outdoor market selling colorful umbrellas and very long crude candles used as offerings for the church, makeshift tents for food and drink, blaring religious music from vans, boys and men walking around selling trinkets, just about everyone wearing white, part of their religious protocol, and walking around the church was only half of it.

From Harrar we took a local transport van to Kulubi some 68 km away. After reaching the checkpoint at Kulubi we decided to walk through the fields stopping along the way to rest and to give alms to waiting pilgrims. We arrived at the back of the church and had some time there to walk around and take photos. I thought the place was crowded then but that was nothing compared to the next day. People were already camping out by the church sitting on blankets under makeshift shade reading bibles. Piles of the colorful cloth umbrellas and candles were piling up by the front door to the church. People are blessed by a priest after making an offering. From the front of the church there is a long stone staircase of about 200 – 300 steps leading to the bottom of the hill. From here the market starts and continues along the road into the town of Kulubi. Picture a two lane road made smaller by people and livestock walking, buses, jeeps, and cars creeping along honking their horns and the air choked with smoke from the cooking fires and exhaust under a scorching sun.

My eyes kept darting back and forth trying to take in everything as we walked by. All the colorful cloth, blankets, traditional clothes, umbrellas, crosses, slaughtered meat, and religious posters are a feast for the eyes. However, this was not the time to stroll along and window shop. If I asked about a small cross or music to buy Nabir would say, “later, too expensive now”. Reaching town, we stopped at a place to drink something cold and to rest. We watched the continuous flow of traffic including vehicles, people, and livestock. To me this was like a huge outdoor concert something similar to Woodstock or a Dead concert.

We walk up a side alley to the house where we would spend the night. We had a few hours to kill before heading back to watch the night time vigil. We passed the hours away lying down in the sitting room with drinking tea, chewing tchat, drinking goat milk, and talking tchat induced nonsense. An outhouse break revealed a family mongrel dog guarding the path to the outhouse half-sleeping, half growling at any newcomer. At least he wasn’t a hyena.

Another tourist and guide from the Tewodros Hotel joined us for the evening excursion back to the church. We walked holding long candles like the rest of the crowd, we sat, we listened to a priest wearing chains, we drank local beer and Vibona decided to eat something at the beer/food tent and did she paid the price for this later. Shall we say she had a miserable night keeping the guard dog on alert as she ran back and forth to the outhouse.

The next morning after some tasty home cooked food we set off again to the church to view the arc of the covenant. The guides told us the day before this takes place at about 6am so I am not surprised it is 8am and we are still putzing around the place. One tourist is getting antsy and tells his guide he is paying him to see the covenant and not to be sitting around. The guide’s advice, as well as the local police we talked with, is, it is best if we don’t split up; safety in numbers and all. There are about 10 of us tourists to about 50,000 pilgrims.

All I can say is the crowd was thick. Most of us managed to stay together until we reached the top of the stairs. It was here I felt I couldn’t catch my breath with all the people closing in on me. People pushing from all sides and people from the back trying to forge their way forward but with no where to go. People sitting on the ground made it worse because you could not tell they were there until you fell over them. How they managed not to get trampled on in this dense throng of people is a miracle in itself. On the verge of panicking and I tell myself I have to make a move and get out of the crowd irregardless if I lose my group of not. I ended up getting separated for about 1 hour but eventually reconnected with them – they were at a beer tent downing beers instead of braving the maddening crowd. Good thing I didn’t read this blurb until after my return, “Kulibi or more specifically St Gabriel's Church, 68 km from Dire Dawa in the East of Ethiopia, could be a target for bomb attacks by ethnic Somali Ethiopian opponents according to a source in the Ethiopian opposition.”
By mid morning most of the crowd was heading back down the hill into town to start their journey back home. We rested another hour then waited another hour to flag down an empty van to take us back to Harrar. By 3pm I was back at the hotel taking a cold shower ready to explore the walled city one more time. This time I ended up with two small boys leading me around to traditional homes, tourist shops, and walking me back to the wrong gate. After a beer with the other tourists at the hotel it was time to pack and get ready for my early morning departure to Dire Dar. By the way, I did not get any music or crosses at the festival. Lesson learned; don’t ask the guide just buy it.

Yigeremu picks me up right on time to do more site seeing before flying back to Addis. We stop at a very large tchat market and this is one busy place – picture the hustle and bustle of the NY stock exchange but outside with people selling and buying tchat and you got the idea. Yigeremu takes a picture of me with local sellers as a souvenir. We pass a large lake with many types of birds making it an ideal site for bird watchers. Yigeremu takes me to the old market place in Dire Dar and I thought this is a colorful place with the mounds of spices, coffee pots, fruits and veggies, cats, people, and lots of chili. Next was a macchiato on him before going to the airport. Too bad the flight decided to be 5 hours late. Good thing Vibona and Patrick showed up to head back into town to relax at an outdoor café rather than the stifling airport.

Again, despite my flight being late, Danny, my taxi driver friend, was there at the airport to greet me with a big smile as the sun was setting. He took me back to the Baro where it was like a homecoming. I had a fellow traveler trying to hunt me down as well as a hotel manager from Lalibela meeting me to plan my trek from Lalibela while I was visiting with guests I met at the Baro previously. Twelve hours later I was back at the airport ready to start my northern leg.

Stay tuned for:
Part 3
- Desta
- the big island
- a New Year’s date with Liyew
- columus monkey, great horn bill
- 80 painted angel faces
- the two day trek

Part 4
- Lalibela
- a low point
- Denver St
- Morning vigil
- Crosses
- The long of the short journey back

Related links:

http://www.gondarlink.org.uk/travellers_guide/east_to_harar/harar.shtml

http://www.joshuacogan.com/ - he was on the two day trek and is a photographer from the DC area

http://www.saudiaramcoworld.com/issue/200105/arthur.rimbaud.coffee.trader.htm

Ethiopia January 2007

2007-02-05T19:37:00.000-08:00

Hello Everyone,

Here is the first installment of my Ethiopian travels. This letter covers the first 5 days in the country. I didn’t take my digital camera with me so no online pics to look at.

I give myself until April to complete the letters when the next vacation starts. Thanks for all the letters and cards.

Happy Reading,

Becky

Abu Jambo Ethiopia

Ethiopia – Trip Letter January 2007

E is for Even better than expected, Eucalyptus trees, and Enthusiasm of the people
T is for Teff and Tej
H is for Harrari houses, Hyenas, and History
I is for Insurance and Incense
O is for Overpopulated and Orthodox churches
P is for Plateau, Paintings, Pollution, and Patchwork fields
I is for Injera
A is for Addis Ababa, Axum, and Amharic

A typical question a fellow traveler would ask of another is, “what brings you to Ethiopia?” I had to confess Ethiopia was not my original destination for this three week holiday. Plan A was to Iran for more calligraphy but visa issues held me back. Plan B was to Pakistan to trek and volunteer at a school until I discovered I had to get the visa before entering the country and no time to do it so a no go. Plan C was to Kenya on the recommendation from a coworker but I was on the waiting list from Addis Ababa to Nairobi. With four weeks left before vacation I started to panic. I needed to make PLANS. A friend hearing this tale of woes said why not get off in Addis Ababa and explore Ethiopia. Now there’s a thought but what is there to see and do in Ethiopia?

A lot of things as I soon discovered. Ethiopia as a destination appears to be divided into two categories History and People. If you want history go north. If you want to see tribal people head south. I flipped a coin and north I went. To do justice to both areas would require a solid four weeks. I had three and didn’t want to rush things. As luck would have it I would be in country for the St Gabriel’s celebration and for orthodox Christmas. With guidance from the Ethiopian Airlines area manager in Jeddah, I mapped out my domestic flight itinerary to include flights to Dire Dar to feed hyenas outside the walled city of Harar and to partake in the St Gabriel’s celebration in Kulubi, to Bahar Dar to see the Blue Nile falls, Lake Tana and the local market, to Gondar to see the Royal enclosure and the 80 angles painted on the ceiling of the Debre Berehan Selassie church, to Lalibela for a 2 day eco-trek, the rock-hewn churches, and for their local Christmas celebration, and to Axum to see the obelisk field.

The ticket to Addis Ababa is reasonable at around $450 from Jeddah. The 7 internal flights was the big ticket item on this trip but I was willing to pay the price for comfort and convenience. If you are traveling with someone you do get a break on the price. Outside the cost of the tickets I averaged $45 a day on lodging, food, beverages, tours, guides, ground transportation, and souvenirs. Food, coffee/tea and beer is cheap. A bottle of beer is about 50 cents and not back at all; much better than the local wine in my opinion. A kilo of coffee is $4.32. I selected the low end for accommodations and paid between $6 - $24 per night. The bottom line is your money can go far here if you don’t mind simple but clean accommodations, eating the local food, and joining groups for seeing the major sights.

To prepare for the trip I did some reading and research. Notes were compiled into a checklist of things I wanted to see per destination. This was easy to carry, quick to refer to, and made me look like I knew where I was going and what I was doing rather than the Lonely Planet/Brandt guide toting tourists looking like, well, tourists. My Ethiopian friends in Addis hovered over and scrutinized the Addis checklist as if it were the roadmap to peace and then would lift their heads in agreement announcing plans for the day and what items could be checked off.

You might be wondering when and where did I pick up Ethiopian friends. A friend in Jeddah put me in touch with an Ethiopian lady, Mary, and I offered to carry letters to her family in Addis. The letters turned into a small suitcase and by happenstance her brother-in-law, Danny, is a taxi driver in Addis. After a call it was arranged to have Danny pick me up at the airport. Even with my flight being 7 hours late he was there to greet me.

After changing money, Danny drove me to my hotel in the piazza area. I decided on staying at the Baro to meet other travelers since I was solo. I read mixed reactions to the place but it suited me just fine. While I was getting settled in Danny ran into his friend Abraham and the three of us set off to start my sightseeing. After the National Museum where we paid our respects to Lucy, the oldest human bones known to date, we drove to Mary’s mother’s house for my first coffee ceremony and a tasty traditional meal. I met the many family members and neighbors as people came in went through the house. How nice to be able to associate with an Ethiopian family right away. I enjoyed their company very much and invited Mary’s daughter to join Danny, Abraham and me for the next day’s sightseeing tour.

The four of us pretty much spent the weekend together. Saturday’s itinerary was non stop with going to Enrico’s for the best ever Italian style pastries (you know this place is a landmark when it is always busy and doesn’t have a sign outside), Entoto Mt to see Mariam and Raguel churches with wonderful paintings inside, the Shero Meda market for the ubiquitous cotton shawl called the gabbi, macchiatos at the Tomoca coffee bar, the Ethnological museum which is excellent, getting lost in the crowds at the Merkato touted as Africa’s largest outdoor market, trying Tej, honeywine, at a traditional restaurant – it is Fanta orange in color and served in chemistry looking glassware. Yes, all this in one day. Sunday included going to the Trinity church, attending a packed and moving protestant church service, lunch at Danny’s house with his mother and more family members, walking around Addis Ababa university, admiring the Christmas decorations at the Sheraton hotel inside and the outside gardens and fountains (we were there at night to see the fountain light show and as luck would have it a wedding party was having their pictures taken in front of it) and ending another great day with pizza.

Monday was Christmas for me and I decided to treat myself to a massage at the Addisu Filwoha Hot Springs. It is more or less a public bath house with a therapeutic area in the back. The jet stream massage in a big bath tub followed by an oil massage did the trick; I was relaxed, clean, and glowing according to Danny and Abraham. It was time for a coffee break – when in Ethiopia do like the locals. They took me to one of their favorite spots. The coffee in Ethiopia is very mild and served in small quantities. If the place serves coffee/tea then the place typically has a pastry showcase, some good some fair. The rest of the day I was on my own and did some shopping and yakked it up with other tourists at the Baro Hotel. The place has a nice courtyard area to meet and hangout with other people passing through. I compared notes with people who already did the northern circuit and this helped me to decide what places to stay at. For Christmas dinner Susanna from Switzerland and I went out for Italian food and local beer. It was early to bed with having an early departure the next morning. I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to Addis Ababa and Ethiopia.

I will admit I was a bit intimidated at first walking by myself in the piazza area by the hotel. There is never a lack of a friendly, English speaking guy to come up to start a conversation right away. It is hard not to be alone in Ethiopia. Here is a venting session I wrote to a friend.

…if I had to stay in a large town where young boys/guys walk along side asking questions and wanting to be helpful every step of the way, I’d go crazy. At times I’d rather stay in the safety of the hotel courtyard rather than face another round of, “Mistah you buy” (I really got to grow my hair out), or “Madame I get taxi for you” or “Sistah can I show you a very good place.” It is very hard to get a moment of peace out on the streets.

Most of the time I was with a guide or more like an escort and was not bothered as much.

Unless you have been to Ethiopia you might not know they use the Julian calendar. There are 13 months and the current year is 1999 so if you missed out on the millennium celebration 7 years back you have a second chance. Telling time there can lead to confusion because they are 6 hours behind or they might say I am 6 hours ahead. When I would ask Danny to pick me up at 5am for a 7am flight he would ask is that in the evening or morning. For him it would be 11pm in the evening. I got use to saying pick me up at 5am breakfast time or 1pm lunch time. He never failed me – thanks Danny. Thanks go to his wife too because she let me borrow her Sim card so I could use it in my mobile. This was very handy to communicate with him and hotels. Since I am on the topic of unusual things in Ethiopia I will add a mannerism that threw me at first. I noticed this mostly in the central area. When someone would speak they would finish with an inhalation as if they were going to say, “Oh, no” or have to sneeze but don’t. I might as well add the shoulder bump here too. This is the common way to greet one another. I observed people approaching one another with a slight bend at the knees, bring in their right shoulder and then lift upwards to bump right shoulders – sort of catchy.

Armed with local knowledge about time, greetings, and how to say how much is this (centinos) and thank you (amasagnalow) I was ready to head out on my own and fly to Dire Dar. From Dire Dar I had to take a mini van to my final destination of Harar and I was hoping there would be other tourists on the plane so I could play sheep and follow them – ok, I was still a bit nervous being on my own when it comes to haggling about rides. I was the only sheep and felt like I was being sent to slaughter as I walked out of the airport and had to face the barrage of taxi drivers. I stood my ground and said I wanted to share a ride into town to get to the bus station. At the bus station, a sandy lot with a few vans around, I didn’t even get a chance to get outside the taxi before being bombarded with rides going to Harar. This is what it must be like being chased by paparazzi all the time. I was quickly whisked away in a van with a few other passengers. We drove to the outskirts of town and then people we told to get out – at least that is what it seemed like to me. A few clicks up the road the driver stopped again and requested more people to get out. Now it was only me and a couple. I was thinking this is strange and if the lady was told to get out then so would I – she could see the concern in my eyes and nodded it was OK. We set off again passing the people the driver made get out to walk the road. After a few more idle stops he picked up the same people walking. Very strange. This was also the start of St Gabriel’s celebration in Kulibi and the road from Dire Dar to Harar has a turn off to Kulibi about 45 km away. Already we saw people walking on the road to Kulibi. I was hoping to attend the celebration too if I found a group to go with in Harar.

Stay tuned for:

· Country music with Dedemous
· Feeding the hyenas
· Reaching critical mass at Kulibi

Jordan Photos

2006-11-11T19:29:00.000-08:00

For more photos go to clubphoto.com and use tumicki23@yahoo.com to access them.

Jordan 2006

2006-11-10T20:02:00.000-08:00

A New Love in Jordan
October 2006

Jordan is a country of splendors. The landscape from the northern hilly and forested part to the middle where Mt Nebo overlooks the promised-land to Petra, home to the Nabataean civilization carved into the red mountains, to the moonscape of Wadi Rum and the seven pillars of wisdom to the southern part of Aqaba, the resort town on the Red Sea is varied and geologically amazing.

The people from the cosmopolitan city folks of Amman to the Bedouins choosing to live their traditional way of life in tents as shepherds are kind, generous, helpful, curious, family-oriented and proud.

The Arab mystic from a time gone by in a land where the crossroads of ancient trading routes for silk, gold, spices, coffee and frankincense converged in Petra with camel caravans numbering in the hundreds coming to do business to the robed men heads wrapped in cloth for protection against the elements on their trusty and sturdy decorated Arab horses to the more recent time of Lawrence of Arabia fighting the mighty Arab revolt from Wadi Rum to Aqaba with Bedouin tribes brave and desert savvy lingers in the air. Jordan is a treasure trove to lure any visitor, not once, but again and again.

I returned again this October to explore new and old sites, reconnect with local friends, and to be outdoors. I didn’t expect to find my new love but did, and it was during Ramadan no less. It is called Quateyf. It is a pastry made during Ramadan. It doesn’t look like much but looks aren’t everything. Part of quateyf is similar to a pancake but not sweet. Shops in town make the pancakes in front of their stores and package them by the half kilo or kilo. At home they are stuffed with a mixture of cheese and nuts or a mixture of nuts and spice. The pancake is folded in half and sealed. The quateyf is then cooked in oil to make it crispy on the outside and warm on the inside. After all the quateyfs are cooked and on a plate they are doused with sugar water and eaten warm. They are the best!

Other highlights in Jordan besides discovering quateyf:

· My wonderful guides Sami and Abdelazeez

· The family-stay in Amman with a Jordanian family who adopted me quickly. We did henna on the hands, smoking sheesha after the meal, taking drives through the city I was always disoriented in, shopping, and having the local dish called mensaf. The dish consists of rice and spit-roasted lamb that is continually basted in spices until it takes on a yellow appearance. It is garnished with pine nuts and with a warm yogurt soup to pour on top. They made this the first night I was there for breaking fast and lots of family members came to join in. It was delicious. Hadeel, the 18yr old daughter in the family insisted I stay in her bedroom which I did. Everyone else slept on cushions on the floor in other rooms. The 15yr old son forgot I was sleeping in Hadeel’s bed because the first night about 4:00 AM he came running into the room whispering excitedly, “Hadeel, Hadeel, Hadeel”. He was calling her to the morning meal before sunrise. I rolled over and went back to sleep. One afternoon stopping in at the beauty shop where the mom and daughters work to see a bride and others get hair and make-up done for a wedding. The more hairspray and glitter the better.

· The Roman Theatre of ancient Philadelphia in the heart of downtown Amman.

· The Royal Automobile Museum is impressive with many restored cars used by the late King Hussein. Cars are not my thing but this was well worth a visit. Read more about it at www.royalautomuseum.jo

· The Martyr’s Museum was also well done and informative

· Even though I stopped at Mt Nebo before, I wanted to admire the view across the valley to the Dead Sea, Jericho and the domes and spires of Jerusalem minus the haze and pollution but no such luck

· Mud bath at the Dead Sea followed by a tranquil sunset

· A night strolling among in the crowds in M’daba for local Ramadan festivities complete with fireworks

· Having not a care in the world sweating in a cave at the Hammamat Ma’in hot springs. Above the cave is a gushing waterfall flowing into other pools for relaxation and to admire the valleys walls surrounding the area

· Taking a late afternoon hike down a wadi leading to the Dead Sea. What makes this an unusual walk is you are walking in the creek which has hot water coming from the Ma’in hot springs. We stopped to get some cheap wading shoes for the 1.5 hour walk through the narrow siq. High rocky cliffs scattered with patches of plants, palm trees and small waterfalls with the setting sun making the place glow was a definite highlight. We saw a group of people camping out in a sandy patch not far from the starting point thinking this would be a perfect way to end a perfect hike.

· Hiking for several hours down a valley, Wadi Dana, to an amazing eco-lodge – see a picture of it here http://www.tribes.co.uk/countries/jordan/accommodation/feynan_wilderness_lodge.html. A nice write up on it http://travel.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,10291-2370618,00.html This place could easily be in Santa Fe, Taos, Moab, Utah, or AZ. They use candles at night to light the place. Star gazing from here is a treat. I could have easily stayed another day or two. I will add this to my list for next time.

· Driving up a mountain road with treacherous turns and breathtaking views

· Meeting a very enthusiastic and passionate American professor doing research in the area on water rights, human influence on landscape, and deforestation

· Going to Little Petra and seeing a large rock tomb where my guides grew up in their early years with other family members before moving to a remote stone village high above Wadi Musa

· Nighttime BBQ out in little Petra with Sami’s family and AdelAzeez

· Going to Petra by Night which happens twice a week. Luminary bags are placed all the way from the entrance of Petra through the siq to the Treasury building and in front of the Treasury hundreds of luminary bags are set out making for a magical sight. Then camping in Little Petra

· Hiking from Little Petra to the Monastery. This is the back way hiking through the rugged, rocky, mountains with no other tourists were in sight. A local family with a girl no older than 6 and their goats scampered by nibble and quick making me feel sluggish and awkward.

· People watching in Petra from a tea shop then high above on a rock ledge leading to the High Sacrifice area. My mind drifting back to the 3rd century BC when this mighty place of palaces, temples, and tombs was filled with camels, donkeys, traders, men in colorful robes, and small fires burning for tea thinking not much has changed

· Hiking to the High Place of Sacrifice in the late afternoon sun giving the area a rich amber glow to the Soldiers tomb and the Lion Monument to our overnight destination at a Nabataean tomb with a view of the Snake Monument sitting high above. We started hiking from Little Petra at 8:30 in the morning and ended at 6:00pm thinking what a glorious day it has been. Our shoes came off and the tea arrived for a quiet evening with the stars and the local family living in the tomb.

· Morning hike to Jebel Haroun (Mt Aaron) to see Prophet Aaron’s tomb resting in a small white structure. The view from on top is a mixture of rugged mountains, golden hills, and the flat valley leading to the Gulf of Aqaba. This is a nice place to stop and reflect while sitting in the warm sun giving thanks for another amazing day.

· The walk back to Petra from Jebel Haroun following a different route was also a delight

· Breaking fast with Sami’s family and having mensaf again and another national dish called maqlubbeh. It means upside down and that is the way the dish is served. It is cooked in a pot and when it is ready you turn it upside down on a platter and eat it. This is a nice way to eat because many people can be accommodated and during Ramadan there is often the extended family and guests.

· Just when I thought, how can this trip get any better I went horseback riding with Abdelazeez’s son Hamza. The day was cloudless and the sky a brilliant blue. My request for a small horse was granted but I should have requested a gentle horse. The small horse was stubborn and would stop when and where it wanted to. My gentle nudges didn’t convince the horse I meant business. Hamza and I switched and I was much happier on the mellower Arab horse. The whole ride was incredible. We rode on dirt roads that went high above Wadi Musa. We passed an abandoned village and later on Abdelazzez told me this is the village where he lived for 18 years. His first son was born there. We are talking stone houses, no electricity, no running water, stores miles away but there was a school above the village. Pass the school the dirt road crested a hill and then went straight down and it was steep. The horses had no problems. At the bottom we rested and Hamza made tea. I sat below a huge fruit tree to look and listen. Entertainment arrived when three different goat herds converging by the orchard at a watering hole. There must have been about 100 or so goats of all sizes and colors fighting for water. They were fun to watch. From here we rode back a different way. This dirt trail overlooked Little Petra and Petra and what a view we had from this vantage point. It was a wonderful day. That evening I met more of Abdelazeez’s family and was offered the usual refreshments of tea and coffee then a sweet then a soda followed by many offers of what else could they get for me. By midnight I had my full of caffeine and quateyf and was sleepy after a full and memorable day.

· The drive from Wadi Musa to Aqaba follows the King’s Hwy and offers excellent views of Wadi Rum. During the drive we noticed an SUV was just off the road and stuck in the sand. Abdelazeez stopped to help out but that didn’t stop others from stopping to offer a hand; two large water trucks, a pick-up truck, a jeep, and the highway patrol. The people are extremely helpful here. In Aqaba I decided to treat myself to the resort beach at the Intercontinental Hotel for the afternoon. They had a nice beach front area and an incredible pool. The hotel was packed with holiday goers because the next day was going to be the first day of Eid.

· Exploring Jerash, watching a show with gladiators and chariots, listening to bagpipes at one of the outdoor theatres, and admiring all the columns still standing along colonnaded street paved with the original stones dating back to 64 BC.

· Free time in Amman known as the white city built on seven hills, buying a Beni Hamid rug by the Roman Theatre, sharing food with the shop keeper, being offered the best homemade cookies made by the shop keepers mother, trying to find the famous Ali Baba’s Quateyf shop (found it but it was closed) and having my last meal with my friend Rami. He treated me to a very nice meal at a popular restaurant. It was huge and had a goat hair tent sitting area outside. The place had ambiance and I was sorry not to see it lit up at night by lanterns. Another reason to go back.

Another great trip I won’t forget soon and I certainly won’t forget the people. By the way, I read today that Petra is on the short list for one of the new seven wonders. For anyone of you interested in going, please visit Sami’s website at www.jitours.com. Let me know if you go, I might join you. For photos please go to www.clubphoto.com and use my yahoo email (tumicki23@yahoo.com) to access the photos.

Becky of Arabia

Summer 2006 Photos

2006-09-03T20:10:00.000-07:00

Pictures from Prague, Germany, and the USA

Summer 2006 Trip Letter

2006-09-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

June 8 – August 21

“Where am I Today?”

In Numbers:
Weeks 10
Days 68
Beds 17
Countries 4 Germany, CZ, Austria, USA
States 6 CO, CT, Il, NH, RI, CA
Cities 7 Stuttgart, Prague, Brno, Vienna, Denver, Chicago, San Fran
Oceans 2 Atlantic, Pacific
Lakes 2 White Lake (New Hampshire), Lake Michigan (Chicago)
People 50 family and friends
Guardian Angels 1 in Prague with the name of Peter; I would still be on the airport bus if he did not help me
Days of driving a car 3
Illnesses 1 bad sinus infection
Mishaps 1 I could not rent a car on my arrival to the USA in June because my driver’s license was expired
Tours 2 Ritter Sport Chocolate (Gr), Svarowski Crystal, Austria
Most Expensive Coffee 3.60 Euros At the Frankfort airport ($4.61 – this is just for a cup of coffee, nothing fancy)
Books Read 3

Pearls of wisdom
· Have nothing to eat after afternoon coffee and cake – German sculptor Garmisch, Germany
· When glaciers are gone, they are really gone
· Life is to be enjoyed
· Candles are flattering to an old face
· Life isn’t for everyone
· Snow simplifies everything
· We are like the moon; we all have our dark side that we never show to anybody. M. Twain
· No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November
· A bad bed is one thing, but a bad pillow is unbearable

Praha (Prague) has: churches, steeples, tolling church bells, red roofs, wooded green hills, statues, old buildings, flowers, gardens, sidewalk cafes, concerts, music, art, shimmering river, cobblestone streets, friendly people, good public transportation, pilsner beer, pigeons, homeless, hidden rose garden, the Prague measure equalling the length from your finger tips to your elbow, good ice cream, the Charles Bridge, many tour groups in the summer and very little trash on the ground, a guardian angel called Peter (he guided me from the bus to the subways to the bus station and back to the subway to the spot where I needed to switch trains), and a day trip to Cesky Krumlov for a medieval celebration

Brno has: my friend Anna I went to visit, cool churches on hot summer days, outdoor parks for catching afternoon naps under shade trees, a movie theater (saw the DaVinci Code with Cz subtitles so I missed all the French translations), a Capushin crypt containing many naturally desiccated bodies, a funky crypt pub, a university where you can get a cheap lunch at the student cafeteria if you know how to get there, a baggage storage area at the train station, the bus station next to the train station (not all places have this so very convenient to store your bags at the train station after getting off the bus), less crowds than Praha, at least one bus with no AC - the one I was on for 3 sweltering hours to Vienna

Wien (Vienna) has: more churches, fancy shops, outdoor cafes, a nifty clock at the Anchor building where lifestyle mannequins parade around at 12:00 noon accompanied by classical music, the famous painting called “The Kiss” by Gustav Klimt, and the Spanish Riding school, home to the famous Lipizzaner stallions, which was not open on my one day in Vienna because G.W. Bush was in town

Chiemsee Lake area Bavaria has: my traveler friend Birgit, the huge lake, pretty little towns dotting the lake, ferry boats, small islands, a palace built on one of the islands by King Ludwig (I or II) with 5000 candlestick holders, lots of bike trails, great hiking trails in the alps (scaled Mt Hochfelln at 1670 m 5478 ft), friendly locals inviting me to picnics and a wok BBQ, pretty houses with bursting window flower boxes, German classes to visit and help the students converse in English, Zirbenschnaps made from pine trees or so I was told – the taste is acquired, a famous frigid cold foot pool devised by Sebastian Kneipp, a German priest 1827 – 1897, who developed water treatment as a means of curing illness to keep one young and fit by walking laps in this knee deep pool if you can stand the ice cold water (I barely made it half way then had to rest and warm my legs before making the return). I now realized I did it the wrong way. I wasn’t walking like a stork. I will say the invigorating feeling in my legs stayed for many hours afterwards. I was sorry I tired this on my last day in the area. Here is the proper way for Water Stepping.

To combat hot summer weather or the change of life flushes, and just for overall invigoration, water stepping is the most effective of the Kneipp treatments.
Many German health resort towns have built basins fed by ice cold natural springs in the forest just for this therapy. The wanderer or hiker can take off their shoes and socks and easily refresh him/herself in these wading pools. It is heart-warming to see not only the very old but the very young doing this.
Similar water basins at intervals along our highways (in Canada and the US) would be wonderful health stops. Long car trips are not good for the circulation and the treatment of water stepping is very invigorating.
But since we don’t have such facilities, your bath tub is a good place to practice this. Fill the tub up to calf level with cold water. (This treatment is never done with warm water.) Walk back and forth in the tub, always lifting one leg out of the water. Walk like a stork, one leg high up out of the water.
The alternation between air and water is what makes this treatment effective. Ten to 15 seconds might be all you need. By no means stay in the water longer than comfortable. Or you can even try walking barefoot in the snow (high stepping all the time). It’s very stimulating.
Afterwards dry your legs, put warm socks on and take a walk.
http://www.h-e-a-t.com/powerwat.htm

Chicago has: many universities, a beautiful big fountain, water front, beaches, walk/bike trails, Marshal Fields, Tiffany mosaic ceilings, man operated elevators, the Marhold Rare Violin office in the Studebaker building where you can secretly sit outside the office and listen to wonderful antique violins being played, a secret winter garden on the 9th floor of the stately public library downtown, a well run youth hostel, bridges over the water, famous architecture, boat rides, Millennium park, hardly any trash, little India, Buddy Guys hole in the wall restaurant for a tasty lunch with live blues, museums, the miracle mile for shopping, my friends in Naperville who rarely sit still, and the history of the Chicago fire from 1871 started by a cow. I wanted to find more about the fire and here is what I found.

"One dark night, when people were in bed,
Mrs. O' Leary lit a lantern in her shed,
The cow kicked it over, winked its eye, and said,
There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight."
What do we know about the Great Chicago Fire?
Historians agree that on Sunday evening, October 8, 1871, the Chicago Fire did indeed start in the barn of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick and Catherine O'Leary. While the blaze ironically spared the O'Leary home, located on the city's West Side at 137 De Koven Street, much of the rest of Chicago was not so fortunate. Before the fire died out in the early morning of Tuesday, October 10, it had cut a swath through Chicago approximately three and one-third square miles in size. Property valued at $192,000,000 was destroyed, 100,000 people were left homeless, and 300 people lost their lives.
In November and December of 1871 the Board of Police and Fire Commissioners held an inquiry. The purpose of this investigation was to determine, among other things, the cause of the fire. The board interviewed fifty people, including Mr. and Mrs. O'Leary. A shorthand reporter took down over 1100 pages of handwritten testimony. Despite all this, the board members failed to ascertain the fire's cause, stating merely in their report that "whether it originated from a spark blown from a chimney on that windy night, or was set on fire by human agency, we are unable to determine."
So did Mrs. O'Leary and her cow cause the fire, or is this merely a nineteenth-century urban legend? An analysis of the original transcripts of this inquiry, 1871 Chicago real estate records, and other period source materials provide powerful evidence that the latter may be the case. Furthermore, these same records provide a fascinating theory as to who really did cause the fire

My home town of Norwich, CT and surrounding area has: my Mom, my grandmother still doing well, a brother, relatives, good friends, Connecticut Sun women’s national basketball team – they just lost in the finals to the Detroit Shock in the eastern conference title, spectacular 4th of July fireworks by Grucci set on the Thames river using 3 barges to shoot off the fireworks, ferries to Block Island for a day at the beach, Mystic for the seaport, great seafood, thick woods as dark as night, historic houses, the birth place of Benedict Arnold, steamy summer days and nights, great neighbors, roadside corn stands, tobacco fields and an informative tobacco museum, Groton for the submarine museum, road trips to Misquamicutt, RI for tumbling in the Atlantic surf, large frogs sitting on even larger spools of thread statues welcoming all who cross on the Frog Bridge in Williamantic (http://www.millmuseum.org/frogs.htm), and many fond memories

New Hampshire has: another brother spoiling us with a lobster bake on our arrival, rain, bugs, more dense woods, a hidden 24 hour self serve, hand-made ice cream stand in the middle of the woods, lakes for kayaking, mountain trails, and lazy summer days

San Francisco has: a sister with her parrot, cockatoo, and bird collection for entertainment, a great city sky line, fabulous weather or at least the day I was there, renovated piers to spend oodles of money without realizing you are spending vast quantities on such things like an apple, a tomato, a drink, etc, a landmark book store called City Lights, an old time saloon called Vesuvios, Coit Tower for wonderful views, very steep hills, the Green Tortoise Hostel, South Beach Pizza, Chinatown, the baseball park, the historic Beach Chalet at the edge of Golden Gate Park facing the Pacific Ocean, and easy access to Millbrae, San Jose, Santa Cruz, and Piedmont for visits with other friends but I didn’t get a chance to see everyone

Denver has: my storage unit I tore apart looking for things and eventually found and many wonderful visits with dear friends to catch up on the latest

Germany / Austria has: many small picture perfect villages with the alps at their doorstep (Mittenwald, Hall, Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Oberammergau, Etal), heavenly out door swimming pool areas, bigger cities (Heidelberg, Innsbruck), Achensee Lake with its glacier blue water nestled in the alps, another mountain hike to Dalfaz-Alm at 1693m, cows with their clanking bells, castles, churches, monasteries, outdoor cafes, outdoor markets, and excellent weather while I was there

Thanks to everyone who made this a memorable summer. I cherish my time spent with family and old and new friends. This quote says it all for me:

I keep my friends as misers do their treasure, because of all the things granted us by wisdom, none is greater or better than friendship – Pietro Aretino

Becky of Arabia
September 1, 2006

Leaving for the Summer 2006

2006-05-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

Hello All,

My decisive year hasn’t been all that decisive with trying to figure out what to do next school year.

In March I signed saying I was not coming back to Al Hada. I wanted to take time off and travel for about 6 months. Then I started calculating how much this might cost and my figure was approaching double of what I thought it would be making me have second thoughts on the time off. At the start of April, during parent student conferences, several parents and the principal asked me to stay another year. If I did, then I could budget better for taking time off plus I could finish the bottle of hot sauce.

I signed my contract May 2nd and guess what came my way May 4th? It was a job announcement from a school in Turkey looking for a college counselor. Most of you know I love Turkey and wouldn’t mind working there. I replied saying I was interested, had a phone interview, and said I needed to know by May 17th. They needed more time for the search since they just started it but said I was a compelling candidate and could I wait a few more weeks? Time was one thing I did not have extra of with leaving June 7th. I had to withdraw my name. It could have been my dream job but wasn’t meant to be this time around. I am happy to be returning here and I also have a great summer planned. My itinerary is below and I hope to be seeing some of you along the way.

Summer 2006 Plans

June 8 – June 14 - Germany (Frankfurt, Stuttgart)

June 14 – June 19 – Prague, I will meet my Mom and a nurse from Al Hada

June 20 – June 28 - Germany (Bavaria, Austria) it will be nice to visit with Birgit on this leg. We met in Malaysia in Dec 2004 while she was on her 2 year journey.

June 29 – July 6 - Colorado – will spend the 4th of July weekend in Steamboat Springs going for a mountain hike and attending a rodeo with fireworks at night

July 6 – July 12 - Connecticut with my Mom, brothers, family and friends. Have tickets to see a professional women’s basketball game

July 12 – July 18 – Chicago to attend Michele’s wedding and to visit old Peace Corps friends

July 18 – Aug 1 – Connecticut for more lobster and salt water taffy

Aug 1 – Aug 10 – Colorado to try to lighten my load in the storage unit and to take certification exams

Aug 10 – Aug 21 – Germany to play tennis

The last weekend in August a group of us from Al Hada are planning to attend the camel races outside of Taif again. It is a wild time not to be missed.

I often hear comments if I work or not with all the traveling I do. At times it does seem the trips are back to back with Ramadam, Haj, and our winter break all within weeks of one another. As Ramadam and Haj move forward into the summer there will be a better balance with school days and vacations.

Last week while the students were taking their Stanford exams I had time to reflect on the school year.

The School Year in Review
2005 – 2006

· The students do score average to above average in math on the Stanford exams – I guess some things are sinking in
· Most students have a problem working with surface area – I think they lack spatial skills so we will work on that next year with constructing more objects and breaking down tissue boxes, cereal boxes, and paper towel rolls
· The 6th and 7th graders struggle with adding and subtracting negative and positive numbers. I keep telling them think apples. -3 + 8 You have 8 apples take away 3 apples. Or use the number line. Or money. They rush through their work and don’t reason out what the end result should be then they cry, “why did I get number 5 wrong”. Did you look at it? No.
· Watching the 6th graders use their lockers is a comedy of errors. I have them (19 in all) for homeroom and their lockers are in the back of the room. They fumble for their keys, the locker opens spilling out their collection of books, papers, projects, clothes, food, and pens and pencils. They grab what they need and stuff it into their packs and then stuff the rest back into the locker. They search on the floor for their lock to be placed back on the locker. They stand up hoisting the pack on to their back realized they forgot something inside the locker – the process starts again – painful.
· Never ending questions
o May I go to the toilet?
o Can we use the calculator – for the 100th time NO
o Do we have to simplify? For the millionth time YES
o May I get a tissue?
o I don’t understand
o Did you correct the tests?
o I forgot my calculator – do you have one?
o May I turn my test over and write on the back?
o The directions say to solve the problem. What am I suppose to do?
· Having three 8th grade boys try what little patience I have with their antics – not bringing their book, not doing or caring about their homework, goofing off in class, being disrespectful, and just being plain annoying. The good news is they are slowly seeing the light they need to apply themselves.
· A big tall brown fence was constructed around the school – we can no longer see out but can still see up (but that might change too)
· The day care center across from us was built within 45 days (a record they are very proud of) in Sept 2004. First it was a lone one story building, then a fence around the back was added, then a fence around the front was added, then a covering over the back and front part were added, then a guard booth by the front fence was added, and now this week a booth with a curtain was built in front of the door – imagine a visit to the wizard of Oz..
· A herd or pack or pod or whatever you call a group of baboons has claimed the mountain behind the school as their new home and come looking for food at the playground. They are daring and even come jump on the top of my porta cabin using it as a bridge to get to the garbage bins on the other side.
· A parent has decided I need home cooked food and she surprises me with salads, stuffed grape leaves, rice dishes, and sweets
· Sharing meals with parents and teachers
· For next school year: to have the Internet up and working – the cabling has been done, setting up a computer and printer in the room
· We look forward to getting a new 2nd grade and an ESL teacher and a school secretary.

What’s been happening on the compound?

· The cafeteria has been spruced up. Every night they BBQ middle eastern style and it sure smells good.
· The store is under new management and is looking better.
· Two high brown fences have been built above the women’s outdoor pool so people in the villas on the hill can no longer look down into the area.
· New guard booths are being constructed
· Parts of the hospital have had a face lift on the outside – it looks much better
· A huge building is being constructed by the hospital – suppose to be the pharmacy and dental units
· No raises
· Many doctors and nurses are leaving the hospital and the country. They take jobs in the UAE, Europe, and Canada
· My friend Zorah and I have kept up with our early morning walks on the compound

I still like it here because of the peace and quiet, going to Taif to run errands, I like the mountain scenery, visiting with the other teachers, playing tennis, trips to Jeddah, meeting new people, and the cooler weather to name a few things.

I better end this now before it becomes a chapter in my book. Enjoy your summer time too.

Becky

Morocco Trip Letter Part II

2006-04-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

Morocco Trip Letter Part II
April 13 - 19 2006

Background
Places: Casablanca – Marrakesh – N’kob – Essaouira – Casablanca
Cast of Characters:
Michele – fellow teacher
Jenay – my dentist from Sunnyvale, CA
Susan – our guide
Hamid – our driver

“What three words would you use to describe our trip?” asked Michele during our last meal of our 6 days in Morocco. I didn’t answer her then but I will now. Color. Susan. Hamid. Kasbah. Tiffany. N’kob. Tagine. Hand of Fatima. Djemaa el-fna (the Square). Tannery. Essaouira blue. Argane. Hammam. King Hussan II Mosque. Travelmates. Cancellation. Photos. Yes, I went over my three word limit but I had to because it was a great adventure.

Start of Part II

Djemaa el-fna for death’s square in the heart of Marrakesh. Public executions took place here in days gone by. Today it is a gathering place that comes alive at night with a huge food court, endless glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice from juice wagons, henna artists, fortune tellers, snake charmers, drummers, herbalists, story tellers, and much more. The square was unusually thick with people our first night and we heard it was a public holiday overlapping with spring break for the foreigners. I was mesmerized watching the smoke from the food stalls drift up to a hazy night’s sky as the hum of thousands of people buzzed in my ear. It is a unique site to behold. We had soup at one stall, tried an egg sandwich (Yemeni style) at another, and OJ. There were also wagons of dried fruits and nuts, perfect to bring along on our road trip. We then ventured into the adjoining souq for some shopping. I could have gone crazy buying things for my house but since I don’t have one, I passed up lanterns, antique doors, carpets, inlaid furniture, and knick knacks; maybe next time.

If you go to a Tannery don’t forget to bring your mint sprig. The mint sprig is for the “nausea-inducing skins” as described in the LP. We didn’t have any and there were times I felt like I would get sick at anymore moment. The guide book goes on to say, “unlike Fez where you can view the goings on from a rooftop, there are no viewing galleries for the Marrakesh tanneries and any tour is a perilous journey between large vats of dyed water and odorous damp fleeces. Few tourists make it out to the tanneries for obvious reasons, but it is a very human place where men labor hard, stop to pray, watch Egyptian soaps on black & white TVs, and continue their own particular brand of sorcery, transforming skins to leather using the cinnamon colored tamarisk fruit or conjuring up the brilliant yellow of the babouche (leather slipper) from milled pomegranate bark.” After this tour and watching how labor intensive this process is, I have a new found appreciation for leather goods. The same goes for weaving carpets.

Essaouira Blue is for the color Jenay, Michele, and me will be paint our doors, have as our car color, and dye our hair when we are old and wearing purple. On our way into Essaouira, we started noticing a distinctive blue on cars, doors, and building trim. About 9 out of every 10 vehicles were this blue with a white top. In town this blue is more prominent with people wearing the blue, blue vans, blue boats, blue roofs, and the list goes on. Even Jenay had this blue on her jacket. Hence we named this blue Essaouira blue. Essaouira is a seaside town (on the Atlantic Ocean for those of you needing a map) and was once Morocco’s most important harbor. It still has walls and fortresses built by its sixteenth- century Portuguese occupiers and its eighteenth century Arab sultan. Essaouira’s main draws are its small medina and its big beach. Orson Well’s used Essaouira as the major location for his 1951 film version of Shakespear’s Othello. I enjoyed the stay here because it was a nice contrast to being in the mountains and we had a very comfortable riad to stay in – thanks Jenay! This is also an artist community and it was nice to see galleries.

Argan is for the tree unique to North Africa. The argan trees, ARGANIA SPINOS, are confined to an area of around 150 square miles. We passed this area on our way from Marrakesh to Essaouira. The guide book noted another unique feature about these thorny trees. If you are lucky enough you will see goats in the trees nibbling away. I have seen pictures showing over 5 goats in a tree. We felt pretty lucky to have seen 1 goat in a tree.
Some say the argan oil produced from the olive like fruit grown on the tree is a true gift from God for the rural populations that share its habitat. The oil possesses many health benefits. We learned about these benefits at the Cooperative Feminine Argane El Kheir located on road into Essaouira. One brochure reads, “argan oil is produced from lightly roasted almond shells before being milled. However, almond shells destined for cosmetic oil are not roasted, which prevents the heat from damaging the excellent characteristics of this oil. Roasting yields an oil that is more odorous than non roasted cosmetic oil. Argan oil is precious because 1 liter demands a harvest of 6 to 7 trees, approximately 30 kg of fruit, and about 20 hours of work.”
A woman at the cooperative gave us an overview of the process. The locals collect the fruit during harvest by hand. The fruit is dried and the outer layer is peeled off. The nut is then cracked by hand with a stone being carefully not to damage the argan almond inside. The seed is then dropped into a hand stone mill to grind it into a peanut butter consistency. The oil is skimmed from the top and is purified for cooking oil. As the brochure said, this is very labor intensive and a bottle of cooking oil can go for $15 - $20 and a small bar of soap for $6. After the talk we were served bread with a bowl of oil and a dish of the butter. The flavor is nutty and wonderful. I brought back a bottle to share with others and we call it liquid gold, it is heavenly.
This web site posts the benefits of the oil http://www.naturalyherbal.co.uk/about-argane.php
The oil of argane is rich in polynsaturates, fatty acids and vitamin E, which is a powerful antioxydant that captures the free radicals and neutralises destructive oxidation.at cosmetic level it is used to moisturise the skin and revatilise hair.
Argane is used as a cream for the face to fight the drying and ageing of the skin, it also helps to strengthen breaking nails. In the medical field its uses are multiple, namely for the treatment of acne, rheumatism, psoriasis, eczema, acne, etc
If you are interested in ordering some for yourself you can email argoucha2000@yahoo.fr. This is the email address on the bottle I have.

Hammam because if the opportunity is there, use it. You don’t know when there will be another one. This is the same rule of thumb for using a toilet. Jenay and I went to a local hammam in Essaouira to soak in some local atmosphere but we didn’t think it would be a painful experience. We were scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until our outer layer of skin was no more and we were as pink as a new born baby. We then had a rub down with argan oil. We walked out of there squeaky clean and soft. The hammam was very clean and well heated. The rub down room had heated marble floors.

King Hussan II Mosque is for the monumental mosque sitting on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. This place is a showcase of traditional Moroccan decorative arts and craftsmanship. There are sculptured columns and archways, mosaic tiled wall, the painted ceilings and domes, and the delicately chiseled plaster. All most all of the materials came from Morocco except for the Venetian chandlers, Morano glass, and a special kind of marble.

Facts and Figures:
· the minaret is 200m high, the size of four football fields
· it is the largest mosque outside Mecca
· the prayer hall covers 20,000 square meters
· the main hall can accommodate 25,000 worshippers
· the ablution hall has 41 lotus shaped fountains
· it took 6 years to build 24/7
· 10,000 craftsman and 2500 workers were employed
· it opened in 1993
· the estimate cost is $800,000,000 (that is US dollars)
· the king paid for 1/3 of it while the rest came from the people
· over 200 people are employed to maintain it
· I found no hand railings in this place and with many seniors taking this tour it is an invitation for accidents. As a matter of fact, a lady on our tour slipped and fell under one of the lotus fountains. We noticed an ambulance was leaving after out tour.

Travelmates is for Michele and Jenay. They made the trip extra fun with Michele rocking at the Kasbah, Jenay sharing her travel tales our favorite being the time her husband had to maneuver bringing back a 30 foot long raffia alligator from Papua New Guinea to the states via small boats and planes. We shared cramped and luxurious quarters, superb and bland meals, hammams, stories, and woes with our overstuffed luggage. We are convening in the Chicago area for a mini reunion this summer.

Cancellation is for what we didn’t want to hear at the airport when departing. Michele and I unknowingly made a mistake that was brought to our attention at check in. We neglected to confirm our seats three days before departure therefore our seat reservations were cancelled. Oops. Now what? The check in guy said the flight, like all the flights to Jeddah, is overbooked. I am thinking why would the flights be overbooked to Jeddah? Who goes to Jeddah? From the looks of the passengers, they are pilgrims going to Mecca. We waited an excruciating long hour praying we would not have to wait 2 days to get on the next available flight. Our prayers were answered and we had seats, al humdulilliah.

Photos for the lasting memories of the trip. Please go to www.clubphoto.com and use tumicki23@yahoo.com to access the albums. There are many favorites but the one with the bike and roses is a special one. I just happened to being entering the hotel as the guy was delivering the roses.

I hope you have enjoyed Morocco. There is more to see and I hope to return one day – enshallah.

Morocco Trip Letter Part I

2006-04-30T20:02:00.000-07:00

Morocco Trip Letter Part I
April 13 - 19 2006

Places: Casablanca – Marrakesh – N’kob – Essaouira – Casablanca
Cast of Characters:
Michele – fellow teacher
Jenay – my dentist from Sunnyvale, CA
Susan – our guide
Hamid – our driver

“What three words would you use to describe our trip?” asked Michele during our last meal of our 6 days in Morocco. I didn’t answer her then but I will now. Color. Susan. Hamid. Kasbah. Tiffany. N’kob. Tagine. Hand of Fatima. Djemaa el-fna. Tannery. Essaouira blue. Argan. Hammam. King Hussan II Mosque. Travelmates. Cancellation. Photos. Yes, I went over my three word limit but I had to because it was a great adventure.

Color because coming from the semi-arid and barren landscape of Saudi, the fields of green, red, and yellow made me take notice. The wheat, red poppies, and brilliant yellow flowers seemed alive and alert with the recent rains. The color of Casablanca is a dingy colonial white from the days when the French ruled the area. The color of Marrakesh is a rosy hue from the local clay. N’kob is the color of carpets – indigo, saffron, kohl, henna, flower, tan, and mint. Essaouira is a divide of unmistakable white and sky blue.

Susan for being our remarkable guide. Her affection towards Morocco started in the late 1960’s when she served as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Working as an anthropologist she has been involved with numerous development projects for groups such as the World Bank and the United Nation’s Food and Agricultural Organization. Susan also started an e-commerce site for Moroccan women weavers called www.marrakeshexpress.org. Please visit this site to read about the women weavers and to view their wonderful and unique carpets and shawls. There are new pieces are well as antique ones. I am now the proud owner of a small rug made by a talented young lady in her early 20’s. I can not give Susan enough praise for her work, efforts, and commitment to Morocco. I feel fortunate to have met her.

Hamid for being our prompt, careful, and considerate driver. Susan has found a gem of a driver and we were pleased to use his services after the village tour. He helped us locate banks to change money, he recommended pleasant roadside cafes for tea, he delivered us to our hotels even when we had to go searching for them, and he helped us with our tagine mission.

Like the song from the 1980’s goes, “rock the Kasbah”. Not knowing what a Kasbah is I looked it up on the net. It says, “a Kasbah is a palace centre and/or fortress of an Arab town; also used to mean a walled residential quarter around the Medina (eg Fes), or the citadel (eg Tangier and in Tunisia), or the whole medina (eg Algiers). In the south of Morocco, it is a feudal family castle - and it's the root of the Spanish alcazar.” As luck would have it, there was a famous one off the main road on our way to the village. We stopped at the Ait Ben Haddou Kasbah and this one can be seen in Gladiator among other movies I can not remember now. The Kasbah of Ait Ben Haddou is one of the most famous Kasbahs in the Atlas Region. Much of the Kasbah is rebuilt, because it served many times as a decor for movies. Now this Kasbah an UNESCO World Heritage Site as ''a striking example of the architecture of South Morocco". We had an added treat on our visit when we watched two storks circle over head to land on their nest.
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Tiffany, Target and Gingersnaps are the code words we came up with when shopping for carpets. Gingersnap is low end, Target is middle, and Tiffany is excellent. Most of the carpets we looked at were either Target or Tiffany for laying flat and keeping with a true rectangular shape. As I mentioned earlier, I found a lovely piece combining three styles of weaving. Now why didn’t I take notes on the three types of weaving? I love my carpet and the history behind it and it goes perfect in my bedroom.

N’kob is the village we visited in the anti Atlas Mountains. From Marrakesh it is a lovely mountain drive of about 5 hours. We passed by terraced farm land, flocks of sheep and goats, cedar forests, and a gazillion roadside stands selling fossils, geodes, and rocks. An added surprise was to be on the highest road pass in Morocco, the Tizi n’Tichka at an elevation of 7230 ft. The village is home to about 700 people and has the basis necessities of running water and electricity. We stayed with a family and immediately felt at home. We had delicious meals and I would say the best tagine of the trip was made by Sophia, the wife. We visited another family and had a delightful time right from the start. The women in this family were also warm, friendly, making jokes, and accomplished weavers. Their smiles were non stop and infectious. We sat and talked, learned about making carpets and how some were made from scratch. They cleaned the wool, carded it, spun it, dyed it and weaved it. With limited time we headed back to the host family’s house for dinner. By the time we finished dinner it was getting late and we were all tired but still game for a henna party if the locals still wanted to do it. Come midnight there were 20 people in the small room and we were still getting our hands done by the experts and getting demonstrations on how to tie headscarves. By 1 am we were dead to the world and had a very sound sleep. Not much noise where there is no traffic.

The next morning we watched Sophia make bread in a clay oven. She feed the oven sticks and weeds and then would spread the dough on the vertical walls making something like a huge pizza about a foot in diameter. She could cook two at a time. It is hard work with her stooping over the oven in a smoke filled room. We had this for breakfast with honey and mint tea. After breakfast we visited a local school. The students were adorable, 3 to 5 year olds and well behaved. We sang Itsy Bitsy Spider to them and they sang us a song – very sweet. The last stop in the village was to a big stone structure. The purpose of the building is similar to a bank with safety deposit boxes. The “boxes” are cubby holes in the walls with a small wooden door for entry into the space. There are three levels with primitive ladders leading to the levels. These small rooms are used for safe keeping of silver, other valuables and grain. While most of the cubby holes are abandoned some are still in use. There is a huge key to open the huge wooden outer door. We were told not just anybody can get a tour of this and even Susan was pleased because this was her first time even though she has been to the village several times. I felt very much at home in the village as I reminisced about my Peace Corps days in a remote Nepali village.

Tagine is for the national dish and for our hunt to purchase used cooking vessels with the same name. Tagine is a stew of tender mutton cooked with onions, prunes, and nuts. It is served in a large earthen dish that everyone eats out of scooping with pieces of bread instead of silver ware. There are many variations to this dish and, if prepared correctly, the flavors are intense, the meat is tender, and the vegetables are savory. We shared chicken, beef, and lamb tagines. The best one was made by Sophia in the village. She piled French fries on top that soaked up the meat juices and were addictive. The rule of thumb for eating a tagine is to dig in the spot in front of you and not to hunt around looking for your favorites. If found doing so after imprisonment, there will be a fine. J I plead guilty.

My Moroccan friend told me if I was to buy a tagine I should buy a used one to know it has survived the test of time and will not crack or fall apart when cooking with it. He also gave me an idea of how much to pay for one – less than $5, hence the search for a used on. The first roadside café we stopped at wanted $20 for one. No thank you. The next day we stopped at a mountain side café for tea. The staff was friendly and even invited us back to the kitchen to take pictures. I think they liked us so we decided to stop again on our return for tea and to try our luck. After tea each of us had a heavy tagine to tote around. The question of the day was how to carry it back? We all managed and now I am waiting for my Morccan friend to show me how to cook tagine. I am going to try this recipe out after my lesson. http://origin.www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/103829

Hand of Fatima for the ubiquitous symbol throughout our trip. Jenay bought a pendant to wear on the trip and put it to good use one day while we waited for a taxi. We were in a residential area waiting for a taxi to appear. It looked bleak. Jenay then took her pendant in hand and said, “let there be a taxi”. No sooner than she said that a taxi turned the corner and headed towards us. Here is some background information on the hand of Fatima.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Khamsa (Arabic: خمسة, Hamsa,' literally "five-fold", Hebrew: חמש, Hamesh, literally "five"). An alternative Islamic name for this charm is the Hand of Fatima or Eye of Fatima, in reference to Fatima Zahra, the daughter of Muhammed. An alternative Jewish name for it is the Hand of Miriam, in reference to the sister of Moses and Aaron as well as the Hamesh Hand. It serves as an ancient talismanic way of averting and getting protection from the evil eye, or more generally of providing a "protecting hand" or "Hand of God". It appears, often in stylised form, as a hand with three fingers raised, and sometimes with two thumbs arranged symmetrically. The symbol is used in amulets, charms, jewelry, door entrances, cars, and other places to ward the evil eye.
Some sources link the significance of the five fingers to the five books of the Torah, the Jewish name for the first five books in the Old Testament scriptures, or to the Five Pillars of Islam, the core principles of Sunni Islamic faith, though this significance may have been attributed after the fact to a symbol that quite possibly pre-dated both religions.
In recent years some activists for Middle East peace have chosen to wear the hamsa as a symbol of the similarities of origins and tradition between the Islamic and Jewish faiths.
I purchased a used Hand of Fatima door knocker. Now I need a door to put it on.

The end of Part I. Part II is coming shortly.For photos go to www.clubphoto.com and use tumicki23@yahoo.com to access my albums.

Test Article

2006-03-28T19:05:00.000-08:00

Children's story to go here.

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The Problem with 6th Grade - children's story

2006-03-28T08:36:00.000-08:00

Joe’s Problem with 6th Grade
October 2005
RMT

Being a 6th grader has its challenges thought Joe. From the first week of school Joe knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He had a schedule to follow, new teachers for every subject, no recess, books to manage, and lots more homework. Already he longed for the safety and security of his 5th grade classroom with the nurturing 5th grade teacher, Miss Shelby. Joe felt doomed.

Even Joes’s new teachers noticed something wasn’t quite right with him. Both Joe and his teachers knew what the problem was but how to fix it? The problem wasn’t his subjects. Joe was strong academically. He had a knack for math and a passion for science. He had mastered reading and writing. He was intrigued with social studies. He excelled in French. Joe understood his homework and got good grades on it. No, the problem did not lie with math, science, English, social studies or French.

The problem wasn’t with his behavior either. Joe was a polite boy. Joe was a good friend to many of his fellow classmates. He was a helpful boy at school straightening the desks and chairs. He liked to erase the board and write the date for the next day. Joe listened in class and volunteered answers. Joe learned in 5th grade about doing the right thing and he tried his best to do the right thing in 6th grade too. No, the problem was not his behavior.

Joe’s problem started at 8:00 AM and ended at 3:00 PM. He had a tendency to misplace his homework or to forget supplies for class. Joe could never remember where he left his pencil case last. Joe tried his best but knew he had a problem when it came to keeping track of things. Joe dreaded facing the problem every school morning. This morning, however, he decided to do something about it. Joe got up 10 minutes earlier, mentally prepared for the challenge and marched off to school unwilling to accept defeat.

Joe march passed his homeroom teacher, Ms Logan who was delighted to see him bright an early on this Monday morning. The moment has come; Joe was face to face with his problem. He reached deep down in his pocket and sifted through the gum wrappers, pencil sharpener, coins, and a yo-yo to secure the prize possession. He smiled as he knew Ms Logan would be pleased with his find. Joe pulled it out of his pocket and exhaled with relief. He didn’t lose his locker key on the way to school. Now he was ready to face his problem – the locker!

Joe’s locker devoured everything he placed in it. Nothing was safe. Not even his science book or his reading log or his math folder or his art projects. Joe tried to explain this to his teachers. He would look at them with his puppy dog eyes and describe what the locker did. The locker would eat whatever was put in there and then spit it out again into rumbled books, torn homework, mangled folders, battered worksheets, and shards of pencils and pens. He would beg for forgiveness because he couldn’t find the needed item in his locker. Joe would swear the locker made it disappear or change it into something else.

Today would be different he thought. I will show the locker who is boss! He fingered the locker key hoping for the best. The lock opened and he took it off feeling empowered. Joe braced himself as he opened the locker door.

The locker was a mess plain and simple. He needed help. Joe went to Ms Logan to ask how he could manage his locker. She praised Joe for his determination and offered advice to him. First, make piles by subject. She gave him file folders to keep the stray papers together. Joe labeled his notebooks and his file folders. He noted which books needed to be covered to protect them. Then he thought he would use plastic bags to keep his piles together in the locker.
Joe turned to the pile of stuff he didn’t really need to keep in his school’s locker. At the end of the day he would take home a sweater, an extra water bottle, video games, and completed projects.

Joe stepped back with gleam in his eyes and a smile that went from ear to ear. He felt proud of his efforts. He now knew where things were and for the first time was happy to go to class knowing he had everything. Now he thought 6th grade would be easy. As he walked past Ms Logan they exchanged a high five realizing the locker problem was no more.

The End

Rebecca

I hope you liked it. Next is to make illustrations for it. Let me know if you know anyone in publishing. It is a draft and could use some tweaking here and there.

Yemen Trip Letter IIIb

2006-02-25T20:14:00.000-08:00

Hello again,

The journey is coming to an end. I hope you have enjoyed the ride.

As always you can see photos at clubphoto.com (tumicki23@yahoo.com to access albums) and refer friends to beckyofarabia.blogspot.com for past letters.

Yemen Trip Letter – January 2006

Part III b – Weekend to Manakha / Al Hajjarah

By this time Rhonda has returned to Saudi for a day before flying on to Thailand. Marion from Italy joined me for this weekend outing. She was a wonderful traveling partner and did such a great job describing Bolzano where she lives I decided I must go visit there too.

Manakha is 95 km southwest of Sana’a. This area is known for its terraces built on long slopes. These terraces hosted coffee plantations and today more and more qat plantations. Shortly outside Sana’a our driver A’del stopped at a roadside fruit stand so we could get snacks for our day’s trek; lots of tangerines, apples, and bananas among other fruit to pick from. We continued into the mountains and passed by a small town swarming with people and livestock. If I was in the market for buying sheep, cows, and oxen, I would have requested to stop. I noticed a man walking through a field below with his purchase in tow – a cow. Another quick stop was in another market town and this stop was for the driver to purchase qat. He says this is a good area for it. Many men and small boys walked around with plastic bags filled with qat branches. A bag could run between 500 – 1200 riyals. The children and some men asked to have their pictures taken while we waited for the driver to return. The Yemenis are very photogenic.

The next stop was in Manakha to look at accommodations and to meet our guide. We had the option to stay here for the night or higher up in the village of Al Hajjarah. The hotel was full so back in the vehicle but now a small boy got in the back with me. The driver said he was our mountain guide. Really? Both Marion and I had stunned looks on our faces. No doubt this little boy could show us the way but what would happen if one of us fell and needed to be carried out? We were still in shock over this guide when A’del almost hit a man walking toward us. It appears they knew each other and the man jumped on the side board clutching his bag of qat and rode with us to the top of the hill. This man, named Zaid, turned out to be our real guide so the little boy was made redundant.

Not too far outside Manakha was Al Hoteib, a pilgrimage site perched on a solitary mountain. It is revered by followers of the Ismaili sect as the location of a shrine dedicated to a 16th century preacher. We followed the steps, about 300 I would guess, at a severe incline. From the top we saw a panoramic view of rolling hills followed by rugged mountains followed by a brilliant blue sky. A lovely spot for photos and a little rest before taking the steps back down. It is a well known fact I am slow walking down hills but I guess Zaid thought I was struggling down the steps due to my daypack. He offered to carry it for me for the rest of the four hour hike. I said I was OK but he insisted. I started calling him Sherpa Zaid. After a steep up, we leveled off and followed a contour line along a terrace through an orchard. It was a gorgeous day and super to be out walking in the fresh air amongst the mountains. This is my kind of vacation!

A small boy from Al Hoteib was still with us trying to sell us eucalyptus seed necklaces. He was persistent but polite. He was with us for some time and I thought he was losing out on sales back in Al Hoteib where more tourists would be coming. Sherpa Zaid said the boy lives in the small village of Kahel. We would be stopping there for a local snack and the boy had to fetch it from his mother. Kahel is a quiet and half abandoned village with about 5 families living there. It appears abandoned because most of the male villagers go into Sana’a looking for work. Not surprisingly, this is happening to most of the smaller villages. We gave the boy an empty water bottle to retrieve the milk snack and he ran ahead.

Zaid had a spot in mind on a hill in the village for us to have our snack. You enter the village by ducking your head to pass through a low, dark stable walking around animal dung. Out in the open again we climbed up steps to get to the spot. What a view! This trip keeps getting better and better. The boy found us and we sat down to a soured milk and garlic mixture to dip a thick local flatbread in. Oranges, apples, and cookies were shared along with stories and laughs. Marion and I asked Zaid about his family in Manakha. He has a younger brother and 4 sisters. Zaid, 28 years old, has been married for about 9 years. His wife was expecting a baby any day. She has had 4 or 5 other miscarriages previously and I bet the family was nervous but hoping for the best. I can only wish he has a healthy baby today.

The snack hit the spot and we were ready to continue on. The little boy stayed behind in his village while we climbed up and up. Along the walk we saw a person here and there working in the fields, a man leading his small flock of sheep and a cow, women with buckets going to fetch water, and a few other flocks shepherded by small boys. It was about 3 pm and the sun was about to hide behind the mountain we were walking along. We felt the mountain chill and stopped to add more layers. Sherpa Zaid was also getting cold and Marion had an extra jacket. Now he was sporting my yellow daypack and the purple wind breaker over his white gown, suit jacket and his jambiya around the waist. This could be a new look in trekking attire.

As we approached a cluster of houses, Zaid asked if we wanted to stop for tea – why not, it was cold and we were in no rush. He called out several times towards a house off the trail. Eventually a girl came out with a thermos of tea and small glasses. Then she brought out some jewelry and jambiya knives. The knives were nice and after much debating about getting one here on the mountain side or back in Sana’a, Marion decided to get this one at a fair price. The tea, however, was not a fair price. First the girl was asking something like 300 riyals. We bargained down to 50 riyals each.

What goes up must come down. It was a long and rocky descent to the village of Al Hajjarah. Sherpa Zaid and Marion played mountains goats and bounced and pranced down the rocks while I felt like an elephant fumbling and tripping over rocks for what seemed like an eternity. I was happy to be on level ground. The only hotel in the area was at capacity for the night and good thing our names were on a list. Marion and I got a room with three mattresses on the floor. The larger rooms had maybe 8 – 10 mattresses so if you are in a group tour you sleep as a group. The shower facilities were primitive but served its purpose. After a hot shower I rested my tired legs out on the patio with a cup of hot coffee basking in the last rays of the day at peace with the world. With some day light left, Marion and I decided to explore the village and maybe getting a bite to eat. We mentioned this to Zaid and he said the only place in the village serving food was the hotel. We were already getting hungry and it was now 5 and dinner would be ready around 7 inshallah. Zaid walked with us as we stopped to browse at souvenir tables and small souvenir shops – same type of souvenirs but still fun to look. We continued on to the adjoining village on top of the hill. The evening traffic was building up on the trails and stairs with flocks of livestock barreling along disregarding the pedestrian traffic. I made my way down the stairs just before the avalanche of hoofs and horns came through.

Entering the neighboring village was similar to Kahel with walking stooped over through a stable to enter the village. We walked among the towering buildings with a few tourist shops here and there. One lady shop keeper was a true character and I ended up taking a hand embroidered sash. I said I had no money with me and she said no problem, bring it tomorrow. We did do that but this time I was not as quick and the morning traffic of hoofs and horns nailed me. A cow barreling down the stone steps broadsided me into the stone wall and clipped my shoe with its hoof. Besides a bruise on my leg from being bashed into the stone wall, a hoof print on my hiking shoe, and having a little adrenaline rush, I was OK.

By the time we got back to the hotel that evening other tour groups were still settling in. This last one was a big group of about 20 from Spain. A large room on the ground floor was being set up for dinner. It was typical Yemeni style with cushions on the floor and windows all around. Marion and I found a corner to sit in and we waited like the others for food. We had the good fortune of being served first because 1) Zaid possibly told the cooks how hungry we were or 2) we only had two in our group. By now it was 7:30 and we dug in without fanfare. The rest of the groups were served as the food was made. The last group was served an hour after we were. It was another good meal and we were happy to lean back and rest on the cushions to relax our bulging stomachs.

No sooner than the last group finished their meal, the dishes were picked up off the floor and the musical instruments were brought out. There was a small drum, something like a guitar and a tambourine. The drivers, guides, and hotel staff were eager to sing and dance. It was great fun to watch and participate. Most of the dances consisted of two men holding hands and gliding down the middle of the room on the balls of their feet keeping beat to the music. This would be repeated up and down the room with turns and twists added. It can also be fast moving like a polka. We were no longer stuffed after dancing a few rounds. By midnight we were tuckered out after the hike and dancing and said good night.

The next morning after breakfast we did a shorter hike to other neighboring villages. It was another sunny day and be were happy to we out walking again surrounded by mountains. A large school bordered one of the villages and I thought back to my Peace Corps days of walking to school with the kids along with herds of goats and sheep and women on their way to the water well. We stopped at one of the wells and I watched the activity of the women and children. The children came to play while their moms’ would be washing clothes, loading donkeys with jerkins of water, and some stopping to rest between chores. What different lives people live.

Back at the hotel we collected our belongings and drove back to the tourist hotel in Manakha. Zaid invited us to his house and we had a very pleasant visit with his family. We met the mother, the father, his wife, and his brothers and sisters. We were served a hot beverage made from the shells of the coffee beans spiced with a ginger mixture. It was nice to exchange a few sentences in Arabic while watching an Arab music video channel. They were surprised I knew of Sami Yusef when his video came on. This was also a special part of my stay in Yemen to be able to spend time with a family and see how close their family unit is.

By now it was about 1 pm and instead of having a big lunch at the hotel, Marion and I decided to have tea and a sweet. We didn’t know the sweet was going to be the honey cake which they would have to prepare and bake. We wondered why we waited over 45 minutes for the snack. Turns out the kitchen was also preparing food for the tour groups coming in for their lunch time meal. We sat back on the cushions watching the groups come in looking exhausted. I wonder if they had been trekking too. It was also qat time and this time I decided to join in since we weren’t going anywhere soon. I picked of the leaves one by one and tucked them into my right cheek. I asked if you swallow or spit once you start chewing the leaves. No, the trick is to keep the qat tucked in the corner of your cheek and keep adding other leaves to it until your cheek is bursting at the seams. Communicating with someone who has a stuffed cheek is not all that pleasant since their words are muffled and they spray bits of green stuff every where. I didn’t go as far as having a tumor like bulge on my face but enough to say I tried it and it tastes like eating grass. I heard to enhance the effect you can smoke and/or drink coke while chewing. After the tourist groups ate it was time for more singing and dancing. I was sad thinking I had two more days in this special country.

The 2 ½ hour ride to Sana’a was in quiet. Marion and I watched the scenery go by as we slumped back on the seats tired and content. We got our second wind in Old Sana’a when we met for dinner with her friend Claudia who was feeling much better from the cold she picked up a few days earlier. I showed them around the souq and took them to my favorite jewelry store. They found pieces they liked and so did I but I decided to buy a few other things the next day.

My mission on my last day in Yemen was to go to the Post Office. For some reason I prefer to go to the post office to buy stamps to mail postcards rather than getting stamps at stores. I feel I am part of the community standing in line with the others but me not knowing if I am in the right line or not. Eventually things get sorted out. I also have a book idea revolving around post offices of the world and now I make it a point to go, try my luck with the lines, and take a photo or two if I can. At this post office a young girl of about ten would come close to me and look up with a big smile on her face. At first I thought she might be begging for money but she never held out her hand or tugged on my abayya. She kept smiling at me while I did my business getting stamps. I sat down at a table to put the stamps on and like my shadow she was right there with me. She helped me with my stamping task and that is when it dawned on me how she knew me. She was the little girl walking ahead of me with her mom and sister as we walked into town. She kept looking back at me with a wondering look as her mother tugged her along. She was wearing a deep purple colored skirt just like this little girl standing next to me. Finally, it clicked and I smiled at her and asked her where her mother and sister are. She pointed to another line and then her sister came over to join her. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to take a photo inside the post office without seeming to obvious I wanted a picture of the inside. The girls posed and this picture will even be more special now with them in it.

On my way back to school, I walked around to the shops I frequented and said the phrase I practiced on my last day of school, “I am leaving today to go back to Saudi, thank you , good bye”. I went to the juice guy, the tea guy, and some souvenir stores. I wished fellow students good luck with their classes and secretly longing to stay and take more classes. Don’t be surprised if you hear I am heading back to Yemen for a three month stay to do just that. Want to join me?

In case you are wondering where to next, it will be Morocco in April for a week; definitely not enough time but enough to get an introduction to colorful Morocco. Another teacher from here and a friend from CA have a special arrangement with a visiting anthropologist to visit a Berber village to meet women weavers and to stay the night. The two days in Marrakesh and one day in Casablanca will round out the trip. I have started reading Michael Palin’s “Shara” to get a feel for the area.

Spring is in the air here with warmer temperatures and longer days.

Bye for now.

Yemen Trip Letter IIIa

2006-02-17T19:36:00.000-08:00

See photos at ClubPhoto.com (use tumicki23@yahoo.com)

Yemen Trip Letter – January 2006

Part III covers the weekend outings, chewing qat, the people, and final thoughts

Part IIIa – Weekend to Shibaam / Kaukaban

Besides two weeks of classes, I also had two weekend excursions with a driver, 4wd vehicle, mountain guide, and hotel accommodations. The first weekend was to the Shibaam and Kaukaban area with stops along the way. Rhonda, another teacher from Al Hada, was also on the trip. The first stop was 45 minutes outside of Sana’a to Wadi Dar home to Dar Al Hajar, the Rock Palace. The Rock Palace gets its name from being built directly on top of a large rock. There is no room even to walk around the building. It was built by Iman Mansour Ali Bin Mehdi Abbas in 1786. In the 1930s, Yemen’s Iman Yahya Hameed Al Din added the upper stories and annexes and used it as a rest house. The palace has been renovated and is open for self guided tours. Rhonda and I wandered up the many stair cases leading to different levels of the palace. There are floors for the kitchen, men’s sitting area, women’s sitting area, bedrooms, and a formal room. From up high we watched a group of men dance to pounding drums on the courtyard below. I have read this is a famous spot for men to gather to perform the wedding dance if a wedding took place. Now I think they gather on Fridays for the tourists. I would not mind having a palace like this as a weekend rest house either. I will add this to my wish list after the Mafraj.

Heading back out on the same road we entered, we stopped to take in the views of an impressive canyon – their Grand Canyon. The views were good but the activity on the canyon’s edge got my attention. Rifles were set up with targets for a small fee. A Yemeni and his falcon were there to have one’s picture taken with the falcon for a small fee. Another Yemeni was there with his horse for the same purpose and a small fee. The poor and disabled held their hands out for a small fee. After a few snapshots we took off again.

The driver took Rhonda and me to a village known for its old houses but the driver didn’t tell us that. He didn’t tell us much in the way of what we would be seeing. He said we could walk into town from the outskirts and then meet him at a hotel. If we got lost we could ask anyone to guide us to the hotel. We walked through the village of Thula with several boys and men offering to show us around but not knowing what the driver had in mind as in would he guide us through it or did we get a guide here, we continued on our way through the village. Thula is a small village and it didn’t take us long to find the hotel and our vehicle but no driver. We heard he was having tea. We had tea while waiting for him. Upon his return we left not knowing why we stopped here at all.

Next was the village of Hababa. We drove along dusty roads littered with pink and blue plastic bags. This is a sad yet a common site of the many villages we drove through or stopped at. We stopped outside the wall of Hababa and I stepped down into a massive mound of litter piled up on my side of the road. The highlight in Hababa was the cistern in the center of the village. It had steps going down into it for easy access to get water or to go for a swim. The water is for the animals, washing clothes, swimming, and maybe irrigation. I am not sure because we had no guide. It was also a place for people to gather and rest. This was a nice spot and great for photos. I got a nice one of two girls perched on a step fetching water.

The driver announced we would have lunch in Shibaam. Shibaam is a trade town. It is also dusty and dirty. We were there on a Friday, their market day, and this place was crawling with small trucks, cars, jeeps, SUVs, and motorcycles. The driver led us to a hotel known for its local food. The place was packed with groups of men and some tourist groups. Turns out these hotels use the same rooms people sleep in as dining rooms during the day. We found an empty room with a long bench down the middle and plenty of cushions and armrests on the floor for sitting. A German/Italian couple joined us in the room. They are also teachers and have traveled extensively to remote countries during their many years of teaching. Enough food was brought for 10 people and we felt bad leaving so much behind since it was only 5 of us eating.

Not far down the road out of town was our hotel for the night. The top three floors seemed to be a recent addition and we had a room on one of these floors. It was clean, had two mattresses on the floor with blankets and pillows and a bathroom. We dropped off our bags and then headed out to the last stop of the day, Al Tawilah. This place, like most villages, sits high on a hill. It was here the children were really irksome and without a guide we wandered through the village not sure where to go looking like the pied piper as the kids trailed behind saying picture, pen, and money. We didn’t stay long here either.

The evening was quiet and pleasant. I guess we were the only tourists in the hotel because no one else joined us in the Mafraj on the top floor. This Mafraj was beautiful! The plaster was delicately carved and painted in pastel colors. The windows were huge and offered great views of the surrounding valley. From the big picture window facing south, I could see the remains of the huge rock slide that happened two days earlier. It was quite clear to see how part of a cliff came tumbling down on the village below. Cars were lining up on both sides of the road to walk to the area. Dinner and breakfast were served in the Mafraj for us rather than in the general area downstairs that resembles an auto mechanic shop without the cars. The poor worker had to climb up about 120 steps each time. After the evening meal he brought up an incense burner and showed us how you stand over it to get the smoke up into your clothes.

No water the next morning, I thought that only happened at Al Hada. Minus a shower we packed up and drove up the mountain behind Shibaam. The village on the top is called Kaukaban. Here the driver said we would get a guide to walk us down the steep trail back to Shibaam. The driver came across a young teenager pushing a wheelbarrow with his trinkets to sell to tourists. The teenager turned out to be our guide. We walked through the village and outside the gate to the trail. The path goes straight down and is made of many stone steps. I can tell this kid used this path often as he leaped and bounced down the trail as we plotted our every step ever so carefully. At one point he yelled for us to run down like he did. We said we would pass on the offer. The trail reminded me of my days in Nepal walking from village to village and marveling at how graceful the locals are walking down rugged terrain. Back in Shibaam we located our driver and drove back to Sana’a. I think he left out a few stops because we were back by noon time.

Stay tuned for the much more enjoyable weekend to Al Hajjarah with Sherpa Zaid, song, dance, and chewing qat.