Ottsworld Travel Experiences » Africa

Photo of the Week Egypt

admin — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 04:39:17 +0000

I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t even know where this was shot. Sure, I know I was in Egypt in yet another temple, but I had my overdose of temples much earlier in my stay, so I stopped really keeping track. As I wandered around yet another temple I turned around to look for my friend and that’s when I saw this perfectly lit shot.

The ancient Egyptian Gods provided a single ray of light to shine on this lucky man. A natural wonder.

To see more travel photography – check out Briefcase to Backpack’s Photo Friday

SmugMug.com – Serving up crisp, clear photos – without the side of Spam.

Photo of the Week – Morocco

admin — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 04:36:04 +0000

Tough Stain – Fes Morocco

This isn’t what you think. This man is holding silk thread and is in the process of dying it a bright red color. I took this photo while I toured around the most miraculous medina in Morocco. Here’s my excerpt of my fist impressions:

The moment you entered the big arched gateway you inhaled the smell, taste and sound of the markets. We were surrounded by the sounds of people and music, we could smell the rich spices intermixed with the smell of olives, and your eyes were entranced by the rich colors and textures that surrounded you. I think I honestly walked for the first 20 minutes with a dumb stare on my face as I took it all in.

I loved Fes…a truly cultural experience – and a treasure trove of photography.

McDonalds and the RTW Traveler

admin — Thu, 27 May 2010 14:20:25 +0000

The McDonalds stigma is strong...

It has to be said…and this may be controversial…

Eating at McDonalds in a foreign country does NOT make you a despicable traveler.

In all honestly – up until I took my career break and traveled around the world, I would have scoffed at that statement. I thought Americans who ate at McDonalds while traveling abroad were heathens; some lower form of tourist I was embarrassed to associate myself with.

As successful as they are, McDonald’s somehow has a terrible stigma associated with it. Lazy, fat Americans going to McDonalds instead of trying a country’s local food items is often a picture that is painted. People wonder “Why go abroad?” if you are just going to eat at the same places you did at home.

However on the other side of the coin is the argument that there is something comforting in knowing what to expect and having something familiar. This is how I found myself in a McDonald’s in Luxor on one very hot day in July. I had been on the road for 11 months and had been in Egypt for a week touring temple after temple. The problem with this…I’m not a ‘temple person’. They don’t really excite me. Sure – I wanted to see the pyramids, but the other stuff was just ‘extra’.

Temples, Temples, Temples

So when the group I had been traveling with all started lathering on sunscreen and getting ready to leave to see the Luxor Temple, I decided to be different. I didn’t want to go to the temple. Instead, I wanted some ‘me time’, I wanted to sit and be lazy and not explore; a vacation from my around the world travel. After nearly a year on the road, I felt like I deserved this lazy day. However, I took it one step further, I wanted a hamburger; a ‘real’, American hamburger with pickles, onion, ketchup and proper yellow mustard.

After my friends left to dig further into Egyptian relics, I left in search of American greasiness. I had remembered walking by a McDonalds the night before and it must have triggered a craving in me…one that wouldn’t let go.

I walked inside aware of my caucasian skin and for a moment I wondered what other people thought. I wished I could be invisible. However that moment lasted about 2 seconds – until the freezing cold air-conditioned air mass hit my body and I stood motionless just soaking it in. I walked up to the counter and ordered a Big Mac, fries, and a coke. I sat at a table with my many ketchup packets and enjoyed my greasy American feast while listening to old Paula Abdule songs being pumped through the speakers. I savored every moment of this familiar feast. A familiarity I hadn’t had in a very long time.

Yearning for the familiar when you are on the road long term is normal. After all, you spend the majority of your time constantly trying to figure out how to communicate and get around in an abnormal environment; it’s exhausting. I never really got homesick while I traveled for 16 months, however I did have these moments where I just wanted it to be easy for a few hours or a day; and those days were apparently a good day to go to McDonalds. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I went into a McDonalds, but they were all pretty memorable to me.

I sat in the McDonalds in Luxor Egypt, enjoying my alone time; a time when I didn’t have to think. There was just one last thing I had to do with this perfect lazy day; order a hot fudge sundae.

Ok – time to confess…how many of you long term travelers have went to McDonalds while on the road?!

Photo of the Week – Sinai Egypt

admin — Fri, 14 May 2010 05:17:26 +0000

Color Canyon Hike in the Sinai Region of Egypt

The wind had formed the sandstone of Color Canyon in Sinai Egypt is a memorable hike. The canyon floor ‘trail’ was sometimes wide and sometimes very, very narrow. As you walked through the cannon and followed the path of the wind, you saw the various colorful rocks weaving through the sandstone as if it were a Paint –n-Swirl work of art. The canyon got so narrow at one point that we had to crawl through a small opening blocked by a boulder.

Read further about adventurous travel through the Sinai Region at Ottsworld!

If you want to view more photography this Friday – check out Photo Friday at Delicious Baby

Photo of the Week – Zanzibar

admin — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 06:12:03 +0000

African Sushi – Zanzibar

I love markets, they never disappoint. This man in the Stonetown Market looked like had been carving up fish for hours. A few minutes earlier I saw a man drag in a huge hammer-head shark – amazing. Read the entire Zanzibar market story on my post from 2006.

View all of my Tanzania photography

Photo of the Week – July 28, 2009

admin — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 15:30:48 +0000

As I travel through Mongolia this week, I decided to have a photo flashback! Two years ago I was traveling through Morocco – one of my favorite countries! I recently went back to edit some writing and photography about my time there. Enjoy this flashback of photos and check out one of the most popular stories from that trip!

The Disappearance of the Traveling Pants

Morocco Photography

Chefchaouen, Morocco (the Blue Town in the Mountains) – this town is magical and it’s bathed in blue! A must see if you travel through Morocco!

Chefchaouen Landscape

Blue Door

The Blue Alleyways

The Blue Market

Yella! Moving on from Egypt

Sherry — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 13:55:01 +0000

Photo: The many towers of the Mohammad Ali Mosque in Cairo

For the ‘best of’ Egypt Photography – click here!

For all pictures of Cairo and other Egypt oddities – click here!

Egypt was a quick stop for me – 2 weeks, but I covered a lot of ground. I went from South to North, from Dessert to Sea, and even fit in some mountainous climbing. I was able to see various hilltribes, Nubians and Bedouins. Even though it was only 2 weeks, I was able to get a feel for the culture there, test my limits a bit and extract many cultural learnings. There were a few things that really made Egypt distinct and different to me. Sure, there are the Pyramids – that certainly sets Egypt apart; however, I tend to notice and fixate on other things, small things, personal interactions, observations, but they are impactful to me.

It’s A Man’s World:
As I traveled throughout Egypt I abided by the Muslim custom of females covering their shoulders and knees. I didn’t go as far as covering my head, but I felt like I was at a middle ground with the custom and went out walking in the streets confidently. One of the first things that struck me is that there aren’t many women out at all. Sure, there were tons of men sitting at a coffee shop/café, in fact, there were only men – not a single woman sitting and relaxing having a coffee with girlfriends. This seemed to make me stand out even more (as if my Lilly white skin wasn’t enough). I can’t say that I ever got comfortable with this man-only world. Sure, I had fantasized about being the only women amongst good-looking men at times…but in Egypt this was a fantasy gone wrong! Even though you try very hard to not call attention to yourself, you can’t walk down the street of any Egyptian town (Cairo is the exception) without being hassled by the men. I talked to our guide, Mohammad, about it and it really comes down to their view of Western women in Muslim countries. Most, not all, Muslim men see Western women as sexually lose and uninhibited. It was as if I was wearing a Bud Light string bikini, stilettos, sucking a lollipop walking by a construction site in NYC…now do you get the picture? If you happened to be walking alone, then you had a target on you – you could expect to get rude sexual comments, people coming up to you trying to ‘help you’, and sometimes men blatantly came up and grabbed you by the arm or tried to grope you. Sometimes they’d make you feel like you had to pay them off to leave you alone. Because of this, I learned two things – don’t walk alone, but if you do – wear your hard-ass bitch attitude on every part of your body. You had to become Teflon. Strangely enough, you do get used to this environment, you don’t accept it, but you get used to it. After a while, I hardly noticed that I was the only woman at the café, or that I had 3 teenage boys following me trying to get my attention by saying rude things, or a guy came up to me and offered his services to personally show me around the city – I just kept walking, knowing in my head that I was strong, a very strong Western woman.

Gun Control:
This country was loaded…with ammunition. Egypt’s security presence was like nothing I had experienced before, and for good reason. It was probably the most dangerous country I had been to at this point in my travels. The Egyptian government put a lot of time, effort, money, and manpower into protecting tourists. Convoys were flanked by a few jeeps carrying about 6 men carrying automatic weapons, ready to jump out and deal with whatever threat there was. There were little ‘check-point’ huts everywhere – at the temples, in the middle of the desert, in cities – men sitting (sometimes sleeping) in the huts with their AK47 slung loosely around them, smoking a cigarette. There were plain clothes security too…or maybe they were just some guy with a gun for all I know. When you visited a temple or any historic/touristic site it was mandatory that you went through a metal detector and they would search your bags. There was a metal detector before you walked inside the Pyramid, one before you hiked up Mt. Sinai, one at the hotel we stayed at in Cairo and Sinai, one to get on the ferry, one to go to the nightclub on the beach, one to go in the public toilet…and the list goes on. This sounds very comforting…however practically every time our group went through the metal detector it would go off, but we were never stopped – they just told us to keep walking. Many times they would only search our tour leader’s bag, and let the rest of us walk through. I guess being a tourist meant that you weren’t a threat…not very comforting. My favorite gun experience came in Mt. Sinai. We were leaving by minibus from Sinai to Cairo, an 8 hour drive. There were no secure convoys that ‘policed’ this route, so we were on our own…at least I thought so. As we were all eating breakfast at our hotel I noticed this bulky guy in a nice brown suit and aviator sunglasses on…trying to looking like secret service. As he got up to go get coffee, I noticed that he was carrying some sort of automatic weapon on a waist belt in his pants! This was not a pistol…it was large. This may have been disturbing and confusing to see, but after 2 weeks in Egypt – it didn’t really phase me too much. As we boarded our mini bus I noticed that they guy in the suit was sitting in our bus…now I was intrigued. I asked our leader, Mohammad, who the CIA guy was and why he was in our private bus carrying an automatic weapon. Mohammad explained that he was my personal security. Since we didn’t have a convoy to travel with AND there were Americans traveling in the bus (me and one other woman) it was required that we have a security escort. My own personal bodyguard…it made me want to break into some Whitney Houston song! Apparently there were special security rules for Americans, Japanese, and Israelis…go figure controversy pays off sometimes. As we traveled the 8 hours to Cairo – my personal security guard tried to hit on me…(see above…It’s a Man’s World)…which of course didn’t surprise me, but at least I did end up in Cairo safely. I decided to play up the flirting and see if I could get a picture of him when I arrived at Cairo as I would probably never have another bodyguard again…only in Egypt!

House of Cards:
As a kid you may have made card houses…they looked so beautiful, so sturdy, but when you got up close and accidentally bumped the table the slightest bit, it would all come tumbling down. While traveling through Egypt, I didn’t stay at high end hotels, instead, I stayed at middle of the line 3 star places – not super budget, but not expensive. After a week or so, I realized that every time I went in my hotel room, it looked nice, clean, normal – then after being in it for 1 hour, you realized that you were living in a card house and that it was really crumbling down around you! The room maybe had 6 lights/lamps in it – but only 2 of them had bulbs that worked. Sure, you had a western toilet, but only 50% of the time it would actually flush. You had an air conditioner, but it only went as cool as 85 degrees (which sadly enough was still an improvement!). It had a shower, but only cold water dripped out of it. You trained yourself into understanding that no matter how nice it looked upon first site, something essential wasn’t going to be working. (kind of the way I view men I date!) One of my favorite places was the hotel where the front door didn’t even close. The door way had been warped from the weather – and the door no longer closed into the door jam. Instead, we just put the chain on it and hoped for the best that night. One of my favorite sites was the restroom that had this lovely calking job in the photograph above. Honestly – it looked like the calk exploded or that a 2 yr. old did the job. Then again…at least water flowed through the facet…even if it was only cold water.

Gut Instincts:
Sometimes I get lucky. I traveled through out Egypt (and Morocco) and never once got sick…lucky. All of the people I traveled with had some type of GI sickness at some point, but not me…lucky. Photo: Toilet and buday – all in one, and a bit scary! I’d like to say that my gut held out because I was a savvy traveler – I watched what I ate, I always ‘Purelled’ my hands, I didn’t have ice in my drinks, etc…but that’s not the case. I don’t travel like I live in a plastic bubble…instead, I just travel. The only rule I consistently apply is to not drink the tap water…that’s suicide. While in Egypt I ate the fresh vegetables and fruit, I ordered salads, I had ice in my cola, I used public toilets and washed my hands in the water…and I was lucky. I’d like to believe that my gut is well-trained in 3rd world travel, that it has been exposed to bacteria and can fight it off, that it is made of Teflon, yet luck always plays a part. Egypt is most certainly a time bomb for the western stomach. Flies land on your food constantly, the glasses and utensils are never really clean, and the refrigeration is lax. But you have to eat something…so you take the risk. One of the positive sides to traveling in developing countries is that you stop biting your fingernails…as the thought of chewing on your nails with all of the dirt underneath them is not too appetizing!

Ignorance is Bliss:
I have transcended being a tough New Yorker. I have now become a global citizen…one that is adept at making my way around a market and ignoring every man, woman and child trying to sell me something. The key to this is to ignore. Egypt was the pushiest place that I had been in my travels. As you walked through a market, the men and boys would come out in a wave in front of you. You would see them all emerge from their store or stoop and you would hear them all trying to talk to you, selling you something. Photo: Me and a mini-camel in the souks! The noise would raise around you as more and more started to stand up and talk to you – it was like surfing a surreal wave of salesmen. It was a game of sorts – I would ignore them by pretending as if I was in a little bubble, never EVER making eye contact with any of them, I would just keep on walking. They would all try to come up with a clever way to get me to look. They would try to guess where I was from…”Aussie? Canada? Kiwi? “ Then they would start to pull out little funny one-liners from each of those countries to get you to crack a smile and indicate where you were from. They all had the Aussie accent down well. I found it strange that they seldom guessed American…but was thankful too! They would go as far as grabbing your arm and trying to walk you in the store, they would block your way so that you couldn’t get past them, but you just kept on living in your bubble and ignoring them. Kids pulling on your pant leg..ignore. I became so good at ignoring that I scared myself somedays…I was worried that maybe I had become so good at it that I wouldn’t be able to relate to people normally ever again! The Egyptians were professionals though, they would try to lure you into their store by saying – everything is 5 pounds ($1 in US), then when you came into the store to get what they had for 5 pounds…they would say…oh no, British pounds ($10 US). They would tell you that you were beautiful, they would tell you that they would not hassle you, they would beg you to buy…but you just ignored. They would sometimes get frustrated with you and say “What, you don’t like Egyptians”…but I knew this ploy…they just wanted you to be the ‘nice’ Westerner and turn around to defend that fact that you did like Egyptians…then they had you…you had made eye contact and you were hooked into shopping. When someone said to me in a hurt manor…”What, you don’t like Eygptian men?” I said “No, I don’t like Egyptian men”…that pretty much made them go away. I’m not sure what happened to the nice mid-westerner inside me, I guess I lost that somewhere in Asia. When men would come up to you and stand in front of you and forcefully ask “Where you from?”, I would just as forcefully ask “Where are YOU from?” They would answer “Egypt” and I would say “Nice to meet you” and just keep on walking.
The only problem with my ignore game plan was when you actually were looking to buy something…then you had to engage these touts. You had to go along with their games to some extent, sometimes you could even have fun with it, but eventually you would just have to say – I’m going to give you 10 pounds and that’s a fair price, you’d place the 10 in their hands and walk away…normally they would let you do that. I would try to seek out the quiet owners, the ones that didn’t hassle you, but they weren’t easy to find. I still felt like it was important to reward the people that weren’t so aggressive. Regardless, the markets were always an enjoyable experience whether you were ignoring or engaging…you’d always emerge from them with a new story to tell.

A Sprinkle a Day Keeps the Dust Away:
Egypt is dry…parched…hot…it turns your boogers brown thanks to all of the dust in the air. There is no humidity and the sun just shines 12 hours a day nonstop, the dirt is always blowing around you. You come in from outside with fine layer of dust encased on your body and belongings. However, the locals try to combat the dust…I don’t think they are winning the battle, but they continue to try. You walk around a town or a souk and notice that there are locals constantly taking water bottles and spraying them out on the ground in front of their establishments. At first I thought it was just another ploy to get your attention…I was a little worried that they were going to douse me with water in hopes of spontaneously having a wet t-shirt contest. However, I learned that they do this to keep the dust down. There was even a whole art to it – how they threw the water so that they didn’t hit people – a clever, precise flick of the wrist…it was talent. You would see little kids begging their father to let them throw the water…an apprentice of sorts. I don’t know if it really made much of a difference – I still had a layer of dust on me every day – but it was enjoyable to watch them fight the battle.

Photo: My roommate and new friend, Rosaline and I! She was a wonderful travel partner!

Yella!
During my stay in Egypt (and Morocco) I was able to pick up a few key phrases in Arabic…my favorite being the phrase for “Let’s go” – Yella! As with most countries, I was sad to leave Egypt – it’s culture was rich, and extremely different from anything I had encountered in my travels prior. I wasn’t too sad to leave it’s male-oriented culture, but I was happy to witness it and experience it. It made me respect the women there even more. Egypt made me tough – mentally tough, stomach tough, people tough, physically tough – tougher than NYC ever made me. I can only imagine that it is good preparation for India…my next stop!

Living to Die – Tombs of Egypt

Sherry — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 15:43:44 +0000

Great Pyramid at Sunrise

For the ‘best of’ Egypt Photography – click here!

For all snapshots of the Valley of the Kings and the Great Pryamids – click here!

One of my favorite sayings to live by is “work to live” – it’s really what I tried to follow while living and working in NYC. Quite frankly – I worked my ass of so that I could have this year + of travel…the epitome of “work to live”. There are so many people that I know who “live to work” – I’ve never really understood those people…and probably never will. However, even stranger, I have determined that the ancient Egyptian motto was “live to die”. That’s really how they lived their life…constantly thinking and preparing for the afterlife. After all, they believed that the afterlife was really where the fun was….and they were going to take everything with them that they needed…jewels, beds, clothes, pets, and wives. If I lived in this time, I think I would take my sleep sheet, my blow up travel pillow, a good hat, my camera, my laptop, and my ipod to the afterlife. That seems to be all that I need to live these days – and I certainly can’t imagine living without them anymore! In order to house all of these possessions they wanted to take with them to the afterworld – they needed a big place to store all of this loot…and that’s how the tombs of the Pyramids and the Valley of the Kings came to be.

Photo: Colossi of Memnon
My first exposure to the tombs of the Egyptian Kings was near Luxor at Valley of the Kings. Basically this was a secret location, hidden deep in a valley outside of Luxor where the various Kings were buried with all of their loot. Valleys always make me think about the 1980’s and the era of the Valley Girl. I think I even had a book on how to talk like a valley girl…however I don’t think I was too convincing in Peoria Illinois. Even though the Valley of Kings was like totally awesome, I didn’t see one mall there…totally disapointing…I am sooo sure! As we neared the royal valley, we were first greeted by the Colossi of Memnon – two huge statues that were moved to dry ground when the Nile started flooding. They were impressive and cut out of one piece of rock. We arrived at the tombs and this was my first time to really understand what I was about to see…underground tombs that had been preserved for thousands of years. There was a bitchin’ model of the tombs at the visitor center – it displayed a 3D image of the valley topography and underneath the topography it displayed the myriad of tunnels/tombs dug deep into the valley floor. We were to see 3 tombs that day for our entry fee.

Photo: Me in front of King Tut’s tomb
We learned that all of the tombs here had been raided years ago – yes, think Tomb Raider or Raiders of the Lost Arc. The only one that remained a secret was King Tut’s tomb – one of the smallest in the valley. The treasure in King Tut’s tomb has since been safely preserved and is on display at various museums. The Egyptian tombs were really the first concept of buried treasure. The Kings tried to keep the location of the tombs secret as they needed to ensure that their treasures would stay with them so they could have them in the afterlife. They couldn’t just show up to the afterlife with nothing…after all, they had to sleep somewhere and they didn’t have the ability to charge a new bed on a heavenly credit card! In order to protect their treasures they had a small, trusted group of people working on constructing the tombs – about 50 people over multiple years. These workers were treated well, as the King didn’t want any unhappy employees building his tomb…as they would be more likely to give up the location to the treasure.

The tombs were so well preserved they didn’t look real. As I walked through the first one I really couldn’t comprehend how the colors could be so vibrant for thousands of years. It just goes to show why we should wear sun screen every day. The tunnels/tombs are colorfully in tact because they haven’t been exposed to the sun, rain, wind or other elements. Colorful hieroglyphics line the tomb walls and ceilings for meters and meters deep into the core of the tomb. Besides a colorful resting place, there is one other perk to this ‘live to die’ lifestyle – plaster surgery. Our guide described how the Kings would build their sarcofigices/tombs in the form of how hey wanted to be seen in the afterlife. If they were short, they might have made a very tall sarcofigice, if they had a big nose, maybe they made their sarcofigice nose small. As the guide was describing this – one of the men from our group, Archie, said, “Oh, it’s like plaster surgery.”…perfect…I loved the comment so much that I had to use it! I guess even thousands of years ago the grass was always greener…go figure. I had an image float across my mind about my potential sarcofigice – one that had big boobs and thick wavy hair. Unfortunately, you’ll have to go visit the Valley of Kings yourself though as no pictures were allowed inside – but you’ll have to take my word for it – the hyroglyphics were amazing…this means a lot coming from me as I don’t even like old temples normally! I’d rather gag myself with a spoon than visit ancient temples…but the tombs in this valley were like totally worth it!

However – the granddaddy tomb of them all was the Pyramids. Due to my delay in arriving in Egypt, I had to save my trip to the Pyramids until my last day in Egypt. Rosaline and I got up early and had organized a private (air conditioned…thank god) car, and tour guide for our precious trip to one of the Great Wonders. This was it….this was the reason I had wanted to come to Egypt. As we drove through Cairo – we passed over the Nile and through downtown. I was struck by how modern Cairo really was compared to the rest of Egypt. As we drove further the modern thriving city turned into more of a dirty, gritty, apartment filled neighborhood – and all of a sudden I saw it. I could barely make it out in the heavy haze that morning, but there it was – a triangle point sticking up behind these old, ratty buildings. It seemed so out of place, to be so close to the Cairo suburb –a building 4,500 years old…talk about juxtaposition. I used to think that Boston was really unique because it had all of these old buildings amidst the modern ones – however – that thought seemed silly now as I viewed the pyramids sitting 200 meters away from a modern day Egyptian neighborhood.

Photo: Boy sitting on a stone of the pyramid…great sense of scale!
Let’s talk about the numbers. There are actually 9 pyramids in total – 3 large ones built for the Kings (grandfather, father, and son) and 6 smaller ones that belonged to the Queens. The great pyramid was the first pyramid to be built and it contained 2,300,000 stones that were brought from the south of Egypt by way of the Nile River. Each stone weighed from 2 to 15 tons. It actually took 30 years to build the Great Pyramid – the tomb for King Kyops. However, it took 200 years to develop the idea of the pyramids…meaning why they chose the shape, and how they figured out to architect it. It is believed that over 50,000 people worked on building it. These people weren’t slaves, they were regular Egyptians who had plenty of time on their hands – especially during the 4 months of the year when the Nile flooded and people were unable to work the land, instead they worked on the Pyramid.

Calling all geeks…I have a test for you! One of the coolest things that we learned was how the Egyptians actually sealed the sarcofogice/tomb inside the pyramid structure once the king had died. Think about it – the pyramid was already completed prior to the King’s death. There were only very small tunnel openings in the pyramid 1 meter by 1 meter. The King dies – he has a huge, heavy sarcofgice that needs to somehow go into the middle of the pyramid – how do you get it in there?
a. they dig another tunnel and take it in that way
b. they buried him alive
c. aliens put it in there
d. none of the above
…and the answer is…D! As they built the Pyramid they built the burial chamber room in the middle. There were 2 tunnels running out of the burial chamber that ran parallel to the ground and out to two openings at near the base of the pyramid. The tunnels were only 1 meter by 1 meter. As they built the pyramid up, they left the top open that lead to the burial chamber. They plugged the tunnel openings up with rocks and filled the burial chamber and tunnels with sand dumped in from the top of the pyramid. The sand went all the way to the top of the opening…the Pyramid was completely full. Once the King died, they mummified him (a process that took over 60 days) at the temple of the Sphinx. They then placed him in his sarcofogice, put it on top of the sand file at the top of the pyramid. They then unplugged the tunnel holes below near the ground, leaving the sand run out of the tunnel and empty out of the pyramid – slowly emptying and taking the sarcofogice with it right into the burial chamber.

Overall, I was in awe of the Pyramids…I suppose that’s exactly how one should feel when standing in front of the only remaining Ancient Wonder of the World. Let me just remind you again – the Pyramids are over 4,500 years old. It’s really mind blowing when you think of this – actually I was never really able to get my head around the age of these wonders…it just seemed impossible that I was standing here looking at something that could be that old…it made me feel small, very small. It made you appreciate how incredible the world is and the human beings who inhabit this globe are. It made me happy that I was out seeing it and following my motto of “work to live”. My life for the last 11 months has been spectacular and I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

Holy Moses – Egypt’s Red Sea and Mt. Sinai!

Sherry — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 15:22:15 +0000

Guide on Mt. Sinai trail...not an easy hike!

View Egypt Photography

View snapshots of the Red Sea and surrounding canyons

View photos of Mt. Sinai and the Burning Bush

Photo: Sawa camp on the Red Sea
The Red Sea was next on our Moses Tour. This was my favorite part in the movie…the water even looked red in the TV version – and Charleton Heston’s ability to part it was truly a special effects miracle! Woohoo…Red Sea…here I come! We crossed into the Sinai region of Egypt by ferry from Hurghada (unfortunately no one knew how to part the sea and simply drive to Sinai) then we drove way north to a little white sand camp called Sawa. I think it stood for Sand Around Whole Area…as there was no escaping the fine, white sand. This camp was remote – not necessarily because it was in the middle of nowhere, instead it had no electricity except for 4 hours of generator in the evening, no fresh water (salt water showers), shared bathrooms, and a bamboo hut to sleep in with a sand floor, small mattress and no air circulation. This was roughing it. However – my little sand filled bamboo hut looked out over the Red Sea – and that was all I needed. I could see Saudia Arabia from my little sand and ant filled mattress, and I was no more than 300 feet from some of the best coral reef in the world. The place was quiet, and hot, but once I stopped fighting the sand, I enjoyed it. I was even able to fit in a morning hike through a nearby cannon called Color Canyon.

Color Canyon was a treat….it was spectacular. The wind had formed the sandstone into a canyon – sometimes wide, sometimes very, very narrow. As you walked through the cannon and followed the path of the wind, you would see the various types of rocks, colors weaving through the sandstone as if it were a Paint –n-Swirl work of art. The canyon got so narrow at one point that we had to crawl through a small opening blocked by a boulder. The drop was long and luckily we all banded together and helped each other through the small space. As I was trying to slide through the opening like a greased pig, I regretted all of the potato chips that I had been living off of since I had arrived in Egypt! The walk was all the more interesting because one of the men in our group was a High School Geography teacher…meaning I could ask him anything about the rocks and I would get an answer! Archie educated me about the types of rocks, the colors, the and the formation of the canyon – my own personal tutor!

Photo: Hole in the canyon trail that we had to slide through!
That night we watched the sun set over the mountains. As you looked East over the Red Sea – the sunset light bounced off the Saudia Arabia mountains giving the sea in front of you a deep red glow!

Our final pilgrimage on the Moses roadtrip was the rock that started it all…Mt. Sinai. We left the Red Sea coast and drove into the tourist trap…umm…..I mean holy land. The town and monastery of St. Katherines was teaming with tourists – big tour buses, and tons of video cameras. Our first stop was at the base of a mountain – where Mohammad pointed out a rock formation in the shape of a cow…the golden calf. All of a sudden the vision from the movie came back to me again…Moses coming down from Sinai with a long beard, carrying the holy tablets to find a raging party – a rave minus a DJ – around a golden calf. Apparently the gold from the calf had long ago been stolen – so the rock formation was left. I was skeptical of the stone calf…but who am I to judge. Next we went to the monastery to see the chapel there and learn the story of St. Katherine. Photo: Man playing chess in the dirt with rocks However – the real draw there was the burning bush….yup…that’s right….I saw the burning bush…supposedly. Who really knows if that was the bush or not…but it was good enough for me…it looked old. I can’t say that God spoke to me – but it was certainly hot enough outside that I thought I was going to burst into flames…so why not that bush?

We rested during the hot part of the afternoon as we needed to prepare for our greatest ‘Moses-like’ adventure yet – climbing Mt. Sinai. What took Moses 40 days to do, we were going to do in 4 hours. I was really hoping and wishing to find a third tablet of commandments. Who says that there were only 2 tables of 10 commandments, maybe that was simply all Moses could carry – maybe he left a 3rd tablet up there. The one that said “Thou Shalt Party, Party, Party” or “Thou Shalt Not Wear White Before Labor Day” or “Thou Shalt Not Settle on a Boring Marriage”. We started up the mountain around 4:30 PM planning to make it to the summit by sunset. It was a challenging walk – 3,000+ rock stairs that were relentless – up, up, up – especially since I hand’t done any form of exercise now for 3 weeks…my ass was burning…it was God’s Stairmaster. Photo: Chapel at the top of Sinai The hike was spectacular – the mountain range was beautiful. We made it to the top with plenty of time to see the golden colors of the sunset bouncing off the mountains and the small chapel at the top. I hunted for the 3rd tablet of commandments, but no luck…I guess I would just have to try to live by the existing two tables…which had me a bit worried. We made it down the mountain by flashlight via the camel path…and there was no wild rave party waiting for us…just a large dinner buffet and cold showers.

Photo: My jump for joy at the top of Sinai!

During my stay in Egypt – I reveled in childhood memories of my family watching the Ten Commandments – memories that I hadn’t thought about for ages. In a way, I suppose it was a spiritual journey for me as those memories are precious. After all, family memories are carved in stone, but they are worn away over time – until something jolts you back to them. My jolt was Moses!

The Mother of All Project Plans – Ancient Egypt

Sherry — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 14:31:34 +0000

Man working on restoring a temple...a large job!

For the ‘best of’ Egypt Photography – click here!

I must confess – I’m not really into ancient sites, it’s just not my thing. I was bored by Pompeii, disinterested in the Parthenon, and I skipped the Roman Forum altogether – for some reason – these places just aren’t as interesting to me as simply going and sitting in a café and people watching present day culture, or trekking to a village and meeting the locals. However – when you travel around the world, I can’t have people saying to me, ”What do you mean you didn’t go to Pompeii?!!” in shock and horror. They’d look at me as if I was an idiot. In fact – I’m not real sure if it was a good idea that I admitted to never going to the Roman Forum – but you can lecture me later on that. So when I arrived in Egypt and realized that one of the big draws to Egypt is all of the ancient temples, and sites – I didn’t exactly jump for joy. Sure, I really wanted to see the Pyramids, but beyond that, I honestly really didn’t care too much. However – a portion of the tour was about visiting all of these ancient sites. We visited Abu Simbel, Valley of the Kings, the Pyramids, Luxor Temple, Philae Temple, Kom Ombo Temple, and Edfu Temple, Medinat Habu Temple, and the Sphinx. For someone who isn’t a temple person…this is overload. However – I did try to enjoy it – I tried to find ways that I could get excited about it, I tried to walk into the site and think about what it was like when it was bustling with people and functioning as a temple. I was rather impressed with how well preserved all of the sites were – so well intact – it seemed almost fake. However – I found that the most intriguing thing for me about temples – is simply, how the hell they got there and how long it took them to build it.

In my old life I was a Project Manager. My job was to understand what the customer wanted, and break it into hundreds of achievable little tasks that when done in the correct order would yield the final product. This also meant that I had to acquire and assign the resources to the tasks, deal with delays and budget overruns, and provide constant updates to my customer. Some projects were harder than others, some took a couple years, some took a couple months. So, when I started touring around the temples and tombs of Egypt – the one question that kept coming to mind was – “how did they ever put together a project plan for this?” Think about it, something like Abu Simbel took about 20 years to build. Lifespans in Ancient Egypt were short. So that means that there was turnover during those 20 years, plus, it’s a good bet that the original project manager assigned to the Abu Simbel project also died before it was completed – so a new person had to take over. Hell, the customer didn’t even live long enough to see the finished project normally. Your project team for a site like the Pyramids may have included about 50,000 men. My typical project team consisted of 20 people – and that was hard enough to control! Someone might not be pulling their weight, someone doesn’t get along with the next person, someone thinks they deserve a better position, someone always shows up to work late – the list of people issues could go on and on. Dealing with those issues with thousands of people – well, that takes an immense amount of patience and organization.

We live in a society today that is all about immediate gratification. I think that’s why I struggled so much in understanding how these temples were ever finished. How in the world did you motivate people to keep working for years, and years, never really seeing the finished product. Or – better yet, when the king who backed the project died, how did it still get completed – especially when someone else was now in power. After the 5th temple I finally had to seek out some answers – so I went to Connie, the high school history teacher in our tour group to ask her how this all worked.

Once a King took power, he would decide upon how many ‘structures’ he wanted built – this normally consisted of a few temples (for he and his queen) that displayed his might and generosity, and a tomb for his afterlife. He would then discuss this with his appointed priests and provide them with the authority (papers with his seal on it) to get the job done. The priests were really the project managers in this ancient org chart. They were given this job because they were the only people in the community that could read and write, therefore they had a high up position in society and a close relationship with the King. The priests would go away for a couple of years and draw up the architectural plans to share with the King and get his final sign off. After this, the Priests real work began – he was responsible for gathering labor and making it all happen.

You would think that acquiring labor would be one of the hardest parts of the project – but it wasn’t. Many people wanted to do the work – especially in the flood season when there were no crops to tend to. Working on a project for the King meant free food and lodging, people took pride in working on a royal project and showing off their workmanship/skill, and finally it gave you some good karma – because in Egypt – it’s all about the afterlife. The issue of turnover due to death or old age wasn’t really an issue either as in those times, kids were trained in their father’s skills – so the child just took over where the father left off. By this theory I would have ended up an Engineer working for Catepillar all my life…that would have been a site!

So, that leaves the question of what happens when the King dies before the work is done – does the work stop – or does it carry on. I think the real answer is , ‘it depends on how much the new King liked the old one’. However the King’s seal is supposed to be good after his death – therefore that approval that the priest got 40 years ago – is still valid and the project should be finished.

Photo: The raised Abu Simbel…not an easy task!
Like any good project manager – you always have to have a contingency plan…because something ALWAYS goes wrong. I wonder if the priests had contingency plans…what if they ran out of herbs to make blue paint, what it the king died, what if there was a hieroglyphics strike, or what if centuries after you finished the temple, they build a damn on the Nile in Aswan Eygpt and you end up flooding the very temple that you worked so hard to create? This is exactly what happened to the famed Abu Simbel Temple. In 1960 a damn was built, it flooded the area and sent the Nubians fleeing to higher ground. It also threatened the existence of Ramses II great masterpiece. Luckily a team of architects from all over the world sponsored by Unesco embarked upon a huge plan to actually move the massive temple to higher ground. This would seem like an impossible undertaking as the temples are huge and intricate- but they did successfully move the temples to higher ground – cutting it apart and then putting it back together like a jigsaw puzzle. The temple now looks out over the waters of Lake Nasser.
By considering how they planned and executed these massive projects helped me visualize it and respect these temples. The Priest’s work was hard – but it demonstrates to me that Project Management is actually an ancient job….and it was a good one to have back then! I still would have liked to see the Priests work breakdown structure, critical path, and gant chart for one of the temple projects. However – I’ve heard that the old version of Microsoft Project they were using was highly unstable – next time they should install the service pack!

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Convoys and Hubbly Bubbly – Arriving in Egypt

Sherry — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 12:26:52 +0000

Egyptian Camel

For the ‘best of’ Egypt Photography – click here!

For all snapshots of Abu Simbel and Aswan – click here!

I mistakenly arrived in Egypt thinking that it would be very similar to Morocco. That’s like thinking that California and New York are similar…and having lived in both – I know that’s not true. Sure, the two countries are in Northern Africa, they are both suffocatingly hot, their language is Arabic (with minor differences), they have the same religion, and they even share the Sahara Desert – camels and all…but beyond that – they really aren’t the same. The difference is that Egypt is all about history – temples, tombs, relics, hieroglyphics, and royalty. Because of that, you tend to see more tourists in Egypt and it is a little more developed in general.

I met up with my new Intrepid tour group in Aswan, Egypt near the southern most border of Egypt and Sudan. I had already met one member of the group – my partner in crime and fellow Casablanca/Egypt Air sufferer, Rosaline, from Australia. We stuck together through the worst of times, now we were ready to experience the best of times. It was actually a blessing that I met her in Casablanca – I doubt that I would have kept what was left of my sanity without her. We flew into Aswan and met the other 10 members of the group. I once again was traveling with Intrepid tour company, but this was only for two weeks and it was supposedly more upscale (basically meaning that there were more included activities planned in a jam packed 2 week period). I wasn’t real sure how I was going to like this form of touring as I was really in love with my backpacking tours that I had taken with Intrepid in the past – but this was only two weeks so I could give it a try.

Photo: Landscape of Southern Egypt…lots of rocks!
We got settled into our hotel and happily changed into new clothes…for the first time in 3 days. We met the other 10 people in the group as well as our leader Mohammad. He was from Egypt so could offer us a lot of good information about the country and the culture. Since the group of 10 had already been touring together for 2 days, we came into it as rookies…and had to learn 10 new names. The group members came from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and one other American.

That afternoon we went on a hot walking tour of Aswan. Aswan was really a good place to lodge for the night on the way to the famous temple of Abu Simbel (close to the Sudan border). The Nile River flowed through Aswan and it had a large Nubian population. The Nubians are the old nomadic tribal people who inhabited southern Egypt and northern Sudan. They had fought turf wars with the Egyptians many years ago as well as turf wars with the Nile as it flooded their land. We took a boat ride on the Nile, visited an old Nubian village, rode some camels, and had dinner with the locals at the village. We finished the evening dancing with the local kids before we boated back to Aswan for a good, but short night’s sleep.

Photo: The convoy!
“Ah, breaker one-nine, this here’s the Rubber Duck. You gotta copy on me, Love Machine? Ah, 10-4, Pig Pen, fer shure, fer shure. By golly, it’s clean clear to Taco Town. Yeah, we definitely got us the front door, good buddy. Mercy sakes alive, looks like we got us a convoy…” The next morning, at the wee hours of 4AM, we joined our first convoy – no, not a camel convoy or a semi convoy – a bus convoy. Since Egypt has had a recent history (within the last 10 years) of terrorist attacks on their tourism industry, the government has tried to put in place programs to improve the safety of tourism in the country. They understand that tourism dollars are a huge piece of income, and you can’t just expect people to come to see the pyramids and old temples and risk their lives doing it. Therefore, they set up with program of convoys to move tourists throughout the country. When the tourists are on the roads in Egypt (outside the large cities), they are to be escorted by security. This would obviously be impossible if they were to let the tourists come and go freely – so instead they came up with the idea of a secure convoy…without Kris Krisstoferrson Tourists are only allowed to move by vehicle as a part of a convoy. So – if you want to go from Aswan to Luxor – you need to check what time the daily convoy leaves and go in it. The convoy mainly consists of tour buses, minivans, medium size buses, and a number of security personnel in trucks carrying automatic weapons as if they were toys. In addition, you had to go through a number of checkpoints along the way. Security personal would sit in these little huts the size of a closet and watch the caravan go through a town, staring at us as if we were the circus coming to town. The caravans would have up to 80 vehicles in it and when you crossed over into another regional section of the country, you would all have to stop and wait for a new security team to take over and lead you into the next region. You’d get out of the van and wait for a bit trying to get some fresh air and you would have men with automatic weapons walking around you. I know it was meant to make you feel safe as a tourist, however, it kind of had the opposite effect – it kind of freaked me out. Especially considering the men carrying the automatic weapons looked about 17 years old. I saw one trying to untangle the strap on his automatic weapon by dangling it by the strap and jerking it around like a tangled bunch of cords until it came free. All I could think was – I hope to God that the gun has a safety on it…and he knows how to use it.

Photo: Security shack…a common site across Egypt
We joined the convoy to Abu Simbel at 4AM. This was a large convoy and I honestly slept most of the way. It was a 3 hour ride, and at about 6AM, I woke up from my bus slumber and was stunned as I pulled the curtain and looked outside. I had to remind myself where I was for a minute. It was pure, flat desert – brown, rocky (not sandy), and every so often there would be a little conical mound sticking up from the flat like a little mini hill. I hadn’t seen anything like this before. I watched the sun come up and ate my little box breakfast of bread, cheese, and jam (my new favorite combination), slathered on sunscreen, and got prepared to sweat my ass off seeing one of the most magnificent temples in Egypt.

Photo: Me in front of Abu Simbel…check out the scale!
I must admit – I knew nothing about these temples prior to the bus stopping and letting us out. I hadn’t even seen a picture of them before…but I prefer it that way. These days, you see so many things on TV, in books, on the internet – and it sets your expectations, and lessens the experience. But when you show up somewhere and truly have no idea what to expect – it’s fun – and you are never disappointed. I had no idea if this temple was big, small, made of gold, on the water, or had a moat. All I knew is that Ramses the Second had built them here near the border of Egypt and Sudan to warn all of the Sudanese to stay away…this was Ramses’ land.

Within our group of 12 people, we had a couple from Canada traveling with us, Connie and Archie. They were both high school teachers that had been teaching across the hall from each other for years. Connie taught History and Archie taught Geography. How fortunate that Connie was with us – as she provided me my “Ancient Egypt for Dummies” education over the next two weeks. She actually kind of served as our tour guide at Abu Simbel, giving us little overviews of the structure, why it was built, what the reliefs (carvings) meant, and answered all of our questions. Photo: The great Abu Simbel…HUGE!
We entered the temple area from the back where it just looked like a big pile of dirt. However, when we rounded the corner and came to the front, I was struck by the size and grandeur of the temple. It was massive – there were actually two temples – one for Ramses and a smaller one for his Queen, Nefitari. Both had entrances that were lined with huge statues of Ramses himself. I barely was the size of is big toe. Both temples faced out onto Lake Nasser.

We moved on to see a few more temples before returning to Aswan. We had a night out in Aswan that evening after a much needed siesta. I’ve determined that it is a necessity to take a siesta in these hot countries – as it’s inhuman to be outside doing anything during the hours of 1PM to 5PM…temperatures were reaching into the 110+F. If you didn’t take time to slow down and drink plenty of liquids you’d end up with heat stroke. While traveling through Morocco and Egypt I think that every single person that I was traveling with was sick at least once…and I don’t believe that it was necessarily from the food – I think it was from the heat – it’s lethal.

Photo: Hubbly Bubbly contraptions…
Our group went out and had a great dinner of grilled meats and then went walking around the souks. As we walked around the souks, I noticed that there were a number of little bars (no alchohol…this is still a Muslim country). The bars were filled with men – and only men. About 80% of the men there were having a coffee and some hubbly bubbly. Hubbly Bubbly – how can you not love that name?! It refers to the smoking pipes that are used throughout Arabia and Middle East. The pipes come in all sizes, and normally have a long tube that you suck in/inhale the sheesha (flavored tobacco). The tube was connected to a glass bottle/vase of sorts which has water in it. The tobacco sits at the top of the pipe above the vase. You put coals on the top of the contraption and suck the heat through the tobacco, the water bubbles, and you smoke in a flavored taste. The flavors were normally apple, peach, or mint. In a country where alcohol is prohibited, hubbly bubbly, or sheesha, is the national past-time. At the bars, the men would simply sit and smoke and watch the world go by. It seemed odd to me that they would get that much enjoyment out of it – it certainly didn’t provide the medicinal qualities of alcohol or smoking cigarettes – but it must have provided something – as the use of it was just too widespread. I asked our leader, Mohammad, about it and he said that it was similar to our culture going to Starbucks and having a coffee everyday, it was a cultural thing. It also provided a very slight nicotine fix I believe, but it wasn’t like cigarettes. In fact, he also told me that it was used an alternative to smoking – or for people who are trying to quite smoking. The good news is that instead of a yucky cigarette smell occupying the air – there was a sweet, green apple smell wafting through the souks – a much better alternative.

Photo: Mohammad demonstrating the Hubbly Bubbly!
As I sat and watched the myriads of men smoking the hubbly bubbly – I started thinking of it as a similar thing to my need to have a Diet Coke or cup of coffee every day – just a slight addiction, a therapeutic way to deal with the day…we all have our vices. However, with the name of hubbly bubbly, it definitely seemed like the most fun vice. Maybe I should start calling my morning coffee – coffee snoffee, or my diet coke – diet cokey wokey. Nahhh – ok, maybe not – I’ll just stick to the hubbly bubbly. The one thing that was clear to me from the first town I visited in Egypt was that the culture was certainly unique – there would be a lot to discover! 10-4 Good Buddy…over and out!

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Holy Moses – Cruising the Nile River

admin — Tue, 31 Jul 2007 05:57:41 +0000

A Cruise on the Nile River

View Egypt Photography

View snapshots of the Nile River

My only knowledge of Egypt really comes from an unlikely source – Charleton Heston. I can still remember my family all sitting around the one TV we had and watching the Ten Commandments…it was a huge event for us – we were even allowed to eat in front of the TV. The movie was cutting edge – it had amazing special effects – such as the burning bush, turning a staff into a snake, and who could ever forget the parting of the Red Sea – only to close onto the Pharaohs army…that was my favorite scene. Plus, it was a two night event – my first memory of a cliffhanger was probably the Ten Commandments. Granted – the movie is not necessarily about Egypt – but it is set around the Nile, Pharaohs, the Red Sea, and of course Mt. Sinai – all of these things were on the itinerary for my trip through Egypt – so it didn’t surprise me that my memories of the movie came flooding back to me as I traveled the country.

Photo: Kids at work
The movie wasn’t my only source of knowledge of the Nile River though – I have 4th Grade geography to also thank. Sure – the Nile is the longest river on the globe at 4,100 miles long; and it runs south to north – that makes it unique and memorable. However – I still have this image burned into my brain from the Ten Commandments movie where the Egyptian princesses, Miriam, was bathing, washing, and socializing out along the Nile River when a little basket came floating by amongst the reeds with a baby in it…Moses. Therefore the Nile conjures up images of the decadent royal lifestyle, gold jewelry, and femininity…peaceful, yet grand. This is one of the reasons why I chose to tour through Egypt and not simply go to see the Pyramids. I wanted a river cruise adventure on the Nile!

We spent 2 days and 2 nights on a felucca on the Nile. A felucca is a single mast wooden sailing boat commonly used along the Nile. I’m positive that Moses had to have ridden on one during his decadent Egyptian childhood! We were to sail down stream (to the North) from Aswan to Luxor. Actually – come to think of it – is it really called downstream any longer if you are going from South to North? Or is that considered upstream? I will probably never know that answer to that question – so I will move on…

Photo: Our felucca on the Nile
Upon my first view of the Nile – it was way different than my childhood memory – first of all – it was much, much wider than the movie set river they used for The Ten Commandments! There were no Eygptian women dressed in gold head-dresses doing their wash in it. However there were plenty of cows washing in it – as well as donkeys and young Egyptian boys swimming in it! Seeing that pretty much sealed the deal for me – I was not swimming in the Nile. There are a number of things written in travel books about swimming in the Nile – most recommend against it due to the fact that it’s rather dirty and full of bacteria. The last thing I wanted was to acquire some parasite from the Nile, however it takes an immense amount of self control to be surrounded by cool water for 2 days in 110 degree heat and not jump in. As I continued to see the myriad of animals bathing, eating, and shitting in it – I decided that I could indeed have self control! So – the Nile wasn’t really a royal river anymore – but it was still the Nile and it was our home for 2 days/nights.

Photo: Deck of the felucca – close quarters
A felucca isn’t necessarily a posh sailboat with a galley – instead – it’s a big wooden sailing boat with a flat deck area – and ….well….that’s about it. There are no other compartments of space. There are no bathrooms, there is no kitchen, there is nothing below deck, there is just a deck. The deck is about 300 Sq ft. – it’s covered with cushions and has a big tarp covering it to protect you from the shade. The tarp was great – as it kept it somewhat cool on the boat – however it was a hindrance too. Since there was a tarp – this meant that you couldn’t actually ever stand upright. You had to walk around on the little cushy pads (across the other people laying there in their little space) hunch backed. In the brochure, it all sounded rather pleasant – not posh, but pleasant. However, when you get there and think about how you are going to fit 15 people on this 300sq feet of space for two days…with no bathroom, and no way to stand up you tend to panic. We were to eat, sleep, rest, read, lounge, socialize, and dress on that deck area…amidst 14 other people…this would certainly be an adventure!

Photo: First Mate and Cook!

Felucca Kitchen

We had a crew of two who operated the large felucca. They were the captain and first mate; plus the cooks, and the entertainment. I was actually surprised at how much wind there was on the Nile pushing us along; only twice did they have to actually get the oars out and paddle! The dinners they put together were quite good – considering they only had 2 gas burners and no kitchen space. They had a little cutting board which they used as a kitchen counter preparing everything. We also had two large coolers full of drinks that served as our bar with water, booze, and juice. Yeah – thank God for booze!

We made rest stops about every 3 hours – where we crawled out and stretched our legs for a bit, made friends with the donkeys and cows around us and peed in the bushes – if we could find any. The inaccessibility of peeing spots, made it rather difficult to drink all of the beer we had brought along in the two coolers. There was this fine line of drinking too much too fast and then you were miserable because your bladder felt like it was going to explode and you had nowhere to go! I actually spent most of my time enjoying the vast view, and reading a book – something that I seldom get the time to do!

Me and the Nile Wildlife

We stopped for the first night along the banks of the Nile…along with a few other felucca’s that were doing similar trips to us. We had a lovely view…of cows and donkeys. This also meant that getting off the boat and going to the bathroom included a deadly walk across landmines of poop. To top it off, we had a very curious donkey. He would graze around our little make-shift toilet (basically a hole with some tenting around it), and would peek his head through the tenting while you were in there doing your business. I have to admit – never in my life would I have envisioned myself talking a live donkey while squatting over a toilet…in a field in Egypt.

As nighttime fell, I realized that sleeping on a deck with 14 other people had its challenges…a donkey making a jackass sound in the middle of the night 10 ft. from your boat…well, that required ear plugs. That night we enjoyed a bon fire with the passengers and crew from other boats and listened to the Nubian locals play drums and sing for us. I settled down with my sleep sheet, ear plugs, eye mask, and enjoyed my first night of sleeplessness on the Nile.

Photo: Butcher shop in Daraw
The second day of floating down the Nile like Moses included some stops along the way to see temples and a camel market. Unfortunately – there was no camel market that day – so it just looked like a dirt field with a fence around it. Too bad as I was ready to purchase me some camels! Actually – a number of times I had already been offered camels for my hand in marriage – so I guess the market wasn’t really necessary. Had my father been traveling with me – I’m a little worried that he may have accepted some of the camel proposals and sold me off to an Egyptian in exchange for 30 camels that he could raise on his land in South Dakota…it certainly wouldn’t have surprised me! Even though the camel market was not operating that day, we still walked around the small camel trading town of Daraw.

This was ‘real Egypt’ – a town with no tourists where we were stared at as if we had just stepped off a UFO as opposed to a felucca. We stopped there for some sugar cane juice and were able to walk around the small town and explore for about 30 minutes. This was probably my favorite location in all of Egypt…because it was real. Rosaline and I walked around the market and soon we had a group of school children following us begging us to take their picture. In addition, the men from the fruit and meat stands all wanted us to come over and take their picture. What made this town real was the simple fact that they didn’t ask for money after I took their picture – they simply wanted to look at it.

Photo: Man with eyeball

They were still virgins to tourism – they didn’t know that the rest of Egypt was asking for money every time you took a picture of someone – instead – they were just genuinely happy to view themselves on the screen. My favorite was the butcher – he wanted to pose for me with his knives in front of the meat…he was so proud…it was priceless. We all gathered and got back in our hot taxi wagon, I was the last to get in as our leader, Mohammad, practically had to push me into the truck as I didn’t want to leave this little oasis of culture! As I got in, this man came to the back of the wagon and had a big round object in his fingers, and he was holding it up yelling something in Arabic. I all of a sudden realized that the big round object was a cow eyeball…and he was holding it up to his eye and laughing. He proceeded to hold it in his mouth as I shot pictures of him as if he were Elle McPherson…he was a star! You can’t beat a cow eyeball pose! That night was stayed on the felucca again, docked by another donkey and cow and had a feast of pasta. Our captains even played drums and sang songs for us afterward. Our time on the felucca was memorable, claustrophobic at times, but worth it! Moses would have enjoyed it…it was much better than a basket!

Don’t let the cramped space and the cow eyeball scare you off! If you don’t feel like ‘roughing’ it on a felucca, then there are plenty of other options for Nile River Cruises!

Losing my Marbles – Hostage Crisis at an Airport Hotel

Sherry — Mon, 23 Jul 2007 10:07:53 +0000

Me, Rosaline, and Sherif at the Cairo airport

After nearly 11 months of travel, it finally happened – I finally reached the end of my rope. Thanks to Egypt Air and Royal Air Maroc Airlines – I nearly had a nervous breakdown that was colossal. I actually had visions of me ending up in a Moroccan jail, arrested by the airport police in Casablanca. This incident actually happened over a week ago – but it was such a sour, terrible experience that I couldn’t even bring myself to write about it until now. I had to step away and collect my thoughts a bit first…so here’s my story of 2 shitty airlines, an inept airport hotel, non-existent customer service, living in the same clothes for 3 days, shedding many tears, making 2 great friends, and experiencing the largest cultural difference that I have faced yet – this is the story of how I got from Morocco to Egypt.

I left Marrakech bound for a flight to Cairo Egypt. I was to arrive in Cairo on Sunday morning early which was perfect as my tour that I was to meet up with started on Sunday night. The Egypt tour group was to meet for dinner that night at our hotel and then early the next morning we were touring around Cairo – I was finally going to be able to see the Pyramids! I had booked my air ticket through Royal Air Maroc who flew me from Marrakech to Casablanca. I had a 4 hour layover in the Casablanca airport and then hopped an overnight flight from Casablanca to Cairo on a Royal Air Maroc flight operated by Egypt Air. Thankfully my bags had been checked through to Cairo so I didn’t have to lug anything around other than my carry-on which included my laptop, camera, passport holder and a book or two. I worked on catching up on my writing while sitting around at the airport, and I worked at spending my remaining dirhams since I wasn’t expecting to be back in Morocco anytime soon! In fact – I was rather proud of myself for spending every last dirham I had at the little café on 3 bottles of water, gum, and M&M’s. In fact, I was actually short by one dirham and the nice boy behind the counter at the café just let it ride. Perfect! I was ready to go to Egypt!

I boarded the plane, excited to have some downtime to simply listen to music and read and sleep. The plane wasn’t full so I had my whole row to myself…a great perk for an overnight flight! Things were looking great! We taxied out to the runway, and you could hear a weird noise – but I had my itunes on listening to the Digital Photography Show Podcast – perfectly happy in my geeky photography world. It appeared that we turned the corner and were about ready to take off down the runway – but we stopped instead. Little did I know that this signified the beginning of the end. We sat for about 10 minutes with the weird noise still ringing throughout the aircraft. Then the crew/captain came on the loudspeaker and said something in Arabic, and then repeated it in French. I wasn’t really too concerned as I watched the reactions of the passengers around me – they all seemed a little annoyed, but they just stayed seated and kept on reading – I decided that I would follow their lead.

About an hour later, I was starting to get annoyed and restless. We still hadn’t moved and it was now 1AM and I was getting tired. Soon we had another announcement – in Arabic and French and now everyone around me wasn’t ok…in fact – they seemed rather upset and started to get up and get their items out of the overhead. I still didn’t know what was going on – but I followed the crowd and removed my items and followed people off the plane in a sleepy haze. There were airport buses waiting for us and everyone got in a bus and were bussed back to the terminal. Obviously – this flight wasn’t going anywhere tonight…crap. It wasn’t the end of the world as I had an extra day in Cairo anyway before my tour started – so if I made it there later in the day – no problem. I liked my new laid back attitude…3rd world countries make you patient…and I felt like I had successfully stripped my high strung NY attitude and achieved patience successfully in Morocco. However, since I was tired, I was mildly annoyed with the whole situation.

As I got off the bus and followed the rest of the passengers back to the terminal I was rather fed up with the fact that I really had no idea what was going on. I was worried that I was going to be sleeping on the airport floor; and let me tell you, there’s nothing in the Casablanca airport besides one (yes one) electrical plugs, a few worthless shops, and smokers (you can smoke all over Morocco). The prospect of sleeping in the airport was not a good thought.

As we re-entered the terminal, there were some men passing out arrival/departure customs cards….now wait a minute…I was really confused now. I decided to start using my vocal chords at this point. As the guy handed me the card, I asked him if he spoke English. He motioned me over to the side to wait (for someone who spoke English to come talk to me presumably). I got fed up with waiting while everyone on the plane passed me, and finally butted in again and asked him if he could explain to me what was going one and why were they giving us customs cards again. He told me to follow everyone and that someone from the airline would be out to talk to us. He also mentioned something about sending us to a hotel. So I kept on following the crowd to customs, loosing my patience slowly. I filled out the card and we all queued up again and they basically voided our previous Morocco departure stamp in our passport and admitted us back into the country as if we never left. By this time it was now about 1:45AM, and my annoyance and sleepiness level increased another notch. I finally found someone again and whiningly asked them what was going on. They told me to wait and someone would explain.

Apparently the whininess of my English attracted some other English speakers because we all started to gather together…all 4 of us. We expressed confusion about the whole situation – no one knew what was going on, but everyone thought we were being sent to a hotel. As we were all commiserating together, one of the Australian women next to me, Rosaline, said something about the fact that her tour started tomorrow and she was worried about missing it. I said – “yeah, me too.” As we continued this miserable exchange, we came to realize that we were actually both booked on the same tour in Egypt with Intrepid! It was really a weird coincidence that we had both been in Morocco touring and now we were both heading to Egypt on the same day to start the same tour. Hell, we were probably slotted to be roommates in Egypt for all we knew – and here we met in the Casablanca airport at 2AM!

We did introductions and stayed together as we followed the crowd back out to the departure area and out of the airport to 2 big buses. Since we were talking, I don’t think that I was really thinking to much about what was really happening and that no one from the airline seemed to be present – instead, I just followed the crowd and talked to Rosaline about her Morocco trip. I have no idea who was leading us out to the buses, an airport employee of some sort, but no airline representative was to be seen – this should have been my first red flag…but I was tired, and missed this first clue. Maybe my dream of working as a ‘Charlie’s Angels’ private detective was really a little too lofty for me. I obviously wasn’t paying close attention.

Rosaline and I stayed by each other’s sides because we both needed to get to Cairo for the same reasons, and we both spoke English! We sat on one of the buses for a long time – another 20 minutes passed and the crowd really started to get cranky. No one was telling us any more than the fact that we were going to a hotel. At this point I also realized that I didn’t have my luggage…shit. Sure, I had my carry-on’s, but my luggage had been checked and was on the plane. When you are a world nomad like myself – your suitcase becomes the only thing you are responsible for – it is your life, your home, your identify sort of like a homeless person with their shopping cart. You lose that shopping cart and you are really screwed. Annoyance turned up one more notch. The thought of not having my suitcase by my side that night made me really, really jumpy.

As the crowd was getting rowdy on the bus, Rosaline and I started to get a bit more worried as we still had no idea why we were on the bus, where we were going, when we were coming back, if we’d every see our luggage again, or who was paying for our hotel. People were yelling around us in Arabic; we made the comment to each other that we didn’t understand what was going on. The worst is that you don’t know what happening and you don’t know if that’s due to the language barrier or if it’s because no one is providing any info to anyone. You start to assume that it’s the language barrier and believe that everyone else knows what’s going on. However, this lovely young Arabic man in the seat ahead of us turned around and explained to us in perfect English that we were being taken to a hotel and that no one had provided any additional information at this time. Rosaline and I thanked him and then looked at each other and mouthed that we needed to keep this translator around…we knew that he would be invaluable in this crazy escalating situation. Finally at 3AM the buses started moving and we went about 7 minutes to the Atlas Airport Hotel…my cell for the next 2 days.

As we entered the hotel, I knew this was not going to be a good situation – there were about 40 very angry people and 1 man at the front desk. The check-in procedure was painful – pulling teeth without novacane would have been more fun. Everyone attacked this man behind the counter for a room. Yelled at him, and crowded around. Even though I was dead tired – I didn’t feel like getting caught up in the craziness – instead I was pre-occupied with making a mental list of what items I had with me in my carry-on bags and what was in my luggage that was not with me. I think I was going through all of the worst-case scenarios in my head – what if I never saw my luggage again, etc. The only real necessity that I was missing for the night was a toothbrush and toothpaste – so it wasn’t the end of the world – in fact, I had my really important, expensive things with me – camera, lenses, laptop, ipod, cell phone, and passport/travel wallet. I even had a breath freshener spray…so the lack of a toothbrush wasn’t a big deal. However at that time I also realized that I had no Moroccan money anymore as I had gotten rid of it all. I wasn’t too thrilled about that – but I had assumed that the airline would take care of us and tomorrow we would leave sometime, no problem.

Rosaline, Sherif (our translator), and I sat in the lobby of the Atlas Airport Hotel while about 40 people duked it out at the front desk yelling and screaming at each other. I had found my inner-peace again, or maybe I was just exhausted, but I just sat there and waited – for another hour. Soon the line died down and I got up and eventually they gave us all keys to our own rooms, and we went to bed around 4:30AM…exhausted. I was mildly concerned that I really had no idea when we were leaving tomorrow but the front desk said they would call us in the morning with the information. Mind you…this was just the hotel staff telling us that – no airline representative was ever present – yet because we are human – we want to believe in people, so I fooled myself into thinking that the hotel staff must know what they are talking about. I’m sure that we’ll leave sometime tomorrow on another flight. Worst case scenario, we will be put on tomorrow night’s nightly flight to Cairo and I will be one day late. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. If I was delayed exactly one day, that would mean that I would arrive in the early morning on Monday and I would hook up with my tour group on day one. The tour was scheduled to go see the Pyramids that first morning – the whole reason I was coming to Egypt – so I didn’t want to miss that! I fell asleep, a little uneasy with the whole situation, but exhaustion took over.

The next morning I awoke early, at 7:30 – due to the mild stress of the situation no doubt. I took a shower, tried to brush my teeth with my finger and my Listerine spray, and waited until 8AM to call the front desk to see what was going on. I had somehow thought that the front desk would for sure have some information for us by now. The airline should have a new plan and I wanted to know what it was so that I could go about making the necessary phone calls to Intrepid, my tour company, and let them know what was going on. I called the front desk, told them that I arrived last night on the late, cancelled flight and asked for an update. For the first time of many, they said “Sorry, Miss, we have not heard from the airline.” I was taken aback by this a bit, and asked when they expected to hear from them. They said that they should know more by 9AM. Ok, that’s wasn’t too far off, so I decided to ask the next big question on my mind…”will you be feeding us breakfast?”

Rosaline, Sherif, and I met in the lobby at 8:30, received our breakfast vouchers at the front desk and had breakfast. We got to know each other a little better over bread and butter (the typical breakfast in Morocco). Sherif was 21 years old, from Cairo. He was a tennis player – ranked 3rd in Egypt – and he had been in Morocco for a tournament. He had actually traveled all over the world playing tennis, which explains his flawless English skills. He told us about Cairo as we mentally started our tour through his information. After breakfast we went back out to the front desk and asked about the status of the cancelled flight and when we would be leaving. We got the same answer, “We have not heard from the airline.” I was visibly disappointed and Sherif stepped in and talked to them in Arabic. He didn’t get any further with the conversation unfortunately – but they told us that we should just be patient and the airline would call them when we were supposed to go.

I decided to stay calm, and do the next best thing – I asked them about internet access as I had seen a wireless router on the wall of the lobby. They had free internet…the one redeeming factor of the whole situation. I knew that if I could get online, I could get information. The web is my friend, and it ended up being my savior. I checked email, did some writing, while Rosaline and Sherif went back to bed. Sure, the hotel was very nice – just like your typical airport hotel – good, clean rooms, bad food, swimming pool, bar. However – we didn’t have our luggage, and I had no Moroccan money with me – so the pool just taunted us, as well as the bar.

Noon came around, my teeth were getting really icky now, and I was getting more and more concerned about the fact that we hadn’t heard any info. I went to the front desk again…still no info, but they gave me a lunch voucher. The 3 of us went to lunch again and now all we talked about was what was happening, or not happening with our flight. Sherif had talked to his parents in Cairo, and they said that the Egypt Air office at the Cairo airport said that the flight was delayed and that it would be leaving Casablanca shortly…ha. We went back to the front desk after lunch, well fed, but more annoyed than ever, and was much more forceful when asking for information. They kept on reassuring me that they had been calling the airport but they had no further information about our flight, they ensured us that they would contact us when they had any info.

Is your skin crawling yet….because this is when my skin started to crawl.

I was hot….I wanted information and I was tired of trying to get information via a hotel staff that really could care less about us. And I wanted to brush my teeth. I wanted to talk to someone at the airline…NOW. I got back online, and started looking up the websites for Eygpt Air, Royal Air Maroc, and the Casablanca Airport – I was just swinging in the air hoping to hit something. I started calling all of the numbers…international phone calls of course = expensive. I tried to use my cell phone, but decided that it would be way too expensive, so I used Skype on my computer and started making the phone calls through my laptop/internet for cheap. I dialed every number I could…however not a single number answered the phone. It was Sunday – and many of the offices were closed. Egypt Air only had one flight per day in conjunction with Royal Air Maroc that went out of the Casablanca airport – so they were only open at 9PM, and to make it more confusing – it was really a Royal Air Maroc flight operated by Egypt Air – so I honestly didn’t know who was responsible….but I kept on swinging.

I sent a note to the Egypt Air customer service email provided on their website – in vain…I’m still waiting for an answer a week later. I made the mistake of thinking that if they had something listed on their website – that it must be accurate. However, no phone number worked nor did the customer service email. In fact, the only phone number on the whole site that someone actually answered was the tech support number. Some poor guy in India had to listen to me rant – only to tell me that he couldn’t help me and that I needed to call customer service – I told him I couldn’t get a hole of customer service – so he gave me a new telephone number…but of course it didn’t work. It was now around 3PM – still no info at all. I finally went to the hotel gift shop and had to buy a toothbrush and toothpaste. However – you could only put purchases of 100+ dirham on your credit card – so I ended up buying toothpaste for Sherif and Rosaline too – so that I could at least make a purchase.

I tried to contact Intrepid to let them know that Rosaline and I were stranded in Casablanca and we weren’t sure when we were getting to the tour – but even they were closed on Sunday…I hate Sundays. I finally found a customer service phone number online for Royal Air Maroc and called it. Someone answered….hallelujah. As I tried to explain our situation (flight was cancelled, bussed to the hotel in the middle of the night, and now left here with absolutely no information about when we would be leaving), the customer service person put me on hold, came back after a few minutes and told me – “Miss, I’m sorry, but that’s an Egypt Air flight, you will need to call their office.” My brain was at it’s boiling point with this answer. I angrily explained back to this man that I tried to call the office for the last 2 hours, but no one answers – plus , my ticket was purchased through Royal Air Maroc – I am their customer and they need to be responsible in this situation too. I kept getting the same answer – they couldn’t do anything for me. I asked to be put on the flight tonight that left for Cairo (as I figured this would be my worst case scenario played out) – they looked at is and said, “Sorry, it’s full. You really need to talk to Egypt Air. We cannot do anything for you here.” Now I’m officially pissed.

My worst case scenario wasn’t the worst case. In fact – now I have no worst case scenario anymore because I have no idea what’s going on and who to blame. There are no flights to Egypt and no one from the frickin’ airline has contacted us, no one is answering their phone, and now I’m going to miss the Pyramids…and I still have no idea when I will arrive in Cairo. At this time, Rosaline comes up to my command station in the 2nd floor lobby, and says – I have bad news. The hotel staff just told me that we will be leaving tomorrow around 4PM.

My friends and colleagues in NY know how I get when I’m worked up. I was beyond worked up at this point. I wanted to pummel someone, I was angry, I was sad, I was emotional, I had lost all patience. I NEEDED to talk to someone from the airline – NOW. I needed to explain that they had to put me on that flight tonight – somehow, someway. I needed to get our of this damn airport hotel where they knew nothing and talk to someone.

The Royal Air Maroc Customer service person had suggested that I go directly to the airport and see if someone from Egypt Air was there that could help me, if not, they said to ask for the Chief of the Airport. I grabbed Rosaline, Sherif, and my backpack – and took the airport bus back to the airport around 6PM. I felt like a General going off to war…but I didn’t really know who the enemy was. I had decided that I wasn’t going to leave that airport unless I was on that night flight, or without an answer as to when exactly I was leaving, or a ticket on another airline that could get me to Cairo, or my luggage. I was going to take no prisoners – I was worked up, I wanted someone to speak to, I wanted someone to tell me what the hell was going on, I wanted someone to treat me like a customer, I wanted my luggage.

We arrived at the airport and went straight to the Egypt Air office…a little sign read – Closed Sundays…blow to the stomach. However, they had 3 phone numbers on the sign as an alternative. I had my cell phone and dialed all of the local Casablanca numbers – not one answered…another blow. We decided to go to the next responsible party…Royal Air Maroc – they were at least open and should be able to help us in some way. Little did I know that I was walking into a minefield of the rudest people I have ever met. These people were despicable. Our game-plan is to have Sherif be our voice since he can at least speak Arabic – they might be nicer to us that way. Sherif goes through an exchange with the Duty Manager at the Royal Air Maroc office. Even though I can’t understand it – I know it’s not going well. They basically tell us that it’s Egypt Air’s flight – they can’t help us. Yet – we show them our tickets that have the fact that we have Royal Air Maroc (RAM) tickets and the flight has two flight numbers – one for RAM and one for Egypt Air. They continue to give us the cold shoulder and send us to a different RAM office in a different part of the airport.

I feel angry.

We go there – it’s a ticket office – we talk to them. They tell us to go talk to the Duty Manager (who we just came from) and work it out with him. They also tell us that the flight tonight is full and our names aren’t on the passenger list. The final blow is that they tell us that they have no record of a flight going out tomorrow to Cairo around 4 or 6PM – the only flight is the standard 11PM flight – and our names aren’t on that either.

I feel invisible.

They tell us to contact Egypt Air – we are frustrated and yell back at them that Egypt Air is closed and no one answers their phone. We ask them to call Egypt Air for us on their phone – they refuse. They tell us to go back and talk to the Duty Manager…the evil man that we just came from. We ask them to come with us as we told them that the Duty Manager sent us here! They say no.

I feel helpless.

We go back to the duty manager, he sees us coming and goes into his office trying to avoid us. We go into his office and start the futile process again saying that the RAM ticket office told us they we were to come back here and they said that he should help us. At this point – I wasn’t even sure what help I needed…but I needed something. He came out of his office, he yelled at us more – basically making us feel like it was our fault that we were in this situation. I tried to speak to him logically about our situation and our lack of knowledge of next steps, and our need to get to Cairo, he turned around and walked away from me. We were left standing in the middle of the airport.

I felt like crying.
I did cry.

Sherif, young Sherif put his hand on my shoulder and said that it would be ok – not to worry.

Photo: The Royal Air Maroc office in the airport where I lost my marbles.
We went to the luggage area to see if we could at least pick up our luggage as without our luggage we were really a hostage. I couldn’t just re-book myself on another flight – there were no other flights going to Egypt. I could possibly buy a ticket to get me to Istanbul and them from Istanbul to Cairo…but there were a few problems with that. One, I would probably never see my luggage again, and two I would have to pay for it out of my own pocket. My father ingrained these principles of right, wrong, justice, and fairness in me. These principles grow deep within me. I love them and I hate them. I wasn’t going to pay for another ticket when one of these goddamn airlines were responsible for my travel to Egypt. The shitty part is that I didn’t know who was responsible. The luggage manager told us that we couldn’t get our luggage as it was still on the plane, locked up. Wonderful….my visions of putting on my bathing suit and jumping in the hotel pool to cool down my temper and attitude were ruined. Plus – now I’m more confused than ever – why is our plane still sitting out on the tarmac with our luggage in it – it has been nearly 24 hours. The luggage manager tells us to go back and talk to the ticket office.

I feel lost.

We go back to the RAM ticket office – we let Sherif do all the talking at this point – I’m on the brink of losing my mind – I can’t speak. I see mild-mannered Sherif starting to get upset with the conversation. I may not speak Arabic – but I’ve been traveling enough in foreign countries to interpret most conversations – and I know that this conversation isn’t going well. Another RAM manager comes over to us – yells at Sherif. Now, in all fairness – I’m not sure if he was yelling as the Arabic language is a very gruff language. It’s already loud and ‘in your face’ – so it is hard to tell if someone is angry with you or if they are just saying “have a nice day”. But in the mental state that I was in at this point – it seemed like yelling to me. Sherif gather up Rosaline and I (who were now blobs of depression about the whole situation) and told us that we were to go back to the Duty Manager at the RAM office. He said that the ticket office does agree that it’s RAM’s responsibility to help us, but the Duty Manager has to do that. For mental levity, I wonder what it costs to hire a private plane.

I feel empty.

I don’t want to go back to the Duty Manager…the callous man that left me crying in the middle of the airport. But I have surrendered to Sherif now – I’m letting him deal with it. It’s now about 8:30 PM – we have been walking back and forth in this airport now for 2 hours, making no headway, learning that we still have no flight, and we have no luggage. We are nowhere. Sherif talks to more people at RAM. I notice that mild mannered Sherif is now getting visibly upset while talking to the Manager. They are yelling, they are disagreeing. The Duty Manager refuses to speak anymore – they are in a stare down. I look around the airport, I imagine myself letting out a blood curdling scream…just to get attention, just to not feel invisible, just to let out all of the emotions that are dying to break out of my skin. I have this lucid vision of the police surrounding me, cuffing me, and taking me away to some Moroccan jail…all because no one will talk to us and tell us what flight we are on and when. I have officially reached the end of my rope.

I give up.

We go back to the hotel, get dinner voucher and sit and eat in silence…dejected, more confused than ever, feeling lost. I look around at the other stranded guests at the hotel. There are many. Why aren’t they mad, why aren’t they making a scene – the thought of this makes me even more angry. I realize there is a huge cultural difference here, but I can’t understand how they can just sit back and do nothing about this clusterfuck that we are in. Maybe they are just happy to be in a nice hotel with a pool, swimming in their underwear. Or maybe they know more than we know…maybe there is a conspiracy going on here. I am loosing my mind now. The front desk has no more information other than the fact that they will get a call tomorrow afternoon and then they will bus us to the airport for a flight. I wash my clothes in the bathroom sink.

I go to bed.

Photo: Pool that we were unable to use at the Atlas Hotel

The next day I wake up refreshed – a new fight in me. It’s Monday now – our tour group is looking at the Pyramids right now – we are still stuck in an airport hotel – with no information. We get our breakfast voucher. Rosaline and I make a plan – we will go to the airport again and the Egypt Air office should be open by now – we can talk to someone there and at least get the information as to if we are truly on a flight, when it leaves, and when it will arrive in Egypt. Since 2 nights have passed, we have missed the Pyramids, and we have a bigger problem – our tour group is leaving Cairo tonight and taking an overnight train south to the town Aswan. Therefore, we no longer need to even get to Cairo…we need to get to the town of Aswan so that we can meet up with our tour group there in route. It’s 8:30AM, before we leave for the airport in search of an Egypt Air representative, we ask the front desk girl for any addition information about our phantom flight. She says – oh – I heard that you are leaving at 11. What?

I am confused.

We arrive at the airport. The Egypt Air office is still closed. We talk to Information. They try to contact the numbers at Egypt Air – no one answers for them either. They cannot help us. We ask what the flights are that are going to Cairo today – they say there are two – one at 4:00, and one at 11:00 both by RAM. We go to the RAM counter – a new Duty Manager is there…he is nice, helpful, says that it’s not our fault. He looks up our names on the two flights. Our names aren’t on the flights. He said that there are no other flights listed. He said that we would need to talk to Egypt Air.

I am lost.

We go back to the hotel just in case there really is a bus at 11:00 taking us somewhere, anywhere…hell, maybe it’s driving us to Cairo. We are grasping at straws. We ask the front desk if there is a bus at 11:00, the girl says no – the bus will leave around 4PM to take us to the airport for a flight around 6PM. I tell her that we were just at the airport and that there is no flight at this time. She says, “Well, that’s what the agent told us – that’s all the information I have.” I immediately key in on ‘the agent’ Who is this agent? Who does he work for? What is his number? Is he the Wizard of Oz making the decisions – I need to talk to him!!! She has no contact info for him and does not know what airline he works for. I agitatedly ask her who is paying for the rooms. She says Royal Air Maroc.

I am pissed.

I now have a mission – I will get to the bottom of this – I will. I go back to the second floor lobby and set up my command center again…laptop, Skype, cell phone…group of 4 people standing around me (the other English speakers) waiting for action. I was ready to lead my troops into battle again…but one that I had the upper hand in…in the digital world of the internet. I decide that I need to talk to someone from the western world…someone that understands customer service, someone that understands that you don’t just take a plane full of passengers and dump them in an airport hotel for 2 days and not EVER talk to them. I am armed with the internet and I’m swinging again. I find a Egypt Air phone number for a London office. Great – they are awake by this time in the morning – I will call them. After being transferred a couple of time, I finally get to a customer service number for Egypt Air in London. I am connected to Susan, a customer service rep. I tell her the story. She says, “What has the airline representative told you?” I said – there has been no airline representative…none…ever! She said that can’t be…but I tell her it’s the truth. She asks how many passengers are stranded here…I told her about 40 or so. She told me that they have offices in Casablanca that I should contact – I said yes, I know, but no one answers the 5 phone number that I have. She puts me on hold. She tries to call the Casablanca office – after 5 minutes she comes back…she couldn’t get a hold of them either. I say to her – “Look, I’ve got a group of passengers around me with no idea what is going on, we’ve been here for 2 days with no information, I beg you to help us.” She said, “Sherry, you don’t have to beg, we’ll work this out.”

I feel justified.

After being put on hold a number of times again – she takes my cell phone number and promises that she will call me back. I can hear her manager behind her – they both seem absolutely shocked and embarrassed that we are in this situation…the exact emotions that they should have. When I told her I missed the Pyramids, she felt my pain. She was on my side. I liked Susan…she was my angel.

I waited.

Susan called me back and told me that I would be getting a call from the Egypt Air Manager in Casablanca shortly. I trusted her, so I waited. At noon, the manager, Salem, contacted me – apologizing profusely, and providing me answers. They were waiting for a part to be shipped from some other country. It arrived today and they were repairing the plane now. He was expecting that we would leave around 6PM that night. He said that he would call me back at 1PM with an update. I told him that Rosaline and I now need to get to Aswan, he said that he’d take care of it.

Justice.

I am sure that Salem, the Casablanca manager, got in a huge amount of trouble of this – as he should have. Susan told me that she called the Egypt corporate office and explained things. I’m sure that Salem had someone rip him a new one from the corporate office. I bought myself a bottle of wine, to celebrate my small step forward, and to take the edge off, I cried more, I just wanted to be away from this stupid place, I wanted to be in Egypt, I wanted my luggage, I wanted to change clothes, I wanted this to be over. I think that once I got some action, I was able to release all of the emotion inside.

Redemption.

Salem called me back and said that me and the other passengers should go to the lobby now and that there would be a bus waiting to take us to the airport to be put on a 4PM flight. The mechanical fix was successful. He then asked me how I would like to pay for the Aswan tickets…

Anger.

What? Did I hear that correctly? I said, “Sir, I appreciate all of your assistance this afternoon. I’m sure that you can appreciate the situation that we are all in here, so I’m sorry if I get upset, but I am NOT paying for the Aswan tickets. It’s Egypt Air’s responsibility to get us to Aswan now. You cancelled our flight, left us at an airport hotel for 2 days with out any communication, I have now missed my tour, and Egypt Air is responsible for getting me to Aswan.” He told me that he would have to pay for them himself. I said, “I’m not looking for you to pay for them out of your own pocket, I’m expecting that Egypt Air pays for them. Do I need to call customer service and talk to them about it?” The magic words…he said that he’d call me back.

We got on the bus.

We arrived at the airport and I had a call from Salem again, he said that I was to look for Mr. Sukani at the Egypt Air office at the airport, he would have our Aswan tickets for us. Mr. Sukani doted on us…he made sure that we were ok and had everything we needed. This is how it should be.

Perfect.

Photo: Boarding the repaired plane

As I sat in the waiting area with Rosaline, and Sherif feeling justified finally – I called back Susan from customer service and thanked her profusely. I looked at my boarding pass and ticket to Aswan – I called Salem back and thanked him and told him that I appreciated his help. He said that he was glad to work things out, was sorry for the confusion, and that he hopes that I come back to visit Casablanca soon.

Yeah right…never.

We arrived in Aswan the next morning…exhausted from our 2 days of hell, 5 hour flight, 4 hour layover, and 1 hour flight. We met Sherif’s mother and father at the Cairo Airport – we gave them a big hug and told them that they raised a great man. We promised to come cheer him on in the US open and the Australian Open one day! We collapsed with our luggage in our room…the ordeal finally over.

Photo: All of us with our boarding passes…finally.

Prologue

There is good and bad out of this ordeal. Sure, I already knew that airline travel can suck. However, I learned a lot about myself, but I mainly learned about the cultural differences. There are cultures that sit back and accept things – and then there are cultures that demand results. I was happy that I was able to hold it together (even if it was by a thread) long enough to get results. I felt alive again – I felt resourceful. Rosaline and I will be able to see the Pyramids…we are actually ending the tour in Cairo so we have rearranged our tour schedule to see the Pyramids the last day in Egypt. The bad news is that I have to hop back on an Egypt Air flight to get out of the country….God help me.

Some information in this post provided by Private Plane Charters

Moroccan Rainbow – Final Thoughts

Sherry — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 15:49:35 +0000

Colorful tea set

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I’m sure you might be surprised that I didn’t use the obvious title choice for this Moroccan send-off post – Rockin’ the Kasbah… I did actually think about it, but that’s not what I think of when I examine my parting thoughts about Morocco. From the moment I started journeying around Morocco – I was struck by the color…brown. I kept imagining that if the world were a painting palette, Morocco would represent the brown splotch of paint. Photo: Brown Morocco Continuing the thought, New Zealand would be green, Greece would be blue, Thailand would be purple, and Italy would be red, Bali would be yellow, and Cambodia would be black. But as I spent more time in Morocco, acquainting myself with the cities, the culture, the food, the language – I realized that Morocco had much more depth than just brown. Sure, the landscapes and the Kasbahs had a brown hue, there were few trees, little water, and even the camels and donkeys were shades of brown; however, I started making other observations, colorful ones.

When I’m in a country for a long amount of time, I like to share my perspectives on it, the things that bewilder me, that make me laugh, that frustrate me – but things that capture my mind none the less. I’ve compiled my thoughts on Morocco by color – because that’s how my mind will remember Morocco.

Green: Mint abounds in Morocco – and the national drink is mint tea. We drank mint tea everywhere, in the dessert, in the mountains, in berber villages, in cafes – everywhere. There’s a whole ritual about the tea – when the pot of tea has finished brewing, they lace a number of juice-like glasses , and they pour the tea into the first glass. Then they promptly put the pot down, open the lid and pour the tea from the glass back into the pot. Every time, the first glass gets poured back into the glass. Never mind how hard it is to drink piping hot tea out of juice glasses…think about it – there’s really nothing to grip onto except for the rim of the glass – therefore, you have to drink your mint tea very carefully! The tea consists of a handful of fresh mint leaves for each glass, and about a ¼ cup of sugar per glass. I’m not joking – Moroccans LOVE sugar. It’s actually like drinking a mint syrup at times – I really couldn’t take it. If you ask for it with no sugar, the locals look at you as if you had two heads. Sure, I love frosted flakes – but in Morocco, I think they would add sugar to their frosted flakes! This does explain why Morocco has been some of the poorest dental hygiene that I’ve seen on my travels…I’m convinced it’s the tea! There’s lots of teeth that have gone missing in Morocco!

Orange: Morocco puts Florida to shame when it comes to orange juice. The OJ is truly amazing in this country – and it’s everywhere. Since there is very little alcohol in the country, I think they compensate with orange juice…it’s so good it could be alcohol! There are orange juice stands everywhere…kind of like Starbucks on every corner in Manhattan. When you order it, they pull out about 5 oranges, slice them and squeeze them right in front of you…pure and sweet. I would never normally order orange juice with my dinner, but in Morocco, I actually craved it. They had also turned this sweet colorful fruit into a wonderful dessert. Strangely, even though sugar was a big staple in the Moroccan diet, they didn’t really have any gooey, sugary desserts that they ate. Instead, the typical dessert was sliced oranges….with cinnamon sprinkled on top. This sounded absurd to me at first, but you really should give it a try – it’s delicious!

Yellow: Well, the obvious answer for yellow is the brightly burning sun. I never normally give much thought to the make up of the sun…I simply expect it to come up every morning and go down every night. However, while in Morocco – I gave a lot of thought to the sun, an infernal burning ball of gas. Most days it felt as if that ball of burning gas was two inches away from my forehead, flames licking the tip of my nose sapping energy out of me in order to gain more energy for itself. However, my most vivid memory of yellow was the soft, gold glow of the lights in the hammam that I attended in Essaouria. It reminded me of a dimly lit bar, warm, and glowing. It was the perfect place to site around naked and socialize, I can see why Moroccan women make it a part of their daily lives – it’s relaxing, and it’s a place where they can be themselves.

Red : In all of the markets, you would see stacks of pottery, that were conical and normally a deep redish color. The conical pieces came in all sizes, and they could also be found in every kitchen in the country. They were tanjines. Tanjines are the main dish in Morocco – you’ll find it on every menu at nice restaurants, in berber villages, at roadside shacks…everywhere. Tanjines could be chicken, fish, vegetable, whatever – they are all pretty tasty regardless. The word tanjine though is really referring to the style of cooking as opposed to the dish itself. Kind of like a stir-fry wok or a roaster – a tanjine is a two part piece of pottery – a plate, and a conical ‘hat’ that fits over the plate. The plate is placed on a flame, and the food is cooked inside…always producing a tender, yummy meal that was on every menu in the country.

Blue: I get a picture in my head for blue – and it’s not Chefchaouen (the blue painted town in the hills). I remember the bright blue skies – never a cloud in it, just blue sky as far as you could see. In the Sahara Desert, The cloudless, blue skies, in relation to the sand dunes were brilliant. Add to that the Berber robes that were worn – always the color of a bright blue. When I would see the Berber men dressed in their bright blue robes and headdress, it sort of reminded me of Genie in a Bottle, yet I don’t think any of them were granting wishes. However, they did stand out, making the Berbers always appear bright and happy.

Black : I’m not sure, but the it seemed like the next largest crop behind oranges was olives. Salty, dark, wrinkly olives. The olive stands were works of art – designed painstakingly each morning by the shop owner, trying to make a design of olives that would catch your eye and make you want to buy. It actually made the devious side of me come out – I longed to go pull an olive out from the bottom of the pile and see if the whole beautiful work of art would tumble – or would it stay in place.

Pink: Throughout Morocco everyone had some pink in their home…in the form of toilet paper. After 3 weeks, I think I only saw white colored toilet paper twice, once in the Sofitel hotel and again in my upscale Riad that I stayed at. White toilet paper was definitely reserved for the well off. The rest of the country used pink, signifying recycled toilet paper. Recycled from what? Well, there are some answers that you are just better off not knowing the answer to. The pink toilet paper was everywhere…that is when they had toilet paper. The rolls of pink – weren’t bad, they were just a little weird to me. New rolls barely had any paper on it – which really kept any potential excessive usage in check! There was never enough to go around, which necessitate us hording it from motel to motel. If you had looked in any one of our backpacks or bags, you would have found multiple rolls of pink toilet paper!

Photo: Me at top of the Atlas Gorge!
My 3 weeks in Morocco were memorable, and I enjoyed how the country grew on me during my stay. It was a rich, interesting culture, full of magnificent landscapes and terrain. During my stay, I feel like I was able to experience most of what Morocco had to offer! My favorite experiences were the unique ones – camping in the Sahara, going on an expedition to see goats in trees, and simply walking the medina in Fez. I doubt that Morocco has ever experience a rainbow…mainly because there’s never any moisture in the air or rain to reflect light off of. However, that doesn’t mean that it’s not a colorful country.

Disappearance of the Traveling Pants

admin — Tue, 17 Jul 2007 06:49:27 +0000

My favorite pants...where are they now??

While I was traveling in Essaouria, Morocco I had a funny experience with my traveling pants may they rest in peace.

During my travels with a limited wardrobe, you start to have your favorite travel clothes. Mine are a pair of cotton pants. I love these pants…they are the best…you’ve seen tons of pictures with me in these pants. They are a dark color (hide the dirt), they are baggy (great for my ever-expanding waistline and ass), they have pockets (wonderful for holding toilet paper, lens caps, and purel), and they can actually be dressed up and rather stylish looking if need be…I love these pants. I was devastated a few weeks ago when the zipper broke. There was no way I was giving up these pants though – so I started wearing them by safety pinning the zipper shut…yes – it looked ghetto, but it worked. I even got pretty good at undoing the safety pin quickly in times of desperate bathroom need!

In Essaouria, Morocco I decided to ask our local guide if he could take me to a tailor to get the zipper fixed. He took me to a local tailor in the medina and talked to the guy…perfect – I was to pick them up later that afternoon. However, when I went back that afternoon, the tailor tried to explain to me (he didn’t speak English – so the shop owner next door had to come do the translating) that he no longer had my favorite pants. Instead, he accidentally gave them to someone else.

Blank stare by me.

The repaired pants were in a black plastic bag. When another person came to pick up their repaired pants – the tailor accidentally gave him the wrong black plastic bag and the person left thinking they were his pants.
My mind was spinning, this really couldn’t be…not my favorite pants.
The tailor said that he knew the man, but had no way to get a hold of him. He thought that the man would surely bring back my pants the next day when he realized that he had the wrong ones.
Breath, breath, breath.

My normal NYC reaction would have been to ‘go off’ on this person. I actually started to get visibly mad, and then reminded myself that I had to be patient…this wasn’t NY – this was Africa, in a little local medina. So I said, “inshallah” and told him I would be back the next evening in hopes of picking up my pants.
The next evening came and I went back to the shop. The tailor didn’t have a positive look on his face. However, he handed me a plastic bag, when I opened it, I saw a pair of pants that were the color of my favorite pants – but were clearly not my pants.

The traveling pants in Vietnam-see the locals love them too!

I said – “These aren’t my pants.” – clearly starting to get angry and frustrated again. The neighboring shop owner came back over to do the translation. He explained that the man had not brought my pants back yet and the tailor felt so bad about it that he actually went out and purchased me a new pair of pants that looked similar. Ok – now I was humbled. This tailor probably made very little money in his closet sized shop…the fact that he went out and purchased me a new pair of pants was actually very touching. I knew that he felt very badly – and me getting angry wasn’t going to solve anything. I looked at the pants, thanked him, but tried to explain that I would try to come back yet tomorrow and see if my pants were returned instead. Regardless, he made me take the pants he purchased with me. I looked at them, but I knew there was no way that they would fit…he thought I was a ‘small’…which is flattering I guess…but I’m definitely NOT a ‘small’! I took them knowing I would bring them back tomorrow.

Day 3, I arrived at the tailor, the neighbor shop owner comes over – no pants…crap. I thanked him for the other pants, and told him they are too small and returned them to him (in hopes that he may be able to get his money back or barter them for something else), and I leave…leaving my favorite pants in Morocco. There is a light at the end of this tunnel though…a small chance that my Intrepid leader will get them back over the next few days and be able to send them to me in Egypt…but I don’t have high hopes! Regardless, it was a good exercise in patience I suppose. Yet I’m still not too happy that some Moroccan man is wearing my favorite pair of pants right now!

There will be other pants….but I will never forget the originals!

Turning down the volume…Tangier, Essaouria, and Chefchaouen

Sherry — Sun, 15 Jul 2007 17:53:02 +0000

Fishing Boats

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View snapshots of Chbefchaouen and Tangier

View Photos of Essaouria

The last week of travel through Morocco was when I finally hit my groove…I had started to get really comfortable with ‘real’ travel again. When I first arrived in Morocco – I was rather tense, on guard, and untrusting. Marrakech was a crazy place full of grime, strange people, strange culture and religion – it was a shock to my system. However – after about 2 ½ weeks, you get used to it – you acclimate to the environment around you. The people don’t seem scary and dangerous anymore – instead they are intriguing and you work your best to try to get through that initial exterior shell so you can see their real personality. The local transportation doesn’t seem as puzzling, the markets don’t feel as threatening – your favorite phrase becomes la shukran (no thankyou). The grime doesn’t seem as grimey, The feeling of never being clean just becomes a part of life. But most of all, you become patient again. You realize how things work, you stop fighting it and go with the flow…you accept things.

The first two weeks of travel through Morocco was like listening to my ipod with the volume turned up…loud and grating to my ears and pysche, making me tense and jumpy. However in week 3 it’s now as if the volume has been slowly turned down to an acceptable level…things are now humming…and this is a good place to be internally. You’ve found your balance…you look out the oven-like bus and smile at your surroundings. Your bus breaks down in the middle of the journey…oh well – wet a bandana with some water and sit and wait – inshallah – knowing that yelling and getting worked up about it isn’t going to get the bus fixed any faster here…just be patient.

My last week of itinerary found me in 3 great towns – Chefchaouen, Tangier, and Essaouria – and finally back in Marrakech for one last night. Chefchaouen was a beatnik little town in the mountains – a place where you could simply relax at a little café, drink mint tea and sit and read all day. Chefchaouen was known for two things…the color blue, and the Moroccan kif capital (pot…in English). All of the buildings were painted various shades of blue, the doors were painted blue, the shutters were painted blue, some of the streets were even painted blue, the pots that held plants were painted blue – and if you sat long enough in a café, I think some old lady would have come around and painted you blue too! As for the kif…well…I honestly know nothing about it…but was offered it many times! I had enough drugs in me since I had come down with a nasty cold! I spent my days trying to rest, catch up on writing, and doing a few short hikes into the hills and around the town.

We had some cramped accommodations in Chefchaouen as there were 6 of us sharing one bathroom with semi-warm water and a shower (over the toilet as usual) that barely dripped water out of it. I had a cold – but 3 of my fellow travelers and bathroom sharers were seriously sick…the ‘I really need a bathroom sick’ – so the shared space was interesting to say the least! The hotel did have a really nice little terrace though – you could watch the sunset over the blue hued buildings surrounded by the mountains…very relaxing. Our terrace was so nice that we all decided to do a little picnic for the sunset. We set out in the medina to gather nibblies…olives, goat cheese, bread, pastia (chicken pastries), nuts, M&M’s and of course wine. All were very easy to find and were actually super cheap (a pint of olives for $1…a bargain!), however, the booze seemed to elude us as usual in Morocco. We asked at a few shops if there was a store to buy wine in town – but most people said that they didn’t know of any…damn, dry country!!

However, we were determined. We finally came across a man at a little bar/café and asked him if he had wine for sale. He said that he did not, but if we wanted to buy alcohol we could go down the hill, around the corner, look for the Marco Polo Travel Agency sign, go to the second door past the travel agency and knock on it…there…we could find our booze. Cool…I felt immediately transported back into the Prohibition 1920’s…if I only had a flapper dress! As we followed the man’s directions exactly – we joked around about needing to know a secret knock…we really didn’t know if this guy was full of shit or not…but we all were hoping that this was the real thing!

Sure enough…we arrived at the second door, and gingerly knocked on it. A middle age man cracked the door a bit and stared at us. Karina asked if he sold wine in her best French – he looked us up and down and opened the door…we were in…no flapper dress required!! We made our wine and beer choices happily and walked back up the hill to our terrace spot for a laid back evening. Finding booze in Morocco is always a challenge – but this was definitely the most clandestine we ever had to be!

Next, we took a local bus to Tangier – yet another hot, motion sickening bus ride…the worst one yet (See Barf Bag Post). I used to think that one of the most painful ways to die would be to drown or to get caught in a fire…I’m starting to think that being trapped in a hot vehicle is going to make it to the top of that list…maybe I should think of happier things…moving on…

Photo: Tuna man at the fish market! HUGE tuna!
We arrived in Tangier, the main port of Morocco, Africa’s gateway to Europe! Being the gateway to Europe also means many other things…it means that it’s also the gateway for the drug trade to Europe, as well as the gateway for illegal immigration into Europe. Think Mexico to America = Tangier to Europe. Now, that creates an interesting mix of people in Tangier. You’ve got the vacationing, affluent Europeans that want to take a close by trip to Africa, and you’ve got the seedy underbelly of drug and people trafficking. This may scare some people off, but I must admit, I kind of liked it there! For one thing…it was the first place to offer us some ethnic cuisine options, like tapas! In addition – the seedy side meant that you could find booze much easier than knocking on a secret door. The first thing we did was check into our hotel, shower the bus stench off of us, and go out for sangria and tapas…joy. We topped it off by going to an Italian restaurant – one with air conditioning!

The next day we went on a little road trip to the beach. It was my first Moroccan beach. This normally doesn’t seem like a big deal…a beach…but this was really an interesting outing. For the past 2 weeks I have been fascinated by the women of Morocco. More specifically, the Muslim women. Their lives are so very different than mine. You don’t see many of them out, when you do they are covered head to toe. I have sat in cafes full of 30 men…but not one single woman…it’s a weird feeling for me. I would love to learn more about the women’s lives, how they live, their thoughts on things, and especially what they think about us…western women – but you never really get a feel for that, because they are invisible. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that extreme, women do get out and I’m sure they live a very good, happy life, but it’s just so different than myself, a female solo traveler, we are on opposite ends of the spectrum. So I was curious to see how many women were at the beach and what they were wearing.

As a traveler in a Muslim country, I have been totally respecting the dress code…covered shoulders and knees, loose fitting clothing. However, the beach is one place that the dress code doesn’t really apply…supposedly. As western tourists – we showed up to the beach, set up camp, and preceded to strip our layers of clothes off down to our swimming suits. For the first time- I was actually very self conscious of my flesh…you feel rather naked all of a sudden. We enjoyed the ocean breeze, watched the men flock around us (trying to be nonchalant about it of course), put on heavy, heavy sunscreen and had some good beach time.

However – I was well aware of my surroundings. I scanned around me to watch the various women on the beach. Any women over the age of 15 was about 50% more covered up than I was. Some had swimsuits…but they looked as if they came from the 1950’s…covered your ass and hips in a rather unflattering way. The majority of women were still in their full pants and long shirts as well as a head scarf. I have to believe this wasn’t for sun protection…this was just a cultural thing. Sitting at the beach covered up is really foreign to me…it made me hot just looking at them! However, some women would pull up their pants past their knees and sun the lower part of their legs. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but wonder what these women though of me lying next to them in my bikini…did they think that I was trashy, different, interesting, or just sinful? I will never know. After our beach time we wandered the medina and made our way back to Tangier for a beautiful sunset at the northwestern most point of Africa, Cap Spartel. I was amused at the fact that I had now been to the southern most point, and the northwestern most point of Africa…as well as the highest point…not bad for such a big continent…I covered the main geographical points of interest!

The next day we did a little walking tour of Tangier to the Kasbah, and some of the major sites. My favorite was our trip through the fish and meat market. The markets were pretty active…and not one female in them…it was definitely a man’s world. The smell was terrible…the only way to cope is to breath through the mouth…and even that doesn’t completely work! On top of things, I wasn’t really prepared to be walking through the market…wearing flip flops is NOT advised. Oh well, once you are in, you are in…flip flops and all – you suck it up, breath through your mouth, try to avoid the big puddles of animal remains, and keep going. I’ve been to many markets during this 10 month journey…and I love it when I see something new in a market. I was all of a sudden stunned when I went past the butchers and saw a huge cow head sitting on the counter. I was actually taken aback. It wasn’t just a simple cow head – instead all of the skin/hair had been singed off of it – so it was a skinless/hairless huge cow head staring back at me. Eewwwww.

We boarded an overnight train to Marrakech that night. This was my first train journey in Morocco – and it was waaayyyy better then my previous bus journeys! The sleeper cars were air conditioned… Humdulilah! Plus, they were fairly clean, and they provided a sheet and pillow…not too shabby. We had prepared for the train ride by buying a bottle of vodka…and sat up until midnight just hanging out in the bunks drinking vodka and sprite – great sleep medication for the train! We arrived in sweltering Marrakech that morning and immediately grabbed some fresh orange juice and hopped on a bus to Essaouria – a 3 hour journey.

Essaouria was a charming little beachfront town…and it had a different climate than the rest of Morocco that I had visited…it was livable for humans! It’s the windy city of Morocco – which made it a popular destination for wind surfers from around the world. It also was about 30 degrees cooler than Marrakech…which probably made it about 70…time to pull out my long sleeve clothing! It really was a great break from the heat. The town was charming, full of tourists, but still charming. This also meant that it had a bit of a night life – which was also a welcome site! We did a walking tour of the town, the next morning that provided us a trip into the medina…but this medina was different….it was built by the French. This may not mean much to you…but this meant that the medina was built on a grid meaning that you didn’t have to pay any young children to find your way out of the maze…you could actually do it yourself.

However – this grid did present problems for the Mosques. Mosques must face Mecca – which is normally pretty easy since there is no rhyme or reason to the streets. However, when you put a mosque on a grid and that street doesn’t point to Mecca – you now have a problem. They solved this problem by building the door frame at an angle!

I had been in Morocco for 20 days and I still hadn’t experienced one of the most cultural of Moroccan experiences yet…the hammam. A hammam is basically a public bath house – a place to come and socialize and get clean. Basically they are dark, hot sauna’s…and if you travel to Morocco or Turkey…this is a must-do! The hammam’s are organized by gender, so we wet to a women’s hammam in the medina. It was startling to me that we were walking through the streets of the medina passing women in their full dress and head scarves, and then we entered the hammam down this little set of steps, turned the corner, and there was a woman standing in her underwear. Talk about night and day! Like the beach experience – the hammam really intrigued me. Women who are completely covered up in public, came to a public bathhouse to bath in their undies.

Photo: Woman on cannon…I love this shot…I would love to know what she’s thinking
We chose the deluxe hammam treatment…which basically meant that you had your own personal woman in undies that washed you. These washing women were hearty…middle aged, boobs sagging, belly hanging, but they scrubbed 20 days of grime off of me! First you strip down to your undies and are led into a dark, tiled, humid room…the kind that you find it hard to breathe in. There was one little window that provided fresh air – the size of a greeting card. The lights glowed yellow like a dimly lit romantic restaurant…the kind that it’s too dark to even read the menu. There were sinks at the other end of the room with 3 basins – one with HOT water, one with cold water, and one medium temperature water. The woman provides you a little mat and motioned for you to lay down. She filled up a huge bucket and came over and abruptly dumped it on you…welcome to the hammam experience. This dumping and scrubbing continued for about 20 minutes. They scrubbed everywhere, you basically laid there like a fish out of water…helpless and they moved you around and continued to pour buckets of hot water over you, and scrub you down with soap and a loofa mit!

Once they had sufficiently removed all of the dead skin with the loofa, they then put a mud pack all over you and left you in the humid room for about 20 more minutes..to bake. While baking…your mind kind of wanders. All you can hear is the splashing of water, the sound of wet footsteps, it’s a weird out of body experience. Since 4 women from my group all went together – we sat around in our undies, and mud packed bodies, and talked. After all, this is what the hammam experience is about for women…socializing. It is historically the on place that women in this culture could come and talk to each other – so they would sit in the hammams for long periods and have a hen party. After baking in the mud and socializing it was time for the final wash down and massage. More buckets of water dumped all over – including the process of pulling out your undies and pouring water inside of them, as if you were 5 years old again. It was a strange experience, but one that I thoroughly enjoyed – I was certainly cleaner than I had ever been in Morocco!

They even provided us with a fluffy, big towel at the end…a true perk considering every towel I had ever been given in Morocco was the size of a hand towel and about as soft as sand paper. The best part of the whole experience though was walking outside for the first gasp of fresh, cool air again. It was like stepping out of an oven…it felt good to take nice deep breaths and have the cool wind hit your super clean body!

That night was our last night together as a travel group – so we went out and celebrated with tanjines, couscous, wine, and vodka. We even were treated to a birthday cake as we were celebrating Rob’s 21st birthday…oh to be so youthful again. We finished the night at a hip little Riad club dancing the night away, drinking our bootleg vodka out of water bottles until 3AM as if I were 21 again! The next morning we all said our goodbyes and headed back to Marrakech on our last local bus ride. In true form, the bus broke down and we were left sitting in the sweltering heat of the bus until they found the correct part in the next town…patience.

For my last night in Morocco, I decided to treat myself…I stayed one night at a high-end Riad with a proper shower, air conditioning, a pool, fluffy white towels, and a great big bed. A riad is basically an old-style Moroccan home…a small entryway, that opens up into a large courtyard with rooms situated off the courtyard. Many riads are being remodeled into hotels these days. There’s nothing better than earning these little rewards that you give yourself.

After 21 days in Morocco – I earned this…and it felt great. In fact, this lovely little riad was an oasis for me – it allowed me to recharge before I was heading off to the next backpacking journey through Egypt. The best part is that I had the whole riad to myself…I was the only guest there that night even though it had about 6 rooms to rent out. People pay thousands of dollars to reserve an entire riad for themselves…I lucked into it and only had to pay $100 for my room. I sat out and ate by the pool one of the best home cooked Moroccan meals I’ve had…all by myself…it was bliss. I was content to simply stay inside the walls of the riad, leaving the craziness of Marrakech behind and turning my AC to a chilly 21 degrees Celsius…soaking up every bit of freon I could before heading back out into Arabia for 2 more weeks. After 21 days baking in the heat, I was treated to the best sendoff Morocco could give me; on my taxi ride to the airport…it started to rain…yes, rain. It was a very small amount of rain…but it was rain none the less. The volume in Morocco was officially turned off.

Goats in Trees!

Sherry — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 12:53:18 +0000

Goats climbing an Argan tree

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View snapshots of goats climbing in trees

Since I really didn’t have a book about Morocco, I was learning things as I was experiencing them, as well as learning about things through my other travel partners that had ample books on Morocco. After the first week, someone in my group mentioned in passing something about the Moroccan goats that climb trees.

“What?, What did you just say?”
“In southern Morocco there are goats that climb trees to eat the fruit. Wouldn’t that be cool to see?” They proceeded to show me a picture in their travel book of about 14 goats hanging out high in the branches of a tree.
“ and I was astonished that the rest of the people in my group weren’t as utterly amazed about this as I was. They all kind of looked at me, surprised that I was this worked up about the topic and said, ”I don’t know how they get up there, I never really thought about it. Maybe they just walk up the tree.”
“What??? They can’t just walk up, they don’t have opposable thumbs…how do they grip onto a branch?”

This was the beginning of my pilgrimage to see this ‘wonder of the animal kingdom’. I couldn’t get it out of my mind…like the time I heard that the Russian Cat Circus was performing in Tribeca…I HAD to go and see these crazy Russian housecats perform tricks! I was obsessed with the goats, my brain would sit and chew on it and I just couldn’t come up with any feasible explanation on how they climbed the trees. Sure, mountain goats are definitely nimble…but climbing a mountain and climbing a tree seems totally different to me….I mean…how do they get up the treetrunk to the first branches? I sort of rallied everyone’s interest in the goats and they too started questioning the goats in trees. I talked about it all the time – and we all came up with a number of theories on how the goats got up in the trees.

I thought that they were maybe like reindeer, flew up in the trees somehow. Rob thought that maybe the goats just grew on the trees and when they matured enough, they just fell out of the tree and started walking on the ground…king of like childbirth of sorts. Janelle thought that they took a running jump. Sara thought that they hopped up in the trees and from branch to branch. Someone also threw out the possibility of retractable, special hoofs that would enable them to grip the tree better, and then of course there was the Spiderman theory…sticky stuff on their hoofs. None of them seemed to make sense…but we had no better explanations.

Apparently the goats climbed specific trees, Argan trees, mainly found in the southern part of Morocco. They are a thorny evergreen variety that grow in drough-ridden areas…they are hearty. The Argan trees have fruits on them that the goats like to eat – actually, I think the goats are driven up into the trees in order to find food to graze on since it is so dry in these areas, the true definition of adaptation! People actually use these fruits to make oils that are very healthy and nutty tasting. Plus they make lotions, and other cosmetic products out of the argan oil. Many of the local women have formed a cooperative to manufacture the oil by hand…a painstaking but prosperous job for women in the country.

For some reason I kept on having the vision of a Monty Python movie in my head…The Quest for the Holy Grail. It seemed like some little goofy cartoon that they would use in such a movie…Goats in the trees and then have them fall out and start walking around. Maybe I should talk to John Cleese about this.

The only problem with the goats in trees is that on our 21 day tour of Morocco, we weren’t heading to the south where the goats supposedly hung out in trees. We seemed to go everywhere else in Morocco and experience every bit of culture…but the goats weren’t on our itinerary…damn. I really was hot on the idea of seeing these goats – it was my singular focus – I would pay large sums of dirham to someone that could take me to them! Karina did mention that the closest we’d be to that part of Morocco was when we were in Essaouria. She went on to say that she would ask around and see if there was anyway that someone would take me to Agadir to see the goats. I was so excited at this prospect…I had to see these amazing goats!

When we arrived in Essaouria, Karina contacted one of the local guides that they use to see if she could get any info on the goats. In a matter-of-fact manner he said “Yes, you can see the goats – they are around this area too, about 25 km away” I was jumping for joy as if I were 5 years old and I had just woken up Christmas morning and saw my Barbie Dream House sitting under the Christmas tree! Since I had talked about the goats throughout our trip, I had peaked everyone else’s interest too…and they also wanted to come see the amazing goats. I asked the guide if we were guaranteed to see goats….and I got the answer, “Inshallah”…Arabic for ‘If God wants it’…a popular saying among Moroccans – throw it at the end of any sentence and you will feel like a local.

Hmmm – the inshallah answer dashed some of my hopes – what if God wasn’t on my side for this pilgrimage…instead I may be wandering in the dessert for 40 days looking for goats with a taxi driver. However, I still felt like I should gamble and take the pilgrimage – Moses did…so why shouldn’t I.

We all agreed to hire a grand taxi to drive us out to the areas where you can spot the goats – we were to leave at 9:30. However, that night we had a call from the man that organized it telling us that a 9:30 departure would be too late as it will be too hot at that time and our odds of seeing goats in the trees would be decreased….we should leave at 8:30 instead to increase our odds, inshallah. It did give me hope though as I was assured that the taxi driver knew what he was doing when pilgrimaging for goats. At least he was more educated than me!

Photo: The cramped grand taxi ride early in the morning!
I armed myself with all of my cameras and lenses that morning, and all 6 of us took off at 8:30 cramming into a little 4 door old Mercedes grand taxi. It was a painful, cramped ride, but I was willing to live through the fact that my right butt cheek had fell asleep and it was sweltering already at 8:30…it would all be worth it to see the miraculous goats. I felt like Dorthy heading off in search of Oz and the Wizard…heck….she saw flying monkeys, that didn’t seem so different from goats in trees if you ask me.

As we made it deeper into the country we turned down roads lined with Argan trees and we started to peel our eyes…searching for goats. We saw donkeys standing by trees, we saw camels hanging out in bushes, and we saw goats on the ground…but none in the trees. After about 15 minutes down one road, the driver turned around as he said it was too windy here for the goats to be in the trees. Once again I was impressed with the taxi driver’s knowledge…that certainly had to be a good sign, inshallah. Who knew that the goats were so finicky about the weather.

After another 15 minutes we saw plenty of goats, just none in the trees. I was starting to feel like I had lead everyone on a wild goose chase…we were sardines in the grand taxi, we were sweaty and hot, and none of had eaten breakfast…and there were no goats. Just when I was giving up hope…we rounded a corner and saw a goat herder with a big group of goats, they were huddling around the bushes, and a big tree in the center of a field. I scanned the tree quickly and then I saw it…a white furry shape in the tree, then a black furry shape in the tree, and then another, and another….goats in trees!!! It was a miracle! We all screamed in excitement and the taxi driver pulled over and quickly got out of our clown car to cross the road and get a closer look.

Photo: Goat getting airborne
I was outfitted like the paparazzi, I had my telephoto lens and tried to get as close as I possibly could without scaring them out of the tree – I honestly weren’t sure how jumpy they were (no pun intended). We stayed there watching the goats for about 20 minutes – I took about 60 pictures. We watched them climb up, climb down, jump from branch to branch, and loose their footing…but none fell out of the tree. They were nimble! . It was easy to see how they got in the tree initially, a child could do it. They simply climbed up the trunk of the Argan tree which was normally low to the ground. However, the young, agile ones would climb high up into the small branches and eat the fruit as if it were a tightrope…they were fearless… and hungry I guess. Lord knows that I can understand what hunger will drive you to do…just ask any of my close friends! They would actually leap…getting their front or back legs airborne…it was quite a site. I tried to look closely with the telephoto lens at their hoofs, they didn’t appear to have any special hoofs, and I certainly didn’t see any thumbs! We stood there watching the goats as the goat herder and some other locals were watching us. They were probably as about amazed at seeing us there with our cameras as we were to see goats in trees.

The herder had to move the goats along so we thanked him (I’m sure he was confused as to why) and we all crammed back into the grand taxi to head back to Essaouria. I was so excited about our find that I was giddy all day. My trip felt complete now, and it would be one of my highlights of the 21 days I spent in Morocco. My pilgrimage was a success – next, I may part the Red Sea!
Humdulilah! (Arabic meaning Praise God!)

The Grand Puba of Morocco – Fez

Sherry — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 14:15:09 +0000

Man working in dying vats in Fez

View Morocco Photography

View snapshots of Fez

Prior to 10 months ago, the only time I had anyone utter the word fez was on the TV show Happy Days. I’m sure that you all remember Mr. Cunningham and his Grand Puba group – as a member of the Grand Puba, he had to wear a fez hat which depicted his membership into the group. That image of the red hat and the tassel had stuck in my head for my lifetime…one of my few experiences with the exotic Arabian culture to date.

The second time I ever heard the word fez was at my going away party last year. One of my friends gave me a book about 1000 places to see before you die and everyone at the party was browsing through it. My friend, Todd, stopped at the entry for Fez. He excitedly asked me if I was going to Fez on this around the world adventure. Visions of Mr. C came to mind and a confused look came across my face. I had no idea what or where Fez was – but I was pretty certain that it wasn’t in Milwaukee! He said that he had heard about Fez and that it was one of the best places to visit, a very authentic and mystical town. I still had no idea what country it was even in – so I just nodded and said “who knows where I’ll end up, but if I end up in Fez, I’ll let you know.” The next morning in my hung over state, I grabbed the book and looked up Fez to read about it…it was in Morocco.

Photo: The famous Fez hat
For some reason that conversation stuck with me throughout my travels…maybe it was the Mr. C image, or maybe it was the exotic sounding name, or maybe it was Todd’s enthusiasm about the place – whatever it was, I felt like I needed to see it. When I decided to change my plans and travel through Morocco, I knew that I had to make it to Fez. I chose a tour route that led me through Fez for a few days as I felt that it would be one of the highlights of Morocco.

The draw to Fez is that it is the most in tact medieval city of the Arab world. It is suspended in time somewhere between the modern world and the Middle Ages. Modern World: electricity; Middle Ages: everything else in Fez. Here are the numbers: there are about 800,000 people living in the medina, 9,500 streets, aprox. 250 mosques, 10,000 donkeys, and about 100,000 satellite dishes. These are unofficial numbers of course – but they are my best guess.

Photo: The Doors to the Palace…the original Golden Arches!
We arrived in Fez after an 11 hour minivan ride through the Moroccan countryside. This was a doozy of a road trip – it was well over 100 degrees out and air conditioning that could be only used for short bursts of time in order to not overheat the car, brakes that overheated, and just a long, long journey. The longest time I’ve spent in a car since living back in the Midwest when I used to be too poor to take a plane! We arrived in Fez in the evening and our lodging was in the new city – a little more modern with internet cafes, bars, and a McDonalds…yes, a McDonalds. I have to admit – one of the things that I am really starting to miss is a good American burger. I’ve tried ordering a few and they are never the same. So when I heard there was a McDonalds in Fez, I knew that I could quench my craving. Yes, yes, yes – I’m sure many of you are appalled by this – as McDonalds is not necessarily the epitome of American burger. However, until you’ve set foot in my shoes, traveled for 10 months around the world, eating out every night of the week, being at the mercy of the local cuisine night after night, not being able to EVER drink water from a tap, then you can judge my eating choices! I sat down to my Big Mac and fries and orange juice and enjoyed every last bite…it was ecstasy. Ok – so there’s nothing medieval about a Big Mac; however, the real adventure started the next morning when our local guide, Hakima, greeted us bright and early. She was to take us on a day through Fez – the old city. It included a Medina tour, shopping and bargaining in the souks, visits to the pottery manufacturer, leather tannery, carpet maker, and lunch.

Photo: Phone home…satelites dishes in the medina
First we went to a great panoramic point high above the old Medina to get an overview of the maze that we were about to enter. The first thing I noticed as we stood on a high hill looking over the medina was the number of satellite dishes on the buildings. Strange things catch my eye sometimes, and I had never really seen so many dishes occupying so little space – each beaconing in the same direction…as if they were calling ET to come home. Each building has no less than 8 satellite dishes on the roof. Photo: Woman painting pottery At this point, the old medina felt more extraterrestrial than medieval to me. However, I guess the satellite dishes didn’t surprise me too much as most of the world’s undeveloped, poorest cities and towns even have satellites. It’s how the majority of the 3rd world is able to view the world around them these days. It is likely that all of the Fassis (people of Fez) are watching old episodes of Happy Days and are getting a good laugh out of Mr. C’s Fez hat! After I got past the dishes, I could focus on the thousands of buildings that were displayed in front of me. It was huge and a bit disorienting. If you really focused your eye, you would see all of these towers sticking up amongst the buildings – the 250 some mosques that were intermixed in the medina. You could also see puffs of dark smoke coming from certain areas which indicated that pottery was being fired there…which is where we headed to next. We went to go see the intricate art of pottery making and mosaics. We saw how everything was made by hand – in painstaking detail. Each mosaic piece was cut by hammer and chisel and then pieced together as if it were a giant jigsaw puzzle. This was one of the few places that employed women. Some women intermixed with the men in the painting area – but this was a relatively new development. The majority of the pottery work was difficult manual labor, so the only place tat the women were allowed to work was on the more artistic side of the creation.

Photo: Stacks of colorful shoes in the medina
Before entering the medina, Hakima first warned us about the usual pickpockets and urged us to stay together the best we could, and to not be discouraged by the begging children that would be following us around. Since the medina was still really a functioning medina for locals, we would stick out rather blatantly…7 Caucasians, toting camera and backpacks – of course we were going to stick out! She also warned us to listen for the word “Ballack!” meaning “watch out/move out of the way” which we would hear when the numerous donkey carts were trying to get around the medina. The medina did not hold any motorized vehicles due to the narrow, curvaious streets and alleys. The only mode of transportation was donkeys and carts. Basically, we learned that we needed to keep on our toes.

Photo: Man holding silk thread to be dyed shortly
The moment you entered the big arched gateway you inhaled the smell, taste and sound of the markets. We were surrounded by the sounds of people and music, we could smell the rich spices intermixed with the smell of olives, and your eyes were entranced by the rich colors and textures that surrounded you. I think I honestly walked for the first 20 minutes with a dumb stare on my face as I took it all in. We entered through an area of food/produce/butchers markets – which is always a site. The shops themselves were normally very small – no bigger than a bathroom and they were all connected with no space in between the buildings. The only space to walk was the narrow ‘road’ which we were sharing with a multitude of locals and donkeys. Many of the shops specialized in just one thing to keep things simple. There was a garlic shop, across from a tomato shop. Imagine if you owned a store the size of a closet and only sold garlic…only garlic…for your whole life. Personally – I would go crazy…but that’s life in the medina. The men that sold olives were also artists. They would slowly put together these elaborate olive displays intermixing patterns with the various colored olives. Seriously, these men should be running the olive department at Fairway…the olive displays were so pretty that you really didn’t want to buy any olives for fear of ruining the display!

Photo: Goats with a splitting headache…ok, I couldn’t resist!
Goat and camel heads hung from big hooks on the corners of shops. Many of the goat heads were split open to indicate that the brain had been taken out and was probably being sold somewhere on the nearby table. The rest of the head was sold for the tongue, and additional meat that could be found on it. Like most cultures, they use all parts of the animals. Next to the goat heads hung long stretchy stomachs for sale. They were a gray/brown dull color with a ton of texture – not very appetizing to me, but to each his own. Full cow and goat carcasses hung from big butcher hooks outside – on display out in the hot sun. All of the carcasses proudly had the testicles still attached and displayed so that you knew that you were buying male meat. In this culture, people only ate meat from male animals, as the females were only meant for breeding; therefore, the testicles needed to be displayed so that you knew what you were getting! God forbid if they slip some inferior female meat in your purchase! We also learned that the shutters and buildings are painted blue because the color blue is thought to keep flies away. I’m not too sure how well that was working at the butchers…as the hanging carcasses seemed like the giant fly tape that used to hang in our garage at home!

In the medina, there were special sections for sharpeners (scissors, knives, etc), bowl makers, dyers, tailors, jewelry makers, rug makers…every kind of trade you could imagine. The work was never easy…it was hard work to be done with the hands. The rugs were made by hand, the large brass bowls were pounded from flat metal into a bowl shape before our eyes, the silk thread was dyed from it’s virginal white to every color imaginable…it was as if you had stepped back to the middle ages. There were even community ovens. Throughout the streets you would see these young boys, about 6 years old, carrying a wooden platter with bread dough on it. They were taking the dough to the community oven to be baked. Most of the locals did not have an oven in their homes, so they all shared one in the neighborhood. The kids were responsible for taking it to the baker and picking it up.

Photo: Leather dying vats…a highlight of my tour!
I had been anxiously anticipating seeing the leathers dying vats in Fez. Earlier in the year I went to a photo exhibition and saw a photo of people working in the leather vats and I had always wanted to go see it with my own eyes. Finally, we arrived at the famous vats of Fez. We went into a leather store that was situated with a great aerial view of the vats. It was the middle of the day – hot, hot, hot – the smell around this area was distinct – animal flesh. We were given sprigs of mint to smell to try to get our senses used to the foul odor. The vats were out in the direct sun…and were organized for leather dying and wool dying. The white stone vats were for wool and the brown stone vats were for leather. When you looked down at them it looked like a little honeycomb of activity…circular vats and men buzzing all around them. The vats were filled with colors made from natural materials such as plants and spices and large leather pieces were submersed and soaked in the dyes. These vats were big – and this was a hands-on job. The men would cover their bodies with Vaseline in order to keep the color from dying their skin, and then they get in the vats to properly soak the leather – imagine Lucy and Ethel in the vat of grapes…now you get the picture. This was not easy work – in fact – I think it ranks right up there with jobs I never want to do! I was mesmerized by their work though – I could have watched them all day. While the rest of my group shopped for leather jackets, purses, and slippers – I put on my telephoto lens and shot about 50 photos of the dyers glistening in the hot sun.

After a delicious lunch with the locals we stopped at one of the many carpet shops next. Buying carpets in this part of the world is like buying a car – it is a production and a game – not to be missed. The carpets are beautiful and definitely one of the major commodities of this area, so it’s well worth a stop to browse. Yet, there really is no concept of browsing as we know it. It’s not like Ikea with racks of hanging rugs to patiently browse through at your leisure. Instead, it’s a well-oiled selling machine – one in which you are befriended, welcomed into a home, sit down and have some tea, see how the carpets are hand made, get educated on the various types of carpets and quality, and then after about 45 minutes of this friendly banter in which you now formed some kind of bond with the person – they get down to business and ask…”So, who’s interested in buying a carpet today?” You are immediately startled out of your social world into the high finance world of carpets! If you say “well, I think I’m interested.” Then prepare yourself for another hour or so of selling, bargaining, and dropping a lot of money (all well worth it if you really were looking for an authentic handmade carpet).

They take you off in a little room of carpets to interrogate you…oops…I mean ‘work with you’ on a more individual basis, and they parade out tons of carpets in front of you trying to narrow down exactly what you are looking for. I decided to only be an observer of the process this time – there were others in our group that were buyers. The carpets were absolutely stunning, however didn’t really fit my décor – so I enjoyed being a spectator and watching other people spend money!

Most of the shopping experiences were like this in some shape or form. You want to buy authentic clothing, material, wood working, furniture, silk, jewelry – they all sit you down and befriend you first, do a little demonstration and then find out if you are interested – it’s a pretty good sales tactic! The whole day was rather educational and I managed to somehow hold on to most of my money – mainly for the pure reason that I refuse to carry any additional weight in my already heavy luggage!

Photo: Me getting some medicinal treatment…
We also made a stop at a herbal medicine man’s shop. He sat us down and showed us all of the various herbal remedies that the locals use as well as the natural makeup and soaps that are used. At the end of his demonstration he asked if anyone had any questions. Without really thinking I asked what he recommended for dry eyes. My eyes have been quite a mess lately – the dry, dusty, sandy conditions of Morocco aren’t what the optometrist ordered! My eyes have struggled in these conditions. The ‘medicine man’ quickly said – yes, I have just the thing, and pulled down this bottle of clear liquid and told me to come over to the bench and lay down. Without even thinking I obliged and laid down on the bench and let him start to pour this liquid into that my eyes. At that moment I realized that I was letting some Moroccan guy that I just met pour a unknown liquid into my eyeballs…maybe not the best idea in the world. To my delight, when I opened my eyes again I could see the world around me still – and my eyes felt good, it was rather soothing. After the fact he told me that it was rose water and it was used to sooth dry, tired eyes.

It was a very long day in the medina. We picked up some fresh fruit for dinner and finally left the medina around 9PM…and the place was still filled with life. The rest of my stay in Fez was more low key. The next night we went out for a sophisticated dinner to say our farewell to the lively city. We had drinks at the Sofitel Hotel which overlooked the medina. It was fun to be in a proper hotel again…doormen, cushy seats, great views…a far cry from my hotel room with the shower over the toilet! We had drinks at sunset and listened to the 250 mosques all do their ‘call to prayer’ at the same time that night. It was a beautiful echoing sound that slowly traveled through and above the medina. Finally that night we had a Moroccan feast at an old restored riad (house) turned hotel. The food was outstanding and the atmosphere warm. I have successfully replaced my old Fez image of Mr. C in his Grand Puba hat with a new image the city of Fez. Both are a step back in time, but only one is the real thing.

Pass The Barf Bag Please; Wonderings On a Bus

Sherry — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 10:19:09 +0000

I’m feeling a bit reflective. I haven’t felt that way for a while…or maybe it’s just been in my head and I haven’t let it out in a while. I’m on a bus in Morocco traveling between Cefchaouan and Tangier…a 4 hr bus ride from hell. It’s hot; extremely hot, the air conditioning isn’t working, we are on winding mountain passes, the bus is making odd noises, the sun is shining brightly through the windows as if it were superman with xray vision burning a hole in the flimsy curtain fabric. I’ve been in a constant state of sweat all day, I smell bad. I’m wearing pants that I haven’t washed for 2 weeks, rode a camel in, and the zipper broke a week ago so they are held together by a safety pin. There are people puking around me. Admist all of this travel turmoil, I feel reflective.

How the hell did I go from a high end apartment in Manhattan, a posh lifestyle, to this? Actually there are tons of thoughts floating through my head as I listen to my “mellow” playlist on my ipod trying to tell my stomach to just hang in there. I’ve already taken Dramamine, but it hasn’t decided if it wants to work yet inside my tummy. I’m not really sure if this typing is helping or hurting the motion sickness.

I think about my family, I wonder if they miss me at all. At times I do feel rather lonely out here, wondering what people are doing, if they think about me or even know where I’m at. I think about my mom and dad, I wonder if they will ever decide to come visit me on this adventure. I think about the fact that they have supported my crazy ideas and am grateful for that. I think about going home, and what that will be like again – taking that ride from the airport back into Manhattan. I think about sleeping in my own bed, seeing my apartment for the first time. I think about the Arabic family next to me knowing that this is just a few weeks of my life, but this is their life…this is normal to them. I wonder how much this bus trip cost them, I wonder if they are in as much pain as I am – and then realize they must be since they are vomiting from motion sickness.

I think about past loves, the ones that broke my heart. I wonder what they are doing. I wonder if I will ever meet anyone that I can feel comfortable with, that will ever understand me –or is that just a silly dream? I mean really, who could understand why I’m riding a hot, vomit –filled bus and living out of a backpack for 10 months now. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had stayed with some of them, or if I had tried harder to make it work, or I had simply said “please, don’t go”. I wonder if I will really be able to love and trust again – if I ever really did love or trust? I think about the last time I saw him.

I think about my future. I wonder if I will try to really follow some of my ideas, or if I will give up and end up in the same rat race. I wonder if I did the right thing….but that’s a fleeting thought as I KNOW I did the right thing. I think about what it’s like to follow your gut. I wonder if I will have enough money to do what I want. I wonder if I will have enough perseverance, enough patience, enough knowledge – or will I be lazy? Will I be able to self start? What does life hold? Will I be able to embrace the ride? I think about how scary it is to think about working again – and not knowing what that will look like. I think about breathing through my mouth and not my nose.

I think about friends. I wonder how they have changed. I wonder if they think of me. I wonder if our friendships will be the same when I get back. I wonder how I will ever, EVER be able to repay some of them for the kindness and assistance they have provided me while traveling. I wonder about the friends that I rarely hear from, but used to be some of my closest friends I had. I wonder why that is, why we have drifted so. I think about some of them that have moved on and started families – who have moved into a traditional life. I wonder if they ever go out anymore and get silly drunk and go dancing until 6AM. I wonder what they will tell their kids about their past single life.

I think about my cat. I wonder if she will still remember my voice…find something familiar in it when I walk in Linda’s door and say ”Hi kit kat!” – or will she run and hide…or more likely…will she bite me and hiss? I remember the last time I held her in my lap, petting her, my tears dripping down on her fur and me telling her that I would always remember her and that I wasn’t leaving her forever. I think of her as my only real piece of responsibility in my life, the only thing that (used to) love me unconditionally. Yet, I wonder if I will take her back, or leave her with Linda. I wonder if I can really let her go.

I think about my belongings…my clothes, my shoes, my jackets, my jewelry…my stuff. I think about my ratty, smelly suitcase and I envision burning it when I get home. I wonder how elated I will feel when I got through my boxes that have been in storage. Or will I realize that I can live without that stuff. I think about the fact that this bus is constantly jerking around corners and wonder when it will ever stop. I wonder why we didn’t pay the extra money and just have a private driver.

I think about my adventures to come. I worry about the challenges ahead – especially India. I wonder if I will be tough enough to survive volunteering in India. I wonder if I will feel like I made a difference in this world. I wonder what I will look like in a Sari. I wonder how it will feel to give back. I wonder if I will love it or hate it. I wonder why in the hell this air conditioning doesn’t work!

I think about how much I’ve aged these last 10 months. I think about how bad I look, but then every time I see myself in a picture I realize that I don’t look as bad as my mind has me believe. I think about how your mind is such a powerful thing…and how it can play dirty tricks on you. I think about the last time I had a real shower in which I felt really, really clean. I think about the thrill of a fluffy towel. I wonder why I haven’t met any love interests on this grand adventure. I wonder if I’m just not open to it. I think about the last time I felt sexy…I can’t even remember when that was…which is about as disturbing as the sound of the person vomiting in the seats behind me.

I think about the real travelers…the people I have met that are 10 times tougher than me. The woman I met in Morocco who is working with the peace corps for 2 years on her own in a remote village – and she’s 22 yrs old…she tough…I’m a wimp. I think about Karina, my Intrepid tour leader, who is about 10 yrs younger than me, but I look up to. I think about her apparent ease in dealing with difficult situations, her ease in different cultures, her patience…it is commendable. I wish I could have a bit of what she has. Plus, she doesn’t seem to get car sick at all….another reason to be envious. I think about how this bus is just an oven of puke.

I think about my brother who I’ve only heard from twice on this adventure. I wonder why we have grown apart so much. I wonder if I should have contacted him more. I wonder if his kids will remember me, if they even know what I’m doing out here – or even care. I wonder about all of my nieces, what their lives will be like as adult women, what choices they will make. I wonder if I will have had any influence on them. I wonder if any of them will take care of me in my old, senile age! I wonder what challenges they will face in the world as smart, independent women. I wonder if I should have taken another Dramamine.

I think about being tough…I think about how it doesn’t matter if anyone thinks about me, misses me, remembers me…I just have to be tough…because in the end, it all comes down to me…and no one else. I think about the fact that Karina just asked me for a barf bag (I seem to be the holder of the barf bags on this trip) – not for her – but for the little girl sitting next to Kate on the bus.

I think about the roadtrips that I used to take with my family when I was a kid. I think about how my family used to make fun of me when I would get carsick…they always thought I was weak…and I was, I was a mamma’s girl; afraid to leave her, afraid to go downstairs alone, afraid to stay overnight at a friends house all night, afraid to eat asparagus, afraid of bugs, afraid of snakes, afraid of leaving for college, afraid of being alone.

I think about the fact that this writing is helping my motion sickness…at least it’s taking my mind off the jerking bus, until I just wrote this sentence and became aware of it again.

I wonder if my friends are just being kind about my writing and photography. Are they doing what friends are supposed to be doing…being kind? I wonder how many other millions of people out there are doing what I’m doing. I wonder if I have talent. I wonder why we as human beings doubt ourselves so much. I wonder if any of those people that I have photographed understand how very beautiful they are. I wonder what they think of Americans. I wonder if they know how they have changed my life.

I wonder if I have made a difference in anyone’s life. I wonder if I have made a mark on this world. I wonder why Tangier seems to be so f’ing far from Cefchaouan.

I think about all of my friends who have recently had life changes – got married or had/having kids. I think about social norms. I wonder how all of those things have seemed to escape me. I wonder if they really escaped me or did I push them away. I think about people who have children…and wonder what that would be like. I wonder why the hell the brakes on this bus are so god damn bad!!!!!

Most of all, I wonder what people will think when they read this. This glimpse into my motion sick, sweaty, smelly, tired, mind…but at least I didn’t lose my lunch.

Sand In Every Orifice – The Sahara

Sherry — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 15:04:39 +0000

Sahara Desert

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View snapshots of the Sarhara Desert

We had been driving for about 4 hours when we turned off the bumpy road onto the flat expanse of desert. You could see for miles. There were no roads, just a few tire tracks and a bunch of signs sticking in the sand advertising various hotels that were nowhere to be seen. I was anxious – similar to the feeling I had when I first turned into a game park in Kenya for my first safari. I was entering a world in which I had only previously seen on television and movies. A world that I never thought I would experience in my lifetime. A world that was unthinkable to me. I knew immediately this was going to be an adventure unlike any I had experienced before. We were going into the Sahara Desert via camels for the night to camp. I had never really seen a desert before…at least not one with camels! Sure, I had made the drive from San Diego to Las Vegas before, but it didn’t prepare me for what I was about to see. This was remote. I was so excited I was giddy and my body tingled…much like when I first arrived in Hanoi or when I set my first step in St. Mark’s square – in awe of the moment.

Our truck proceeded very slowly along the bumpy trail of tire tracks. The driver had to continuously move the steering wheel so that we wouldn’t get stuck in the sand. It reminded me of Bo Duke driving the General Lee in the Dukes of Hazzard – moving the steering wheel back and forth to make it look as if he was really driving a car instead of a prop. Every so often the tire tracks would split of into a ‘Y’ shape and we would choose a side and continue driving deeper into the desert. I could start to see the dunes, glowing orange/red in low sun. Every so often we would pass a random camel, wandering around grazing…on what, I have no idea. It honestly looked like no life existed out here. Pretty soon off in the distance you could see a little building or two and another little sign that seemed to be dwarfed by the vast landscape. Eventually we pulled up to our starting point hotel and first set foot on the fine sand. I’ve been on many beaches around the world, however I’ve never experience sand like this. It was so fine like a dust that immediately coated you and everything you were carrying. So imperceptible that you didn’t really realize it was there until you ran a hand over your arm and felt the layer of sand coating your skin. Apparently, they’ve found sand from the Sahara as far away as Greenland on the icebergs.

We left our large suitcases at the hotel and took just a small pack with the things we would need for the night. That basically consisted of water, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a long sleeve shirt, a sleep sheet, and my cameras wrapped in bags to try to protect them from the sand. I actually decided to leave my telephoto lens behind at the hotel as I didn’t even want to be temped to change lenses in this environment. The sand particles were so small that there would be no way that I would be able to keep my sensor clean.

We met our guide Mubarek all dressed in blue as most of the people in this part of the Sahara wore. The bright blue was a stunning contrast to the orange sand dunes. I was told that they wore blue because it was a bright color that was easy to spot but it didn’t absorb as much sun and heat as black. Mubarek provided us with bright colored turbans and taught us to tie them in order to protect our faces from the sun and the sand. I also dawned my sunglasses since my eyes were already burning from the dry conditions. I had left my vanity behind somewhere on the un-air conditioned local bus ride a few days ago….I knew I looked ridiculous…but I honestly didn’t care. After all, I was about to ride a camel!

Mubarek led us out to our camel train and started to explain how we were to get on and off the camels. The camels were all tied together in a long train so that we didn’t have any control of the reins and they just followed each other ensuring that we didn’t have to think! I do find it amusing that in the last year I haven’t driven a car, but I have been on a camel! I chose a good looking camel…seemed well tempered, and not too smelly. The camels were relatively easy to get on as they sit down on the ground so that you can mount them, but the real trick is to hold on tight and lean back when they stand up – else you may end up doing a header in the sand. Once my camel was standing, I was a bit amazed at how high up you really were, and how uncomfortable they were. Granted, I wasn’t expecting a cush ride, but I immediately knew that I would be saddle sore the next day!

The camel train took off into the dunes. We rode for about an hour and got deeper and deeper into the sand dunes. You could see the fine sand blowing off the tops of the dunes, reminding me I was experiencing an ever-changing, ever-moving landscape. Technically – I wasn’t on solid ground. Add that to the fact that the camel ride was rather jerky, and the sun was quickly disappearing – it made it nearly impossible to get a clear photography shot. I never knew it was so hard to hold a DSLR camera (big, heavy lens and body) in one hand while trying to adjust the shutter and aperture with that same hand and keep things steady. My other hand was out of commission as I had to hold on to the ‘saddle’ of the camel else I would end up in the sand! The camels had no fear, they would walk on the edge of a dune, just plodding away. Finally, in the distance you could see some black tents and a small bit of green grass – our home for the night.

We arrived at our camp as the sun went under – yet the temperature seemed to stay the same…hot. In the other direction the moon was rising…a full moon tonight! Once we set down our packs, Karina immediately challenged us to run up to the top of the dune that was surrounding us – she said that there would be a great view. Sure- it looked easy enough. After about 30 seconds of walking up in the deep sand feeling as if I was getting nowhere – I realized that this was going to be a long, long journey to the top. It was very challenging as you had no point of reference to determine just how high the dune was. It looked as if it was only about 150 feet – however it was probably about 10 times that distance! After resting in the sand for a bit for about the third time, most of the group bailed out as we realized that we were only about halfway up the dune. By this time though I was covered in sand, gasping for air, and I was determined. I changed my tactic to crawling on all fours…which seemed much more effective!

Rob, Sara, and I eventually made it to the top – and it was dark by the time we made it there! We were able to see the view somewhat, but the feeling of accomplishment was all I needed. When I tried to take a couple of photos, the flash went off and you could see the millions of tiny sand particles in the air floating around us. They were undetectable to the human eye, but the flash lit them up in the photo. It was amazing to think that all of these tiny particles were in the air around us! None of the pictures really turned out due to the lack of light, however we were able to enjoy our run down the dune back to our camp…much easier than going up! It’s a fun feeling to run down a dune without any fear of hitting anything or landing on anything dangerous – the worst that could happen is that you would end up rolling down in the soft sand…no problem.

That night Mubarek made us a chicken tanjine for dinner and provided melon for dessert. I was impressed with his ability to cook up a delicious meal in the desert. We all agreed that is was way too hot to sleep in the tents where there was little air flow so we all decided to sleep out on the mats outside under the full moon. Little did I know that the real adventure began when we fell asleep around 11PM. It was still rather hot when I fell asleep but there was a pleasant breeze blowing. I did get inside my sleep sheet more to mentally protect myself from the bugs than to keep warm. For those of you who don’t know what a sleep sheet is, it’s the best item in my suitcase! It’s a very thin, silk sleeping bag sheet that you can use when you are in questionable hotels, or for camping for some extra layer of warmth, etc. I love my sleep sheet!!! That night, the only sounds you could really hear was the camels snorting, and farting in the distance. At 2AM I was awakened by a loud wind and the sound of sand hitting the mat surrounding me as well as my sleep sheet. The wind had really picked up and I realized that my sleep sheet was covered in a fine layer sand as was everything else around me! I noticed that I had accidentally left open my backpack, which was now covered in a layer of sand…crap. I tried to turn around and forget about it but every so often you would get these big gusts of wind and sand that would blow directly into your face! It was still warm, so the tent still wasn’t really an option. I ended up putting the sleep sheet over my head and trying to use it as a little cocoon to protect myself from the sand! I woke up at least 3 more times during the night covered in more sand. At one point I got up and actually took some pictures of the full moon. With the moonlight the whole desert was lit up brightly…as if you had a night light on in your bedroom. Amazingly, I somehow slept until about 5AM and then gave up the pointless attempt at any further sleep and dug myself and my stuff out of the sand layers and decided to get up and take pictures. By about 5:30 everyone had woken up as the sun was quickly coming up, lighting up the sky, and heating up the sand.

Around 6:15 AM we took off again on our camel train back to ‘civilization’. The colors were beautiful and the sun was strong, and my legs were sore from the prior evening’s ride! We had to make a stop half way through the trek as Karina’s thongs fell off her camel so her and Mubarik walked back to find them. I was happy for this diversion as it allowed me to take some photos that were not so movement challenged! I was actually very sad for this experience to end despite the lack of sleep, and smelly camels! Not only would I have a ton of blurry pictures to remember the time, but I would also be carrying the miniscule grains of sand in my backpack and camera cases for years to come!

Culural Trekking in Morocco

admin — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 06:31:42 +0000

Berber Woman with her Donkey

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View snapshots of Morocco - the first week

We spent our first week in Morocco mainly enjoying the country side. We had a couple of days in Marrakech to look around the medina (old neighborhood) and the souks – it was nice, but not a place I would go back to. I have mainly enjoyed getting out of the bigger cities with crowds of people and having to be on edge from the pickpockets. We went to a small town in the High Atlas Mountains called Imlil. The town was small – one road, many donkeys. This was a popular starting point for trekkers who wanted to climb Northern Africa’s tallest peak – Jebel Toubkai at 4167 meters. I’m sure it surprises all of you to find out that I didn’t climb this peak! Instead, I did some good hikes with the group into Berber villages.

Berbers are essentially the hill tribes of Morocco. Some live in mud houses, some live in caves, and some even have normal houses – the Berbers take all forms…as you would expect of any hill tribe people – they are hearty. They were also a great reminder on why you should wear sunscreen everyday! The countryside was stunning and the hikes were challenging – mainly because it was HOT, there were no trees, and once again…no clouds. You learn to appreciate every little bit of shade you can get in this country! Our guest house in Imlil was basic and cute. Like most hotels/homes it had a big gathering area with long couches and bunches of cushions to simply lounge around on. We ate dinner there, prepared by the young boys that worked there and then they came out and asked us if we wanted to hear some Berber music. In my head I was imagining them turning on this great chill music that would fill the lounge area and create the perfect mood – so we agreed to the music offer. Instead, the 3 teenage boys came out with 2 pots, and one frying pan; they sat down and started drumming away on the pots and pans and singing!

We left Imlil and headed towards the Quarzazate in the middle Atlas Mountains. The bus trip was long and hot, but when we arrived in Quarzazate our leader, Karina, took us to the local grocery store and there is was, behind the counter…alcohol! Most of Morocco is a dry country – but there are a few places that you can purchase booze – when you find those places, you stock up! Unfortunately this added to my already heavy luggage, but it was worth it! That night we went and toured the Atlas Movie Studios where they had filmed parts of The Gladiator, Kundun, Alexander the Great, and Lawrence of Arabia. Basically – if you are producing a movie and you need a place to shoot a desolate, desert scene or an ancient kasbah – you come to Atlas Studios. The tour was ok, very simple – walk around the old sets and hear some stories. Not quite like Universal Studios with King Kong…but it was entertaining.

We then went on to see the famous Kasbah of Ait Benhaddou – a World Heritage Site. It was a fun climb to the top of the Kasbah for sunset. We then were treated to a cooking demonstration by a Action Couscous. I honestly don’t know his real name…he just went by Action Couscous – and he was as entertaining as his name. Photo: Kasbah of Ait Benhaddou Apparently, like many of the locals around there that were fluent in English, he had been an extra in many of the movies filmed around there; he was a star of sorts…I guess. He would speak in movie terms and generally would crack us up. The Moroccan people are hard to crack…but when you do get by the rather stand-offish façade, you realize that they are extremely friendly and funny. The hard part is getting through the shell. I don’t think Action Couscous had a shell. In the end, we drank our wine (that we carried with us from the grocery store), learned how to make chicken tanjine and chicken couscous and had some good laughs.

Photo: Berber Baby
We next took off for the Todra Gorge. I really didn’t know what to expect from this, but as I stepped out of the Grand Taxi and looked up – I was surrounded by high cliffs that glowed orange in the late day sun. It was stunning. It was also rather remote. Our hotel didn’t have electricity except for a few hours in the night. There was one internet café in town, Karina pointed it out to me as we drove by in the taxi…”It’s just up the riverbed and to the left”. Ahhh – this would be interesting…I had never been to an internet café in a riverbed before. The real beauty of this area was the excellent hiking trails around the gorge. In the early morning we took off on a 5 hr hike with spectacular views of the gorge. We were entertained by the calls of the goats in the mountains…sounding like crying kids. We would try to rest under any little shady spot we could as we climbed high to the tope of the gorge. This often meant huddling behind a large rock – where it was about 15 degrees cooler than the exposed mountainside. Looking back at the valley behind us made all the sweating worth it – a grand landscape.

We stopped at a little Berber family’s tent/cave and had some wild thyme/mint tea. Mint Tea is the national drink in Morocco; however, Moroccans LOVE their sugar, so it’s mint tea with about 3 tables spoons of sugar in it…what’s not to love. The Berber life in the mountains was certainly a rough one. Photo: Palmerie in the gorge They kept goats, wove rugs to sell, lived in tents in the summer and in caves in the winter and always slept on the ground – there was no furniture – only rugs…the rugs served at a couch and bed. As we descended back into the gorge, we had a spectacular view of the Palmeries on the valley floor. Basically, your whole surroundings were rock and dirt, and then at the valley floor there was this swath of pure green. The whole Todra Gorge area had diverted the water from the Wadi Todra (river) into little viaducts and had planted lush green fields of vegetables and herbs surrounded by tons of palm trees. It was a true oasis in the desolate landscape. The contrasting colors were astounding.

After our hike, we celebrated by taking our bottles of booze to a nearby hotel that had a pool and lounged by the pool the rest of the day! However, you had to lounge in the shade as the direct sun was just too much to take. The bottle of vodka that we bought went quickly as we stayed there for dinner that night and enjoyed the Berber drumming music and songs (with proper drums this time). We danced, we played musical chairs, we finished all of the booze we were carrying with us and we somehow got involved in a huge pool party in which everyone was thrown into the pool fully dressed! I did manage to stay dry by holding on to the bongo drums…whew. As my backpacker crew drove back to our hotel that night dripping wet, we all agreed – our first week in Morocco had exceeded all of our expectations!

Photo: Me on top of the gorge…great hiking!

It’s a Dry Heat and a Dry Country – Morocco

Sherry — Wed, 04 Jul 2007 13:49:16 +0000

Getting henna art done high in the Atlas Mountains

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View snapshots of Morocco - the first week

For the last week in addition to my 50 lbs of luggage, I’ve been toting around eye drops, lip balm, and alcohol – welcome to Morocco. It’s dry here…the orange ground begging for water, the sun burning brightly every day. My eyes are thirsting for liquid as are my lips and my skin. The sun beats down on us every day as it climbs into the high 90’s F. You have a constant, unquenchable thirst…for something cold…very cold. I honestly haven’t seen a single cloud in the sky since I arrived here. There must be some ban on clouds in Morocco…they get stopped at the border of Algeria and get turned away because they don’t have their proper papers to enter the country.

In addition to this dry heat, it is a Muslim country, which basically means that it’s a dry country – no alcohol. I don’t think this really sunk in until about the 3rd day when I was sweating profusely, was frustrated with the haggling in the souks (markets), tired of being gawked at by men, and more than anything I desperately wanted a cold beer to simply take the edge off. All I could get in Marrakech was a cold Orange Juice…no vodka…just orange juice. There were no less than 30 stands selling orange juice in the medina of Marrakech. Only OJ, nothing else, just OJ; I guess they don’t believe in diversification here! Granted – it was one of the best glasses of orange juice that I’ve ever had – but still not quite the same as a beer. However, you just learn to go with the flow in Morocco.

Photo: Snails in the souk in Marrakech
I left the comforts of Europe behind – and now I’m trying to get my head back into traveling in very foreign cultures again. I have entered a new, unknown culture to me. It’s one of the largest and one of the most different – I have entered Arabia. I’ve only really seen Arabic culture through Disney movies, The Ten Commandments, and Lawrence of Arabia – and none of these movies are very accurate!

There are so many new things to take in: the language, the food, the religion, the view of women in society, and the dress. I’ve really had no exposure to this before….nothing. On top of that, I’ve done very little research on the country or the culture prior to arriving here – so I feel like I’m driving at night without headlights – cautiously moving forward slowly.

Knowing that I would be culturally challenged to travel through Morocco on my own, I decided to once again use the excellent travel services of Intrepid Travel who I toured through Vietnam with. I’m doing a similar mode of travel with them, backpacking with a group essentially. Intrepid provides/books all the lodging and transportation and assigns a group leader that is familiar with the country – the rest is up to you. I’m traveling with a group of 5 other people – 2 from Australia, 2 from England, and 1 other American – plus our leader, Karina. Intrepid arranges basic accommodations (i.e. – lucky if we get hot water and really lucky if we get air conditioning), and take local transportation throughout the country. It’s a great way to travel through a Muslim country as a female solo traveler. I love being adventurous in my travels – but I wasn’t ready to take on Morocco on my own. We have 21 days to travel through Morocco and hit many of the main cities and get to experience a great deal of the countryside via long bus rides!

Photo: Koranic School in Marrakech
When I boarded the plane in Barcelona to Marrakech I got my first challenge. All of the airline instructions/announcements were in Arabic first, and then repeated in French. I waited for a bit expecting the English translation to come next…but it was just dead air…damn, I wish I would have paid more attention in my High School French class. This was really one of the first countries that I had been to where English was not really the second language. In fact – I’m not even real sure if it was 3rd or 4th or 5th as Spanish and the native Berber language all competed for spots after French. Of course as soon as I stepped off the plane hearing the foreign languages, immediately my Italian language study flooded my head…great – a lot of good that would do me now.

Marrakech was a quite an awakening when I arrived late at night – the streets were filled with people – mainly men and you could hear drumming coming loudly from the famous square, Place Djemaa el-Fna. The Djemaa el-Fna (don’t even ask me how to pronounce this!) is actually a World Heritage Site. A place where everyone gathers at night to eat from the food vendors, watch the snake charmers, enjoy the acrobats, listen to story tellers, fish for coke bottles – the list can go on and on. Our hotel was a very simple place, but it’s location was stellar – only a few meters off the Djemaa el-Fna.

Photo: Berber “blue” Man in Todra Gorge
Transportation has probably been the biggest adventure here so far. First off – there are the crazy taxis..a.k.a Grand Taxi’s. The concept of Grand Taxi’s is that there is a standard fare…say $150 dirham. If you are the only person in the car, you must pay the whole $150 – however the more people you can fit into the car (whether you know them or not) the price goes down per person. This then causes the taxi to stop and pick up others along the way – reminiscent of the NY metro strike a few years ago when the taxis had to switch to ‘car pool’ style.

Upon first look, these taxis look like old, dilapidated Mercedes from the 1970’s. They honestly look like they won’t make it more than a mile down the road – but somehow they can carry about 6 people, and their luggage up mountain passes – it’s really a miracle. The drivers are very friendly….to everyone else on the road. As we rode in a Grand Taxi up to the Atlas Mountains, our taxi driver waved to no less than a thousand people on the drive. It was as if he was in a Ford pick-up in the middle of Nebraska, waving to everyone that he passed – drivers, walkers, bikers, shop owners, and I think maybe even a few goats. I was amused by his hospitality on the road.

The Grand Taxi’s were normally quite tricked out. They sported fur dashes that were ratty and faded from the sun, various medallions swinging from the rear view mirror, a rhinestone cell phone holder, a meter that never worked, and one – yes one, window opener handle. You would hop in a grand taxi and immediately be baking in the oven-like back seat with the windows closed. Your first instinct was to roll down your window to get some air flow in there before you passed out – however your hopes were quickly dashed when you realized that there was a screw where the window handle was supposed to be. In vain, you would immediately try to fiddle with the screw seeing if you could get it to move the window down just by twisting it somehow…it wasn’t going to budge for you! This is about the time all of those stories about people dieing from heat exhaustion locked in their cars in the summer sun come to mind. There were no window handles anywhere to be seen. Karina finally clued us in to the fact that there is one handle in the car normally – and it’s with the driver. If you ask for it, he will give it to you. You then go about rapidly screwing it on the stubby screw and rolling down the window while gasping for air! You pass around the handle for the others in the car as if it were a hooka pipe until finally you get enough air flow in the car!

Photo: Woman sleeping in the museum Marrakech
Our other mode of transportation has been public buses. You know you are roughing it when you are riding with the locals. Air conditioning was a perk…not a given. Driving across the desert country-side in a big, old bus, no way to open the windows, with no clouds in the sky, no air conditioning, crying babies, wearing pants that covered your knees and shirts that covered your shoulders, and no way to open the windows…well…it might have been some of the worst transportation I’ve encountered yet – and probably my most memorable.

I felt like we were all a bunch of turkeys just roasting in this big oven. You felt as if you were going to suffocate in the 90 degree bus. I tried to simply take my mind off the unbearable heat and watch movies that I had on my ipod. It was rather surreal to be watching a Hollywood blockbuster as you were sweating uncontrollably, surrounded my Moroccan locals who probably didn’t have electricity let alone an ipod. However, watching Maggie Gylenhall shoot up drugs in the movie SherryBaby at least took my mind off the misery that I was experiencing at the time! Strangely enough, I enjoyed the experience. It was enlightening traveling with the locals, roughing it and sweating off the pounds of pasta that Italy left on me. I would have it no other way.

Out of Africa

Sherry — Thu, 19 Oct 2006 19:46:25 +0000

Me on safari

I can’t believe I’ve been here in Africa for a month and a half! I’ve never been anywhere that long on a vacation – it has been wonderful – and bits of it has seeped into me for life. I loved Africa and I will miss it! There are still places that I didn’t get to that I would have liked to go – but we’ll save that for another time (when I come back and try to climb Kilimanjaro again…ugh).

I really enjoyed Eastern Africa (Kenya and Tanzania). As happy as I was to get to South Africa and ‘normal’ life again – I found that after a week – I missed Eastern Africa. There was so much to see there and digest. The kids were soooo excited to see you there – I miss that wonder and excitement in their faces when they say you! I loved saying ‘Jambo’(Hello) to everyone – it’s such a happy word – you really can’t be in a bad mood and say ‘Jambo’. I found that I felt very safe there – mainly because everyone was excited to see you – you were an anomaly.

South Africa had a whole different feel – the country itself was beautiful without a doubt – but the security concerns were always a hinderance. I guess there is a price to being a more advanced country…crime. You weren’t an anomaly here – you were just normal. However – you gotta love a country that you can have a dozen and a half oysters delivered fresh to your door – shucked – for a matter of $12 US dollars. Yup – that’s right – in Knysna we had oysters delivered – I was so tickled to see a delivery man again!!! The food and drink in Africa was CHEAP! The rest of the costs seemed normal – but I could get a glass of wine for $1.50 US – and it was good wine! A meal at a nice restaurant cost approximately $12 US.

The commerce here was interesting. There were many men in Cape Town walking down the street selling Super Glue…yup – you read that right – Super Glue. Who knew there was such a big market on it and I have NO idea what they were using it for….pottery disasters…I don’t think so! Also – at every major intersection in Africa there were people selling things…newspapers, bead art, paintings, flowers, strawberries, and puppies…yes puppies. I entertained myself by wondering how these guys decided what they were going to sell each day. Do they play rock/paper/scissors to decide who gets to choose their commodity first. If so – then I think that the person that won chose Newspapers and the loser got the puppy sales…as who is really going to buy a puppy off the street while at a red light??? However – the fact that they are out there means that they make some sales!

Yesterday I went out shopping…oh….my body was tingling with excitement – I hadn’t been shopping forever! I realized that after a month + of traveling that I needed some different things…a sweater for one – as it’s colder than I expected. I also needed a handbag…yup – that’s right – I needed to buy a purse. All of you people at Coach stop laughing. I realized that I looked like too much of a target tourist carrying my backpack and money belt everywhere – I felt like a dork. So I invested in a very cheap big purse that can make me feel more sophisticated…first non-Coach item I’ve bought in 3 years. As I was shopping with my money belt and backpack – I was quite embarrassed to even go in some of these stores – but I managed. I just wanted to tell them when I entered their store that I normally don’t look like this…normally I can be quite fashionable…I live in NYC after all. However all I could muster up when I entered a store was ‘Hello – I’m just looking’.

Living on the road so far has been good. I’m not sick of my suitcase yet…but I can’t say that it’s really fun living out of a suitcase. I miss my closet – and my shoes most days – but I get by! The first hostel I stayed at in Cape Town spoiled me – it really was great – clean, the people were amazing and I met so many travelers! I hope I can find other gems like that!

They have World Cup Fever here…it is supposed to be in South Africa in 2010. Gail – tell your parents I”m coming to stay with them again then!

Overall – Africa has been wonderful – I really will miss it – and the meat! But most of all – I will miss the people. The people were so amazing that I met along the way – starting with Mungai’s family, Douglas my Kili guide, Natie and Blume, Clare/Keith/Jacqui, the people at the hostel, Sam the Baz Bus driver, the guys at MEM – all of them made this time here memorable. I can’t wait to come back again someday. Hopefully I’ve convinced a few of you to make this trip to Africa too! It’s long – but worth it. You really need to see this country…it’s full of hope, kindness, and beauty.

For all of you that joined me on this leg – THANKS!!!!! I had a great time!

Hello Africa!!!! and goodbye…

The Garden Route – my path to happiness

Sherry — Thu, 19 Oct 2006 19:09:50 +0000

Pink Sunset in Mossel Bay

No zucchini or corn – but lots of rain on this Garden Route. I decided I should explore life outside of Cape Town so I made plans to take the Baz Bus across the Garden Route. I probably need to define a few thing from that last sentence. The Baz Bus is a ‘backpacker bus’ transporting backpackers (like me) around to popular destinations picking you up and dropping you off at various hostels. It was cheaper than renting a car so I figured I would try it out! The Garden Route is a section of coastline on the Western Cape know for it’s spectacular landscape, towns, beaches, and weather (I’m really not sure about that last one…read on). For you San Franciscans reading this – think Carmel/Big Sur – but much larger area and supposedly nicer weather. Since I’ve been here – I find that I’ve picked up a bit of a British/S. African accent…therefore – I’m not really sure if it’s Garden Rowt or Garden Root anymore…

View snapshots of Mossel Bay

View South Africa photography

I chose 2 towns to stop and stay at – Mossel Bay and Knysna (pronounced Nyzna). I chose Mossel Bay because my friend Gail’s parent lived there ans she insisted that I pop in and meet them. I used to do work with Gail in NYC she provided me with many top quality consultants from Celerity (love the shameless plug!). She grew up in South Africa so I had asked her for travel advice before I left. She gave me her parents phone number and said.”Call them – they are expecting you”. So – this was my first opportunity to dust off those skills I picked up when moving to a San Francisco and New York City – calling complete strangers and seeing if they will be your friend. Little did I know that it would be a piece of cake – and I’m once again reminded on how rewarding it is to reach out to strangers.

I boarded the Baz Bus – it picked up other backpackers along the way and was generally a great ride. The country side that we saw was really beautiful…fruit farms, wheat fields, sheep – just stunning. About halfway there our driver, Simon, put in a movie for our viewing pleasure…I was so excited as I haven’t seen any TV/movie since the plane ride out here! The movie was really one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen…Soccer Dog. It was so bad – I had to watch it – like a car accident.

I arrived in Mossel Bay and put my bag in my backpacker hostel. I hadn’t been able to call Gail’s parents yet as I was having issues with my phone. So I took a walk around the Point scouting out areas to run and then found a pay phone and figured out how to use it (yes – this seems simple – but sometimes it’s not!). I called Blume and Natie not really knowing what I was going to say – but was hoping that they would meet me for dinner at the least. Blume answered and immediately asked me where I was…”ummm – a pay phone outside of a material shop” – her : “I’m coming to pick you up – you can stay with us” – me: “But I’ve already checked into the hostel” – her: “Have you paid them – if not – just tell them that I insisted that you stay with us”. Sure enough – 5 minutes later she pulls up and gives me a big hug, takes me to my hostel in which I try to explain that I have been hijacked and I must stay with my friends. They were totally cool about it – so off I went to stay with Blume and Natie. They had a wonderful place on the water overlooking the wharf and yatch club – I was in heaven! They fed me and drove me around town showing me the sites. The company they provided was out of this world – it was one of those times again where I thought – how did I get so lucky to meet these wonderful people? To top it off – they totally reminded me of my parents. They were roughly the same age and were quickly approaching their 50th wedding anniversary next year! Many of you reading this know my parents…this was my parents in South Africa…fun, outgoing and just plain nice. I felt like a queen staying there compared to the hostel.

Photo: Blume and Natie on their balcony

Natie would entertain me non-stop with stories. He was a sailor (sailed from Mossel Bay to the Caribbean), an architect, and I even came to find out that he was the Mayor of Mossel Bay a few years back. For me – he was my TV…I was thoroughly entertained by him – great reality TV! It really made me miss my parents. The next morning Blume invited me to join her at her water aerobics class at the heated pool in Mossel Bay. Since I hadn’t exercised in a month and I love to joining the ‘locals’ – I figured what the heck. Oh my goodness – this was probably one of my favorite moments during my trip so far – going to water aerobics in Mossel Bay. Never in my wildest dreams could I have predicted that I would be with Gail’s mom doing Aquasize along with a bunch of other women and men more than a few years my senior. I was the only one in a bikini (it was all I had!!). As I was following the instructor and sweating from the hot, hot pool (it honestly was like a jacuzzi) – I just had to grin with pleasure. One of those grins that make your face hurt. I was so happy.

That day I also accompanied Blume to the store and more site seeing. Then I walked around and went to the museum on my own. That night I went with Blume and Natie to the Yacht Club for dinner where they had a raffle and I found out that Natie had been one of the main and had his own parking space with his name on it! So – we walked in and got a Cheers-like reception – everyone knew him and Blume of course. However they had no idea who I was! I didn’t win anything at the raffle…darn…but I did meet a lot of great people. We went for ice cream after dinner and drove out to the Point to listen to the waves and eat our dessert…a perfect day.

The next day I got up and ran 5 miles…well – run/walk…it was excruciating after a month. I was actually sad to leave Natie and Blume that afternoon as I had so much fun with them. Blume took me back to the hostel to pick up the bus – but as we were going by the hostel the bus pulled away…oh noooooo…..that was my ride!!! Blume took off trying to follow them – but we lost them…imagine – car chase down the main street of Mossel Bay (I’m sure Gail will get a chuckle out of that). Since we couldn’t find the bus we went back to the hostel and the people there called the bus and they had to come back to pick me up! Granted – I wouldn’t have minded staying another day…but they were most likely tired of me by that point (confirmed by the fact that Blume was going 60 down main street trying to catch the bus!) The bus came back…and I was on my way again. Saying goodbye to Blume and Natie was hard…they were out of this world! It’s people like them that make me want to travel more. Thanks Gail!!!!!

So – I get on the bus and we take off – I apologize to everyone on the bus including our driver, Sam, for being late and making the bus turn around. Everyone was cool about it – however at the next rest stop – Sam she would have to take the microphone and sing a song! For those of you that know me – you know that I DON’T sing – never even hummed in karaoke. So I nervously told him ‘no way’! So instead he made me get up and tell everyone my name, where I was from, what my hobbies were, and what my favorite part of my trip had been…hilarious! I can’t sing – but I can talk – so this request was no problem! Sam continued to give me crap the whole way to Knysna. He dedicated a song to me at one point – the only lyrics I remember was “Watch the red tail lights disappear in the night”…it was really an entertaining ride! In fact – it was one of those times…those really special times where you realize just what happiness is. Sam put on some traditional African music with an intro by Nelson Mandella and all of a sudden I looked out the window at my surroundings and had this rush of happiness come over me. I was so happy that my eyes welled up, my face got stiff and tingly (like when you are about to cry about something good), and I smiled so hard it actually hurt. The beauty of the countryside, the incredible people I met, the unpredictable things I am doing – I felt so lucky and blessed to be exposed to this. I cannot really put this feeling into words. It’s better than drugs (not that I would know of course!), and it’s a feeling that I know will come to me a lot this year. It’s happiness.

View pictures of Kynsna, South Africa

Photo: Knysna Eastern Head – in the rain of course!

I arrived in Knysna that evening – and it had been raining and foggy the whole way – the weather gods were not with me. I had arranged to stay in a guest house in Knysna as I had tired of the hostels and wanted a bit more pampering. I found a great place online so I reserved with them. Clare from the guesthouse called Cair Paravel came to pick me up from where the bus dropped me and take me to the house. I honestly didn’t know what a guest house was as I that I don’t know. Plus – their house was not in town – and I didn’t have a car – so I wasn’t really sure how I was going to eat and get around. Clare said that they were doing a brai (remember – if you were paying attention a few posts ago you would know that brai means BBQ) and we stopped at the grocery store on the way out of town and I picked up a steak. I found out that Clare had been living in Knysna for about 6 years running various hostels and her parents, Keith and Jacqui, had decided to retire here from London. They had built this house and it was just finished and they had just arrived today also to stay there for the next month or so – they were semi-retired. So – now I was a bit self conscious as I was staying with a family that I didn’t know – the good mid-westerner in me didn’t want to intrude…but hell – I had no choice! So – that night Clare got a piping hot BBQ going (this woman knows her grill!) – she cooked the steaks, we opened up wine and we all sat on the porch and had dinner together. It was like I was visiting with old friends – it was so much fun. Wine and beef…a great way to bond (sorry to you vegetarians out there!). It was as if I was going to one of my friend’s parents houses for a few days – I felt totally comfortable and they were so social. Even though it rained most of the time I was there – Clare still arranged various activities for me and would take me into town. Then she would cook up these amazing meals that we would all have together. I came to really look forward to dinner time for the food and the company. The next night we had shrimp on the brai and the last night we had tuna…she was a great cook and they were great company! Once again – I learned a lot about London, and South Africa. Keith worked in the tobacco manufacturing industry so he was well traveled – so we had tons to talk about.

While in Knysna in the rain I did some great activities…and I visited many Internet cafes! One day I went on a tour called the Awesome Foursome – (no – this is not sexual…all of my friends in NYC…get your mind out of the gutter…hee…hee). Since the weather was horrendous – I was the only one who was crazy enough to book this – so I was the only one on the tour…just me and my guide Ricky. We canoed across the lagoon to the Western Head. Knysna is known for it’s stunning lagoon. There are two mountain ranges that practically meet – but there is about a 100 meter opening that let’s the ocean water in to form this amazing lagoon. The two mountains are called the Eastern Head and the Western Head by the locals (I’m sure they have much more official names). All I really wanted to do was canoe and hike – however it was a package deal – so I had to do the other two activities… Quad biking and abseiling. So – Ricky and I canoed and then hiked up to the top of the Head where he taught me how to use my Quad Bike (think 4 wheeler).

I am not a big motorcycle person – hell – I’m not a big car person – so this quad biking thing seemed a bit scary to me. He showed me how to use it and gave me a helmet. I warned him that I hadn’t drove in years in NYC – but he didn’t seem worried. I was very surprised to find out that the white trash side of me emerged and I LOVED this activity! It was so fun to go fast and practically tip over…it was like riding a snow mobile but in the dirt! I was laughing the whole time under my helmet and seriously considering growing a mullet. Next was the abseiling (basically repelling down a cliff). I thought that this wouldn’t be a problem – until I saw the cliff. I was all of a sudden terrified. Ricky made me go look over the edge – it was a 70 meter drop with the ocean and rocks below. It sounded like someone had turned the volume up on the waves as all I could hear was them crashing into the rocks. I freaked out and told Ricky that I didn’t think I could do it. I went and sat down for a bit and considered it. I told myself that I was here and had paid for it – why not do it. I told myself that tons of people do this all of the time and they are fine. I told myself that I had jumped out of a plane…why would this bother me. That finally did it…I told him I would go through with it. He set it all up and I asked him about 10 times if everything was secure. When he told me to step over the edge my legs were like rubber – I was completely scared. There’s nothing like laying back off a cliff that drops to the ocean – you have to totally trust the ropes and let them hold you – but I was scared stiff. I did it – but I must admit – I was soooo happy to be on the ground. I much prefer jumping out of a plane to abseiling…but I did it!! Ricky and I hiked back to the canoe and talked about reality TV…one of my favorite subjects. They have Survivor here – so we bonded over that. I told him to keep an eye out for Project Runway!

Photo: Me abseiling…you can’t see the fear on my face – but it was there!

The last day in Knysna I really wanted to go hiking – however – being a single traveler has posed some problems. No one wants to do a tour with a single traveler as it really doesn’t make them money. But Clare worked very hard at finding me a guide that would be willing to take me out on a short hike. I met Mark in his open top Land rover the next morning. He was a real likable guy with a great S. African accent. Once I determined he was married – my fantasies of living my life out in S. Africa hiking through the mountains with him disappeared – but regardless – we had a great time. We did a 4 km hike down to a beach and back up – it was tough – but good. We talked non-stop about politics, various countries, astrological signs, dating in NYC ,sex clubs, and relationships…this was my kind of guy – no subject was off limits!! He really was great – very granola – if he lived in the US he would belong in California for sure. He showed me different plants, educated me about trees, you name it. It rained on us when we got to the beach – we were soaked – but then again that was the pattern in Knysna! He took me back to the guest house and from there I caught another Baz Bus back to Cape Town.

Photo: Keith, Clare, and Jacqui from my Guest House

My adventure down the Garden Route had been a success. I was overwhelmed with the great people I met and their hospitality was remarkable. I felt like a part of the family everywhere I went! Most importantly…I experienced happiness…you must grab those moments and not let go!

Note – Once all of you other vendors that I worked with out there in NYC get me a place to stay with great food and company…I’ll give you your plug!!

Let the Wine Flow and the Wind Blow

Sherry — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 21:25:07 +0000

: Wine Country

View snapshots of South Africa Wine Country and Table Mountain

View Photography of South Africa

I had an amazing day today – the kind of day I love – full of spontaneity. I woke up with no plans, I laid in bed wondering what I was going to do. I decided to tackle breakfast and then figure it out. I went to the main area in the hostel to get my yogurt and muesli. When I got there on of my new friends, Sara from Toronto, was leaving me a note saying that her and 4 other people were going on a wine tour today and I should join them. Hmmm – booze chat at 8 AM – I liked the thought! I had no plans so I figured what the hell – let me change clothes, grab a Muffin, and off I went. I had no idea how much the tour was, where it went, how long it was – I just knew there was wine involved! Like holding a carrot in front of a rabbit – of course I would go!

On the way to Stellenbosch I got to know the other people on the trip – James and Naomi (Newlyweds from Brighton), Barbara from Philadelphia (incidentally the first and only American I met here in S. Africa), Rachel from Brighton, and Sara of course. Sara was quite an inspiration to me as she had been traveling around the world for 10 months, 40 yrs old, and full of personality and strong independence. I felt like I was back in high school – I was a freshman and she was a senior – I looked up to her and wanted to figure out how I could acquire her ease in this next year of traveling.

NOTE – for your wine snobs…I’ve actually listed out the places I went…go try to find some of these in the US…the wine was excellent and I listed my favorites!!! Plus – it is cheap!!!

Photo: Stellenbosch Wine Country

Our first stop was at Villiera – we were drinking champagne by 10 AM – lordy this was going to be a long day! Villiera’s Sauvignon Blanc, Gewurztraminer and Shiraz were great, the the Monro (Merlot/cab blend) and their Port called Fired Earth were fabulous! These were large pours too – it was really going to be a long day!

Next we went to Beyerskloof winery. South Africa wineries are known for their Pinotage and this was our first taste. The 2005 Pinotage and the Pinotage Reserve were scrumptious! They even gave us Pinotage frozen yogurt. So now I’ve had about 8 tastings of wine and frozen yogurt before noon. This is the time that I start reflecting on how lucky I am. I feel blessed…err…a bit wasted…er…pissed (as my English friends would say). We drive through the town of Stellenbasch – it’s charming. I then realize – Napa and Sonoma could only wish they were this beautiful. The countryside here was stunning. Big mountains protecting these tasty grapes. Green as far as the eye could see.

We next went to Tokara Winery. This estate was beautifully decorated with a killer view. There I had the Tokara White, Stellenbosch Chardonnay, Tokara Red and the Zondernaam Cabernet – loved them all. Hell – I loved everything by this point. My lone muffin could not soak up all of this wine – I needed lunch! We got to lunch and have yet another glass of wine poured for us at the table. After lunch we went to a chocolate store and then stopped to pick up fresh strawberries…so sweet tasting – that first taste of summer – delicious!

Our last stop was at Fairview winery and cheese shop. We tried their varieties which include their playful label “Goats do Roam” – all was great – but I needed to sober up on the way back to Cape Town! Thank God that we had a driver!

Photo: View a top Table Mountain

On our ride back to CT a group of us decided we would go up to Table Mountain and see the sunset as it was a clear day. We all 5 piled into a cab like sardines and took the cable car to the top. When we got off at the top we not only were we greeted by amazing views of the city – but also by hurricane force winds and blizzard like cold! Ok – maybe a bit exaggerating – but it did feel like the climate had changed to Siberia – not summer in Cape Town. Table Mountain is approximately 3000 feet high. We loved the views but took shelter in the cafe and had hot chocolate. As we came down the mountain after we braved more cold photographs I made dinner plans with Bobbie the American from Philly. She was traveling alone and had been on the wine tour – so we bonded over the East coast and wine. The day turned out to be so much fun and so unpredictable. These are the days an Aquarian like me lives for – new places, new people, unplanned adventure and to think – I laid in my bed that morning wondering what I was going to do all day on my own!

Photo: Cold weather up there!!!

Cape Town South Africa

Sherry — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 20:34:42 +0000

View from Table Mountain

View snapshots of Cape Town, South Africa

View South Africa Photography

It’s been a month already – I can hardly believe how fast it’s gone. Yet I haven’t been working for more than a month now. There have been so many emotions coursing through me – some good – some disturbing. I’m trying to teach myself this new way of life – this carefree way – but it certainly has hurdles. The hurdles of years and years of working away at the American dream…money, title, security. I have none of those things now – I gave them up – and it’s quite a lot to deal with some days. These hurdles lead to me freaking out every so often – I no longer have a job – very strange. Granted – no one I’ve met is shocked that I’m jobless – it’s just the social pressure that I’m putting on myself. It feels weird to just be spending money and not have any coming in. I feel lazy and guilty some days – like I’m not using my brain. Yet – if I really think about it – I am using my brain every day – in fact it’s in overload taking in new things, new thoughts, new experiences. But it’s no longer running meetings, or making business decisions. Heck – my hardest decision I make each day is to decide what to eat and where to go (then again – back at my old job one of my big decisions of the day was what to eat – so maybe it’s no so different!). I can no longer plan every moment of my days/weeks/months. This is what I excelled at in NYC – I always had something planned – every moment. Not anymore – my brain is struggling with this new phenomena – but it’s slowly getting used to it.

For the 1st time in 14 years – I am getting 8 hours of sleep a night, not using an alarm clock, and waking up laying in bed completely wondering what I will do that day. I have no plans. This is a bit unnerving for me. I feel like I’m watching a sitcom of someone else’s life – this can’t be my life. I haven’t watched TV for at least 3 weeks, and I haven’t read any American news for a month. I find myself craving a NY Times. (Miles – stop laughing) In the 3 1/2 years I lived in NYC – I NEVER read the Times – Miles would tell me the headlines and that’s how I stayed informed. However – now whenever I go into a book store – I find myself scouring the shelves for one…anything…even a USA Today…yes – I’m desperate!

I haven’t run for a month now too…my body really has no idea what is going on…it’s starving for adrenaline! However – my running friend Vida from NYC informed me that the Coach team did really well in the Corporate Challenge Championship race. I had qualified for this race before I left but had to decline since I wouldn’t be there. However – she told me that it had my time, Sherry Ott, listed at running it in 25:06. So even though I’m halfway around the world – I guess my alter ego is still in NYC running faster than ever!!! So – whomever ran for me…thanks I guess!!

There are some skills that I’ve put to use in a big way since I’ve been traveling – sleeping through lots of loud noise is one. NYC trained me well for the hostels that I’m living in. Walls are thin and people are loud – but I sleep right through it! I’ve put my art of socializing in overdrive. I have met so many new people in simply a week – it’s a bit overwhelming.

Please take note – as you continue to read my blog – I will simply refer to these people that I meet as my ‘new friends’ from (pick a country). You won’t be able to keep up with the names and places – as I can hardly do that and I’m living it!

Some of the recent new friends have been a couple from Holland, newlyweds from Brighton, Mark and Pat from North Wales, Sara from Toronto, and a Bobbie from Philly. The list goes on and one and I’ve only been at one hostel. I must admit – I was a bit concerned about how I would do in the hostels as I’ve never stayed in one before (once again I’m experiencing things in my 30’s that I should have experienced in my 20’s – oh well – it makes me feel young!) .

So far the hostel experience has been amazing – it’s like a socializing factory of sorts. I’ve decided that shy people don’t travel – as everyone I’ve met is extremely outgoing – kind of like cheerleaders on crack – but in a good way! I’ve yet to brave ‘dorm living’ in a hostel yet – but it is in my near future. I’ve been living on my own with my cat now for 10 years – the thought of sleeping in a bunk bed and sharing bathrooms terrify me a bit. However – one of the quickest ways to becoming ‘old’ is to become set in your ways – so – in the name of youth – I will give dorm living a go! It’s all part of the adventure!

OK – now on to Capetown…sorry for that diversion – but admit it – you were getting bored with simply travel blog stuff.

Arriving in South Africa was stunning – I felt like I had been ship wrecked for a month and all of a sudden I was dropped back into modern society. The 3rd world to 1st world switch was abrupt and I felt a sense of relief to see normal roads, ATM’s, fast food places and malls – but at the same time I felt sad to be leaving the ’simple’ life. Every day in Eastern Africa put my brain synapses in overdrive – I was redlining with thoughts on what I was seeing every day. On the other hand – the thought of a country with uninterrupted electricity was sounding pretty good to me!

I stayed at Cape Town Backpackers in the heart of Cape Town in the Tamboerskloof neighborhood. Since Cape Town has a LARGE Dutch influence – all of the names have this strange Dutch sound (Stellenbosch, Franschhoek, etc) as if the chef from the Muppets named all of the places. You remember him – he talked but made no sense. Every time I hear one of these Dutch names I say it in my head with the chef’s accent in mind.

Photo: Cape Point Coast Line

When Cyndi left me I decided that I needed to first spend some time site-seeing at the local Internet Cafe. I spent the whole afternoon there catching up on things. When I got back to the hostel I asked the staff there if I could reserve a Robben Island ticket as I had heard they had to be booked in advance. Luckily Lea (the manager) was able to get me a space in a couple of days – at that time a young guy who overhead my conversation wanted /friend, Pat, and my first ‘new friends’ were found – Mark and Pat from North Wales. It’s weird how things work out…I had been terrified all day that I would be lonely and here came along the perfect new friends! They were funny, outgoing, and liked to drink – a match made in Hostel Heaven! They asked me to join them for dinner and for the next 3 days we were joined at the hip!

We went on a tour of Cape Point together dinner and drinks every night, Robben Island, and I taught them how to play Yahtzee. In exchange I learned great new phrases such as “I was so pissed last night!” – meaning – “I was so drunk last night”. I learned that being “tapped” or “pulled” meant that you were hit on at a bar (or wherever). I learned the difference between snogging and shagging. I learned that Wales is NOT the same country as England (yet that is all still a bit fuzzy for me) and finally I learned a bit about soccer leagues in Europe as well as the fact that a proper cricket match can last for days. The education was all jolly good fun! Pat and Mark were co-workers and had a humorous friendship – kind of like brother and sister – so I fit in just fine.

Mark was the first person I ever met that made a part time living repairing Bouncy Castles. Apparently bouncy castles are popular in Wales and they often ‘pop’ – Mark to the rescue!! However his funniest trait was that he had self diagnosed himself with a ’shy bladder’. Not a small bladder – a shy bladder. He couldn’t pee around other people in a public bathroom. I thought he was trying to pull the gullible American along – but Pat confirmed it and he proceeded to show me the illness definition on Google (you can look it up yourself)…how absurd! As you can tell – we got along great! Bouncy Castle repair man with a shy bladder – I still chuckle thinking about it!

When we went to Cape Point we were able to see the African penguins along Boulder Beach. The penguins get the nickname Jackass penguins because they make noises like a donkey. How a cute little penguin can make such a horrible noise just seems wrong. After viewing the penguins we drive to Cape Point to go biking. However on the way our guide spotted some whales off the coast about 300 ft. away. We stopped and realized there were actually 3 whales swimming together – they were so close to us that you could hear them – the noise was much nicer than the penguins!

We proceeded to the entrance to the point and hopped on our bikes for a leisurely coast downhill – not quite the type of workout I was expecting. However the coastline once again reminded me of Northern California – Big Sur area. After lunch we hiked up to the lighthouse and then down to the Cape of Good Hope – the area where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet. I expected to see some wall of water like when Moses parted the Red Sea – but it was rather uneventful! The only way to really tell that the oceans meet is by the temperature of the water. The Atlantic is still cold and the Indian Ocean is warm. That night the hostel had a big BBQ (called a brai in South Africa) – it was quite the party – even some bar top dancing – surprisingly I refrained from dancing on the bar – and left that to the bouncy castle repairman.

We visited Robben island the next day in the blustery weather with a slight hangover. We got on the ferry and I had the deja vu of going to Alcatraz island – cold ferry out to a island prison – who could blame me. They had ex-prisoners give you a tour of the old facilities – which was even more creepy. You just had to wonder what in the world would make them want to come back to this hated place and be a guide. Besides a being a prison for political prisoners during apartheid – the island served as a leper colony from 1845 to 1931, and a military base from 1939 to 1959 and then a prison was formed from 1960 to 1991. Mandella was imprisoned there from 1963 to 1982 and then taken to yet another prison before being released.

The island was dismal, the leper colony cemetery was eerie and the prison was depressing – this was my kind of tour! The cells didn’t have beds – just mats rolled out on the floor, a shared bathroom and a small yard area. The cold oozed through the floors and the mats. The whole thing just left you wondering – “How the hell could’ve this happened?” Apartheid actually means ‘living apart’. The black and colored people had no rights, were kicked out of their neighborhoods and no future. This was not more than 13 years ago – it seems impossible that this was so recent – in my lifetime.

Yet the South Africa today still has many issues. The government is new and still corrupt in less visible ways. The crime is high and i saw no police presence anywhere. Everyone forbids me from walking outside alone once the sun goes down and it drives me crazy! I feel like Princess Fiona from Shrek and have to race the sun home before I turn into mugging bait! I heeded their advice and would take taxis a matter of 6 blocks – this made my New Yorker blood boil!. I talked to once South African that said that “during apartheid they locked the blacks out, and now the whites simply lock themselves in”. Very true statement – as all affluent people live in gated, high security neighborhoods. There’s something about beautiful houses/estates surrounded by barbed wire that just seems wrong. Yet this is the norm all over Africa. Everyone hires security guards – I swear that ADT must be the biggest employer here! At times this all made me feel as if Capetown was simply masquerading as a 1st world country. 1st world by day, but reverting back at night. Maybe Giuliani should consider taking over!

Photo: At the lighthouse at Cape of Good Hope

Beyond the Mountain – Zanzibar

Sherry — Sun, 15 Oct 2006 16:02:43 +0000

Fish market in Zanzibar

View snapshots from Zanzibar

View Tanzania Photography

Tanzania was similar to Kenya in many ways – people were still walking everywhere, agriculture was the main ‘industry’, tribal life was the norm and the heavy meat diet was the staple. However, Tanzania had some additional issues around electricity. When we arrived in Tanzania, we were told that the electricity would come on at 7PM – until then we were SOL.

Apparently the whole country didn’t have electricity as there was some problem with the abundance of water for energy. I’m not sure what it was all about, but it was rather disturbing that a whole country didn’t have power. The hotels and businesses had generators they used during the day and everyone seemed very unphased with the situation. I could wait until evening to take a shower with hot water…I could adapt. However, once we came down the mountain it was now Ramadan – and due to the large Muslim population the Tanzanian government made an exception during Ramadan and allowed electricity all day since most Muslims stayed inside during the day during October. So – things were back to normal…electricity for all!

Cyndi and I flew out of Kilimanjaro airport directly to Zanzibar – the Spice Island. What a change to go from rugged mountain life to island life in the matter of an hour. In addition, we had the additional learning curve around the Ramadan holiday. Zanzibar has an extremely mixed religious culture due to its place in history as a main port on the Indian trade routes. There is a mix of Christian, Hindu, and Muslim religions. The predominant is Muslim, so this was my chance to learn more about it.

Hammer-head shark at the market

We arrived in sunny Zanzibar surrounded by the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean. The main city on the island is Stone Town and it is full of history. We quickly got settled in our hotel and took a tour of the city. The streets were narrow – no cars – just scooters, bikes, and the ever present walkers. We learned about the various Sultans who ruled the island as well as the slave trade of which Zanzibar was a hub. Slaves would be abducted from villages and brought to Zanzibar to be sold at auction. These slaves were not going to the US – but to India, Brittan, Middle East, etc. We walked all over the town and unfortunately we hadn’t had any lunch yet. During Ramadan it is considered extremely rude to eat in public as they are fasting all day – so herein lied the problem. Many of you who know me well have felt the wrath of my mood swing when I don’t eat – be happy you weren’t with me!! I had a Cliff bar in my pocket – but I couldn’t take it out to eat it so I suffered along all day as food was in my pocket!

We went to the market area and I was astonished once again by the variety of produce, an infinite variety of bananas, green oranges, and tons of different varieties of rice. However – my favorite stop was the fish market/auction. We were walking in and our guide – Mr. Mohammad – was telling us that just recently women were allowed to sell at the fish market when this guy literally drags a huge hammerhead shark past us and puts it in the auction area. It’s quite stunning when you see someone dragging a shark down the street and definitely a first for me!

Mr. Mohammad took us to museums, churches, everywhere – we were exhausted! Finally he showed us a great ’sundowner’ place (a.k.a happy hour for sunset) and finally we were allowed to eat…and drink of course!

Old Home, big porch

We watched the sun set on the Indian Ocean – a busy day! Since we were still fresh off the mountain – we continued to marvel on how wonderful it was to sleep in a bed and get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night! I think we would get up and pee in the middle of the night just because we could! The next day we went to a Spice Plantation north of Stone Town. Prior to this – I had no idea where many of these spices came from – so it was really educational. So many of the spices we know grow on their trees, and shrubs on the island. It makes you wonder how did the US get such boring trees like the elm or the oak – what do they produce besides some nuts and a nice looking leaf? Every plant or tree had some useful purpose on Zanzibar.

Photo - Nutmeg at the plantation

Next we visited a local village and had lunch prepared by the local women. We sat on mats on the floor without shoes and ate lunch full of the spices we had just learned about. We visited a Sultan bathhouse (including the ever popular long drop toilet), we then went to a secluded beach to nap and back into Stone Town before sundown – ahhhh – I love this new life of mine! As we drove around the island – I was completely intent on watching the world outside the van window – it was far better than any reality TV show that I’ve ever seen. We saw so many little mud houses and so many kids! They were always excited to see the white people and would often come running after the van waving. Seeing how people lived amazed me – it’s such a far cry from what we are used to.

At our hotel (Clove Hotel) we talked to the owner, Lissette, and she informed us to not go outside from 6:30 to 8:00PM as that was sundown and all of the Muslims would close their shops and go in and eat and pray. She told us that the only people that would be outside at that time were the tourists and the thieves. I wasn’t about to go against her advice so we sat up on the hotel balcony as we watched everyone on the streets go inside and soon you could hear the familiar chants/prayers ringing through the city. It was really enchanting and you wondered as you drank a beer on the balcony – “why can’t we just all get along?” Once our ‘curfew’ was over we went out at 8:00 and had dinner at a restaurant called Monsoon that required you to have no shoes for service…and they made you sit on cushions on the floor – a typical type of way to have dinner in that part of the country.

Aqua Door

The next day Cyndi shopped and I made friends with the local boys on the streets who were budding young salesmen. I think they knew how to say “beautiful lady”, “My friend”, and “special deal” in about 10 different languages! One of them proposed marriage to me – he was probably 18 years old at best and he openly was looking for a white wife as “all white people are rich”. He was disappointed that I didn’t want to have any kids – so he was trying his best to talk me into having just one. I told them that kids were too expensive – he said – yes – but they are small and don’t take up much room. He obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with! All this time Cyndi kept bargaining for handicrafts – she was working hard at a good deal. I passed on the young boy’s marriage offer and that afternoon we sadly left Zanzibar. I guess if I’m ever really shopping for a husband – I know where I’ll go to find one.

We took a 2 1/2 hour ferry to Dar es Salaam. We lugged all of our stuff onto the boat and Cyndi was the smart one who took a Dramamine. I figured that I had been on many ferries like this one before without getting sick – no problem. About an hour into the trip I was green – along with 75% of the other passengers. I could swear that the ferry was completely airborne at times the waves felt so rough. A guy came around giving everyone plastic barf bags – that was my last straw. I woke up Cyndi who was napping peacefully and asked her for a Dramamine. I didn’t have any water to even wash it down – so I worked up as much saliva as I could and swallowed it. There was no way I was getting up to buy water – no more movement else I would have re-lived my kili puke fest! I really didn’t want to vomit in public twice in one week. I laid down and prayed to the gods of the Indian Ocean to give me a break. Thank goodness for older sisters – she only said “I told you so” twice – so that seemed acceptable.

Policemen

We made it to Dar es Salaam without using our barf bags and found a driver to take us to look for a hotel. We were racing against the sun and Ramadan. We said yes to the first place he took us with availability . The Peacock Hotel was a nice little business hotel containing everything we needed for one night. We organized for our new taxi driver to pick us up in the morning to take us to the airport. Important travel tip – when you find a suitably safe taxi driver – you keep him.

We went to one of the most entertaining dinners I’ve been to on this trip so far. We ate at the Peacock restaurant – a normal hotel restaurant – but that night they had live music. This consisted of an electronic keyboardist, guitarist, and a female vocalist. It sort of reminded me of Karaoke as they sang anything from Barbara Streisand to Shania Twain to Patsy Kline to Lionel Riche. It was like a tacky wedding band – but this was better because they had an African accent which gave these songs some personality! I wanted to request ‘Walk the Line’, but Cyndi wouldn’t let me! We stayed on after our dinner just to hear them sing more…it was one of those “I can’t believe that I’m doing this” moments.

That night I started worrying about my pending solo travel. I haven’t been alone yet on the trip so far – and Cyndi only had one more day with me. I was a bit distraught over this thought. Over the past 2 weeks I had such a great time with Cyndi – we really had a chance to bond again and that meant more to me than getting up that damn mountain. She’s been in Singapore for 2 years now – email contact is great – but not the same as face to face bonding…especially around long drop toilets! It strengthened my fairh in family again – it was comforting. We arrived in South Africa with no issues except for my concern over my impending lonliness – but it had to happen sometime. I’d see Cyndi in Singapore in December. The next morning I checked into my backpacker hostel – tearfully said goodbye to Cyndi and started a new chapter in the adventure…solo.

A Sister’s Perspective – Kilimanjaro

Sherry — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 13:33:13 +0000

This is a note that my sister sent out to her family and friends regarding the climb! She has a great perspective on the whole thing – so I thought I would add this to the blog so that you could all get the perspective from someone who actually made it to the top of the summit! So – This post is by Cyndi Sommerfeldt…enjoy!!!

Cyndi and I on the Trail

GPS map of our route!!

Okay first of all I am assuming that you all know or, if you are anything like me, slightly recall that I was going to Africa in September to meet up with my traveling sister, Sherry, and make an attempt at climbing to the top of Africa’s tallest point 19,300+ ft (that’s up there…..read on!) better known as Kilimanjaro. Well everything went as planned meaning Sherry resigned from her job in NYC in early September and sublet her apartment and was off to Kenya . I met up with her in Nairobi on the 21st of September. I had also convinced my adventurous friend Heather from Columbia to join us so in fact we all met up in Nairobi on that night. The following morning we were on an African bus bound for Moshi , Tanzania in 6 hours. Do not think air conditioned tour bus here but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. For example there were no animals on board and we experienced no break downs so it was a successful trip into Tanzania and the base of the mountain. Kilimanjaro is only about 3 degrees south of the equator so the town of Moshi is quite tropical feeling…no problem for Singaporeans.

After checking in with the tour company and proceeding to pack all of our mountain gear, we were off the following morning to the Machame gate the start point of our trek. Soon we were united with our extremely capable team of 12 African mountaineers (head guide, assistant guide, cook, waiter, and 8 porters who carry everything up the mountain and are in charge of setting up and taking down camp). Yes, all of that for just the 3 of us trekkers, and get this we were below average on the number of support people as the average is 3 porters for each trekker. Our guide and now friend Douglas told us on our last day that we had packed surprisingly well as most people bring too much and end up having to use additional porters because of it. Of course this means that you have to be ready and willing to wear the same pair of hiking pants for about 4 days in a row but we got over this like many things in a few days.

I have attached a graphic of our trek and the altitudes we were at for each overnight camp. The scenery was beautiful and interesting as we walked from jungle rain forest into the fields of heather (we have tons of pictures of Heather in the heather, surprisingly she doesn’t blend in) into the spooky looking moorland and then alpine desert and finally just an arctic summit zone. This was over a 6 day period and often we would “hike high, sleep low” referring to the altitude. This is an aclimization step and as you can see from our data we held around 13,000ft for a number of days trying to adjust to the altitude before sleeping higher. Finally our highest camp site (Barafu) was at over 15,000ft and we referred to it as camping on Mars. There were large boulders and many smaller ones directly under our tent. And the long drop toilets (I’m not even going into that here) were literally perched on the edge of cliffs. Not a good camp to be suffering and stumbling around due to altitude sickness. We had to reinitiate our first night agreement of ‘one goes to the bathroom…all go to the bathroom’ here just to make sure we would come back from the edge of the cliff. As luck would have it we didn’t spend much quality time at this camp as this is where you make your summit bid from therefore getting up at 11pm for your 6 hours climb to the top, to be at the summit for sunrise.

Okay so how did we all do??? Not surprisingly everyone had there “moments” or probably more like days. Sherry and Heather suffered from altitude the most especially starting the 2nd day. For those of you who think I am as tough and perhaps interesting as a brick wall I’m beginning to agree with you. On two occasions I had a slight headache but after a piece of chocolate I would be great for the next 12 hours. Sherry and Heather suffered more but seemed to improve. We had all brought a prescription of Diamox (actually a diuretic used in the treatment of Glaucoma, but also well known in altitude climbing) and Sherry and Heather were given the go ahead to take theirs by the 2nd day. I on the other hand got a daily speech about how you could get to the top without Diamox if you drank enough fluids (we are talking 3-4 liters a day) and went slow. To keep this short I ended up totally drug free as I was never suffering enough to take the Diamox. Sherry on the other hand took a turn for the worse on the 5th day. She had been struggling with headaches and nausea. I will send you to her blog to get the full story on as she says the joy of throwing up in front of 25 onlookers…..she made it to the highest camp but couldn’t seem to get better with diamox and rest which is about the only choice that you have with altitude. In a very emotional afternoon, Douglas (and Sherry) made the decision to send her down to a lower camp immediately while Heather and I stayed at camp and got ready for a summit attempt in a few hours. It felt much like a surprise vote on Survivor as Heather and I hugged Sherry and she was quickly wisked off to walk down to the low camp (a 4 hour walk which in her state took over 5) with our cook and a porter. Heather and I were told to get some rest (yeah right!) and we would be woken up at 11pm for a final walk up.

Before midnight we were off and walking. With Sherry gone there was just the 4 of us, Douglas our head guide, Heather, myself and Edward our assistant guide, and in that order. I found it pretty nice to have my own personal guide behind me as I had a tendency to kind of slowly fall over to one side or the other….tired, lack of oxygen, I don’t know….but each time I was going into my slow motion tip, Edward would grab me by the waist and set me upright again. It was cold. We were told to put 5 layers on top and bottom and by that point we did whatever Douglas told us. Douglas also told us not to look up and of course after trying it a few times I decided he was right as you couldn’t tell where the stars started and the headlamps on other hikers going up up up ended. It felt like we were just walking into the sky. About 2 hours into the 6 hour walk I was sure I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t have any physical ailments just was extremely tired. I figured I would go a little further before I told Douglas I wanted to go back down. So I just zoned in on Heathers light blue gators in front of me and walked. The next thing I knew I kind of woke up and realized where I was and took a physical inventory of how I felt and I seemed pretty good. It was like I came out of a trance. When I told Douglas I was ready for a break he said we could take one in about 40 minutes when we met up with the other trail at the top. I accused him of lying to me as I was sure we had at least 3 hours left but he said no we were almost at Stella point, near the top. Once at Stella Point my mind became crystal clear and Heather who had been hanging in there the entire climb had a few moments of not knowing where we were. Lucky we picked alternate times to be incoherent. I was so happy to be basically at the top that the additional 40 minute walk (that was supposed to take an hour) over to Uhuru peak the absolute summit felt like a walk in the park. We walked past huge glaciers and if you looked over the inside ridge you could see the crater of the volcano and the ash pit. Again I am crystal clear here but the 4 hours before that are not in my memory at all. We took our pictures at the top and got hugs from the guides. We watched the sunrise below us and pop up through the clouds…amazing. I thought about yelling out “how many of you people are not on diamox up here” but figured just the African guides would raise their hands so thought better of that. We were probably at the top for an hour and then quickly started back down the same way we came up but now in the daylight.

Now I was really on a mission. We had too many clothes on but it was too hard to take them off so just kept going faster down. Also what I thought was a steep ridge we were walking up in the middle of the night was really a superhighway but steep and all small gravel so basically we pointed our hiking boots downhill and skied down. All I wanted to do was get back to camp so that we could pack up and get moving down toward Sherry. Luckily Sherry had our cook Gudluck (we thought this was a great name for a mountain cook…Good Luck) call Douglas as she wanted to know if we made it to the top…so we knew she was doing okay down at 10,000ft. So we got back to camp each took two ibuprofen just for good measure, slept for one hour (more like passed out) and then got up packed and had one last 100% carb lunch and headed down the mountain. We were good at going down. Again the 4 hour walk took us more like 31/2 and that was after a forced break. We found Sherry down at the low camp with our tent right next to the metal camp hut where you signed in and at this elevation could actually buy a bottle of beer or coke. Nice! We were too tired to even consider beer believe it or not but the Coke Sherry bought us tasted real good. We figured we could even make it camping one more night since we were so close to civilization again from here. And we all seemed to be doing our best at sleeping until we were woke up by a rain storm at 2am. We put anything that wasn’t already in a plastic bag in one and viewed the mud river flowing right outside our sleeping compartment and figured there was nothing else we could do until the morning when hopefully our porters would dig us out. So we huddled closer together to negate my now wet in places sleeping bag and went back to sleep. In the morning after extra time cleaning up mud we started down the mountain and were some of the first people out that day as again we went at a fast pace with no stops. The rain at least calmed the dust and it made for some good pictures of the mountain all in snow.

We collected our summit certificates and don’t worry we will work on making a unique one for Sherry’s 15,000ft….It will have all the good stuff on it like a long drop toilet, a huge plate of carbs that you are expected to eat all of, and her very impressive ripped hiking pants. We made it back to our hotel in Moshi and took showers while trying to pack up all of our dirty and wet stuff. We took our guide Douglas out for dinner that night and each had 2 Kilimanjaro beers…very good. Sherry and I left the next day via a one hour flight for Zanzibar and Heather took the bus ride back to Nairobi and started a full day of flights to get back to Columbia . We were tired but all feeling pretty good considering we had been on the mountain for 6 days. So we tried to come up with a one word response to all of you who asked us how it was…..the only one we could really agree on was challenging. We also termed our whole time on the mountain as a hard reset of life. It didn’t take us much time to decide we all had it pretty good in our normal lives and for awhile it felt like we had just been restarted without any warning, no shutting down of the programs we were obviously in the middle of etc, just bang here’s your new life for 7 days.

Sherry and I had a nice and relaxing time in Zanzibar , the spice island. We ate and slept good and then after a couple of days made our way back to the mainland via a rough ferry ride….I told her to just take the Dramamine as a preventative measure but no…. she finally looked at me kind of green like and asked if I still had it handy about 2/3 of the way into our trip. It worked however others didn’t fare so well. We spent a night in Dar es Salaam , Tanzania and then the next morning flew from there to Johannesburg and on to Cape Town . The following morning we got Sherry dropped off at her backpackers hostel and I was off to the airport. All went well on the way home and I actually arrived on my birthday at 5:30 am in Singapore . So I was able to purchase my allotment of booze from the duty free shop before 6am so I figure that was a pretty good start to a birthday.

Kilimanjaro

Sherry — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 13:30:14 +0000

WARNING: Just a friendly warning before you start reading this post…if you have any issues regarding reading about bodily functions…I suggest you look at the pictures and don’t read this post! The mountain was CHALLENGING…and your body is taxed in many different ways! As most of you know – I’m not shy about telling it how it is…so you do get a little glance into my gastro-intestinal organs and some of my inappropriate humor! Most importantly – it kept us laughing all the way up the mountain – and that was the best medicine of all! For all of you long distance runners out there – I’m sure you can brave this post…it’s our normal, everyday conversation about bodily functions!! Also note that this post is a little different than most – it is my journal entries exactly how they appeared in my journal – time and thoughts are all dictated right from the pages of my journal…real time in a way.
Enjoy and proceed with caution!!

View snapshots from Kilimanjaro trek

View Tanzania Photography

The view from the top

9/22 – Moshi
Heather and Cyndi arrived to Nairobi fine – they had no time to experience their jet lag as our bus trip to Moshi was the next day – and it went pretty smooth – except for the road of course. Our collective anxiety was high since we did not really know what to expect for the next 7 days/nights. We met our tour provider – Moshi Expidition and Mountaineering (MEM) – they had a pleasant little office and were all so very nice to us. We sat at a desk and they told us about what to expect (tired, cold, loss of appetite, shortness of breath)…all of this was fine with me except the loss of appetite piece – it was a bit disturbing as I LOVE to eat! They came to our hotel and asked us to lay everything out on our beds and proceeded to go through exactly what we should take with us on the mountain. Now we just have our last night of sleep on a bed, use of a real toilet, and a shower for the next 7 days…what have we gotten ourselves into?!!

9/23 – Day 1 – Machame Gate to Machame Camp – 9800 ft.

We made it our first day and an additional 4000 ft up today. Things that surprised me: It’s colder than I thought at night – about 50 degrees in our tent the 1st night (and it’s only bound to get worse as we go up!), and the bathroom situation is a bit more primitive than I expected. Every 4 km or so there is something called a long drop toilet. – I really don’t get the name as I would simply call it a Smelly Outhouse With Hole (SOWH) in the ground. The hole in the ground was typically small, smelly, and the little room was dark. Your aim had to be pretty good – but then again – that’s what you had Gaiters for…thank god for Gaiters!! Over the next 7 days I’m sure that I will come up with numerous ways for the SOWH to be improved. Toilet paper would be a nice start, and a handle to hold onto for balance would be exquisite. You did figure out that if you held the toilet paper roll under your chin – then you had your hands free to try to get your clothes out of the ‘drop zone’. It’s tough being a chick sometimes.
We’ve got a Park Ave. tent – a sleeping area and a separate dining area – heat would be nice – but no chance of that! The stars tonight were overwhelming and the food was tasty – a good way to end the day.
Our crew was wonderful – made up of the following:
Guide – Douglas – the most patient, quietly confident personality – after a day with him you trusted him with your life…which is what we were literally doing. He’s a saint.
Assistant guide – Edward – looked after Cyndi and Heather on the climb to the summit.
Cook – Gudluk (pronounced Good Luck…kinda funny for the name of a cook – makes you a little worried about eating!) he made amazing Ginger beef and fried banana fritters!
Waiter – Simon – quiet and so nice – we loved him!
8 Porters – the guys with amazing strong necks…they carried everything on their heads!
9/24 – Machame Camp to Shira Camp 12,600 ft.
Made it through night 1 and day 2 of the Kili climb! Slept ok – but nothing to write home about. I’m too old to be sleeping in the ground, it felt like a slab of wood with nails sticking out of it! Regardless – I did sleep – just not too sound. The day was hard – lots of up, up, up – and my stomach seemed to be on pins and needles all day. At one point I just wanted to lie down for a nap as I was mentally exhausted. I’ve decided that this little adventure puts your mind and body on a roller coaster that resembles Cybil . You turn so fast it’s crazy – one minute your great and the next your stomach is in knots and your brain can’t form a complete sentence or thought – you are in a trance – it’s a bit unsettling. Douglas is checking what we are eating by going through our lunch box garbage and leftover dinner – I kind of feel like a patient at a mental facility – not really able to care for ourselves. Yet it’s nice to know that someone is looking out for us.

Let’s talk about bladder control. They make you drink 3 liters of liquids on the trail and I had to pee at least 8 times today – honestly my body thinks that I’m trying to drown it. I’ve consulted my mathematicians and determined that my bladder must hold about .4 of a liter. This isn’t really a big deal – except for the nighttime. You wake up at 2AM feeling like you are going to burst – fighting with your brain about getting up out of the tent to go out in 30degree weather and pee at a long drop toilet…this is not a pleasant situation. I’ve decided to invent a version of adult Depends – we can call them Kilimanjaro Pull-ups! This way you can avoid the middle of the night bladder call in the cold! When we got to camp today it wasn’t too cold yet so we decided to freshen up a bit with our handy dandy body wipes and rinse free shampoo.
Photo – Cyndi using her ‘rinse-free’ shampoo
It wasn’t a shower – but damn – it felt great! Good dinner tonight, some cards and now off to bed – or at least I hope to sleep a bit! Heather felt poorly tonight, headache and no appetite…the mountain is taking control!

9/29 – Mweka Camp – 10,200 ft
Well – this is not where I was supposed to be today on Day 6. I was supposed to be at the top of the summit but due to some very unfortunate circumstances – I’m at the low camp due to altitude sickness.. I’m very upset and trying to find the positive side of this and given a bit more time – I know I will. But this is not how it was supposed to go. Leaving high camp last night feeling very sick at 6:30 PM feeling like the mountain and my body dejected me – chewing me up and spit me out. Walking (actually stumbling) for 5 hours feeling so sick and sad in the dark down the mountain was truly one of my low points. I never thought I was going to make it here. I was so sick and tired that I just wanted to lay down – but they wouldn’t let me stop until we got to lower altitude. As we (Gudluk and a porter and I) left the high camp (Barrafu) at sunset above the clouds we walked past a porter tent and you could hear them all singing “How Great Though Art” in Swahili. This is one of my favorite songs and every time I hear it I think of my Grandpa Ott’s funeral. So – imagine me walking through this quiet camp on top of the world feeling so dejected as all of the other trekkers were resting for their final assent and I am leaving to the tune of “How Great though Art”. I was in tears stumbling down the rocks trying to follow Gudluk I went through so much hardship and to not make it is devastating beyond belief. Now I sit at the low camp as a leper – watching all of those who made it to the summit yesterday celebrate their accomplishments and leave camp happy knowing it was all worth it. It’s a strange kind of torture for me as they all take pictures with their guides and finish their last few hours and here I sit next to my little tent so sad knowing that I have to figure out a way to turn this feeling around. I guess in all it will make me a stronger person. Cyndi and Heather made it to the summit this morning so I will need to figure out how to pull it together before they get down to this camp in the afternoon. I have many hours to figure that out though. My view is that the mountain chooses it’s victims randomly and I unfortunately was one of the many victims. So – the big question…how did I get here to this point??? I have tried my best to recall the days that led up to this…

Day 3 – Shira to Barranco Huts – 13027 ft.
On Day 3 I lost my desire to write. Heck I pretty much lost my desire to do anything but follow Douglas up the hill, eat, and sleep. The good news is that I still had my appetite though – so it couldn’t have been that bad yet! We continued up out of the Shira camp – this was our day to hike high, sleep low. We took off – pole, pole (slowly, slowly- pronounced poleee, poleeee)) – so slow that I kept on thinking about that old game we used to play as kids – “Mother May I“ in which some person – acting as “Mother” – dictated that you take baby steps or giant steps, and washing machine steps, etc. Baby steps meant that you walked heal to toe and started your next step with your heal starting right at your toe of your other foot. I realized that we were taking baby steps up the entire mountain. But it was all that my lungs could manage. It was barren above the tree line and very dusty. Dust tornadoes would pop up all over. I know now what your nose hairs are there for – they were working OT collecting dust! I left that day with an unsettled stomach mush like the day before – but getting worse – gassy, diarrhea…but I baby stepped onward. It ended up being a great day – one Imodium did the trick – my stomach was still for a few hours! We hiked as high as 15,391 to the lava dome – it was slow and easy. Headaches and nausea would come and go within a few minutes – it was odd once again – like a roller coaster or waves. Cyndi and I decided to take Douglas’s advice and go to the top of the lava tower – another 70 meters higher (and the highest point I would ever reach coincidentally). Heather decided to rest due to her headache. Cyndi and I followed Douglas up the rock.

In this photo You can barely see us at the top – look VERY hard!

If you recall the opening scene from Cliff Hanger with Sylvester Stallone hanging from a rock by his fingernails – that’s what I felt like getting to the top of this lava rock! Ok – so maybe it wasn’t that extreme – but in my head it was! We had to find hand holds in the rock and scale across ledges no larger than 3 inches wide! Douglas would show us the hand holds and where to put our feet. Using all fours and crawling at times we made it – panting for air. The view was amazing – a 360 degree view of Kili, Mt. Maru, the trail we came on, etc. It was a barren land of volcanic rock, dead glaciers, and dust. It was a bit sad to learn that many of these glaciers were around not more than 7 years ago. But they did their job, they carved their landscape and disappeard. After we made it down we quickly took on the remaining 2 hr trek to Barranco Camp – all downhill. We all felt great that night but were exhausted as we were out on the trail for 9 hours that day. We ate well except for Heather who still wasn’t feeling 100%. We went right to sleep on our rock hard bed – bodies aching.

Photo: Descending from Lava Rock – through the land of Senecio Trees – they were 200 yrs old!

Day 4 – Barranco Huts to Karanga Huts – 13187 ft.
That was the first night that I really stopped sleeping – but I woke up feeling well the next morning and feeling like I could indeed make it to the top. We started Day 4 by a difficult climb up the Barranco wall. It was a steep climb up a rock face – it was hard – but what was more amazing was the porters carrying up 20 kilos (you do the conversion) up the technical climb with chairs, tables, backpacks, and food on their heads!
Stepping aside to let them pass us was a great break – but also made you think – these guys get paid $8 per day for this dangerous, demanding work. And most of them smoke! So much for trying to stay healthy – they can kick my butt any day! We got up the wall and took a break to see the amazing views. I felt pretty good – yet I was breathing really heavy – there’s just not enough oxygen!!! We started downward again at a good pace into the valley.

By this time we had become one with our surroundings and living conditions. Peeing by the trail side – no problem. The long drop toilets were now common place to us – not ideal at all – but we worked with what we had. We even had perfected a peeing ‘stance’ on a rock which let you rest at the same time (credit Cyndi on that one!).

We all joked around about this whole experience being a ‘hard reboot’ of sorts. We came here to the Machame gate clean, in our technical gear and packs and then someone just turned off the power – there was no nice shutting down of active programs in our brains. It was like the blue screen of death – you were screwed and had to start all over. Your concept of what a clean toilet was in had changed – heck even the concept of a toilet in general had changed. Clean clothes, good campsite, all had to be reset in our minds. None of us were hard core campers – Heather had the most experience – but even she had to admit this was pretty hard core. By the 2nd night the temps were in the 30 degrees and eventually got below freezing. It was cold. You could see your breath in our tent and we would have hot water put in our bottles at night to put in our sleeping bags to stay warm. I referred to the hot bottles as my ‘babies’…this is what lack of oxygen reduces you to! Granted, I am aware of the fact that it wasn’t completely hard core camping – we had a team of 12 people getting us u the mountain. And setting up camp and cooking for us (until we inevitably lost our appetite).

We started a nice quick descent into the valley and knew that we had a short day. Once again – sanity seemed to come in waves – sometimes great – sometimes feeling so drunk that the world was spinning and you couldn’t walk a straight line – it was more of a drunken stumble – but 5 minutes later you were fine. So we trudged along. We saw our campsite off in the distance – what a happy site – then I realized that we had to go all the way to the valley floor and back up a steep incline to get there…deflation. Kind of like the “your almost there” comment when on mile 15 of a marathon – for God’s sake – you still have 10 miles to go! For some reason – mentally this was my turning point. Not only does your headache go in waves – but you are reduced to very limited brain function in high altitude. Similar also to running a marathon – it takes 10 minutes to do a simple math equation in your head – eventually you get it – but it takes a while. So once your brain starts to go in a negative place – it’s like trying to stop a train going 60 mph – it takes a lot to stop and pull out of the negative spiral. The strange thing is that I know these things having run 5 marathons – yet I still haven’t found a great way around it.

We went down and started our way back up and for some reason I was frustrated. We were going at a decent pace and my calves were killing me but I wanted to be done so I just pressed on – I was breathing really heavy in my exhausted stumble drunk mode. I started having a really hard time breathing and thought I was possibly having an asthma attack – then my head panicked. I stopped to try to regain my breath and seemed to lose my composure. We walked while I tried to regain both – once I did – I stumbled my short way up to camp. I was exhausted in everyway and had a terrible headache. I got to our camp and laid down with my head in a funk. That was definitely the mental turn, but the physical turn was on it’s way. The extreme shortness of breath wasn’t a good sign. That was also the beginning of losing my appetite – oh what a sad day.
Photo: The picture of the moment I lost my appetite…

I choked down some soup and a few noodles but my stomach was brewing and my diarrhea was back too….joy. My whole body ached so Douglas assessed me and told me to take 2 Patanol. I did this and eventually the headache and body ache subsided. I was able to pull out of my stoned like trance and feel ok again. We played Yahtzee and went to bed. This night I really didn’t sleep – my stomach was in knots, I would start to shake uncontrollably like I was shivering (but I wasn’t really cold) – I had very strange dreams to top things off.

Day 5 Karanga Huts to Barafu huts – 15241 ft.
That morning I woke up in a trance like state – I didn’t feel right at all. I had some tea and sent to the tent to get packed up in slow motion and I sat inside the tent for a long time . All of a sudden I had a hot flash (it was about 40 degrees in the tent) so I got up and went outside for fresh air. Heather brought a chair out to me and I was completely nauseous. I saw there for a while and Douglas came over. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I felt sick. He said in his African accent “Do you have to vomit?” I said that I feel like it. He said “Then vomit, and you will feel better”. Since I basically did whatever Douglas tell me to do – I ran behind the tent and threw up. In my lifetime this was definitely the most beautiful setting that I’ve ever puked in – the view was really amazing. And it was also the largest crowd I’ve ever puked among – in the middle of a campsite while tons of people were milling around for breakfast. This is definitely on my ‘top 10 lowpoints’ list!

Photo: Scene of the puking ‘incident’…surrounded by beauty and people!

But Douglas was right of course – I did feel worlds better at that moment. I came back in the tent to a stunned Heather and Cyndi. Douglas told me to drink hot water with lemon and eat breakfast. Now – I know that all of you reading this has thrown up before – and the thought of someone making you eat food immediately afterwards sounds like cruel torture. So I choked down some white toast and a pancake, and got myself cleaned up still with a rumbling in my stomache and we took off VERY pole, pole. I felt ok during the walk except for the diariah – mother nature never had so much fertilizer! That morning I also stopped my malaria pills and diamox as my stomachwas so upset I couldn’t deal with anything else.

We arrived at camp and even though I wasn’t breathing heavy today – I was exhausted and had absolutely no appetite – none of us did – yet they kept bringing up platters of food and Simon would look at us so disappointed when we sent most of it back. This also prompted Douglas to go on ‘orange alert’ and now he started coming in and watching us eat. He wouldn’t say anything – he would just stand there with his arms folded across his chest watching us eat…it was really disturbing. Hell – every time we went to the bathroom we would have to report back to him! He was wonderful – he told us not to think over and over again – I guess he recognizes a type A personality ! Actually – he understands what a huge effect the mental state/brain has on the bodily functions. He would tell us not to worry – don’t think – find a happy place. I was so tired and still didn’t feel well once we stopped hiking so he told us all to nap for a few hours before dinner at 5:00.

This was the night we were supposed to attempt summit – starting at midnight. I layed down for a nap and decided to tak Douglas’s advice and find a happy place. So – after carrying my opod to 15,000 ft. I finally decided to use it. I would fall asleep listing to comforting music – all would be ok. Unfortunately my ipod which is exactly 13 months old decided to die on me that day. I was furious as music and podcasts were my planned activity for this year long trip – now it crashed 1 month after the warranty. I HATE IPODS!!!! So – now I’m very upset (not a good mental place to be at 15,000 ft. and I took a nap or at least tried to sleep. I drifted off and was having crazy dreams and started shivering even thought I was warm in my bag. The next 2 hours were spent tossing, turning, and shivering – I was still exhausted. I went to the bathroom at camp but it was quite the obstacle course to get there as the Barrafu camp resembles the moon with large rocks everywhere. I had another bought of diarrhea – so bad that my feet went numb from trying to squat over that stupid long drop toilet for such a long time! I was out of breath when I got back to the tent. It was time to eat again and I was miserable – I couldn’t stop shivering. It was as if I had a fever or something.

Douglas came in to see how we were doing. Simon came in with a large platter of spaghetti, fries, and soup. We all graoned as noone of us wanted to eat. It was one of the most excruciatingly painful meals I’ve had in my lifetime. Douglas stood thee and made us eat. He was silently assessing each of us – mainly me as I was feeling terrible, shaking and didn’t even want to eat soup! I forced down spaghetti – it tasted like paste to me. He told me to go put more layers of clothes on . I now had 3 layers on my lefs and 5 layers on my top – still shivering – I could barely hold the spoon in my hand. That’s when he made the inevitable decision – to not let me go any further.

I was banished from the mountain. I could practically hear it laughing at me. We were all devastated. He asked Cyndi and Heather to pack up my things and we all 3 sat and cried a bit. Douglas said – “No need to cry – the mountain isn’t going anywhere – you can try again.” That was an entertaining thought…it was complete insanity!! What seemed like 5 seconds, but was probably 5 minutes – I was whisked away at 6:30PM from the camp. Gudluk – our cook and a porter was sent with me to get me down. Cyndi and Heather after the fact said that they just sat in the tent in complete disbelief – as if it were a game of Survivor and they were juts blindsided that someone from their alliance had to leave the island and they never saw it coming.

Photo above :Barafu Camp…not a flat place to sleep!!

Day 6 – Mweka Camp
Photo: My location on Summit Day…
So that’s how I got to this place – banished to low camp with oxygen. Just writing about the whole ordeal does make me feel better. I woke up this morning and Gudluk brought me some tea to see how I was feeling. It’s really amazing how oxygen is really all you need to feel better. I asked him if Cyndi and Heather made it to the top and he said they did…I was relieved! I was happy to see dyni and heather that afternoon and hear about thie long, difficult trek to the top that morning. They started at midnight and trekked upward about 4000 ft. for 6 hours. Then all the way back down to low camp – another 8000 ft this afternoon. Knowing how I felt last night – I never would have made it – my body was done. We had a fun celebration dinner in our tent and slept for the last time on the hard ground!

Photo right: Cyndi and Heather on Summit Day!!

Day 7 – The mountain had a little ‘send off’ for us last night – it poured rain for half of the night and our tent became a river of mud! Inside the sleeping area our bags were wet and water was gunning under our sleeping pads – it felt like we were floating! In our dining area we had mud flowing through caking everything in mud and soot. Thank god it was our last night! The mountain top was sprinkled in a new covering of snow – like someone had dusted it with powdered sugar. We spent the morning cleaning up, having our last memorable long drop experience and taking pictures with our team of guides and porters. Then we reaced down the mountain for the 2 ½ hrs to the gate! It felt so weird to be back in civilization – cars, real toilets. I gave a kid a pack of gum in exchange for cleaning my boots which were muddy and gross (and they needed to be packed back in my suitcase for the remainder of my travels!).

Back at the hotel we took showers and started feeling human again. That night we took Douglas out to dinner and reveled in our accomplishment. For me – it wasn’t the summit – but the journey. It was a challenging experience that is certainly not for everyone. I’m happy for my accomplishment – but I am really thankful for all of the people that got me through this week most of all. Douglas and crew , but mostly Cyndi and Heather who I laughed and cried with through out the whole trip! It made me stronger in many ways and it further strengthened relationships – what more can I really ask for – besides a flush toilet!

Photo: The 3 of us on the last day with our hero – Douglas

Route: Machame

Tour Company – highly recomended: Moshi Expidition and Mountaineering (MEM)

Lamu – a Hidden Paradise

Sherry — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 19:35:12 +0000

Lamu, Kenya

Pronounced – ‘la-moo’

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We arrived in Lamu yesterday via a small 20 passenger plane and a very good looking your pilot! When we arrived at the small airfield it was lightly sprinkling, but by the time they took our luggage out on a little 2 wheel wooden cart and wheeled it off the runway, it was pouring rain. We ran to the dock and onto the little dhow (wooden boat) and got under the make-shift cover/tarp for cover – but we were drenched! The island of Lamu is traversed by boat or by foot or donkey. The ‘airport’ is only reachable by boat!

The hungry mosquitoes were in heaven – it was 6:30PM , humid, and wet – it was feeding time for them (thank god for Malaria Meds!). We arrived at Kijani House (hotel) via the dhow. It was a beautiful bed and breakfast of sorts. The rooms were all designed in a traditional Lamu style. The furniture was ornate, the windows were open and had no screens and the décor was a mix of Indian, African and Turkish. Each room had a traditional Lamu door and lock…padlock that is. It was quaint – I loved it. We were in the village of Shela on the island of Lamu. The next day we hired a guide, Hammed, to take us to Lamu village via a dhow (about 4 km away). Lamu was a big step back in time. There are no cars there and not many bikes either. The roads (dirt paths) are much too narrow for cars – so they use donkeys instead.

Narrow streets of Lamu

They also use wooden hand carts – kind of like a large wheel barrow of sorts. The town is bustling with people everywhere. It is a mix of people and religion – African, Indian, Christian and Muslim. Hammed taught us about Lamu’s struggle for independence in the 1750’s and it relatively short, modern life. We learned about how the traditional Lamu houses were built so that women could go visit their female neighbors on the rooftops as they weren’t allowed to be seen by men except for their husband. Therefore a maze of ‘streets’ on the rooftops developed. Hammed educated us on arranged marriages, the accepted practice of polygamy, and the 7 days of wedding celebration that would occur. The wedding couple finally met each other for the first time on the night of the 3rd day and then the partying continued for the next 4 days.

Transportation in Lamu

The streets of Lamu were bustling. It reminded me of NYC in a way because if you weren’t aware – you’d most certainly get run over by a donkey – the little narrow streets were crowded and they didn’t have room or tolerance for a tourist stopping in the middle to take a picture. You had to match the rhythm and flow or risk being road kill! We spent the rest of the late afternoon on the isolated beach in Shela – there was nothing touristy about it – just beautiful soft sand – all to ourselves and camels (not the cigarette – then animal)!

The last day in Lamu we went sailing on a dhow and had a fish fry for lunch. The fish – white snapper – was caught that day and fried up on a make-shift grille. Six whole fish were put in a plastic bowl and we each picked each up and ate it with our hands picking the bones clean as they were so delicious and peppery. I felt like we were cast-aways eating fish with our hands.

My Kenyan traveling 'team'!

Our guide, Hammed took care of us well – and as a gift – I provided him a new piece of American slang to add to his vocabulary “My bad”. He was a big fan of American slang so he appreciated this greatly – it was the least I could do for the wonderful time that he showed us all in Lamu!

Kenya Hospitality

Sherry — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 18:14:54 +0000

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Kenya was a real mix of classes – poor and ‘well -off’ – at times it was such a wide gap to take in – that it really kind of made your stomach turn. I can’t simply say that I just experienced this only in Kenya – I experienced it all over Eastern Africa. In the US – many people can go through their whole lives and never get exposed to the very poor/desolate or even the very rich. Heck – I must admit – in the US I went through my whole teenage years and never met a person of Jewish faith. Point being – you can be very sheltered in the US.

However – regardless of who we met along our journey – everyone was always hospitable and seemed genuinely happy and low stress. Granted – I looked around the ’shanty’ towns and wondered how anyone could be happy there – but they were. It was simply a way of life. We came across many different people as we moved across Kenya. In Nairobi we were welcomed with open arms from all of Mungai’s family (aunts, uncles, grandmother, cousins, godmothers, friends). We were constantly having dinner with someone who wanted to meet Mungai’s ‘posse of women’! We even had the opportunity to go outside of Nairobi to meet Mungai’s grandmother (pictured to the right). She did not speak English – but she wanted to have us over for lunch. It amazed me how her farm and life reminded me of my grandparent’s farms in Nebraska. She provided us with a great lunch and then we went out and looked at her field of coffee beans, farm animals, etc. We were also treated to sugar cane for ‘dessert’ – chopped down right in front of us while we waited.

In Samburu we went to visit a local tribe of of Samburu people – they had an amazing primitive life in which they lived in mud huts, drank cows milk and blood, practiced pologymy, and made extra money for their tribe by having tourists come and see their life on display. The kids were fascinated by us – we went into their school (the only real building in the area) and they proudly sang their A,B,C’s and counted for us.

They were as fascinated by us as we were by them – I’m not really sure who was on display more! Some of the tribe people and kids are pictured here and above.

Everywhere we went we saw Kenyans wearing tshirts that were hilarious to us – some were for American sporting teams, American bands, bars in Idaho, D.A.R.E tshirts (Nancy Reagan would be proud!) – these were all obviously things that other visitors had brought with them and donated. But it was mildly entertaining seeing an adult man wearing a varsity cheerleading tshirt – but they didn’t care – it was clothes.

When we went to Mombassa we met a local couple there. Erin’s father has a global business and he was in the early stages of doing business with a company in Mombassa. So we met up with the couple who ran the company there – Mohammad and Layla (pictured below). They were ship channelers (no – this is not some wierd form of predicting a ship’s future or bringing it back from the dead) – they served as a ‘middle-man’ of sorts to the various ships that were in port in Mombassa. Selling them food, transportation, goods – whatever they needed. It was an amazing experience in hospitality – we were welcomed with open arms. They came out with us every night and had dinner and drinks. They were very excited to show us Mombassa and all it had to offer. In fact they were so eager – my New Yorker attitude woke up and at first wondered “ What do they want from us?” It was eye opening to see that the rest of the world doesn’t operate in this way. Granted – you do need to keep your guard up – but I have to re-tune my radar a bit. They brought along a friend who was a guide that showed us around and taught us the history of Mombassa, they took us to clubs, and the last night they took us out to dinner – all of us – and invited us to come back and visit. They provided Erin gifts for her family. This is all similar to the hospitality we are experienced in the various hotels, from our various guides, and in Lamu.

I had to leave Kenya early in the morning and didn’t really get the chance to thank Mungai’s family properly – so I’ll take this opportunity now – To all of Mungai’s family/friends (and Mungai of course!) – thanks for the hospitality, the food, the drink, the safey, the education, and your smiles! You made Kenya a very positive, fun experience – and a great way to start off my trip!
The whole experience simply gives you faith in the kindness of people – people all over the world!

Our WONDERFUL host! Mungai (on right) and his cousin Moshohi

Safari – Are we going to move?????

Sherry — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 12:47:07 +0000

View Photography of Safari and Samburu Tribe

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View snapshots of the Samburu Tribe

We’ve seen some amazing animals here – you can get so close with no boundaries. When I was young we used to go on field trips to Wild Life Prairie Park outside of Peoria – there you see animals in their ‘natural habitat’. It offered the animals large areas to roam – larger than your average zoo basically. It was a kind of Central Illinois Safari I suppose. However – there were fences. We loved to go to the place – it seemed dangerous in a way – which made it exciting. You had to walk a long way to the animals and the animals eventually got smart and they just hid from you.

However, here in Samburu National Park – the animals can’t really hide – you go to them. This is a great in theory – until one of them doesn’t really want you around chasing it. We drove right up to giraffe eating, we parked 10 ft. away from water buffalo, and even raced other vehicles to the cheetahs. We drove right up to a family of elephants and watched as mom and son crossed the road not more than 20 ft. in front of us. We watched them eat and rub against trees. They seemed so harmless and happy. We noticed that as they walked away across the road – a younger elephant was still on the other side of the road and seemed to be forgotten. It seemed to be a rebellious, teenage girl elephant that was trying to assert her independence and stay away from her mom and brother. Our guide made an elephant call/noise/grunt (it seemed convincing to me). The teenage elephant looked up and slowly came toward us – click, click, click – I’m getting some great shots of it coming towards the truck. It gets closer and closer and starts to run – I peak from behind the camera to see where it really is in relation to me and realize it’s about 10 feet from us – and it doesn’t look happy.

It stops and stares at us and starts making elephant noises. I realize that the motor of the truck is not even running. In my mind – this was the time to move the truck as I’ve got a mad teenage elephant staring me down. I keep staring at the rebellious teen and say to the driver “Ummm – are we going to move now?” in a calm, yet concerned even tone – never taking my eyes off the elephant. The stare down continues, there’s no sound of the engine starting – I feel like I’m in an old western movie at a standoff. It then suddenly walks away to it’s mom and brother. I guess our green truck looked pretty menacing. It was at that time when I decided that I may not ever make a great ‘field photographer’ as I was ready to bail at the first sign of a charging elephant.

As we drove around the rest of the morning hunting for the elusive lions – I was sickened by the thought that ran through my head – Disney really did a great job on depicting Africa in the Lion King. I hate the fact that my only visual reference of African Safari is a Disney movie – that’s just silly. But I have caught myself referencing back to the movie many times in my head. But this is the real thing – and it’s beautiful and impressive and most importantly – real. As real as that angry teenage elephant.

Kenyan Food – Bring on the meat!!

Sherry — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 12:30:10 +0000

The food here is a vegetarian’s nightmare as well as a Atkin’s dieter’s nightmare – luckily – I’m neither of these so I am enjoying this meat heavy, carbo loaded Kenyan diet I am on! The food is hearty with many stew-like dishes with rice – yet the sauces they use have a distinct Indian flair as many Indian spices are used. This equates to yummy food! Many root vegetables are also used – I honestly never knew there were so many variations of potatoes. They have some that look just like a banana but taste like a potato. They also have sweet potatoes that are white – but taste just like our orange ones. Speaking of color – their oranges here are green…go figure. Since we’ve been here we’ve been eating 3 meals a day mainly consisting of meat, rice, potatoes, and chapati (a type of yummy tortilla). My favorite is the breakfast pancakes which taste exactly like my grandmothers recipe. They simply roll the flat pancakes up and eat them plain – they are delicious!

In the US – a T-bone steak is a real treat – here I feel like it’s an everyday occurrence. The first day we were here one of Mungai’s uncles brought in 2 T-bones on a platter with a big knife. He proceeded to cut it up in small pieces and we snacked on it like an appetizer with our fingers. It felt rather primeval in a way – there’s something about eating meat with your hands that makes it taste that much better – it’s back to the basics. Mungai and his uncle picked up the bones and ate them with their hands…there were no leftovers for the dogs! Next he paraded out a platter of sliced, grilled meat. As a side note – when I travel I take the strategy of eat first and then ask what it is later. Else you visualize and mentally process what it is that you are about to eat and your brain will talk yourself out of it. I utilized my strategy in this case and grabbed the first piece and chewed. Good taste – hot of the grill – not bad. After everyone inquires about it I found out it was tripe – not something I would normally eat if my brain had been allowed to make the decision . (maybe I should be employing this strategy for men I date too) So – would I have tripe again…sure.

Everyone seems excited to see the 6 women from the US that Mungai brought to Kenya – we seem to be in demand – more so than I ever was in NY! We were invited to dinner at a friend of his family’s – Ginna. It was a unique dining experience that made me feel grown up beyond my years. The house was large and ornately decorated with animal pelts and other African designs. We sat down in a dining room as large as my apartment and had a very formal dinner while conversing with Ginna’s kids who were in college. It was fascinating talking politics with them. I was surprised to find out that many people here are thinking that Hilary Clinton should be our next President. I was a bit shocked. In fact – one person said that the US needs a bit of a feminine touch after Bush. The view of the US is so different than our own self view – it is eye opening to hear what other countries think and a bit disturbing at the same time. Regardless – the food was outstanding – ribs, chicken, beef, rice, and veggie mash. I find it interesting that there is always a variety of meat. Normally my mom would simply make chicken. That’s it – one meat, and a vegetable. Yet here – it’s a minimum of 3 different kinds of meat – it seems like so much effort. For dessert we had our first Kenyan ice cream – yum!

We toured old town Mombassa today and learned of the battles of the Portuguese and the Muslims. We walked through the town sticking out like clothed people in a nudist colony – 6 white women walking around a Muslim town in Africa. We told people we were from Canada…it was just easier that way. At the end of the tour we walked through the various markets. It started simple with many fruits and veggies stacked on blankets and carts on the street. We then went into the enclosed spice market. What a wonderful smell! Spices piled like colorful mounds of sand. Lemon grass, ginger root, vanilla beans, and saffron – it was beautiful in a 3rd world rustic kind of way – but the smell was like an Indian restaurant.

Next we went to the meat market – and it was an experience like no other. I just wish that I could somehow bottle the smell and put it in a scratch and sniff sticker for everyone to experience because my words can’t really do it justice. First off – when I say market – it’s not like a local Kroger supermarket butcher counter. It’s a shack with dirt floors and individual people with stands selling things – meat in this case. However – this market also did the slaughtering. The smell and the flies were overwhelming, meat parts from every kind of animal were hanging from hooks at each stand. Camel, goat, cow, lamb, and every part imaginable. Liver, heart, and there hanging with a family of flies – intestine…my tripe from the other day. Let me tell you – it looked much more appetizing coming off the grill than hanging on a big meat hook raw – freshly butchered. We were all a bit horrified, as we breathed out of our mouths as to not get nauscious from the smell.

I think the men there were completely entertained by our reactions as they tried to sell us camel liver (which was the size of a watermelon). Some would think that this may curb our appetite – but we all happily went to lunch after that and had our traditional meat stew. I accept what I saw by rationalizing that meat markets like this one in Mombassa area exist everywhere – even in the US (though maybe a bit cleaner) – but we don’t normally see the inner working of them – we are sheltered from that. Today the shelter was removed a bit – as I expect it to be removed even more as I continue eating my way through this journey.

Kenya Transportation – bring comfortable shoes and patience!

Sherry — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 11:12:24 +0000

We’ve made it to Samburu National Park/Safari which is wonderful but half the fun was getting here from Nairobi. It was a 6 hour drive through Nairobi and the Kenyan countryside. We were able to see the bustling city of Nairobi on a Monday morning. There were people everywhere – like an army of ants going after spilled Kool-Aid. Most people seemed to commute by foot. There are little red dirt paths along every road serving as a sidewalk of sorts. There were some lucky people that had access to bikes and would ride them where ever they could. Masses of people would wait for the Matatus – a minibus/van/taxi of sorts in which they cram people in like sardines. They stop anywhere along their route and pick people up and drop people off – it looks like a clown car as you really can’t imagine how many people fit into a Matatu. This picture really doesn’t do it justice – but it’s hard to take pictures as you are speeding down the hi-way!

The whole thing looked like mass chaos to me – yet you knew there was order to it in some way that I would never understand in my short time in Nairobi. The picture of masses of people walking down the streets reminded me of the NYC blackout or transit strike. But the Kenyans do this commute EVERY day…it’s part of their life, their culture. All of us in the US complaining about crowded subways, backed up tunnels, the Bay Bridge closure, West Side Highway traffic – you truly have no reason to complain. You are sitting in a car with AC and music or a phone. None of these walkers in Kenya had an ipod.

As we drove further into the North the roads got bumpier and more narrow until they turned into dirt. It was like sitting in the back of the bus as a school kid – being bounced around all over and loving it!

We drove by farming and societies that revolved around agriculture. Cows that did the plowing, men walking down the road with their hoes and pitch forks – this was all for self sustenance – not for business. Pictured here are the cows just randomly crossing in front or our truck…thank God for good brakes!

The people here really lived off the land…it was their livelihood – their dinner. They used every bit of available space to grow things – every shoulder by the road had little rows of beans or potatoes growing.

The Kenyan landscape was breathtaking, coming down from the equator and Mt. Kenya – it opened up into a vast plane with little village huts popping up all over the bush. Regardless of how small the road, there were people still commuting – walking – riding – matatu-ing. The people never stopped.

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