Saturday 20 October 2007
Iran...oh Iran - the photos
Some of the Iran photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/IranOhIran
Friday 19 October 2007
Hitchhiking from Kashan to Yazd (6 September)
The Kashan hotel guy told me that the best way to get to my next destination, Yazd, was to grab a shared taxi out to the main north-south freeway and flag down a bus heading to Yazd from Tehran. This I did but when I got to the tollgates on the freeway I saw that 10-15 others had the same idea. In the first hour no less than 15 buses went straight past us, all full or uninterested. I decided to hitchhike and soon had roped in the toll collectors to ask the cars where they were going and whether they had space for me.
Finally a guy driving alone, Farazdah, agreed to take me…along with an off-duty soldier and a family of three. A little cramped we set off and soon Farazdah was burning up the excellent road between Kashan and Yazd. The landscape was dusty and mostly flat, flanked by the magnificent brown of the Zagros Mountains to the west and the odd military installation and village along the way. I tested out some Farsi phrases on Farazdah and the others who, politely and grinning, corrected my pronunciation and urged me on.
The mother peeled cucumbers for everyone and coated them in salt – actually really good when you are driving through the desert. After 2 hours we dropped them off and then the soldier too, who waved a thick wad of notes in Farazdah’s face who, in true Iranian taroef-style, refused to take money. I found out that Farazdah was heading to his family home in a village on the way to the border with Turkmenistan. This meant he had to drive 1-2 hours out of his way to drop me in Yazd but he refused to let me get out at the exit and insisted he take me all the way. He played some brilliant, uplifting girly anthem style techno, featuring the singer Nushafarin, and we bopped along for the final stretch of the trip.
Soon we were in Yazd and Farazdah insisted on taking me to the Jameh mosque. After a quick peek inside he dropped me at my destination, the Silk Road Hotel, a restored traditional house with huge courtyard, open roof with rooms along the sides and a restaurant with a great reputation. I decided on the dorm in the converted cellar and bid farewell to Farazdah. He refused 5 times to take any money despite going out of his way and driving me so far. Night fell and as I relaxed in the Silk Hotel courtyard with my fake beer, I gazed at the minarets of the Jameh mosque peeking over the top of the roof, the stunning blue tiles bathed in bright spotlights. Nice.
Finally a guy driving alone, Farazdah, agreed to take me…along with an off-duty soldier and a family of three. A little cramped we set off and soon Farazdah was burning up the excellent road between Kashan and Yazd. The landscape was dusty and mostly flat, flanked by the magnificent brown of the Zagros Mountains to the west and the odd military installation and village along the way. I tested out some Farsi phrases on Farazdah and the others who, politely and grinning, corrected my pronunciation and urged me on.
The mother peeled cucumbers for everyone and coated them in salt – actually really good when you are driving through the desert. After 2 hours we dropped them off and then the soldier too, who waved a thick wad of notes in Farazdah’s face who, in true Iranian taroef-style, refused to take money. I found out that Farazdah was heading to his family home in a village on the way to the border with Turkmenistan. This meant he had to drive 1-2 hours out of his way to drop me in Yazd but he refused to let me get out at the exit and insisted he take me all the way. He played some brilliant, uplifting girly anthem style techno, featuring the singer Nushafarin, and we bopped along for the final stretch of the trip.
Soon we were in Yazd and Farazdah insisted on taking me to the Jameh mosque. After a quick peek inside he dropped me at my destination, the Silk Road Hotel, a restored traditional house with huge courtyard, open roof with rooms along the sides and a restaurant with a great reputation. I decided on the dorm in the converted cellar and bid farewell to Farazdah. He refused 5 times to take any money despite going out of his way and driving me so far. Night fell and as I relaxed in the Silk Hotel courtyard with my fake beer, I gazed at the minarets of the Jameh mosque peeking over the top of the roof, the stunning blue tiles bathed in bright spotlights. Nice.
Kashan: the most beautiful houses in the world (4-6 September)
Kashan is 3 hours south of Tehran and is renowned for its architecture and carpets. I explored four of the most beautiful houses I have ever seen, built mostly by rich carpet merchants – Tabataei, Ameriha, Borujerdi and Abassi. Most of these have courtyards and often winter and summer sections, underground cellars, entertaining areas, wind towers to cool the house (badgirs) guest houses and servant quarters. Most are made of wood with stonework and stained glass etc. The houses have murals, reliefs and frescoes depicting daily Persian life, heroic legends and families. One has an exquisite carpet pattern carved into the ceiling. Another’s stained glass window casts a brilliant pattern of blue, yellow and red on the ground which slowly crawls across the room as the day passes. In the Abassi house I met Fabrice, a French guy, who insisted I learn how to count in Farsi and taught me on the way back to our hotel. The language is brilliant – ancient, passionate and colourful.
Iran: first impressions, access of evil, those mosques and the Persian legend (3-4 September)
The first signs I had to adjust for Iran was the bustle of activity as our plane descended for the landing in Tehran. Women, previously with big bold hairstyles, striking makeup and those Persian eyes, were enveloped in a swirl of brightly coloured and plain scarves, hijab and even the full chador. Even so, as we touched down I prepared for my assumptions to be blasted to smithereens. I was not to be disappointed.
Immigration and customs were a breeze and the airport was clean and efficient. The taxi driver who dashed through the dark freeways and streets of Tehran towards my hotel was probably the oldest living Persian and his car definitely was and after an hour circling the same streets I eventually jumped out and found Damir, a Croatian, banging on our hotel (the Naderi on Jomhuri Eslami Ave) door. I joined him on the doorbell but no matter that our noise was enough to wake the dead, there was no signs of life. By now it is 4am so we settled on a twin in the new Naderi and crashed out.
Slightly dazed and later that morning, we plunged onto the streets of Tehran and were soon wide awake. Tehran is a busy, crowded city similar to Jakarta but more highrises, cars, buses, trucks and motorbikes etc (mostly French made) with some of the maddest ever drivers. As an example they actually accelerate into crowded intersections to try to frighten other drivers to gain the best position and passage through.
We made a quick stop at an internet café to report our safe arrival etc and had the first encounter of the power of the regime. The Iranian Government has blocked Facebook, YouTube and a variety of other sites. Apparently Iran admires China’s ability to control the web and sought their assistance to restrict the access of evil the web provides. Funnily enough, in turn this has led to savvy café managers in Iran to cooperate with Chinese hackers to bypass the filters. I soon learned how to track down these cafés.
We wandered south along Ferdosi towards Imam Khomeni square and I noticed more and more images of the 12 (Or is it 13? Or 14?) imams, often flanked by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khomeini, his successor Khameni and President Ahmadinejad. Their sublime and youthful faces would follow me, much like Syria’s Asad, all over the country. Also almost every town has an Imam square, Imam Mosque and Imam boulevard. The main one in Tehran has a serious-looking, squat 20-story government building with giant antennas and satellite dishes on top. It is not marked on the map in Lonely Planet and I couldn’t find anyone to tell me exactly who worked there.
The main streets south of Jomhuri were lined with many shops – selling suits, spices, carpets, brassware, bread, sweets (more on this later), juice in blenders and sewing machines. People are busy but there is virtually no hassle to buy. We headed further south past the Golestan Palace and Den of Espionage (former US Embassy where CIA executed the coup) to the Tehran Bazaar. Here was our first dose of Persian architecture in Iran – the Imam Khomeini Mosque. With its magnificent arched entranceway and serene courtyard, cooling vines, turquoise and yellow pool plus the niches inlaid with stunning blues, turquoise, greens and yellows. We met a local guy called Majid and whilst I think Damir was a bit apprehensive at first, the legend of Persian hospitality was on my mind. So we let him draw us in with his tales of the mosque’s history and he was soon keen to show us around the bazaar where he worked. Now I am keen to buy a carpet so thought I could bear a session. But first Majid insisted on taking us to another of the mosques deep inside the bazaar, this one glittered with mirror and glasswork and contained the mausoleum of Imam Reza (I think) which the faithful touched with their hands and foreheads. We stopped briefly at Majid’s shop and in the alleys and shops around it I saw the most amazing collection of carpets - old and new, big and small. The bazaaris (shop owners) play an important economic and political role in Iran, handling much of the foreign exchange and 25% of retail trade. Once they shut this down completely in response to a road they didn’t like, creating chaos and sending a clear message to the government. Nice.
Not being ready to buy a carpet, we were taken by the arm by a friend of Majid through the winding alleys and lanes to the south of the bazaar where we found the famous Khayyam Restaurant – we flopped into expansive cushion chairs in the richly decorated room with high ceilings and murals (or were they frescoes?) and sipped on mint tea, accompanied by dates, cucumbers, sticky pastry wrapped sweets and of course, the qalyan. Qalyan is Farsi for my trusted friend, the nargileh, sheesha, hookah or waterpipe.
Heading back to the Naderi we had our first encounter with the security forces when a passing police car called us over and pointed to Damir’s bag. As Damir motioned to give it to them I stopped him, remembering tales of fake cops (in a marked police car?). It turned out they were just advising him to keep his bag safe and beware of bag snatchers. We scoured the city streets for a decent meal but had to settle for some take away lamb rolls and fizzy orange drink. Checked email to find my dear friend, Lana, had been delayed in Tokyo so decided to head south the following day and wait for her to arrive to explore Tehran and beyond together.
Immigration and customs were a breeze and the airport was clean and efficient. The taxi driver who dashed through the dark freeways and streets of Tehran towards my hotel was probably the oldest living Persian and his car definitely was and after an hour circling the same streets I eventually jumped out and found Damir, a Croatian, banging on our hotel (the Naderi on Jomhuri Eslami Ave) door. I joined him on the doorbell but no matter that our noise was enough to wake the dead, there was no signs of life. By now it is 4am so we settled on a twin in the new Naderi and crashed out.
Slightly dazed and later that morning, we plunged onto the streets of Tehran and were soon wide awake. Tehran is a busy, crowded city similar to Jakarta but more highrises, cars, buses, trucks and motorbikes etc (mostly French made) with some of the maddest ever drivers. As an example they actually accelerate into crowded intersections to try to frighten other drivers to gain the best position and passage through.
We made a quick stop at an internet café to report our safe arrival etc and had the first encounter of the power of the regime. The Iranian Government has blocked Facebook, YouTube and a variety of other sites. Apparently Iran admires China’s ability to control the web and sought their assistance to restrict the access of evil the web provides. Funnily enough, in turn this has led to savvy café managers in Iran to cooperate with Chinese hackers to bypass the filters. I soon learned how to track down these cafés.
We wandered south along Ferdosi towards Imam Khomeni square and I noticed more and more images of the 12 (Or is it 13? Or 14?) imams, often flanked by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khomeini, his successor Khameni and President Ahmadinejad. Their sublime and youthful faces would follow me, much like Syria’s Asad, all over the country. Also almost every town has an Imam square, Imam Mosque and Imam boulevard. The main one in Tehran has a serious-looking, squat 20-story government building with giant antennas and satellite dishes on top. It is not marked on the map in Lonely Planet and I couldn’t find anyone to tell me exactly who worked there.
The main streets south of Jomhuri were lined with many shops – selling suits, spices, carpets, brassware, bread, sweets (more on this later), juice in blenders and sewing machines. People are busy but there is virtually no hassle to buy. We headed further south past the Golestan Palace and Den of Espionage (former US Embassy where CIA executed the coup) to the Tehran Bazaar. Here was our first dose of Persian architecture in Iran – the Imam Khomeini Mosque. With its magnificent arched entranceway and serene courtyard, cooling vines, turquoise and yellow pool plus the niches inlaid with stunning blues, turquoise, greens and yellows. We met a local guy called Majid and whilst I think Damir was a bit apprehensive at first, the legend of Persian hospitality was on my mind. So we let him draw us in with his tales of the mosque’s history and he was soon keen to show us around the bazaar where he worked. Now I am keen to buy a carpet so thought I could bear a session. But first Majid insisted on taking us to another of the mosques deep inside the bazaar, this one glittered with mirror and glasswork and contained the mausoleum of Imam Reza (I think) which the faithful touched with their hands and foreheads. We stopped briefly at Majid’s shop and in the alleys and shops around it I saw the most amazing collection of carpets - old and new, big and small. The bazaaris (shop owners) play an important economic and political role in Iran, handling much of the foreign exchange and 25% of retail trade. Once they shut this down completely in response to a road they didn’t like, creating chaos and sending a clear message to the government. Nice.
Not being ready to buy a carpet, we were taken by the arm by a friend of Majid through the winding alleys and lanes to the south of the bazaar where we found the famous Khayyam Restaurant – we flopped into expansive cushion chairs in the richly decorated room with high ceilings and murals (or were they frescoes?) and sipped on mint tea, accompanied by dates, cucumbers, sticky pastry wrapped sweets and of course, the qalyan. Qalyan is Farsi for my trusted friend, the nargileh, sheesha, hookah or waterpipe.
Heading back to the Naderi we had our first encounter with the security forces when a passing police car called us over and pointed to Damir’s bag. As Damir motioned to give it to them I stopped him, remembering tales of fake cops (in a marked police car?). It turned out they were just advising him to keep his bag safe and beware of bag snatchers. We scoured the city streets for a decent meal but had to settle for some take away lamb rolls and fizzy orange drink. Checked email to find my dear friend, Lana, had been delayed in Tokyo so decided to head south the following day and wait for her to arrive to explore Tehran and beyond together.
London: inspiring grandparents' friends, listening to Nelson Mandela and that Iran visa (27 August - 2 September)
Back in London I had more fun with Vic and Dave, was inspired by my grandparents' friends, Olive and Philip, and saw Nelson Mandela speak plus celebrated Carolina's birthday...
(More to come here)
(More to come here)
Thursday 18 October 2007
Paris: parents, paintings, ponts and my new hat (19-27 Aug)
Photos are...here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/ParisFrance
By chance my favourite parents were travelling through France and Italy in August so I decided to meet them in Paris for a week. I also had the sheer joy of playing over the weekend with a friend from London, Carolina. The highlights:
Bus: soaking up the sights (literally with the rain) as mum, dad and I cruised around on an open top bus. After two months in the Middle East without a drop of rain this was welcome...for the first day.
Wandering the Latin Quarter: we met an old family friend who took us on a fascinating tour of the Latin Quarter, starting at the Pantheon. The walk included ancient roads, quirky cafes, Marie Curie's institute and the history of Paris' universities – which were split up by faculty into different universities in a bid to prevent the students from getting too well organised.
Sarkozy fever: love or hate him people are talking about the new president. One of his new projects (probably to soften the socialist attacks) is the Velim bikes which you can hire from automatic bike racks almost anywhere in the city using your credit card and then return them to racks at dozens and dozens of other points around the city. Great idea!
Wanderings and explorings: the streets of Paris - including Montmatre, Left and Right Banks, Notre Dame, Lourve, Musee D'orsay, Rodin, Monet, petanque in the park, crossing bridges over the Seine, and so many museums and galleries and parks and lanes. Sooooo good....
Food and drink: being cooked an amazing slow cooked dinner by John-Pierre, whilst being serenaded with opera and delicate French wine. Dinners and lunches with mum and dad in cafes around the Rue De Dominique near the Eiffel Tower. Grabbing hot crepes dripping with chocolate. Finding any excuse to stop for a fabulous coffee. Finding every excuse to stop for a wine and beer. Spending a few rainy afternoons and evenings in the apartment quaffing wine with my parents and solving my problems (why always mine?).
Playing with Carolina: she happened to be over from London so we had a fab time cruising the town. The best bits (apart from Carolina's banter of course) include the flashy brilliance of the modern art of the Pompidou centre (love the big red Rhino, white canvas, airport security inspired plane plus the bar on the roof). The architecture and views from the roof of the Notre Dame were brilliant. Carolina tracked down the best ice cream in Paris like a bloodhound (we had to walk half way across the city and then wait in line for at least an hour but it was well worth it.
We also did a day trip to the magnificent Royal Château of Fontainebleau which included a very delicious and relaxing picnic next to the pond from where we were chased away by castle guards. The best has to be eating at Julien's (thanks Sarah P for the recommendation) somewhere in north Paris where Carolina and I gorged ourselves in this 1940s style restaurant decorated with giant murals and delicate fittings and quaffed inspiring wine whilst complimenting each other on our taste and banter. Brilliant.
Next: back to London to pick up my Iran visa and play for a few days.
By chance my favourite parents were travelling through France and Italy in August so I decided to meet them in Paris for a week. I also had the sheer joy of playing over the weekend with a friend from London, Carolina. The highlights:
Bus: soaking up the sights (literally with the rain) as mum, dad and I cruised around on an open top bus. After two months in the Middle East without a drop of rain this was welcome...for the first day.
Wandering the Latin Quarter: we met an old family friend who took us on a fascinating tour of the Latin Quarter, starting at the Pantheon. The walk included ancient roads, quirky cafes, Marie Curie's institute and the history of Paris' universities – which were split up by faculty into different universities in a bid to prevent the students from getting too well organised.
Sarkozy fever: love or hate him people are talking about the new president. One of his new projects (probably to soften the socialist attacks) is the Velim bikes which you can hire from automatic bike racks almost anywhere in the city using your credit card and then return them to racks at dozens and dozens of other points around the city. Great idea!
Wanderings and explorings: the streets of Paris - including Montmatre, Left and Right Banks, Notre Dame, Lourve, Musee D'orsay, Rodin, Monet, petanque in the park, crossing bridges over the Seine, and so many museums and galleries and parks and lanes. Sooooo good....
Food and drink: being cooked an amazing slow cooked dinner by John-Pierre, whilst being serenaded with opera and delicate French wine. Dinners and lunches with mum and dad in cafes around the Rue De Dominique near the Eiffel Tower. Grabbing hot crepes dripping with chocolate. Finding any excuse to stop for a fabulous coffee. Finding every excuse to stop for a wine and beer. Spending a few rainy afternoons and evenings in the apartment quaffing wine with my parents and solving my problems (why always mine?).
Playing with Carolina: she happened to be over from London so we had a fab time cruising the town. The best bits (apart from Carolina's banter of course) include the flashy brilliance of the modern art of the Pompidou centre (love the big red Rhino, white canvas, airport security inspired plane plus the bar on the roof). The architecture and views from the roof of the Notre Dame were brilliant. Carolina tracked down the best ice cream in Paris like a bloodhound (we had to walk half way across the city and then wait in line for at least an hour but it was well worth it.
We also did a day trip to the magnificent Royal Château of Fontainebleau which included a very delicious and relaxing picnic next to the pond from where we were chased away by castle guards. The best has to be eating at Julien's (thanks Sarah P for the recommendation) somewhere in north Paris where Carolina and I gorged ourselves in this 1940s style restaurant decorated with giant murals and delicate fittings and quaffed inspiring wine whilst complimenting each other on our taste and banter. Brilliant.
Next: back to London to pick up my Iran visa and play for a few days.
Wednesday 3 October 2007
Damascus final days (13-18 Aug).
All Syria photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Syria
Shopping: found the most brilliant nargileh plus hand painted ceramic plates and much more.
Clubbing: in Syria’s only club until 4am with Amak burning up the dance floor with Indonesian traditional dance moves and me trying to keep up.
Star Crossed Lovers café: beers, nargileh, politics, banter, religion, travellers and music – brilliant combination enjoyed every night.
Indonesian Independence Day: Amak took me to the Indonesian Ambassador’s residence where I got my Indo fix of food, kretek and banter. Discussed the challenges for illegal Indonesian (female) workers and fended off vigorous and spirited attempt by a guy to convert me to Islam.
Bosra: great day trip to this southern city with Olly (Brit with VW van driven from Germany), Alex and Amak to see huge restored Roman theatre with capacity for 15,000.
I shared a cab to the airport with a Spanish television journalist and tried to turn my thoughts to the coming reunion with my parents in Paris but wave after wave of Syria memories washed over me. Loved it all.
Shopping: found the most brilliant nargileh plus hand painted ceramic plates and much more.
Clubbing: in Syria’s only club until 4am with Amak burning up the dance floor with Indonesian traditional dance moves and me trying to keep up.
Star Crossed Lovers café: beers, nargileh, politics, banter, religion, travellers and music – brilliant combination enjoyed every night.
Indonesian Independence Day: Amak took me to the Indonesian Ambassador’s residence where I got my Indo fix of food, kretek and banter. Discussed the challenges for illegal Indonesian (female) workers and fended off vigorous and spirited attempt by a guy to convert me to Islam.
Bosra: great day trip to this southern city with Olly (Brit with VW van driven from Germany), Alex and Amak to see huge restored Roman theatre with capacity for 15,000.
I shared a cab to the airport with a Spanish television journalist and tried to turn my thoughts to the coming reunion with my parents in Paris but wave after wave of Syria memories washed over me. Loved it all.
Palmyra (Syria): pink city, burial chambers, Arab Castle and animal sacrifices (11-13 Aug).
Alex and were joined by Serena, a Malaysian lawyer on the way to an internship with the UN in New York, whom we meet the previous day, for the trip to Palmyra in the mid-east of Syria – on the road to the border with Iraq. I sat on the back seat with a family from Dehr-ul Doon (right on the border) who told me of the town’s difficulties from the influx of Iraqis fleeing the conflict and invited me to stay. We got in quite late to the Sun Hotel and managed to arrange a taxi for the next day’s exploration of the legendary pink city.
A bugger early start took us to the Arab Castle (Qala’at ibn Maan) for sunrise and a magnificent view over the plain of Palmyra, a city that rivals Petra and Angkor Wat. Palmyra started off as an Assyrian caravan stop for the Silk Road, then grew to glory under the Greeks and was annexed by Rome in AD217. The taxi dropped us back at the hotel and after a power snooze we walked to the main ruins along the dusty roads. Highlights at Palmyra were:
* Temple of Baal Shamin: with its inner sanctum and sunken passage for animal sacrifices.
* Monumental Arch: actually two arches built on 30 degree angle to mask kink in road.
* Main street: glorious row of columns, flanked by theatre and blocked by the Camp of (Roman) Diocletian.
* Towers of Yemliko: multi-story burial chambers that look like a giant has plonked them in the sand.
* Hypogeum of 3 Brothers: underground burial chamber with amazing frescoes and big wooden door needing giant brass key.
As sunset fast approached, we slogged our way across the sandy desert back to the foot of the Arab Castle and raced (scrambled) for the top. Alex went straight up the steep rocky slope and was very impressive but I followed a local shepherd up the windy path to the left and beat Alex there (ha!) – not that I am competitive. After the glorious sunset, utterly knackered and close to complete dehydration we hitched a ride back to town with a Polish tour group and fed ourselves then crashed. Tomorrow back to Damascus for final days in Syria.
A bugger early start took us to the Arab Castle (Qala’at ibn Maan) for sunrise and a magnificent view over the plain of Palmyra, a city that rivals Petra and Angkor Wat. Palmyra started off as an Assyrian caravan stop for the Silk Road, then grew to glory under the Greeks and was annexed by Rome in AD217. The taxi dropped us back at the hotel and after a power snooze we walked to the main ruins along the dusty roads. Highlights at Palmyra were:
* Temple of Baal Shamin: with its inner sanctum and sunken passage for animal sacrifices.
* Monumental Arch: actually two arches built on 30 degree angle to mask kink in road.
* Main street: glorious row of columns, flanked by theatre and blocked by the Camp of (Roman) Diocletian.
* Towers of Yemliko: multi-story burial chambers that look like a giant has plonked them in the sand.
* Hypogeum of 3 Brothers: underground burial chamber with amazing frescoes and big wooden door needing giant brass key.
As sunset fast approached, we slogged our way across the sandy desert back to the foot of the Arab Castle and raced (scrambled) for the top. Alex went straight up the steep rocky slope and was very impressive but I followed a local shepherd up the windy path to the left and beat Alex there (ha!) – not that I am competitive. After the glorious sunset, utterly knackered and close to complete dehydration we hitched a ride back to town with a Polish tour group and fed ourselves then crashed. Tomorrow back to Damascus for final days in Syria.
Hama (Syria): Muslim Brotherhood, Syrian dating, Apamea and Crac Des Chevaliers (9-10 Aug)
A town renowned for its huge water wheels, Hama appeared rather sleepy but a brief reading of its recent history reveals another story – most of the old city was destroyed in a huge battle between government forces and the terrorising Muslim Brotherhood, which some say caused over 3,000 deaths. Despite this, the water wheels are indeed magnificent and produce a continuous loud groaning as they turn. Walking back to our side of town, we stopped to buy one of everything in a chocolate shop, ably helped by Wael Dabbag, a young guy keen to practice his English.
We invited Wael to join us for a tea and nargileh and found a nice table overlooking the Orontes River in the centre of town. We soon found out that not only did he not like the Internet due to its corrupting influences, but was suffering from a broken heart. He had been wooing a girl and had decided to marry her, but had only spoken to her a handful of times. He made his decision based on observing and “testing” her behaviour in the university café and by sending his mother to meet her family. However, it was now all off as he had seen the girl in the company of her “ugly man” cousin and was convinced that she was doing that to taunt him and that just wasn’t on. Great banter all round.
Around Hama:
Apamea – a medium size desert granite city constructed on wild, grassy moor overlooking the Al-Ghab plain. Apamea was founded in 2nd century BC by Seleucus I, one of Alexander the Great’s generals with inspiring main street flanked by columns, baths, churches and villas. Nearby is the Qala’at al-Mudiq – a medieval castle with tiny village crammed inside.
Crac Des Chevaliers: built in the 12-13th centuries by the Crusaders to defend against the Muslim hoards, this is definitely the most extraordinary and striking castle I have ever seen. The road there winds its way up and around hills and valleys until the huge structure rears up from atop a mountain. The castle must have really sapped the spirits of those Muslim hoards – it has 13 towers and if you managed to cross the moat and penetrate the tall, vertical walls, you would then face the inner castle with separate moat and even thicker walls.
Inside is a complete town with imposing towers and underground baths, chambers, storehouses plus Gothic facades and a church then converted into a mosque. Legend has it they could have held out for years but gave up after only a few months. One cool thing was a local boy singing the azan (call to prayer) under a niche inside the castle walls – brilliant acoustics.
That night we had a rather refined discussion on Dawkins’ ‘The God Delusion’ and much more.
We invited Wael to join us for a tea and nargileh and found a nice table overlooking the Orontes River in the centre of town. We soon found out that not only did he not like the Internet due to its corrupting influences, but was suffering from a broken heart. He had been wooing a girl and had decided to marry her, but had only spoken to her a handful of times. He made his decision based on observing and “testing” her behaviour in the university café and by sending his mother to meet her family. However, it was now all off as he had seen the girl in the company of her “ugly man” cousin and was convinced that she was doing that to taunt him and that just wasn’t on. Great banter all round.
Around Hama:
Apamea – a medium size desert granite city constructed on wild, grassy moor overlooking the Al-Ghab plain. Apamea was founded in 2nd century BC by Seleucus I, one of Alexander the Great’s generals with inspiring main street flanked by columns, baths, churches and villas. Nearby is the Qala’at al-Mudiq – a medieval castle with tiny village crammed inside.
Crac Des Chevaliers: built in the 12-13th centuries by the Crusaders to defend against the Muslim hoards, this is definitely the most extraordinary and striking castle I have ever seen. The road there winds its way up and around hills and valleys until the huge structure rears up from atop a mountain. The castle must have really sapped the spirits of those Muslim hoards – it has 13 towers and if you managed to cross the moat and penetrate the tall, vertical walls, you would then face the inner castle with separate moat and even thicker walls.
Inside is a complete town with imposing towers and underground baths, chambers, storehouses plus Gothic facades and a church then converted into a mosque. Legend has it they could have held out for years but gave up after only a few months. One cool thing was a local boy singing the azan (call to prayer) under a niche inside the castle walls – brilliant acoustics.
That night we had a rather refined discussion on Dawkins’ ‘The God Delusion’ and much more.
Lattakia (Syria): beach, fortune telling and the oldest alphabet in the world (6-8 Aug).
Alex and I grabbed the bus for three hours west to the Syrian part of the Mediterranean Sea. Lattakia is known as a more liberal town, perhaps due to an extended American presence of which only bad restaurants and a few streets remain. Lattakia also has great coffee. The priority was the beach so one morning we jumped in a minibus to Wadi Qandil, 30km north of the city for a much needed frolic in the sea and several hours watching families, girls in bikinis (shock, horror!) and feasting on roast chicken and a huge spread of salads and dips followed by nargileh. The next day we headed for the even more ancient city of Ugarit, which has been reduced to rubble but carries the impressive claim of being the site of the first alphabet ever recorded (16-15th century BC).
Alex and I grabbed a drink from a nearby stall in front of a family house and fell into conversation with the family who we noticed were reading their fortunes in their coffee grounds. Introducing Alex as an expert in reading fortunes, we spent the next hour creating fabulous futures from very small hints of fact, through the best translating efforts of their daughter, including that the young man was to have a challenging but rewarding time on his next journey which turned out to be military service.
From Ugarit we hitchhiked to the sea again and found a tiny village where we plonked ourselves under the shade of an umbrella and lunched all afternoon, chatting to the café owner who emotionally told his story of his son from his first marriage, who he hasn’t seen in 15 years and who is now living in Switzerland. A wonderful lazy day.
Alex and I grabbed a drink from a nearby stall in front of a family house and fell into conversation with the family who we noticed were reading their fortunes in their coffee grounds. Introducing Alex as an expert in reading fortunes, we spent the next hour creating fabulous futures from very small hints of fact, through the best translating efforts of their daughter, including that the young man was to have a challenging but rewarding time on his next journey which turned out to be military service.
From Ugarit we hitchhiked to the sea again and found a tiny village where we plonked ourselves under the shade of an umbrella and lunched all afternoon, chatting to the café owner who emotionally told his story of his son from his first marriage, who he hasn’t seen in 15 years and who is now living in Switzerland. A wonderful lazy day.
Banter with President Bartlett - aka Martin Sheen (Aleppo, Syria - 3 Aug)
Alex and I were quietly sipping Lebanese beer and enjoying a nargileh in the Sissi Bar of the Christian quarter of Al-Jdeidah. I spied a familiar face in a group leaving and jumped ten metres in the air when I realised it was none other than Martin Sheen - or President Josiah Bartlett to West Wing fans. I approached him and soon we were talking about the archeological dig he was visiting, the fact that he loved speaking Latin in WW and our travel exploits. Fantastic!
Aleppo (Syria): queens of the souqs, Iraqi wedding, Qala’at Samaan and the Dead Cities (3-6 Aug)
After a few days in Damascus, I hopped on a bus which took me the five hours north up the middle of Syria to the city of Aleppo (Haleb to locals). Spent a good hour or two trying to find the centre of town as a ceramics exporter I met on the bus was determined to help me despite not knowing his way at all around Aleppo. Checked into the Gawaher Hotel, behind the clock on the main square. Hit the internet café and met the dashing Alex, a young English/Turkish actor studying literature in York. Alex had just had a nightmare border crossing from Turkey and we agreed to meet for dinner. Alex turned out to be a brilliant man of banter and we travelled for the next 2 weeks and developed quite the wicked combination.
We headed for Al-Jdeida, the Christian Quarter, for beers and food. The only place with any life was the Sissi House, a gorgeous and Syrian-posh restaurant and bar, where we spent every night in Aleppo. LP claimed the Sissi had a piano bar, which of course was closed during summer (!) but this didn’t stop Alex having a delightful tinkle on the ivories. Each night we positioned in the bar section for beers and nargileh, and one night even stumbled upon an Iraqi wedding party complete with Turkish belly dancer.
Highlights from Aleppo and surrounds:
Citadel: almost every city of any size has one but Aleppo’s is the most impressive. It was built on a mammoth 45 degree hill with a huge moat, imposing 12th century wooden gate, Ottoman barracks and an entire city crammed within its walls and fabulous views over all of Aleppo.
Souqs: the best in Syria for wandering and chatting, where I managed to find lovely cotton-cotton sheets (better than Egyptian) and ample supplies of the legendary Aleppo olive oil soap. I bantered with the queens of the souqs – Syrian guys living a few months of the year in Melbourne – who dazzle French, Italian and Japanese tourists with their performances of exquisite shawls and other finery.
Great Mosque: with its huge free standing minaret and venerated holy relic – the head of Zacharius, father of John the Baptist.
Qala’at Samaan and the Dead Cities: with William Dalrymple’s ‘From the Holy Mountain’ tucked firmly under my arm, we toured the ancient ghost cities of Serjilla and Al-Bara, built by the Byzantines in the 6th century. Amazing ruins of churches, community halls and villas. Serjilla also had ancient olive presses, ovens and exposed sarcophagi –some buildings now occupied by shepherds. Al-Bara has two pyramid style tombs and kids eager to scramble over the ruins with us. The final stop was the Qala’at Samman (Basilica of St Simeon) set on a windy mountain overlooking the plains below. St Simeon was a stylite (self punishing acetic monk) who is reported to have stood on a 10 metre tall pillar for 15 years! The ruins included monks’ quarters for 600, massive church façade and arches surrounding an octagonal courtyard.
We headed for Al-Jdeida, the Christian Quarter, for beers and food. The only place with any life was the Sissi House, a gorgeous and Syrian-posh restaurant and bar, where we spent every night in Aleppo. LP claimed the Sissi had a piano bar, which of course was closed during summer (!) but this didn’t stop Alex having a delightful tinkle on the ivories. Each night we positioned in the bar section for beers and nargileh, and one night even stumbled upon an Iraqi wedding party complete with Turkish belly dancer.
Highlights from Aleppo and surrounds:
Citadel: almost every city of any size has one but Aleppo’s is the most impressive. It was built on a mammoth 45 degree hill with a huge moat, imposing 12th century wooden gate, Ottoman barracks and an entire city crammed within its walls and fabulous views over all of Aleppo.
Souqs: the best in Syria for wandering and chatting, where I managed to find lovely cotton-cotton sheets (better than Egyptian) and ample supplies of the legendary Aleppo olive oil soap. I bantered with the queens of the souqs – Syrian guys living a few months of the year in Melbourne – who dazzle French, Italian and Japanese tourists with their performances of exquisite shawls and other finery.
Great Mosque: with its huge free standing minaret and venerated holy relic – the head of Zacharius, father of John the Baptist.
Qala’at Samaan and the Dead Cities: with William Dalrymple’s ‘From the Holy Mountain’ tucked firmly under my arm, we toured the ancient ghost cities of Serjilla and Al-Bara, built by the Byzantines in the 6th century. Amazing ruins of churches, community halls and villas. Serjilla also had ancient olive presses, ovens and exposed sarcophagi –some buildings now occupied by shepherds. Al-Bara has two pyramid style tombs and kids eager to scramble over the ruins with us. The final stop was the Qala’at Samman (Basilica of St Simeon) set on a windy mountain overlooking the plains below. St Simeon was a stylite (self punishing acetic monk) who is reported to have stood on a 10 metre tall pillar for 15 years! The ruins included monks’ quarters for 600, massive church façade and arches surrounding an octagonal courtyard.
Sharing a steam room with the First Lady of Syria
As I walked in and out of the rooms of the Azem Palace in the old city, I noticed that a crowd had gathered near the main entrance. Soon a striking young woman entered the courtyard, flanked by dozens of security guards, minders, photographers, TV crews and adoring onlookers. Assuming she was a film star, I asked a guard and was told “She is President’s family” and another chimed in that it was his wife.
I decided to continue exploring to see what I could before the entourage took over the place and I was kicked out. I ended up in the old royal baths with the steam, hot, warm and cold rooms, which has two entrances/exits. Either the security forgot me or didn’t bother, but when I emerged from the far entrance into the steam room, I found myself face to face with the First Lady herself, with her posse of sultry female attendants and beefy security dudes. I collected myself and asked how she was and the cheerful reply was delivered with the most royal and clipped English accent I have ever heard.
Later I found out she is London educated, where she met her ophthalmologist husband and in agreeing to marry him gave up a promising professional career. Her husband came to power, apparently reluctantly, after his long entrenched father died and then his older brother was killed in a mysterious car accident that has never been fully investigated. Outside I cursed myself for not asking her for a photo so snapped a rushed one from afar.
I decided to continue exploring to see what I could before the entourage took over the place and I was kicked out. I ended up in the old royal baths with the steam, hot, warm and cold rooms, which has two entrances/exits. Either the security forgot me or didn’t bother, but when I emerged from the far entrance into the steam room, I found myself face to face with the First Lady herself, with her posse of sultry female attendants and beefy security dudes. I collected myself and asked how she was and the cheerful reply was delivered with the most royal and clipped English accent I have ever heard.
Later I found out she is London educated, where she met her ophthalmologist husband and in agreeing to marry him gave up a promising professional career. Her husband came to power, apparently reluctantly, after his long entrenched father died and then his older brother was killed in a mysterious car accident that has never been fully investigated. Outside I cursed myself for not asking her for a photo so snapped a rushed one from afar.
Syria: Damascus old city, Star Crossed Lovers and those felafel (31 Jul - 18 Aug)
Photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Syria
My assumptions about Syria were mostly political – branded as a “rogue state”; technically still at war with Israel; and its ruling military-political dynasty are Baathists like Iraq. But I had heard much of the legendary kindness of the Syrians, the magnificence of Palmyra and some great food.
My shared taxi started to put some serious kilometres between us and the border with Jordan. The landscape reflected the change and I felt like I was entering an entirely different civilisation and something about the olive groves and faces strangely made me think I was closer to Europe. I felt watched wherever I went, the ubiquitous serene face of President Assad (and his father), gazing at me from posters, billboards, car tintings, t-shirts, bumper stickers and more.
The taxi dropped me around 9pm at a bus station on the edge of Damascus, perched high above the city. I flagged a local taxi which wove its way to the city centre and dropped me near the Saahat Yousef Al-Azmeh intersection in the Saroujah district. Totally lost but somewhere near the backpacker area, I soon enlisted the help of a Palestinian and Syrian who outdid each other to help and show me the way. I strolled into the Al-Rabie Hotel and immediately felt relaxed - it is a large old house with a courtyard cooled by extensive vines and an open roof, surrounded by rooms and populated by an eclectic bunch of traveller types. I was soon set up in the dorm with its high ceilings and ancient furniture.
I was ravenous so explored the lanes around the Al-Rabie where I found a late night eatery with humous, fuul (beans) and bread with tasty mint tea. Then found the Star Crossed Lovers café and its family of waiters who helped to make the café my 2nd home in Damascus. I met a few Syrian students there plus Amak (Mohammad), an Indonesian studying Arabic, who was so shocked to hear Indonesian (especially from a bule) that he asked his Syrian friend in English, “What did he say?” :) We talked politics and religion until late which was to become a much anticipated end to every day.
The next morning I sprang out of my single, narrow bed and headed straight for the old city, past the citadel into the fabled Hamidiyya Souq (bazaar). Hamidiyya really impresses the first time you see its huge domed main avenue lined with shops stretching deep into the old city, fed by small and tiny lanes. It took me 45 minutes to reach the end of the souq, surfing my way through veiled mothers and their children, stylish and sexy young women and men checking out the latest fashions and each other, businessmen in tight fitted suits on a mission and shop owners pleading their cases. I fuelled up for the day on a huge, fresh sandwich made with flat, warm bread wrapping hot felafel with tomato, cucumber, lettuce, fine lemon slices and topped with lashings of tahina (sesame seed sauce) and liberally sprinkled with fresh mint leaves. I munched it with a fresh raspberry juice at the Western Temple Gate gazing at the walls and minarets of the impressive Ummayad Mosque. Highlights of the old city include:
Ummayad Mosque: had to don a fetching green skirt as my shorts (laundry day) were not appropriate and swished my way through the huge wooden doors into the expansive courtyard with its fountains, pool and marble floor striped in black and white in the Syrian style. Converted in the 10th century from a Byzantine cathedral which itself was built on the site of a Temple of Jupiter built in 705AD, the mosque has amazing mosaics and stained glass decorating its rooms and corridors. Next door is the Mausoleum of Saladin, the heroic Islamic vanquisher of the Crusaders.
Sayyida Ruqayya: dazzling Persian built mosque dedicated to the daughter of Husein, son of the original Caliph Ali (Mohammad’s cousin) with mirror work interior and brilliant blue and turquoise exterior.
Azem Palace: built in 1749 by the Governor of Damascus, with lovely striped stonework and well restored rooms and displays for dining, sleeping, greeting, working and playing.
Old city streets and cafes: magical lanes and alleys going in all directions stocked with shops offering everything you could ever need, including clothing, material, perfumes, food, brasswork, spices and jewellery, covered with trellises stocked with lush vines and awnings provided much needed respite from the 45 degree heat. At the end of most days I flopped into the old An-Nafura café near the eastern gate and people watched with nargileh (water pipe) in one hand and mint tea in the other.
My assumptions about Syria were mostly political – branded as a “rogue state”; technically still at war with Israel; and its ruling military-political dynasty are Baathists like Iraq. But I had heard much of the legendary kindness of the Syrians, the magnificence of Palmyra and some great food.
My shared taxi started to put some serious kilometres between us and the border with Jordan. The landscape reflected the change and I felt like I was entering an entirely different civilisation and something about the olive groves and faces strangely made me think I was closer to Europe. I felt watched wherever I went, the ubiquitous serene face of President Assad (and his father), gazing at me from posters, billboards, car tintings, t-shirts, bumper stickers and more.
The taxi dropped me around 9pm at a bus station on the edge of Damascus, perched high above the city. I flagged a local taxi which wove its way to the city centre and dropped me near the Saahat Yousef Al-Azmeh intersection in the Saroujah district. Totally lost but somewhere near the backpacker area, I soon enlisted the help of a Palestinian and Syrian who outdid each other to help and show me the way. I strolled into the Al-Rabie Hotel and immediately felt relaxed - it is a large old house with a courtyard cooled by extensive vines and an open roof, surrounded by rooms and populated by an eclectic bunch of traveller types. I was soon set up in the dorm with its high ceilings and ancient furniture.
I was ravenous so explored the lanes around the Al-Rabie where I found a late night eatery with humous, fuul (beans) and bread with tasty mint tea. Then found the Star Crossed Lovers café and its family of waiters who helped to make the café my 2nd home in Damascus. I met a few Syrian students there plus Amak (Mohammad), an Indonesian studying Arabic, who was so shocked to hear Indonesian (especially from a bule) that he asked his Syrian friend in English, “What did he say?” :) We talked politics and religion until late which was to become a much anticipated end to every day.
The next morning I sprang out of my single, narrow bed and headed straight for the old city, past the citadel into the fabled Hamidiyya Souq (bazaar). Hamidiyya really impresses the first time you see its huge domed main avenue lined with shops stretching deep into the old city, fed by small and tiny lanes. It took me 45 minutes to reach the end of the souq, surfing my way through veiled mothers and their children, stylish and sexy young women and men checking out the latest fashions and each other, businessmen in tight fitted suits on a mission and shop owners pleading their cases. I fuelled up for the day on a huge, fresh sandwich made with flat, warm bread wrapping hot felafel with tomato, cucumber, lettuce, fine lemon slices and topped with lashings of tahina (sesame seed sauce) and liberally sprinkled with fresh mint leaves. I munched it with a fresh raspberry juice at the Western Temple Gate gazing at the walls and minarets of the impressive Ummayad Mosque. Highlights of the old city include:
Ummayad Mosque: had to don a fetching green skirt as my shorts (laundry day) were not appropriate and swished my way through the huge wooden doors into the expansive courtyard with its fountains, pool and marble floor striped in black and white in the Syrian style. Converted in the 10th century from a Byzantine cathedral which itself was built on the site of a Temple of Jupiter built in 705AD, the mosque has amazing mosaics and stained glass decorating its rooms and corridors. Next door is the Mausoleum of Saladin, the heroic Islamic vanquisher of the Crusaders.
Sayyida Ruqayya: dazzling Persian built mosque dedicated to the daughter of Husein, son of the original Caliph Ali (Mohammad’s cousin) with mirror work interior and brilliant blue and turquoise exterior.
Azem Palace: built in 1749 by the Governor of Damascus, with lovely striped stonework and well restored rooms and displays for dining, sleeping, greeting, working and playing.
Old city streets and cafes: magical lanes and alleys going in all directions stocked with shops offering everything you could ever need, including clothing, material, perfumes, food, brasswork, spices and jewellery, covered with trellises stocked with lush vines and awnings provided much needed respite from the 45 degree heat. At the end of most days I flopped into the old An-Nafura café near the eastern gate and people watched with nargileh (water pipe) in one hand and mint tea in the other.
Thursday 6 September 2007
Jordan: Petra, bobbing in the Dead Sea, Amman, Roman ruins and The Syria Question (25-31 July 2007)
Photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Jordan
With a heavy heart and full stomach I left Dahab and Egypt behind me. In the minibus with me was an American woman, Christina, who was on a break from an internship at the Palestinian Women's Centre in the West Bank – amazing experiences, especially their regular Friday rallies dispersed with tear gas. We bonded over sheesha and looked forward to getting to Jordan. Assumptions about the country ahead were that it was more developed, richer, politically aligned to the West with Amman as a base for the UN mission into Iraq but precarious balance (is there an other type of balance in the Middle East?) of relations with Syria to the north, Israel to the west, Saudi Arabia to the south and, of course, Iraq to the east.
The ferry border crossing was easy enough. At the pushy queue at the ticket office we saw an older couple with seasoned road bikes and speculated how long they had been on the road. We jumped on the ferry and waited for departure 2-3 hours later. Suddenly we pulled away from the dock, our departure a full 2 hours early! On board we met the gregarious Greg, a Canadian top end burger restaurant waiter, who immediately proved to be a brilliant banterist and champion of fun. Also met cyclist couple who turned out to be Swiss and German so I asked how long they had been on the road – the answer floored us – NINE YEARS! I was flabbergasted and for some reason asked how many flat tyres to which he replied 358. Nine years is unreal, whole governments, families and cities change in that time – their house has probably been bulldozed and friends married, had kids, divorced and remarried.
We had a few delays on the Aqaba (Jordan) side but managed to find a taxi and head for Petra, only 3 hours away. We stopped at a service station and found it stocked with no less than 24 different types of pistachios so grabbed a few bags for the road. The landscape continued to be stark desert with more mountains but the towns were obviously better built. Staggered up the hill from the Wadi Musa (the town that has sprung up around Petra) station to Valentine's hostel, with banterful manager Valentina, hot showers, a glorious huge local food buffet and a session of Indian Jones and the Last Crusade (parts filmed at Petra). And of course we had to break in Christina's beautiful new sheesha.
Petra: the glory of the Nabataeans
Day 1: Greg, Christina and I agreed on a 7am start and the hostel dropped us at the entrance where I bought a two day ticket. First was the siq, a long natural passageway between the rock cliffs that shielded Petra from view from Wadi Musa. After about 2km and just when you think it will never end you catch a glimpse through the narrow canyon of the awesome Al-Khazneh (Treasury), as with most of Petra it has been carved out of the pink sandstone cliffs that rise up on all sides creating a grand cavernous backdrop. Past the Treasury, we walked the street of facades with its houses and shops which we scrambled up the cliffs to explore. Then there were the magnificent Royal Tombs, The Great Temple and the remains of the Edomite village.
The crowds from Amman started to throng so we hopped off the beaten path and wandered in search of a fabled spring and river. I discovered a small spring where we soothed hot feet but soon were convinced that a larger pool lay ahead where we could swim. We joined forces with a French/Australian couple and continued on until the river bed became blocked with boulders so Greg, Christina and I turned back and the couple continued vowing to find the spring and meet us at the hostel with wet hair as proof. We never saw them again and speculated they perished in the attempt until later when Valentina told me they checked out – obviously ashamed of the failure to find a larger pool. Walking back to the main Petra ruins, I noticed what appeared to be a human thigh bone lying just off the path. Greg obliged by gripping it in his teeth and declared his new found taste for cannibalism.
Next was the impressive Crusader Fort, and then we set off up a َlong rock cut stair case and path to Al-Deir (the Monastery) via the intriguing Lion Tomb. The Monastery was well worth the climb with its huge façade and behind it stunning views over Jordan and Israel. We descended for a drink in the 1,000 year old Cave Bar, much deserved after a 13-hour day at Petra. Then back to the hostel for the irresistible buffet and the view over the town lit up by a fierce battle of fireworks by rival neighbourhoods keen to show off that their children had graduated from high school.
Petra Day 2: after walking Christina to the bus stop I had breakfast with Greg then set off via internet for Petra. My legs and other parts were suffering after the previous day's mammoth exploration. We hit our regular cafe at the royal tombs for sustenance then found a stone staircase behind the tombs which led us up the Jebel Umm al'Amr mountain. It was a tough climb but we chanced upon a deaf man in a cave who showed us the way. We eventually reached the top of the cliff with a brilliant view above the Treasury where we rested and contemplated deep and serious issues and men's business. Then it was back down to the tombs café for drinks and a nargileh where we bumped into (Belgian) Chris who I met in Dahab so we met for dinner at the Shaheed roundabout with excellent banter until late.
Amman and The Dead Sea: Greg and I then headed north for the capital – a modern Arab city, not classic or ancient beauty but good hum and action. After dumping our gear at the Farah hotel, we jumped in a cab to Suweimeh station for the bus to The Dead Sea. Almost there we were dropped at an intersection and caught a taxi to 'Amman Beach'. The oppressive 47 degree summer heat was made bearable by the thought of the coming swim. At first I waded in over the rocks and salt crystals, keeping my head above water with my body bobbing like a cork, literally above the water. Greg got salt in his eyes so had to leave for the nearby shower. When I swam to deeper water, even vertically upright my body did not sink – it reminded me of a blackfish float at The Wall at Southwest Rocks in northern NSW. As I floated I gazed at Israel across the water.
I noticed the locals smearing mud on bodies on the shore so joined them, the mineral rich slop is apparently sold throughout the world and my skin retained glow for weeks which I hope was healthy. Showered a few times in between bathing stints as the intense salt started to affect the Netherlands ;). Soon the sun's heat became ridiculous so Greg and I sat under the shower on plastic chairs and took in the shimmering sea. Headed back to Amman by bus and taxi then spent the rest of the enjoyable afternoon on a balcony playing backgammon, drinking mint tea and smoking sheesha in a funky student/chess/backgammon café overlooking a main road. That night I braved the chaos and obsession of the kunata queue (dripping cheese and sugar slice soaked with baklava style syrup) then crashed after buzzing with a sugar high.
The Roman ruins of Jerash: I checked out early and we headed to Abdali bus station for the minibus to Jerash in the northeast of Jordan, on the road to the border with Syria. Dumped my pack in the information centre locker and explored the ancient roman city in Jerash with its Greek, Pagan and Christian influences. Highlights were the restored Hippodrome – used for chariot races even today – and the oval Plaza and Forum. NB for Canberra old timers – one drinks stall was called Dolly's but didn't have hot chips :( Then we ambled along the main street of Cardo Maximus, peered at the old wheel ruts from Roman chariots, continued up to Nymphaeum, the city gateway and glorious Temple of Artemis. Toured the north theatre being set up for classical music concert – its topmost rows provided superb view of entire ruins. Then we completed our circuit of ruins past the churches to the Temple of Zeus and back to the main entrance. I grabbed my pack and headed for the bus station.
Walking along I slipped on the smooth, dusty concrete – wearing my full pack – narrowly catching myself before I plunged into the involuntary splits. Feeling relieved at not hurting myself and strangely somewhat breezy I looked down and found I had ripped my pants from knee to crotch with a gaping rent enabling lovely visuals for passers-by. Mildly embarrassed, I changed in a café kitchen and tossed the pants. At the bus station I found a minibus waiting to go to Irbid, my drop-off for the Syrian border. After a sad and quick goodbye to Greg who was to return to Amman and then back to Egypt, I steeled myself for the unknown of crossing into "rogue state" Syria without a visa.
Crossing the border into Syria: I had been warned – actually, I had been explicitly told it was not possible. The Lonely Planet says you must get a visa in your home country if there is a Syrian embassy (Canberra has one); I rang the Syrian embassy in London who told me that I couldn't get a visa in London, nor Egypt, or Jordan. But LP's Thorn Tree forum on Syria had 2 or 3 tales of successful crossings at the Ramtha (Jordan)/Dera (Syria) post. So when I arrived at Irbid's station I sought out a shared taxi to Damascus, which was easy but had to wait an hour or so for it to fill.
Whizzing through the final stretch of Jordan before crossing I was damn nervous, mostly because of the visa but also some worry about what exactly lay ahead in this supposedly "rogue state". Listened a lot to Silverchair's album Young Modern to maintain enthusiasm. The Jordan side was easy and quick with no hassle or luggage check. Then we pulled up at Syrian immigration and a young officer greeted me at the counter where I explained how long I had been travelling and how I couldn't get a visa beforehand. He smiled and without hesitating told me it was US$15 and handed me the form – not even a hint of obstruction. I started to fill it out and his superior came up and advised the cost was actually $30 and that I should change money down the road at the bank. After the bank it took around 15 minutes at Immigration before my name was called and my passport returned with shiny new 15-day Syrian visa – brilliant!
Back into the taxi and stopped at customs, they asked me to open my bag and poked inside a little and grabbed my soap container and asked what it was. I said it was soap (sabon in Arabic, like the Indonesian sabun) and all laughed – much to my amused ignorance. Later I discovered on Thorn Tree that Aleppo in northern Syria produces olive oil soap sought around the world and that the customs guys thought it was silly to bring soap into Syria. The ease of the border crossing and the jokes and incredibly helpful people at every step set the tone for the rest of my journey in Syria.
With a heavy heart and full stomach I left Dahab and Egypt behind me. In the minibus with me was an American woman, Christina, who was on a break from an internship at the Palestinian Women's Centre in the West Bank – amazing experiences, especially their regular Friday rallies dispersed with tear gas. We bonded over sheesha and looked forward to getting to Jordan. Assumptions about the country ahead were that it was more developed, richer, politically aligned to the West with Amman as a base for the UN mission into Iraq but precarious balance (is there an other type of balance in the Middle East?) of relations with Syria to the north, Israel to the west, Saudi Arabia to the south and, of course, Iraq to the east.
The ferry border crossing was easy enough. At the pushy queue at the ticket office we saw an older couple with seasoned road bikes and speculated how long they had been on the road. We jumped on the ferry and waited for departure 2-3 hours later. Suddenly we pulled away from the dock, our departure a full 2 hours early! On board we met the gregarious Greg, a Canadian top end burger restaurant waiter, who immediately proved to be a brilliant banterist and champion of fun. Also met cyclist couple who turned out to be Swiss and German so I asked how long they had been on the road – the answer floored us – NINE YEARS! I was flabbergasted and for some reason asked how many flat tyres to which he replied 358. Nine years is unreal, whole governments, families and cities change in that time – their house has probably been bulldozed and friends married, had kids, divorced and remarried.
We had a few delays on the Aqaba (Jordan) side but managed to find a taxi and head for Petra, only 3 hours away. We stopped at a service station and found it stocked with no less than 24 different types of pistachios so grabbed a few bags for the road. The landscape continued to be stark desert with more mountains but the towns were obviously better built. Staggered up the hill from the Wadi Musa (the town that has sprung up around Petra) station to Valentine's hostel, with banterful manager Valentina, hot showers, a glorious huge local food buffet and a session of Indian Jones and the Last Crusade (parts filmed at Petra). And of course we had to break in Christina's beautiful new sheesha.
Petra: the glory of the Nabataeans
Day 1: Greg, Christina and I agreed on a 7am start and the hostel dropped us at the entrance where I bought a two day ticket. First was the siq, a long natural passageway between the rock cliffs that shielded Petra from view from Wadi Musa. After about 2km and just when you think it will never end you catch a glimpse through the narrow canyon of the awesome Al-Khazneh (Treasury), as with most of Petra it has been carved out of the pink sandstone cliffs that rise up on all sides creating a grand cavernous backdrop. Past the Treasury, we walked the street of facades with its houses and shops which we scrambled up the cliffs to explore. Then there were the magnificent Royal Tombs, The Great Temple and the remains of the Edomite village.
The crowds from Amman started to throng so we hopped off the beaten path and wandered in search of a fabled spring and river. I discovered a small spring where we soothed hot feet but soon were convinced that a larger pool lay ahead where we could swim. We joined forces with a French/Australian couple and continued on until the river bed became blocked with boulders so Greg, Christina and I turned back and the couple continued vowing to find the spring and meet us at the hostel with wet hair as proof. We never saw them again and speculated they perished in the attempt until later when Valentina told me they checked out – obviously ashamed of the failure to find a larger pool. Walking back to the main Petra ruins, I noticed what appeared to be a human thigh bone lying just off the path. Greg obliged by gripping it in his teeth and declared his new found taste for cannibalism.
Next was the impressive Crusader Fort, and then we set off up a َlong rock cut stair case and path to Al-Deir (the Monastery) via the intriguing Lion Tomb. The Monastery was well worth the climb with its huge façade and behind it stunning views over Jordan and Israel. We descended for a drink in the 1,000 year old Cave Bar, much deserved after a 13-hour day at Petra. Then back to the hostel for the irresistible buffet and the view over the town lit up by a fierce battle of fireworks by rival neighbourhoods keen to show off that their children had graduated from high school.
Petra Day 2: after walking Christina to the bus stop I had breakfast with Greg then set off via internet for Petra. My legs and other parts were suffering after the previous day's mammoth exploration. We hit our regular cafe at the royal tombs for sustenance then found a stone staircase behind the tombs which led us up the Jebel Umm al'Amr mountain. It was a tough climb but we chanced upon a deaf man in a cave who showed us the way. We eventually reached the top of the cliff with a brilliant view above the Treasury where we rested and contemplated deep and serious issues and men's business. Then it was back down to the tombs café for drinks and a nargileh where we bumped into (Belgian) Chris who I met in Dahab so we met for dinner at the Shaheed roundabout with excellent banter until late.
Amman and The Dead Sea: Greg and I then headed north for the capital – a modern Arab city, not classic or ancient beauty but good hum and action. After dumping our gear at the Farah hotel, we jumped in a cab to Suweimeh station for the bus to The Dead Sea. Almost there we were dropped at an intersection and caught a taxi to 'Amman Beach'. The oppressive 47 degree summer heat was made bearable by the thought of the coming swim. At first I waded in over the rocks and salt crystals, keeping my head above water with my body bobbing like a cork, literally above the water. Greg got salt in his eyes so had to leave for the nearby shower. When I swam to deeper water, even vertically upright my body did not sink – it reminded me of a blackfish float at The Wall at Southwest Rocks in northern NSW. As I floated I gazed at Israel across the water.
I noticed the locals smearing mud on bodies on the shore so joined them, the mineral rich slop is apparently sold throughout the world and my skin retained glow for weeks which I hope was healthy. Showered a few times in between bathing stints as the intense salt started to affect the Netherlands ;). Soon the sun's heat became ridiculous so Greg and I sat under the shower on plastic chairs and took in the shimmering sea. Headed back to Amman by bus and taxi then spent the rest of the enjoyable afternoon on a balcony playing backgammon, drinking mint tea and smoking sheesha in a funky student/chess/backgammon café overlooking a main road. That night I braved the chaos and obsession of the kunata queue (dripping cheese and sugar slice soaked with baklava style syrup) then crashed after buzzing with a sugar high.
The Roman ruins of Jerash: I checked out early and we headed to Abdali bus station for the minibus to Jerash in the northeast of Jordan, on the road to the border with Syria. Dumped my pack in the information centre locker and explored the ancient roman city in Jerash with its Greek, Pagan and Christian influences. Highlights were the restored Hippodrome – used for chariot races even today – and the oval Plaza and Forum. NB for Canberra old timers – one drinks stall was called Dolly's but didn't have hot chips :( Then we ambled along the main street of Cardo Maximus, peered at the old wheel ruts from Roman chariots, continued up to Nymphaeum, the city gateway and glorious Temple of Artemis. Toured the north theatre being set up for classical music concert – its topmost rows provided superb view of entire ruins. Then we completed our circuit of ruins past the churches to the Temple of Zeus and back to the main entrance. I grabbed my pack and headed for the bus station.
Walking along I slipped on the smooth, dusty concrete – wearing my full pack – narrowly catching myself before I plunged into the involuntary splits. Feeling relieved at not hurting myself and strangely somewhat breezy I looked down and found I had ripped my pants from knee to crotch with a gaping rent enabling lovely visuals for passers-by. Mildly embarrassed, I changed in a café kitchen and tossed the pants. At the bus station I found a minibus waiting to go to Irbid, my drop-off for the Syrian border. After a sad and quick goodbye to Greg who was to return to Amman and then back to Egypt, I steeled myself for the unknown of crossing into "rogue state" Syria without a visa.
Crossing the border into Syria: I had been warned – actually, I had been explicitly told it was not possible. The Lonely Planet says you must get a visa in your home country if there is a Syrian embassy (Canberra has one); I rang the Syrian embassy in London who told me that I couldn't get a visa in London, nor Egypt, or Jordan. But LP's Thorn Tree forum on Syria had 2 or 3 tales of successful crossings at the Ramtha (Jordan)/Dera (Syria) post. So when I arrived at Irbid's station I sought out a shared taxi to Damascus, which was easy but had to wait an hour or so for it to fill.
Whizzing through the final stretch of Jordan before crossing I was damn nervous, mostly because of the visa but also some worry about what exactly lay ahead in this supposedly "rogue state". Listened a lot to Silverchair's album Young Modern to maintain enthusiasm. The Jordan side was easy and quick with no hassle or luggage check. Then we pulled up at Syrian immigration and a young officer greeted me at the counter where I explained how long I had been travelling and how I couldn't get a visa beforehand. He smiled and without hesitating told me it was US$15 and handed me the form – not even a hint of obstruction. I started to fill it out and his superior came up and advised the cost was actually $30 and that I should change money down the road at the bank. After the bank it took around 15 minutes at Immigration before my name was called and my passport returned with shiny new 15-day Syrian visa – brilliant!
Back into the taxi and stopped at customs, they asked me to open my bag and poked inside a little and grabbed my soap container and asked what it was. I said it was soap (sabon in Arabic, like the Indonesian sabun) and all laughed – much to my amused ignorance. Later I discovered on Thorn Tree that Aleppo in northern Syria produces olive oil soap sought around the world and that the customs guys thought it was silly to bring soap into Syria. The ease of the border crossing and the jokes and incredibly helpful people at every step set the tone for the rest of my journey in Syria.
Thursday 2 August 2007
Egypt: football, buck's night, Red Sea, sheesha...and some tombs, temples and pyramids (8-25 July)
Photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Egypt
Egypt is so overhyped and overdone that I thought I would hate it. Despite all my pre-judgements, I am happy to be wrong. It is a magical place that deserves every bit of the hype. Here are some highlights:
Cairo: stayed in a hostel overlooking Midan Talaat Harb which is a 5-way intersection fed by squillions of cars, buses, motorbikes and people 24/7. I could sit and watch for hours. Highlight was wandering the old mosques and bazaar, Khalili. I sat and chatted in the Al Alzhar mosque, which has the world's oldest university, with guys eager to discuss misperceptions of Islam and learn more about Australia. Was educated in the art of sheesha (water pipe or hubble bubble) in the street cafes of Cairo and must admit that I have developed quite a dependence, especially on 'sheesha tufa' (apple sheesha) and have ideas for making it mainstream in Oz.
Giza: the most hyped of all, with the three pyramids and Sphinx, the Giza plateau was sensational. As you drive towards it from Cairo the pyramids loom out of the backdrop of the city and take your breath away. My bugger early start meant I managed to talk my way in half an hour before the crowds and it was great. Wandered about on the hot sand and stone for 5-6 hours before collapsing in a heap in a cafe nearby. Photos speak for themselves.
Bahariyya Oasis: I couldn't resist the opportunity to travel to the desert and spend some time gazing at the stars so headed west towards Libya and the Bahariyya Oasis. Cruised the dark and stark Black Desert then the bright and gleaming White Desert where I spent the night with the Bedouins, sipping Egyptian 'fodka' and gazing at the white stone rearing out of the sand in the form of tables, gates, columns and hills. The journey back included a paddle in a Roman spring with a brokenhearted Korean guy and mint tea next to an old British army post overlooking the plateau and villages below.
Aswan: I caught the overnight sleeper train to Aswan, the southern most city in Egypt, near the border with the Sudan. The first day I just wandered the city and the Nubian villages of Elephantine island, gazing at the River Nile and the felucca sailboats drifting across its breadth. I did a trip down to Abu Simbel and the temples Ramses II built to himself and his favourite wife, Nefertari. The temples were relocated when Nasser built the Aswan dam which flooded huge parts of Egypt and Sudan - imagine Three Gorges Dam in north Africa - one of the most ambitious development projects ever. Next was the island temple of Philae with its Roman, Egyptian and Christian layers. You can see how all the religions of this region are so interwoven and overlapping, often they appear to have more similarities than differences.
Felucca, football and the fellas: after careful negotiations with Monty, the overlord of feluccas (traditional sailing boats), we set off down the Nile from Aswan towards Luxor, gently tacking from side to side and often just drifting with the current past lush groves of palm trees, villages and towering sand dunes. I shared the felucca with Dylan and Teresa, Neil, two girls from Canadia and a French couple plus our crew of Mohammad and Islem. I tried to scale a sand dune in sandals and made it halfway before the heat sent me back down to the river. One morning I woke pre-dawn to watch the sun rise, huge cruise boats go by, birds out hunting and the locals busy on the river. One evening we stopped just south of Kom Ombo and persuaded the local elite team (ok, they were 7 year old kids) to play football (soccer) with us in a dusty, brick-filled construction site and it was magic. Even better was the wash in the Nile after to remove the sand, dirt and sweat.
That night we had a magical sheesha on the boat then Dylan and I went for a wander in the village where we met the Egyptian 'Fat Albert', who took us to a "festival" which turned out to be a Nubian pre-wedding celebration for men - a buck's night! We spent the next few hours singing along with uplifting chants where one man led and the others responded in turn. Then we attempted to play drums, tell jokes and understand each other's gestures in lieu of language. What an amazing day!
The next day we strolled among the temples of Sobek (local croc god) and Haroenis (falcon-headed sky god) at Kom Ombo; then the temple of Horus (dedicated to the son of Osiris) at Edfu. Then we joined the minibus to Luxor.
Luxor: before you get templed out I must mention the glorious Temples of Karnak on the East Bank of Luxor - imagine a huge complex with a giant hall filled with towering columns, a sphinx-lined path and majestic gates and you have only captured part of it. One funny was when we bribed a tourism policeman to let us up on top of the gate to take photos of the whole panorama. I managed to pretend to slip him the bribe as we snapped a photo with him and his shock and fear of being busted was amazing. Seeing as he was holding a large automatic weapon it was probably a bit silly but it is a cracker photo. Spent the evening in Oasis Cafe in an old 1920s building with the campest waiter in the village skipping around and telling us what to order. Next day saw us on the West Bank which is the ancient Theban Necropolis (burial place) for kings, queens, nobles, priests, artists, children and workers. Highlights were the dark passageways of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, built to resemble the Underworld. Then the exquisite reliefs and sculptures in the Temple of Hatshepsut, set in the sheer, limestone cliffs of Theban Mountain. The photos will do it better justice than I can here. That night we headed to the bus for Hurghada to find the ferry across to the Sinai and relaxing in the Red Sea. The nine hours spent in Hurghada were awful. It is an awful town which feels like a permanent construction site for resorts, with "all-inclusive" package tourists cramming the tacky bars and hotels. Awful.
Dahab: After the speedy ferry ride to Sharm el-Sheikh, we bussed it to the small, laid-back town of Dahab. When we arrived at the Penguin hostel I fell in love. The cool, white washed entrance gave way to the huge, Bedouin-style restaurant set right on the edge of the Red Sea reef, where you sit on the ground and lounge among a forest of large cushions, with free wifi, fresh sheesha, locals and travellers and great food. After so many temples and tombs this was a haven and I ended up staying six days! Most of that was spent diving some of the best sites I have seen. The Red Sea has the most amazing fish life, coral that is alone worth diving on and wrecks, cliffs, holes and so much more. The best sites were:
Thistlegorm: 125m WWII wreck at 30m with cargo intact - jeeps, train carriages, motorcycles, guns, winches etc. Also swam through the captain's quarters, still with bath and sink plus swam around the massive propeller.
Blue Hole: world famous drop off into the beautiful stark deep blue hole, 50m+ across and not much to see unless you can get down to 100m+ to see the bodies of those who have been mesmerised by its depth and couldn't make it back.
Sinai: a fantastic pre-dawn one day trek, via the 700 Steps of Repentance (I did!) to the peak of the mountain where supposedly Moses received the Ten Commandments from God, set amongst stark landscape of the Sinai Desert. Brilliant banter with Dylan, Teresa and Shauna. Felt the Burning Bush which wasn't that hot at all. Back to Dahab!
Next: Jordan (Petra, Amman, Dead Sea and Jerash) and the magical and mysterious "rogue state" of Syria...
Egypt is so overhyped and overdone that I thought I would hate it. Despite all my pre-judgements, I am happy to be wrong. It is a magical place that deserves every bit of the hype. Here are some highlights:
Cairo: stayed in a hostel overlooking Midan Talaat Harb which is a 5-way intersection fed by squillions of cars, buses, motorbikes and people 24/7. I could sit and watch for hours. Highlight was wandering the old mosques and bazaar, Khalili. I sat and chatted in the Al Alzhar mosque, which has the world's oldest university, with guys eager to discuss misperceptions of Islam and learn more about Australia. Was educated in the art of sheesha (water pipe or hubble bubble) in the street cafes of Cairo and must admit that I have developed quite a dependence, especially on 'sheesha tufa' (apple sheesha) and have ideas for making it mainstream in Oz.
Giza: the most hyped of all, with the three pyramids and Sphinx, the Giza plateau was sensational. As you drive towards it from Cairo the pyramids loom out of the backdrop of the city and take your breath away. My bugger early start meant I managed to talk my way in half an hour before the crowds and it was great. Wandered about on the hot sand and stone for 5-6 hours before collapsing in a heap in a cafe nearby. Photos speak for themselves.
Bahariyya Oasis: I couldn't resist the opportunity to travel to the desert and spend some time gazing at the stars so headed west towards Libya and the Bahariyya Oasis. Cruised the dark and stark Black Desert then the bright and gleaming White Desert where I spent the night with the Bedouins, sipping Egyptian 'fodka' and gazing at the white stone rearing out of the sand in the form of tables, gates, columns and hills. The journey back included a paddle in a Roman spring with a brokenhearted Korean guy and mint tea next to an old British army post overlooking the plateau and villages below.
Aswan: I caught the overnight sleeper train to Aswan, the southern most city in Egypt, near the border with the Sudan. The first day I just wandered the city and the Nubian villages of Elephantine island, gazing at the River Nile and the felucca sailboats drifting across its breadth. I did a trip down to Abu Simbel and the temples Ramses II built to himself and his favourite wife, Nefertari. The temples were relocated when Nasser built the Aswan dam which flooded huge parts of Egypt and Sudan - imagine Three Gorges Dam in north Africa - one of the most ambitious development projects ever. Next was the island temple of Philae with its Roman, Egyptian and Christian layers. You can see how all the religions of this region are so interwoven and overlapping, often they appear to have more similarities than differences.
Felucca, football and the fellas: after careful negotiations with Monty, the overlord of feluccas (traditional sailing boats), we set off down the Nile from Aswan towards Luxor, gently tacking from side to side and often just drifting with the current past lush groves of palm trees, villages and towering sand dunes. I shared the felucca with Dylan and Teresa, Neil, two girls from Canadia and a French couple plus our crew of Mohammad and Islem. I tried to scale a sand dune in sandals and made it halfway before the heat sent me back down to the river. One morning I woke pre-dawn to watch the sun rise, huge cruise boats go by, birds out hunting and the locals busy on the river. One evening we stopped just south of Kom Ombo and persuaded the local elite team (ok, they were 7 year old kids) to play football (soccer) with us in a dusty, brick-filled construction site and it was magic. Even better was the wash in the Nile after to remove the sand, dirt and sweat.
That night we had a magical sheesha on the boat then Dylan and I went for a wander in the village where we met the Egyptian 'Fat Albert', who took us to a "festival" which turned out to be a Nubian pre-wedding celebration for men - a buck's night! We spent the next few hours singing along with uplifting chants where one man led and the others responded in turn. Then we attempted to play drums, tell jokes and understand each other's gestures in lieu of language. What an amazing day!
The next day we strolled among the temples of Sobek (local croc god) and Haroenis (falcon-headed sky god) at Kom Ombo; then the temple of Horus (dedicated to the son of Osiris) at Edfu. Then we joined the minibus to Luxor.
Luxor: before you get templed out I must mention the glorious Temples of Karnak on the East Bank of Luxor - imagine a huge complex with a giant hall filled with towering columns, a sphinx-lined path and majestic gates and you have only captured part of it. One funny was when we bribed a tourism policeman to let us up on top of the gate to take photos of the whole panorama. I managed to pretend to slip him the bribe as we snapped a photo with him and his shock and fear of being busted was amazing. Seeing as he was holding a large automatic weapon it was probably a bit silly but it is a cracker photo. Spent the evening in Oasis Cafe in an old 1920s building with the campest waiter in the village skipping around and telling us what to order. Next day saw us on the West Bank which is the ancient Theban Necropolis (burial place) for kings, queens, nobles, priests, artists, children and workers. Highlights were the dark passageways of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, built to resemble the Underworld. Then the exquisite reliefs and sculptures in the Temple of Hatshepsut, set in the sheer, limestone cliffs of Theban Mountain. The photos will do it better justice than I can here. That night we headed to the bus for Hurghada to find the ferry across to the Sinai and relaxing in the Red Sea. The nine hours spent in Hurghada were awful. It is an awful town which feels like a permanent construction site for resorts, with "all-inclusive" package tourists cramming the tacky bars and hotels. Awful.
Dahab: After the speedy ferry ride to Sharm el-Sheikh, we bussed it to the small, laid-back town of Dahab. When we arrived at the Penguin hostel I fell in love. The cool, white washed entrance gave way to the huge, Bedouin-style restaurant set right on the edge of the Red Sea reef, where you sit on the ground and lounge among a forest of large cushions, with free wifi, fresh sheesha, locals and travellers and great food. After so many temples and tombs this was a haven and I ended up staying six days! Most of that was spent diving some of the best sites I have seen. The Red Sea has the most amazing fish life, coral that is alone worth diving on and wrecks, cliffs, holes and so much more. The best sites were:
Thistlegorm: 125m WWII wreck at 30m with cargo intact - jeeps, train carriages, motorcycles, guns, winches etc. Also swam through the captain's quarters, still with bath and sink plus swam around the massive propeller.
Blue Hole: world famous drop off into the beautiful stark deep blue hole, 50m+ across and not much to see unless you can get down to 100m+ to see the bodies of those who have been mesmerised by its depth and couldn't make it back.
Sinai: a fantastic pre-dawn one day trek, via the 700 Steps of Repentance (I did!) to the peak of the mountain where supposedly Moses received the Ten Commandments from God, set amongst stark landscape of the Sinai Desert. Brilliant banter with Dylan, Teresa and Shauna. Felt the Burning Bush which wasn't that hot at all. Back to Dahab!
Next: Jordan (Petra, Amman, Dead Sea and Jerash) and the magical and mysterious "rogue state" of Syria...
Rome: 9 hours of night, dawn and prayers (7-8 July)
Photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Rome9HoursOfNightDawnAndPrayers
The cheapest flight I could get from London to Cairo was with Alitalia and involved a 9 hour stopover in Rome. Given that a golden rule of holidays is that sleep is a waste of time, I decided to check my luggage all the way through and wander the ancient city from midnight to dawn. I met up with two guys, Mohammad and Karim, at the Rome airport and convinced them to join me. That was a bit of a bugger for them as they still had their luggage.
We headed to Rome's Termini station and after some late night pizza (yum!) set off on foot with bags for the Colosseum plus Hadrian's Arch, the Fora Romano and finally the Vatican as dawn broke. As Mohammad and Karim are Muslim I had the interesting experience of watching them pray and perform wudhu (pre prayer washing) in ancient fountains and in front of the Colosseum and Fora Romano. I wonder if anyone has ever done that before.
We dragged ourselves back to Termini station where I had one of the best coffees I have ever had plus a ham and cheese bread thing. Unfortunately the lads missed the flight as they hadn't checked their bags in so I rushed and begged my way past security, customs and immigration lines before boarding the flight. Egypt here I come!
The cheapest flight I could get from London to Cairo was with Alitalia and involved a 9 hour stopover in Rome. Given that a golden rule of holidays is that sleep is a waste of time, I decided to check my luggage all the way through and wander the ancient city from midnight to dawn. I met up with two guys, Mohammad and Karim, at the Rome airport and convinced them to join me. That was a bit of a bugger for them as they still had their luggage.
We headed to Rome's Termini station and after some late night pizza (yum!) set off on foot with bags for the Colosseum plus Hadrian's Arch, the Fora Romano and finally the Vatican as dawn broke. As Mohammad and Karim are Muslim I had the interesting experience of watching them pray and perform wudhu (pre prayer washing) in ancient fountains and in front of the Colosseum and Fora Romano. I wonder if anyone has ever done that before.
We dragged ourselves back to Termini station where I had one of the best coffees I have ever had plus a ham and cheese bread thing. Unfortunately the lads missed the flight as they hadn't checked their bags in so I rushed and begged my way past security, customs and immigration lines before boarding the flight. Egypt here I come!
Tuesday 24 July 2007
London: wet, Wimbledon, family, culture and great friends (23 Jun - 7 Jul)
Photos are here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/LondonInnit
A rundown on the best of my time in Lahndan, innit...
Fri 22 June: I arrived at Heathrow which has got to be one of the largest, most gloomy airports I have ever experienced. Long, dreary corridors with low ceilings and no sense of arriving in such a fine city. Jumped on the tube and made about 42 connections before jumping on a bus going the wrong way and finally got back on track to meet up with Vic Wheeler, Paul & Adele (over from New York) and some of their friends. I was exhausted so just had a pint of some lager or another. I stayed with Vic and Dave, who live in Camberwell in south London in a lovely old hospital building converted to high ceiling flats. Great to see them again after way too long.
Clubbing and shopping: on Saturday Vic and I set out for some shopping in downtown Camberwell before heading to meet Paul, Adele and Daniel for lunch at a cafe along the Thames at Festival Hall. After some delightful grazing Vic and I ambled towards Covent Garden for some shopping. I found the wickedest pair of pointy dress shoes in Aldos for £30 which have a dragon on the sole. Way cool. To confirm the coolness, a pair of very cool black guys asked me where I got them and headed for the rack. How many times can I use the word cool? Being Saturday night we went back for a power nap and then prepared for the evening - glitter liberally applied. Vic had tickets for Turnmills, a London institution in the club scene so she, Paul and I headed out. DJs included the infamous, and seldom seen, Eddie Scratch, plus the wicked tunes from the electronica group, The Shape Shifters. We emerged into the dawn light thoroughly sated. Being summer the sun sets around 9-10pm and rises around 4am so there is so much of the day to use. The next morning (afternoon) saw a very leisurely start to the day after the night before. Spent most of it watching movies and chatting with Dave about his dive trip to the Canary Islands. Dave has been to the Red Sea in Egypt so picked his brains on the good spots and people to dive with there. Also planned some of the explorations of London, meeting with family and the Middle East trip. Can't wait!
Natural History Museum and Kensington: Caught the bus to Westminster to wander around around but (surprise, surprise) it was raining - a constant feature of my time in the UK. Caught another bus to Kensington for the Natural History Museum, somewhere I have always wanted to explore. It is definitely one of the best museums ever, so much to see and so well organised with interactive exhibits and loads of serious information. Highlights include the dinosaurs, animal reliefs on the museum walls and columns, brilliant robotics especially the Tyranosaurus Rex which terrified children, huge purse spider, dazzling private gemstone collections, Kobe earthquake simulation room and so much more. Five hours later I emerged exhausted but well satisfied...and much smarter. Walked around Kensington including gaudy golden monument to (I think) Queen Victoria's husband, Prince whatsisname, near Albert Hall. Bussed it home - gawd transport is expensive in this town.
Tate Modern Gallery: housed in an old power station down the Thames from Westminster, this relatively new gallery is brilliant. In addition to the excellent layout of galleries which are arranged according to movements rather than by chronological order, there are always superb exhibitions. I was lucky enough to see 'Dali and Film', a rare insight into Dali and his connection to film. Surprisingly he was interested in reaching a mass audience through cinema and disliked the haughty taughtyof the art cinema scene. This led him to work with Walt Disney and Alfred Hitchcock. I also took in the Global Cities exhibition which provided amazing visual representations for the economic and social indicators many of us read in our jobs every day.
Westminster and the handover of power: I was in London for the very historic handover of power from PM Tony Blair to his loyal and long serving deputy, Gordon Brown, so fitting that I wander around the streets and halls of influence and power. The houses of parliament are awe inspiring and make Canberra look very much like a timid bunker in a hill. Wandered past Westminster Abbey and admired Big Ben and the grand river. Gazed from afar at No. 10 Downing street where a huge platform was being constructed for the media scrum to form later in the week for PM Brown's arrival at his new residence. I was also in London for the Glasgow bomb and other bomb attempts. The definition of a 'dangerous country' is very difficult one to grasp, especially as I plan my trip to Syria and Iran.The latest UK culprits apparently were mostly doctors and some with links in Australia. Interesting to be in a western/rich country which faces the mess that 'our' war on terror has caused. One positive early sign from the Brown government is that he has started referring to the bombing perpetrators as "criminals" rather than "Islamists" or "Islamic terrorists". Surprise, surprise the next day the Muslim Council of Britain issued an unprecendented strong statement against criminal elements and the responsibility of their community to root them out - supporting the Brown stance. Progress is easy when cooler heads prevail. Now for Australia and the US?
Wimbledon: I timed my visit perfectly for the two weeks of the Championships so went twice and it was sensational. The first time I went with Carolina, her flatmate Nadine and Nadine's boyfriend Olly. We caught the train from Waterloo to Wimbledon around 5pm and then a funky old open top double decker red bus to the grounds. Then we saw the infamous queue snaking its way down the road for well over 100 metres. But this wasn't the end, it then turned into a field and continued down the path - it felt like well into the forest. A steward assured me we would get in an hour later which I doubted but we got in within 50 mins - the beers along the way certainly helped, plus Carolina's witty banter. Along the way we passed a second queue of people camped out for show court (Centre Court, 1 and 2). Some had been there from 9am and would be there until the morning the following day! The atmospshere inside was amazing and we wandered the oustide courts, getting so close to the players and seeing some incredible tennis. We caught the end of Nadal's match on court 1 and settled in to watch Marcos Bagdatis in a ripper of a doubles match. The strawberries and cream and wine lubricated some very witty commentary on the matches from yours truly, which of course was well appreciated by the crowd. Nadine found me a Wimbledon cushion and the pushy Carolina shoved an old woman out of the way to get me Bagdatis' autograph. Spent the eveing at Carolina's and Nadine's place analysing the match over much more wine. A great day and one of the only ones without rain. Wimbledon is also where some family used to live, including my dearest grandmother, so of course I felt right at home.
Family connections: I had tracked down some distant cousins through my dearest Grandma and one weekend took the train to Kent to spend some time with them. I stayed with Katrina and her boyfriend James in Sheppey, an island off the east coast of Kent. Kat's mother, 'Auntie Sue', joined us and we spent the weekend swapping stories on my family and our common relatives. Contrary to my assumptions that my family is rather well behaved, I learned of abortionists, sex workers, rum smugglers, game keepers and even two brothers who may have shared a wife/lover who had a child of unclear paternity. We also wandered the grounds and halls of Leeds Castle, again in the rain, and lunched in some oldand distingushed pubs along the way. On the Sunday morning we drove to Kat's father's place on the marshes where he manages a hunting outfit so we talked shooting, pheasants and geese - different. we drove to visit Sue's father, John, who has spent the best part of ten years developing an amazing family tree. Great to meet John and spend time exploring our illicit and intriguing ancestry. Also good to get some dirt on my parents which I will definitely use against them.
Pubs, restaurants and cafes: good spots included the 'London Pub' a cavernous establishment with the bar semingly cut into a cave and a row of tables along the cobbled lane outside. Drank lovely cheap Spanish wine and of course ate Stilton's blue cheese, I am so addicted to blue cheese. Also spent time at the Old Victoria Theatre pub somewhere in Southwark. My last night was spent along Old Street, a gritty area known for as a hangout for journalists and communists with cool bars and pubs for solving the world's problems and boogeying. I also spent many insightful and exhausting hours in the salubrious and witty Vaughan House, a little known eaterie, rest house and watering hole near Waterloo station.
Booked my ticket to Cairo via Rome so will have 9 hours to spend doing a night tour of Roma before the start of the Middle East leg.
A rundown on the best of my time in Lahndan, innit...
Fri 22 June: I arrived at Heathrow which has got to be one of the largest, most gloomy airports I have ever experienced. Long, dreary corridors with low ceilings and no sense of arriving in such a fine city. Jumped on the tube and made about 42 connections before jumping on a bus going the wrong way and finally got back on track to meet up with Vic Wheeler, Paul & Adele (over from New York) and some of their friends. I was exhausted so just had a pint of some lager or another. I stayed with Vic and Dave, who live in Camberwell in south London in a lovely old hospital building converted to high ceiling flats. Great to see them again after way too long.
Clubbing and shopping: on Saturday Vic and I set out for some shopping in downtown Camberwell before heading to meet Paul, Adele and Daniel for lunch at a cafe along the Thames at Festival Hall. After some delightful grazing Vic and I ambled towards Covent Garden for some shopping. I found the wickedest pair of pointy dress shoes in Aldos for £30 which have a dragon on the sole. Way cool. To confirm the coolness, a pair of very cool black guys asked me where I got them and headed for the rack. How many times can I use the word cool? Being Saturday night we went back for a power nap and then prepared for the evening - glitter liberally applied. Vic had tickets for Turnmills, a London institution in the club scene so she, Paul and I headed out. DJs included the infamous, and seldom seen, Eddie Scratch, plus the wicked tunes from the electronica group, The Shape Shifters. We emerged into the dawn light thoroughly sated. Being summer the sun sets around 9-10pm and rises around 4am so there is so much of the day to use. The next morning (afternoon) saw a very leisurely start to the day after the night before. Spent most of it watching movies and chatting with Dave about his dive trip to the Canary Islands. Dave has been to the Red Sea in Egypt so picked his brains on the good spots and people to dive with there. Also planned some of the explorations of London, meeting with family and the Middle East trip. Can't wait!
Natural History Museum and Kensington: Caught the bus to Westminster to wander around around but (surprise, surprise) it was raining - a constant feature of my time in the UK. Caught another bus to Kensington for the Natural History Museum, somewhere I have always wanted to explore. It is definitely one of the best museums ever, so much to see and so well organised with interactive exhibits and loads of serious information. Highlights include the dinosaurs, animal reliefs on the museum walls and columns, brilliant robotics especially the Tyranosaurus Rex which terrified children, huge purse spider, dazzling private gemstone collections, Kobe earthquake simulation room and so much more. Five hours later I emerged exhausted but well satisfied...and much smarter. Walked around Kensington including gaudy golden monument to (I think) Queen Victoria's husband, Prince whatsisname, near Albert Hall. Bussed it home - gawd transport is expensive in this town.
Tate Modern Gallery: housed in an old power station down the Thames from Westminster, this relatively new gallery is brilliant. In addition to the excellent layout of galleries which are arranged according to movements rather than by chronological order, there are always superb exhibitions. I was lucky enough to see 'Dali and Film', a rare insight into Dali and his connection to film. Surprisingly he was interested in reaching a mass audience through cinema and disliked the haughty taughtyof the art cinema scene. This led him to work with Walt Disney and Alfred Hitchcock. I also took in the Global Cities exhibition which provided amazing visual representations for the economic and social indicators many of us read in our jobs every day.
Westminster and the handover of power: I was in London for the very historic handover of power from PM Tony Blair to his loyal and long serving deputy, Gordon Brown, so fitting that I wander around the streets and halls of influence and power. The houses of parliament are awe inspiring and make Canberra look very much like a timid bunker in a hill. Wandered past Westminster Abbey and admired Big Ben and the grand river. Gazed from afar at No. 10 Downing street where a huge platform was being constructed for the media scrum to form later in the week for PM Brown's arrival at his new residence. I was also in London for the Glasgow bomb and other bomb attempts. The definition of a 'dangerous country' is very difficult one to grasp, especially as I plan my trip to Syria and Iran.The latest UK culprits apparently were mostly doctors and some with links in Australia. Interesting to be in a western/rich country which faces the mess that 'our' war on terror has caused. One positive early sign from the Brown government is that he has started referring to the bombing perpetrators as "criminals" rather than "Islamists" or "Islamic terrorists". Surprise, surprise the next day the Muslim Council of Britain issued an unprecendented strong statement against criminal elements and the responsibility of their community to root them out - supporting the Brown stance. Progress is easy when cooler heads prevail. Now for Australia and the US?
Wimbledon: I timed my visit perfectly for the two weeks of the Championships so went twice and it was sensational. The first time I went with Carolina, her flatmate Nadine and Nadine's boyfriend Olly. We caught the train from Waterloo to Wimbledon around 5pm and then a funky old open top double decker red bus to the grounds. Then we saw the infamous queue snaking its way down the road for well over 100 metres. But this wasn't the end, it then turned into a field and continued down the path - it felt like well into the forest. A steward assured me we would get in an hour later which I doubted but we got in within 50 mins - the beers along the way certainly helped, plus Carolina's witty banter. Along the way we passed a second queue of people camped out for show court (Centre Court, 1 and 2). Some had been there from 9am and would be there until the morning the following day! The atmospshere inside was amazing and we wandered the oustide courts, getting so close to the players and seeing some incredible tennis. We caught the end of Nadal's match on court 1 and settled in to watch Marcos Bagdatis in a ripper of a doubles match. The strawberries and cream and wine lubricated some very witty commentary on the matches from yours truly, which of course was well appreciated by the crowd. Nadine found me a Wimbledon cushion and the pushy Carolina shoved an old woman out of the way to get me Bagdatis' autograph. Spent the eveing at Carolina's and Nadine's place analysing the match over much more wine. A great day and one of the only ones without rain. Wimbledon is also where some family used to live, including my dearest grandmother, so of course I felt right at home.
Family connections: I had tracked down some distant cousins through my dearest Grandma and one weekend took the train to Kent to spend some time with them. I stayed with Katrina and her boyfriend James in Sheppey, an island off the east coast of Kent. Kat's mother, 'Auntie Sue', joined us and we spent the weekend swapping stories on my family and our common relatives. Contrary to my assumptions that my family is rather well behaved, I learned of abortionists, sex workers, rum smugglers, game keepers and even two brothers who may have shared a wife/lover who had a child of unclear paternity. We also wandered the grounds and halls of Leeds Castle, again in the rain, and lunched in some oldand distingushed pubs along the way. On the Sunday morning we drove to Kat's father's place on the marshes where he manages a hunting outfit so we talked shooting, pheasants and geese - different. we drove to visit Sue's father, John, who has spent the best part of ten years developing an amazing family tree. Great to meet John and spend time exploring our illicit and intriguing ancestry. Also good to get some dirt on my parents which I will definitely use against them.
Pubs, restaurants and cafes: good spots included the 'London Pub' a cavernous establishment with the bar semingly cut into a cave and a row of tables along the cobbled lane outside. Drank lovely cheap Spanish wine and of course ate Stilton's blue cheese, I am so addicted to blue cheese. Also spent time at the Old Victoria Theatre pub somewhere in Southwark. My last night was spent along Old Street, a gritty area known for as a hangout for journalists and communists with cool bars and pubs for solving the world's problems and boogeying. I also spent many insightful and exhausting hours in the salubrious and witty Vaughan House, a little known eaterie, rest house and watering hole near Waterloo station.
Booked my ticket to Cairo via Rome so will have 9 hours to spend doing a night tour of Roma before the start of the Middle East leg.
19 hours in Toronto: teman2, CN Tower & transit (21-22 June)
Photos here: http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/Toronto
As part of my fabulous ticket I get to stop off in transit cities on my route for a maximum of 24 hours. I took advantage of this first in San Fran and then in Toronto where I caught up with Maggie and her hubby. Maggie and I worked together at Ogilvy Jakarta so it was great to catch up with them. I was only there for 19 hours so just caught a glimpse of the fine city. Being an Indonesian and Iranian couple they have a unique perspective, quite the contrast to the western immigrant or expat experience. They insisted on showing me around and went to incredible lengths to look after me. We went to the delightful Hyde Park and the ginormous maple leaf garden. Then we ate until bursting in Chinatown before wandering the city centre and finishing the day off with a superb seafood dinner 300m above the city in the revolving restaurant of the elegant CN Tower, where the glass floor section paralyses those afraid of heights. A unique 19 hours in Toronto.
Next is London and the marvellous Vic Wheeler and gang.
As part of my fabulous ticket I get to stop off in transit cities on my route for a maximum of 24 hours. I took advantage of this first in San Fran and then in Toronto where I caught up with Maggie and her hubby. Maggie and I worked together at Ogilvy Jakarta so it was great to catch up with them. I was only there for 19 hours so just caught a glimpse of the fine city. Being an Indonesian and Iranian couple they have a unique perspective, quite the contrast to the western immigrant or expat experience. They insisted on showing me around and went to incredible lengths to look after me. We went to the delightful Hyde Park and the ginormous maple leaf garden. Then we ate until bursting in Chinatown before wandering the city centre and finishing the day off with a superb seafood dinner 300m above the city in the revolving restaurant of the elegant CN Tower, where the glass floor section paralyses those afraid of heights. A unique 19 hours in Toronto.
Next is London and the marvellous Vic Wheeler and gang.
Sunday 15 July 2007
New York (19-21 June)
Just a quick stop off to catch up with a colleague from Ogilvy days and collect things left at Paul and Adele's. Shona and I had a great night walking around the big apple, drinking capirinhas and dining at the fabulous Balthazars which I think is in Soho. Such a fun night.
Now for 19 hours in Toronto...
Now for 19 hours in Toronto...
Ecuador: final days (16-19 June)
Back in Quito I gave up a very tempting trip back to Banos to try and sort out my nose but this was foolish as the travel insurance company needed to refer it to their medical consultants who needed to contact the doctor in Quito...but it was good hanging out with the gang from the Galapagos boat and thinking about my middle east trip. New York here I come again...then Toronto...then London...then the middle east.
Tuesday 3 July 2007
Should I keep my new nose?
Ok, now to test your judgment. Is the following story an example of:
a) extremely bad judgment and gross stupidity; or
b) an example of testing one's limits and maintaining the adventurous spirit.
One afternoon in the Galapagos we went snorkelling at Devil's Crown, which is the remains of an underwater volcano so lots of jagged rocks, caves and underwater tunnels (obvious plot device). I found a particularly cool cave so ducked underwater to check it out. It turned out to be a tunnel that went all the way through to the ocean on the other side of the crater wall. I came up and decided that I was going to try it. A deep breath and I ducked under and headed for the light.
The currents were strong both ways and up and down through the tunnel but with fins I soon made it through the 15 metres or so and was bobbing about on the ocean side. I caught my breath and after a minute or so decided to attempt the return swim through. The currents were stronger and about three quarters of the way through I saw the group watching me and realised I would have to swim further to avoid being kicked as I came up. Just as I began the final bit, the current surged and a fin came off my foot causing me to lose some control and surface too quickly. I put my hand above my head as the tunnel ceiling rushed towards me and looked up. There was a sickening crunch as a jagged part of the ceiling ploughed into my face. Luckily I surfaced on the outside and knew something was wrong when 3 or 4 of the girls screamed something like ,"Nick! You're bleeding!"
Having seen sharks just minutes before and with the boat a while away, I pulled myself up onto the rocks and took off my mask. Immediately a lovely gush of blood streamed down my face and my hands were a bright red. Apparently my face also went white. The others signalled frantically for the boat and when it arrived I swam over and it took me back to the Friendship. I spent the next few hours with ice, paracetamol and anti-inflammatories. I found out later that the group saw a good size Galapagos shark in the tunnel a few minutes after I got into the boat. Nice.
Luckily our next stop was the main island of Santa Cruz and that night I walked into the local hospital (clinic) with Cesar as my interpreter. Having done it many times myself I have great empathy for the challenges of translation but I knew I was in trouble when the nurse decided to speak in English and started with the question, “And what is my name?”
An x-ray the next day helped another doctor to determine that the nose was not broken but merely dislocated and that I could finish the final 3 days of the trip and get it checked out in Quito. Well, when I got back to the mainland I went to the Hospital Metropolitano which had a brand spanking new CAT scan machine. The slick doctor brought me the results and, trying to hide his smirk, said, “First, that x-ray was the worst I have ever seen and doesn’t show anything useful. Second, there is no such thing as a dislocated nose. And third, your nose is broken in 4-5 places and you will need surgery to fix it.” Good on you, doc!
So, was it stupid or brave? Bad judgment or pushing one’s limits? And should I have the surgery or live with my new look? Let’s just say that GQ magazine is reviewing my modelling contract.
a) extremely bad judgment and gross stupidity; or
b) an example of testing one's limits and maintaining the adventurous spirit.
One afternoon in the Galapagos we went snorkelling at Devil's Crown, which is the remains of an underwater volcano so lots of jagged rocks, caves and underwater tunnels (obvious plot device). I found a particularly cool cave so ducked underwater to check it out. It turned out to be a tunnel that went all the way through to the ocean on the other side of the crater wall. I came up and decided that I was going to try it. A deep breath and I ducked under and headed for the light.
The currents were strong both ways and up and down through the tunnel but with fins I soon made it through the 15 metres or so and was bobbing about on the ocean side. I caught my breath and after a minute or so decided to attempt the return swim through. The currents were stronger and about three quarters of the way through I saw the group watching me and realised I would have to swim further to avoid being kicked as I came up. Just as I began the final bit, the current surged and a fin came off my foot causing me to lose some control and surface too quickly. I put my hand above my head as the tunnel ceiling rushed towards me and looked up. There was a sickening crunch as a jagged part of the ceiling ploughed into my face. Luckily I surfaced on the outside and knew something was wrong when 3 or 4 of the girls screamed something like ,"Nick! You're bleeding!"
Having seen sharks just minutes before and with the boat a while away, I pulled myself up onto the rocks and took off my mask. Immediately a lovely gush of blood streamed down my face and my hands were a bright red. Apparently my face also went white. The others signalled frantically for the boat and when it arrived I swam over and it took me back to the Friendship. I spent the next few hours with ice, paracetamol and anti-inflammatories. I found out later that the group saw a good size Galapagos shark in the tunnel a few minutes after I got into the boat. Nice.
Luckily our next stop was the main island of Santa Cruz and that night I walked into the local hospital (clinic) with Cesar as my interpreter. Having done it many times myself I have great empathy for the challenges of translation but I knew I was in trouble when the nurse decided to speak in English and started with the question, “And what is my name?”
An x-ray the next day helped another doctor to determine that the nose was not broken but merely dislocated and that I could finish the final 3 days of the trip and get it checked out in Quito. Well, when I got back to the mainland I went to the Hospital Metropolitano which had a brand spanking new CAT scan machine. The slick doctor brought me the results and, trying to hide his smirk, said, “First, that x-ray was the worst I have ever seen and doesn’t show anything useful. Second, there is no such thing as a dislocated nose. And third, your nose is broken in 4-5 places and you will need surgery to fix it.” Good on you, doc!
So, was it stupid or brave? Bad judgment or pushing one’s limits? And should I have the surgery or live with my new look? Let’s just say that GQ magazine is reviewing my modelling contract.
Saturday 30 June 2007
The Glory of Galapagos (8-15 June)
I met Debs and Rosie nice and early at the main square of Puerto Ayora and we found a taxi and headed to meet the Love Boat at the airport. After the embarassment of putting our boat stickers on our shirts, we were met by our guide, Cesar. Cesar is a wiry, leathery, old sea dog of a guide, aged 69 with 35 years' experience in the Galapagos. He has seen it all. We got to the Love Boat and met our fellow passengers - the Aussie couple Vi and Aaron; the Israelis Mati, Bar, Michal, Maetal and Yael; the Austrians Claire and Silvia; the UK's Kevin and his son Joe; Hector from Spain; and Sara from the US. The Friendship was a three level boat with a great upper deck for chilling, bird watching and island gazing.
Each night Cesar gave us a briefing on the next day's adventures which included a few hours on each island, plus 1-2 hours snorkelling, lunch plus a siesta. By the time dinner came around we were pretty tired but always keen for more. Our island itinerary:
Day 1: Baltra Island and Bachas Beach
Day 2: Plazas Island and Sante Fe Island
Day 3: Espanola Island
Day 4: Floreana Island
Day 5: Santa Cruz Island, Charles Darwin Station and Parte Alta
Day 6: Rabida Island and Chinese Hat
Day 7: Bartolome Island and Sullivan Bay
Day 8: North Seymour Island and Baltra Island
We spent the eight days wandering about the Galapagos Islands and experiencing some of the most amazing wildlife I have ever seen. Not only do you see everything but you see hundreds of creatures of all species - territory guarding, mating rituals, nesting, births, young rearing and game playing and so much more. Combined with the unique volcanic landscapes it was a magical trip. Certainly one of my all time top 5 favourites.
Meet some of the characters:
Blue footed boobie: brilliant colour feet and an impressive diver for fish.
Marine iguana: a modern dragon including spikes, which dives for seaweed and blows salt from its nostrils.
Land iguana: similar to the marine but comes in three varieties - all cream, red and yellow belly.
Penguin: stands to attention on the rocks and dives for sardines in front of your face.
Sealion: the dog of the sea, so playful and loves to blow bubbles in your face - beware of the dominant male.
Reef shark: our constant companions and thankfully "vegetarian".
Green turtles: unafraid to swim below us with graceful style.
Eagle spotted ray: impressive in formations of 20+ as we cruised by.
Lava lizard: the much overlooked funky small lizard of the lava flows.
Frigate bird: male has impressive red inflatable skin flap under chin for attracting females.
Photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/GloryOfGalapagos815June
Each night Cesar gave us a briefing on the next day's adventures which included a few hours on each island, plus 1-2 hours snorkelling, lunch plus a siesta. By the time dinner came around we were pretty tired but always keen for more. Our island itinerary:
Day 1: Baltra Island and Bachas Beach
Day 2: Plazas Island and Sante Fe Island
Day 3: Espanola Island
Day 4: Floreana Island
Day 5: Santa Cruz Island, Charles Darwin Station and Parte Alta
Day 6: Rabida Island and Chinese Hat
Day 7: Bartolome Island and Sullivan Bay
Day 8: North Seymour Island and Baltra Island
We spent the eight days wandering about the Galapagos Islands and experiencing some of the most amazing wildlife I have ever seen. Not only do you see everything but you see hundreds of creatures of all species - territory guarding, mating rituals, nesting, births, young rearing and game playing and so much more. Combined with the unique volcanic landscapes it was a magical trip. Certainly one of my all time top 5 favourites.
Meet some of the characters:
Blue footed boobie: brilliant colour feet and an impressive diver for fish.
Marine iguana: a modern dragon including spikes, which dives for seaweed and blows salt from its nostrils.
Land iguana: similar to the marine but comes in three varieties - all cream, red and yellow belly.
Penguin: stands to attention on the rocks and dives for sardines in front of your face.
Sealion: the dog of the sea, so playful and loves to blow bubbles in your face - beware of the dominant male.
Reef shark: our constant companions and thankfully "vegetarian".
Green turtles: unafraid to swim below us with graceful style.
Eagle spotted ray: impressive in formations of 20+ as we cruised by.
Lava lizard: the much overlooked funky small lizard of the lava flows.
Frigate bird: male has impressive red inflatable skin flap under chin for attracting females.
Photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/GloryOfGalapagos815June
Thursday 21 June 2007
Ecuador: Diving the Galapagos Islands with the biggest fish on the planet (4-7 June 07)
(photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/GalapagosDiving)
I headed back to Quito sad to be leaving Banos but excited about the reason for my coming to Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands. After a bit of pfaffing about in Quito I jumped on an Aerogal plane for Baltra, the island hosting the main airport for the Galapagos. The airport, currently being renovated, was awash with colour and cries as tourists slapped their boat name stickers on their person and ever-patient guides try to link up their groups. My boat cruise didn't start for 3 days so I headed for the island of Santa Cruz and the main town of Puerto Ayora. The first impression was of the barrenness of the islands but the phenomenal throngs of wildlife, starting with sealions lolling on the Baltra jetty and many typeas of large birds crowding the skies.
I dumped my stuff at the El Peregrino B&B and headed straight for the Scuba Iguana shop to see which dives I could do in the next 2 days. Luckily there was one spot left the following day for a spot I had researched - Gordon Rocks. The guy in the dive shop laughed when I asked about the chances of seeing hammerheads and turtles, he said "Of course we'll see them, we'll also see manta rays and whale sharks too". I then did the 45-minute walk to Turtle Beach (Playa de Tortuga) for a swim and along the way saw dozens of marine iguanas perched on the rocks near the beach, animals that swim and surf as they search for their favourite food, seaweed and then blow out the excess salt through their noses, leaving crusts of silver that harden on their heads. Damn funky looking reptiles.
I wandered about Puerto Ayora by myself that evening, finding the row of outdoor eateries where the locals go and soaking up the island atmosphere. I must admit that I don't like doing dinner by myself. Breakfast and lunch are fine but I get bored with myself at dinner. I crashed pretty early after making a sizeable dent in 100 Years of Solitude as the dive trip started at 7am.
I rocked up to the dive shop on the dot of 7am and met a stocky, red head South African called Steve who was also on the trip. Steve was travelling around South America for 9 months - all on the back of a flame red, FZ150 motorbike, which is a Chinese Harley lookalike with a small capacity engine and tons of attitude. Man, he had some stories. Then I met a Frenchman who not only used to own a dive shop on Madagascar but sold it to buy a yacht and travel the world with his wife for three years. Fabulous characters and good to be underwater with them.
The first dive we dived straight down and immediately spied a group of 20-30 hammerhead sharks searching the reef. They are skittish so soon moved away. We swam up to the edge of the old volcanic crater which forms Gordon Rocks above the water and over the edge we saw 4-5 more hammerheads and two of them around 3-4m long came to check us out and were just 2-3 metres away. Magic. We also saw heaps of schoolfish and turtles plus reef sharks. Then we had a break for food and snorkelling with sealions which was wonderful unless you got too close to the dominant male.
The second dive was a little harder as the currents had lifted so the dive master told us to drop down and hang onto the rocks and look around before he would decide when to move off. A few people were caught a little but I managed to drop straight down. We were at about 10-15 metres and suddenly the dive master began frantically pointing and ringing his bell. Out of the deep blue and random groups of fish came this huge shadow silhoutted against the surface above, that resembled a giant space craft. WHALE SHARK! This is the largest fish on the planet and extremely rare. I creamed my wetsuit right there as I had never seen one alive before. I swam over to it as it cruised past and without thinking and contrary to my usual good wildlife habits touched its smooth and exquisitely decorated back as it swooshed past. It also had a scraggly beard of remoras. We swam around with it for 10-15 minutes and I was on a high for...well, I still am!
That afternoon and night we celebrated and Steve and I told the story at every bar, restaurant and cafe we went to. This was day 2 in the Galapagos. Wow.
That night Steve and I met up with two UK girls in Puerto Ayora's Bongo bar - Debs and Rosie - who turned out to also be on the Friendship boat. We renamed it the 'Love Boat' and spent many an hour and several cube libres speculating as to the character of our other passengers and crew.
(more photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/GalapagosDiving)
I headed back to Quito sad to be leaving Banos but excited about the reason for my coming to Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands. After a bit of pfaffing about in Quito I jumped on an Aerogal plane for Baltra, the island hosting the main airport for the Galapagos. The airport, currently being renovated, was awash with colour and cries as tourists slapped their boat name stickers on their person and ever-patient guides try to link up their groups. My boat cruise didn't start for 3 days so I headed for the island of Santa Cruz and the main town of Puerto Ayora. The first impression was of the barrenness of the islands but the phenomenal throngs of wildlife, starting with sealions lolling on the Baltra jetty and many typeas of large birds crowding the skies.
I dumped my stuff at the El Peregrino B&B and headed straight for the Scuba Iguana shop to see which dives I could do in the next 2 days. Luckily there was one spot left the following day for a spot I had researched - Gordon Rocks. The guy in the dive shop laughed when I asked about the chances of seeing hammerheads and turtles, he said "Of course we'll see them, we'll also see manta rays and whale sharks too". I then did the 45-minute walk to Turtle Beach (Playa de Tortuga) for a swim and along the way saw dozens of marine iguanas perched on the rocks near the beach, animals that swim and surf as they search for their favourite food, seaweed and then blow out the excess salt through their noses, leaving crusts of silver that harden on their heads. Damn funky looking reptiles.
I wandered about Puerto Ayora by myself that evening, finding the row of outdoor eateries where the locals go and soaking up the island atmosphere. I must admit that I don't like doing dinner by myself. Breakfast and lunch are fine but I get bored with myself at dinner. I crashed pretty early after making a sizeable dent in 100 Years of Solitude as the dive trip started at 7am.
I rocked up to the dive shop on the dot of 7am and met a stocky, red head South African called Steve who was also on the trip. Steve was travelling around South America for 9 months - all on the back of a flame red, FZ150 motorbike, which is a Chinese Harley lookalike with a small capacity engine and tons of attitude. Man, he had some stories. Then I met a Frenchman who not only used to own a dive shop on Madagascar but sold it to buy a yacht and travel the world with his wife for three years. Fabulous characters and good to be underwater with them.
The first dive we dived straight down and immediately spied a group of 20-30 hammerhead sharks searching the reef. They are skittish so soon moved away. We swam up to the edge of the old volcanic crater which forms Gordon Rocks above the water and over the edge we saw 4-5 more hammerheads and two of them around 3-4m long came to check us out and were just 2-3 metres away. Magic. We also saw heaps of schoolfish and turtles plus reef sharks. Then we had a break for food and snorkelling with sealions which was wonderful unless you got too close to the dominant male.
The second dive was a little harder as the currents had lifted so the dive master told us to drop down and hang onto the rocks and look around before he would decide when to move off. A few people were caught a little but I managed to drop straight down. We were at about 10-15 metres and suddenly the dive master began frantically pointing and ringing his bell. Out of the deep blue and random groups of fish came this huge shadow silhoutted against the surface above, that resembled a giant space craft. WHALE SHARK! This is the largest fish on the planet and extremely rare. I creamed my wetsuit right there as I had never seen one alive before. I swam over to it as it cruised past and without thinking and contrary to my usual good wildlife habits touched its smooth and exquisitely decorated back as it swooshed past. It also had a scraggly beard of remoras. We swam around with it for 10-15 minutes and I was on a high for...well, I still am!
That afternoon and night we celebrated and Steve and I told the story at every bar, restaurant and cafe we went to. This was day 2 in the Galapagos. Wow.
That night Steve and I met up with two UK girls in Puerto Ayora's Bongo bar - Debs and Rosie - who turned out to also be on the Friendship boat. We renamed it the 'Love Boat' and spent many an hour and several cube libres speculating as to the character of our other passengers and crew.
(more photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/GalapagosDiving)
Books I am reading
A quick note on books. Read 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho to start things off, which is apparently one of the best selling books ever. A lovely and uplifting story about travelling and seeking your 'personal legend' but the end is a little corny and neat, unless you are really homesick.
Next was 'God of Small Things' by Arundhati Roy which blew my mind and in addition to being a wonderfully exhausiting story of love and family, reminded me of how children filter the impact of adults. Gawd what a emotional experience and I loved it all.
After that was '100 Years of Solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez which certainly lived up to its reputation as the epic Latin American novel. A superb tale of one family's history which captures all the political, social and personal sufferings and triumphs of a 100 years, I reread so many pages just to try to keep up. Very convincing on the notion that poverty produces the strongest love.
Now am reading 'The Lost Heart of Asia' by Colin Thubron which is non-fiction travel writing on his journey through the countries of central Asia (the 'Stans) that I am thinking of visiting after the Middle East.
Let me know if you are reading something good...
Next was 'God of Small Things' by Arundhati Roy which blew my mind and in addition to being a wonderfully exhausiting story of love and family, reminded me of how children filter the impact of adults. Gawd what a emotional experience and I loved it all.
After that was '100 Years of Solitude' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez which certainly lived up to its reputation as the epic Latin American novel. A superb tale of one family's history which captures all the political, social and personal sufferings and triumphs of a 100 years, I reread so many pages just to try to keep up. Very convincing on the notion that poverty produces the strongest love.
Now am reading 'The Lost Heart of Asia' by Colin Thubron which is non-fiction travel writing on his journey through the countries of central Asia (the 'Stans) that I am thinking of visiting after the Middle East.
Let me know if you are reading something good...
Ecuador: Birthday, baths, biking and toffee in Banos (30 May - 3 June 2007)
(photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/BanosEcuador)
After a very reasonable start, Jim the Kentucky scoundrel and I jumped on a bus bound for Ambato which took less than an hour. At the Ambato station, we managed to leap aboard a bus for Banos just as it left the terminal. The good thing was that it left straight away rather than the usual 465 minute wait for more passengers. The bad thing was that it was full so we had to stand.
Standing enabled me to experience the full spectrum of sellers who jumped on board every few minutes. It is much harder to resist when standing, especially as hot slabs of 50c coconut cake waft past. My favourite was the guy in shirt and tie and briefcase who launched into a rhythmic lecture and produced fantastic diagrams of the human body plus photos of people suffering everything from TB to brain cancer. At first I thought he was a public health campaigner but then he produced the packets of herbal drink powder which he claimed would cure all. I didn't know how to say "recurring dislocated shoulder" in Spanish so had to say no.
The bus began to find its way through the mountains which gave us some fabulous views of the surrounding lush valleys. Just as we arrived in Banos around midday, I got a seat. The bus dropped us on the highway near the markets and Jim and I set off for the Plantas Y Blancos (Plates and Whites - whatever!) hostel where I scored a tiny room but Jim decided to seek out a more salubrious pad down the road. We then surveyed the town. Banos is situated on the slopes of Tunguraha Volcano which famously erupted in 1998 causing the government to evacuate residents who then demanded to return and riots ensued. It is a tourist town but has a great atmosphere as many Quitenos (Quito residents) head here for a break from the city.
Given that 30 May was my birthday, Jim and I decided to celebrate in style. First was a lengthy soaking in the thermal baths after which Banos gets its name. There are various types - bugger hot (48C), medium and cold pools as well as a natural cold shower which is water diverted from the superb waterfall that is the backdrop to the baths. We grabbed a tasty spit roast chicken, beans, potatoes plus soup and drink for $1.50 and headed to the bars. After a few drinks and games of pool at one small place on Alfaro st, we found our way into the Leprechaun Bar and a group of random travellers keen for a big one. I was forced to drink random cocktails for most of the evening and danced until some not-so-sensible hour of the not-so-early morning. Damn good birthday.
The next day Jim and I hired bikes and did one of the most enjoyable rides of my life, mostly because almost all of the 20km was downhill. We followed the road that leads to Puyo on the edge of the Amazon jungle. Along the way we gazed at waterfalls, sheer cliffs and winding valleys. We also took out lives into our hands and did bridge jumping which is kinda like bungee jumping except the rope doesn't bounce and you swing rather than fall straight down. Amazing.
That night we were joined by Kelly, the Alaskan, who decided to meet us in Banos for a couple of days before she started with UNICEF in Macas, south of Puyo. Somehow we ended up in the Leprechaun bar again for some more funky tunes and somehow Rage Against the Machine came on again. Another not so early night that ended with a rather enjoyable walk home in soft rain.
The next day Jim decided to head back to Quito so Kelly and I found a lovely cafe on the square run by a Danish-Ecuadorian couple where we had delicious warm, brown bread and fresh juice of maracuya and other tropical fruits. We then did the bike ride again (second time was better by far!) and I watched Kelly do the bridge jump. At the bottom of the ride we came to the Pailon de Diablo waterfall where the river plunges into a narrow chasm forcing the volume of water through at such a rate that it feels like you are in the middle of a tornado. At the bottom of stairs that lead you close to the falls and deep inside the spray, a local told us that the devil lives in the falls (hence the name) and that if you scream at him he will blow spray at you. We tried and were rewarded with a thorough soaking. After squelching out of the valley, we were thankful when a truck cooperative took us and our bikes back up the hills to Banos.
Way too soon it was time to head back to Quito for my trip to the Galapagos! On the way to the bus station I grabbed some of the world famous Banos toffee which they stretch and shape in many of the shops along the main road.
(photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/BanosEcuador)
After a very reasonable start, Jim the Kentucky scoundrel and I jumped on a bus bound for Ambato which took less than an hour. At the Ambato station, we managed to leap aboard a bus for Banos just as it left the terminal. The good thing was that it left straight away rather than the usual 465 minute wait for more passengers. The bad thing was that it was full so we had to stand.
Standing enabled me to experience the full spectrum of sellers who jumped on board every few minutes. It is much harder to resist when standing, especially as hot slabs of 50c coconut cake waft past. My favourite was the guy in shirt and tie and briefcase who launched into a rhythmic lecture and produced fantastic diagrams of the human body plus photos of people suffering everything from TB to brain cancer. At first I thought he was a public health campaigner but then he produced the packets of herbal drink powder which he claimed would cure all. I didn't know how to say "recurring dislocated shoulder" in Spanish so had to say no.
The bus began to find its way through the mountains which gave us some fabulous views of the surrounding lush valleys. Just as we arrived in Banos around midday, I got a seat. The bus dropped us on the highway near the markets and Jim and I set off for the Plantas Y Blancos (Plates and Whites - whatever!) hostel where I scored a tiny room but Jim decided to seek out a more salubrious pad down the road. We then surveyed the town. Banos is situated on the slopes of Tunguraha Volcano which famously erupted in 1998 causing the government to evacuate residents who then demanded to return and riots ensued. It is a tourist town but has a great atmosphere as many Quitenos (Quito residents) head here for a break from the city.
Given that 30 May was my birthday, Jim and I decided to celebrate in style. First was a lengthy soaking in the thermal baths after which Banos gets its name. There are various types - bugger hot (48C), medium and cold pools as well as a natural cold shower which is water diverted from the superb waterfall that is the backdrop to the baths. We grabbed a tasty spit roast chicken, beans, potatoes plus soup and drink for $1.50 and headed to the bars. After a few drinks and games of pool at one small place on Alfaro st, we found our way into the Leprechaun Bar and a group of random travellers keen for a big one. I was forced to drink random cocktails for most of the evening and danced until some not-so-sensible hour of the not-so-early morning. Damn good birthday.
The next day Jim and I hired bikes and did one of the most enjoyable rides of my life, mostly because almost all of the 20km was downhill. We followed the road that leads to Puyo on the edge of the Amazon jungle. Along the way we gazed at waterfalls, sheer cliffs and winding valleys. We also took out lives into our hands and did bridge jumping which is kinda like bungee jumping except the rope doesn't bounce and you swing rather than fall straight down. Amazing.
That night we were joined by Kelly, the Alaskan, who decided to meet us in Banos for a couple of days before she started with UNICEF in Macas, south of Puyo. Somehow we ended up in the Leprechaun bar again for some more funky tunes and somehow Rage Against the Machine came on again. Another not so early night that ended with a rather enjoyable walk home in soft rain.
The next day Jim decided to head back to Quito so Kelly and I found a lovely cafe on the square run by a Danish-Ecuadorian couple where we had delicious warm, brown bread and fresh juice of maracuya and other tropical fruits. We then did the bike ride again (second time was better by far!) and I watched Kelly do the bridge jump. At the bottom of the ride we came to the Pailon de Diablo waterfall where the river plunges into a narrow chasm forcing the volume of water through at such a rate that it feels like you are in the middle of a tornado. At the bottom of stairs that lead you close to the falls and deep inside the spray, a local told us that the devil lives in the falls (hence the name) and that if you scream at him he will blow spray at you. We tried and were rewarded with a thorough soaking. After squelching out of the valley, we were thankful when a truck cooperative took us and our bikes back up the hills to Banos.
Way too soon it was time to head back to Quito for my trip to the Galapagos! On the way to the bus station I grabbed some of the world famous Banos toffee which they stretch and shape in many of the shops along the main road.
(photos are here - http://picasaweb.google.com/nickchasingthesunrise/BanosEcuador)
Sunday 17 June 2007
Ecuador: Quilotoa Loop (29 May)
After the usual brekkie of eggs, tea and fruit, it was time for the Quilotoa Loop. We met the solid looking red 4WD at the tour place and were greeted by Alex, our guide and driver. Let me say at this stage that anywhere in the world it is very hard to be both a good guide and a good driver but full credit to those who try. We picked up a married couple - Dominican Republic and Spanish - and hit the road. The Quilotoa Loop took us through some spectacular countryside - Andean villages, plunging cliffs and canyons, green hills and the villages nestled amongst them.
Apart from some quick photo stops our first real stop was at the Laguna Quilotoa. Alex made us close our eyes and walked us over to the edge. When we opened our eyes, the sight was breathtaking and one of the most amazing I have seen in South America. The laguna is in an old volcano´s crater which has steep cliffs that drop off 400 metres to the water below. The laguna is many shades of green and as the water wells up from below, some blues and creams also appear. We walked down in less than half an hour, meeting cows and llamas along the way. The way up was tough and took over an hour, which was not helped by Alex telling us “solo dies minuto mas” (just ten minutes more) every ten minutes. He was great on the local knowledge though, having studied to be a guide at university.
The loop then took us on a bumpy road that wound in and around the mountains and alternated between just dirt (most of the time) to some stones to cobbled to sealed. We lunched in the misty village of Chugchilan at the cute Hostal Cloud Forest.
The rest of the trip back to Latacunga took us through the villages of Sigchos, Toacaso, Saquisili and Pujili with the snow capped mountains of Cotopaxi and Ruminahi and Iliniza making guest appearances along the way. Everyone seemed to be happy with me being DJ and managed to introduce a few people to Silverchair, Electric Eels, Rastawookie plus some cracker tracks from Gatecrasher and others.
Looking back on it I think the uplifting music may have been the bad influence on Alex. Also the rain had started, turning the dirt road into a slippery mud track. The first two times Alex spun the car out were ok, we just lost traction and slid a few metres. I should point out that this road is at times up to 4,000m high and there are no guard rails - nada.
The third time was not so much fun. We came around a corner and he lost control. The rear of the car swung out and we slid, spinning faster as we neared the edge. Somehow, the curve of our slide took us to the edge, not over and then back to the other side which saw us thump into the ditch of the inside of the road. We were stuck and had to enlist the help of a passing truck of people to help us push the car out. We laughed and shook and I also had a little chat to Alex about control and perception. I also changed the music to Nora Jones.
We arrived safe and sound back in Latacunga and after some ok lasagne and beers, we looked forward to relaxing in the town of Baños.
Coming up: bathing, bridge jumping and biking in Baños.
Apart from some quick photo stops our first real stop was at the Laguna Quilotoa. Alex made us close our eyes and walked us over to the edge. When we opened our eyes, the sight was breathtaking and one of the most amazing I have seen in South America. The laguna is in an old volcano´s crater which has steep cliffs that drop off 400 metres to the water below. The laguna is many shades of green and as the water wells up from below, some blues and creams also appear. We walked down in less than half an hour, meeting cows and llamas along the way. The way up was tough and took over an hour, which was not helped by Alex telling us “solo dies minuto mas” (just ten minutes more) every ten minutes. He was great on the local knowledge though, having studied to be a guide at university.
The loop then took us on a bumpy road that wound in and around the mountains and alternated between just dirt (most of the time) to some stones to cobbled to sealed. We lunched in the misty village of Chugchilan at the cute Hostal Cloud Forest.
The rest of the trip back to Latacunga took us through the villages of Sigchos, Toacaso, Saquisili and Pujili with the snow capped mountains of Cotopaxi and Ruminahi and Iliniza making guest appearances along the way. Everyone seemed to be happy with me being DJ and managed to introduce a few people to Silverchair, Electric Eels, Rastawookie plus some cracker tracks from Gatecrasher and others.
Looking back on it I think the uplifting music may have been the bad influence on Alex. Also the rain had started, turning the dirt road into a slippery mud track. The first two times Alex spun the car out were ok, we just lost traction and slid a few metres. I should point out that this road is at times up to 4,000m high and there are no guard rails - nada.
The third time was not so much fun. We came around a corner and he lost control. The rear of the car swung out and we slid, spinning faster as we neared the edge. Somehow, the curve of our slide took us to the edge, not over and then back to the other side which saw us thump into the ditch of the inside of the road. We were stuck and had to enlist the help of a passing truck of people to help us push the car out. We laughed and shook and I also had a little chat to Alex about control and perception. I also changed the music to Nora Jones.
We arrived safe and sound back in Latacunga and after some ok lasagne and beers, we looked forward to relaxing in the town of Baños.
Coming up: bathing, bridge jumping and biking in Baños.
Tuesday 5 June 2007
Ecuador: Latacunga (28 May)
After paying a seemingly large amount of money for my Galapagos trip, I checked out of the Secret Garden and headed south for the Cumanda bus station where I boarded a bus for Latacunga. This was to be my drop off for the Quilotoa Loop, which has been described as a must do by many fellow travellers and the book. This was my first real chance to see Ecuador´s countryside and the road took me into the Andean highlands that form the backbone of the entire continent – we passed through many small towns, most of them with concrete shops and houses, plenty of stray dogs, mix of Quichua (indigenous) and Spanish faces and some gleaming churches.
The bus dropped me just off the Pan Americana highway on the outskirts of Latacunga around 5pm so I headed into town and found the Hotel Central which was clean and right in the centre (funny that). The señora and I chatted in Spanish for a while and I am pretty sure she and I agreed that around the world people are getting married later…or possibly we agreed that I would marry her daughter later - either way it was…nice. I set out to find myself a tour for the following day.
As I hit the road to find the right tour, I must say here that two people in Ecuador have already commented that I like to check out tours properly…ok, one may have hinted that I am anal. Of course I killed them for saying that but will also outline my approach so I can set the record straight. First, I always check out at least 3 agents, more often 6-7 and a mix of those in the book and not. In addition to the questions on cost and activities, I check out the guide´s knowledge and languages, the car, whether I can plug in my digital walkman, where and what lunch etc will be. Plus I bargain and get them to write it down on the back of their card. Not so bad huh? Whatever.
All of the operators told me I needed a minimum of two people. This is the worst thing about travelling on your own – ok, there are other things too. The converse is also true that single people can often just jump on a tour that is going rather than having to wait. I hit the pavement again and spied a hombre clutching a Lonely Planet striding down the street. I accosted him and asked whether he was keen to do a trip to Quilotoa. The reply, shaped by a mellow southern US accent, was owned by Jim Higgins, the public lawyer, infamous scoundrel of Kentucky and my partner in crime for the next few days.
Jim and I booked the trip and then met for dinner at La Mama Negra. The owner showed us around this dark decorated and very cool 5-floor colonial style mansion with a restaurant, bar, several function rooms, disco and many nooks and crannies. They served us Latacunga´s speciality ‘chugchucara´ which is a huge plate of soft fried pork, rice, potatoes, bananas, toasted corn plus cheese empanadas all doused with akhi (sauce of chilli, onion, tomato and lime) - all washed down with Pilsener, Ecuador´s light but very drinkable beer. We got an early night as we had to leave at 7.30am for the loop.
The bus dropped me just off the Pan Americana highway on the outskirts of Latacunga around 5pm so I headed into town and found the Hotel Central which was clean and right in the centre (funny that). The señora and I chatted in Spanish for a while and I am pretty sure she and I agreed that around the world people are getting married later…or possibly we agreed that I would marry her daughter later - either way it was…nice. I set out to find myself a tour for the following day.
As I hit the road to find the right tour, I must say here that two people in Ecuador have already commented that I like to check out tours properly…ok, one may have hinted that I am anal. Of course I killed them for saying that but will also outline my approach so I can set the record straight. First, I always check out at least 3 agents, more often 6-7 and a mix of those in the book and not. In addition to the questions on cost and activities, I check out the guide´s knowledge and languages, the car, whether I can plug in my digital walkman, where and what lunch etc will be. Plus I bargain and get them to write it down on the back of their card. Not so bad huh? Whatever.
All of the operators told me I needed a minimum of two people. This is the worst thing about travelling on your own – ok, there are other things too. The converse is also true that single people can often just jump on a tour that is going rather than having to wait. I hit the pavement again and spied a hombre clutching a Lonely Planet striding down the street. I accosted him and asked whether he was keen to do a trip to Quilotoa. The reply, shaped by a mellow southern US accent, was owned by Jim Higgins, the public lawyer, infamous scoundrel of Kentucky and my partner in crime for the next few days.
Jim and I booked the trip and then met for dinner at La Mama Negra. The owner showed us around this dark decorated and very cool 5-floor colonial style mansion with a restaurant, bar, several function rooms, disco and many nooks and crannies. They served us Latacunga´s speciality ‘chugchucara´ which is a huge plate of soft fried pork, rice, potatoes, bananas, toasted corn plus cheese empanadas all doused with akhi (sauce of chilli, onion, tomato and lime) - all washed down with Pilsener, Ecuador´s light but very drinkable beer. We got an early night as we had to leave at 7.30am for the loop.
Ecuador: characters and being on a mountain above a storm (26-28 May)
In April I travelled with Sarah P to Mudgee for Charlie and Damien´s wedding. Although I only knew a few people, it was a wonderful weekend. After a fabulous ceremony under the willows at a winery, we headed inside for the reception where I was put on the singles table (wasn´t aware these things existed!). After the speeches the night then revved up and we headed to the local pub and danced til the wee hours to awesome covers such as Rage Against the Machine, ACDC and many more. The best thing was hanging out with a random bunch of characters and just having a great time in a new place with the locals. Spening time with characters is probably the highlight of travelling for me and the Mudgee weekend experience steeled my conviction to do this trip. I tell this story so I can introduce some of the characters I have met along the way.
First that I met at the Secret Garden hostel was Kelly, a viviacious law student and ex-teacher from Alaska, USA. We spent the first couple of nights arguing about everything from the modern novel to the trappings of dating. She tried to convince me that the reason that Australia and Canada don´t have great novels (compared to the US and elsewhere) is that these countries haven´t been through comparative suffering. Yeah, whatever. Will try to get her into some Sally Morgan, Henry Reynolds, Patrick White, Peter Carey, Kate Grenville, David Malouf or Tim Winton. Kelly is interning with UNICEF in Macas, in central Ecuador. Kelly and I also met up again later in Banos but more of that later.
Then I met Sarah, a passionate engineer and experienced mountaineer from Victoria who wowed me with the intricacies of car production in Hungary and its resulting social impact. Sarah was also inspired to join me to climb Ruca Pichincha, a 4,860 metre mountain behind Quito. We set out early and caught a taxi to the TeleferiQo - the cable car that takes you from the edge of Quito up the slopes of the old volcano to 4,100 metres. We then set out to climb to the summit. It was a hard slog with the altitude and we got to the final section around 3-4 hours later. That´s when the hail and snow started.
A few people ahead of us turned back but we pushed on - we could see the top and didn´t come all this way to just turn around because of some rain! We added an English guy, Mark, to our group and faced the mountain. The final section was part scrambling through shifting dirt and then the final 30 mins was essentially rock climbing. Finally we made it to the summit! The weather then cleared a bit and we caught glimpses of the magnificent view over Quito and beyond. Well worth the minor suffering.
We then started the faster trip downhill and to give us energy Sarah and I decided to stop and have some cake. Mark decided to push on which turned out to be a very important decision. 10 mins later the weather closed in and a huge storm that had been lurking at one end of the Quito valley decided to spread its reach and rolled in angry dark clouds with forked and sheet lightning and great crashes of thunder. Sarah and I decided to wait it out in a cave as the watched the lightning striking not only the cable car car station below but the electricity towers and even the exposed path down the saddle of the volcano - where we were supposed to be...and where Mark was.
Sarah and I waited for a couple of hours and as the afternoon deepened we realised that we could be looking at a very cold night on the mountain. Resolving to avoid this if possible, we watched the fanastic pyrotechnic display below and the accompanying snow storm. Luckily the swirling mass of the storm moved off to one side of Quito and we took our chance. We dashed down the mountain and despite some more hail it was a relatively easy trip. The fading light meant that we used the snow to find the path and arrived back at the cable car station around 7pm. I found out a week later when I bumped into Mark in Quito that he had taken shelter somewhere on the way down and that the cable car had been closed by the lightning for several hours and he was expecting us to appear at any time.
Sarah and I had a tea and thirst quenchers at the cafe before heading back to the hostel and a warm shower and the pleasure of clean sheets and a mattress, not the cave we had been dreading. Great stuff.
First that I met at the Secret Garden hostel was Kelly, a viviacious law student and ex-teacher from Alaska, USA. We spent the first couple of nights arguing about everything from the modern novel to the trappings of dating. She tried to convince me that the reason that Australia and Canada don´t have great novels (compared to the US and elsewhere) is that these countries haven´t been through comparative suffering. Yeah, whatever. Will try to get her into some Sally Morgan, Henry Reynolds, Patrick White, Peter Carey, Kate Grenville, David Malouf or Tim Winton. Kelly is interning with UNICEF in Macas, in central Ecuador. Kelly and I also met up again later in Banos but more of that later.
Then I met Sarah, a passionate engineer and experienced mountaineer from Victoria who wowed me with the intricacies of car production in Hungary and its resulting social impact. Sarah was also inspired to join me to climb Ruca Pichincha, a 4,860 metre mountain behind Quito. We set out early and caught a taxi to the TeleferiQo - the cable car that takes you from the edge of Quito up the slopes of the old volcano to 4,100 metres. We then set out to climb to the summit. It was a hard slog with the altitude and we got to the final section around 3-4 hours later. That´s when the hail and snow started.
A few people ahead of us turned back but we pushed on - we could see the top and didn´t come all this way to just turn around because of some rain! We added an English guy, Mark, to our group and faced the mountain. The final section was part scrambling through shifting dirt and then the final 30 mins was essentially rock climbing. Finally we made it to the summit! The weather then cleared a bit and we caught glimpses of the magnificent view over Quito and beyond. Well worth the minor suffering.
We then started the faster trip downhill and to give us energy Sarah and I decided to stop and have some cake. Mark decided to push on which turned out to be a very important decision. 10 mins later the weather closed in and a huge storm that had been lurking at one end of the Quito valley decided to spread its reach and rolled in angry dark clouds with forked and sheet lightning and great crashes of thunder. Sarah and I decided to wait it out in a cave as the watched the lightning striking not only the cable car car station below but the electricity towers and even the exposed path down the saddle of the volcano - where we were supposed to be...and where Mark was.
Sarah and I waited for a couple of hours and as the afternoon deepened we realised that we could be looking at a very cold night on the mountain. Resolving to avoid this if possible, we watched the fanastic pyrotechnic display below and the accompanying snow storm. Luckily the swirling mass of the storm moved off to one side of Quito and we took our chance. We dashed down the mountain and despite some more hail it was a relatively easy trip. The fading light meant that we used the snow to find the path and arrived back at the cable car station around 7pm. I found out a week later when I bumped into Mark in Quito that he had taken shelter somewhere on the way down and that the cable car had been closed by the lightning for several hours and he was expecting us to appear at any time.
Sarah and I had a tea and thirst quenchers at the cafe before heading back to the hostel and a warm shower and the pleasure of clean sheets and a mattress, not the cave we had been dreading. Great stuff.
Friday 1 June 2007
Quito (23-25 May): old city and hunting Galapagos
After a fun flight from NY to Miami, the plane emptied most of its larger, louder and whiter passengers and took on smaller, chattering and colourful ones. I managed to get a window seat for the Miami-Quito leg which was awesome as it was about 4pm and Mt Cotopaxi (snow covered mountain on the Equator) came into clear view and the pilot banked obligingly so I could snap a few pics (will post when I can).
I arrived in Quito around 7pm and set out for the main road outside the airport and flagged down a cab. This is when my Spanish was first tested. The last time I went to South America I did a little of the Berlitz tapes and could manage but this time I was less prepared. Luckily some of it has stuck in my mind somewhere and I could get to the hostel. Luckily the (Lonely Planet) book was spot on and the Secret Garden hostel became my wonderful home for the next few days. It has four floors which can hurt but the journey is well worth it for the top is the terrace with a big long communal table and the most fabulous view of the old city.
Central Quito is basically divided into the old and new city. The old city has cobbled roads, numerous churches and plazas all in the old colonial style. No Incan buildings remain as the king raxed the city just before the Spanish arrived so they couldn´t do it themselves. Quito is meant to have a crime problem and you are always warned about being out after dark but I had no problem although was mostly in groups.
I wandered around for the first day, just getting used to the altitude and orienting myself with the city. I could have wandered those streets and alleys for days, such a beautiful town. Tested my spanish some more and generally felt good about being on the road. I met Kevin from Scotland who works on natural heritage with the UK government and who is travelling with his son, Joe, who is volunteering with a wildlife company north of Quito. He and I joined forces to hunt down what many consider to be the ultimate in wildlife trips - The Galapagos Islands! I had been told by a Swiss woman that I could do it on my own and others had recommended various boats and operators. I decided to do both. I booked an 8-day trip on the Friendship boat with naturalist guide and then added 3 days before it so I can explore on my own. I will be there from 4-15 June and in addition to frolicking with marine iguanas, boobies and giant tortises am hoping to dive with hammer heads, manta rays, sea lions, whale sharks and much more. Can´t wait!
I arrived in Quito around 7pm and set out for the main road outside the airport and flagged down a cab. This is when my Spanish was first tested. The last time I went to South America I did a little of the Berlitz tapes and could manage but this time I was less prepared. Luckily some of it has stuck in my mind somewhere and I could get to the hostel. Luckily the (Lonely Planet) book was spot on and the Secret Garden hostel became my wonderful home for the next few days. It has four floors which can hurt but the journey is well worth it for the top is the terrace with a big long communal table and the most fabulous view of the old city.
Central Quito is basically divided into the old and new city. The old city has cobbled roads, numerous churches and plazas all in the old colonial style. No Incan buildings remain as the king raxed the city just before the Spanish arrived so they couldn´t do it themselves. Quito is meant to have a crime problem and you are always warned about being out after dark but I had no problem although was mostly in groups.
I wandered around for the first day, just getting used to the altitude and orienting myself with the city. I could have wandered those streets and alleys for days, such a beautiful town. Tested my spanish some more and generally felt good about being on the road. I met Kevin from Scotland who works on natural heritage with the UK government and who is travelling with his son, Joe, who is volunteering with a wildlife company north of Quito. He and I joined forces to hunt down what many consider to be the ultimate in wildlife trips - The Galapagos Islands! I had been told by a Swiss woman that I could do it on my own and others had recommended various boats and operators. I decided to do both. I booked an 8-day trip on the Friendship boat with naturalist guide and then added 3 days before it so I can explore on my own. I will be there from 4-15 June and in addition to frolicking with marine iguanas, boobies and giant tortises am hoping to dive with hammer heads, manta rays, sea lions, whale sharks and much more. Can´t wait!
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