Arranged and carefully selected:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/70748281@N07/sets/72157628185857913/
Monday, November 28, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Verbatium, these are the directions from my hostel in Istanbul
Make sure you are going in the right direction! Get off at the Sultanahmet tram stop. Get off the tram and follow the tramline downhill. You will see a Tourist Information office in the park on your right and Pudding Shop restaurant on your left. Walk diagonally through the park towards the Blue Mosque which is on your right. Pass the Blue mosque and the rows of benches in front of it, walk down the road you will see the Blue Hotel (MAVI EV) and Arasta Bazaar on the corner. Turn right at the Mavi Ev. Then take the first left. Walk down the hill by the rug stores and take the first left, then the first right. You will see the Bahaus Guesthouse at the corner and the Big Apple hostel sign. Just turn right again and you will find us right next to Bahaus. Please feel free to call us if you get lost.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Green
For the average person, the word "Ethiopia" generally brings to mind an arid region filled with starving children. I guess this is to blame on the 1985 famine (which, to be fair, became a crisis because of the government rather than nature).
This visual is nothing like what I have seen. There are deserts in part of the country but most of the population lives in the mountains which are a stunning green. The teff fields (staple grain) almost seem neon green.
The area around Lalibela is the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen. Imagine cliffs like the grand canyon, but covered in grass, shrubs and jigsaw puzzle shaped fields of teff.
This visual is nothing like what I have seen. There are deserts in part of the country but most of the population lives in the mountains which are a stunning green. The teff fields (staple grain) almost seem neon green.
The area around Lalibela is the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen. Imagine cliffs like the grand canyon, but covered in grass, shrubs and jigsaw puzzle shaped fields of teff.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Meskel
Currently, it is the holiday of Meskel in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Meskel (it means "cross") celebrates the discovery of part of the "true cross" (that Jesus was crucified upon).
Meskel starts with a massive bonfire in every city or town (on TV they broadcast the Addias Ababa fire live). As I understand it, the smoke from the fire represents the smoke that led Saint Helena to the place where the "true cross" was buried. On the street, farmers sell wood so that you can personally add fuel to it.
I went to the ceremony in Bahir Dar along with a couple thousand Ethiopians. It was held in the middle of what I guess was the local parade grounds. Every fifty feet or so was a group from a local church dancing in a circle and singing in Amharic. After a long speech by the local church leader they lit the bonfire and the crowd went mad. As the flames grew and the wind changed direction the police began swiping at the crowd with sticks and batons to encourage them to move back. Oddly, both the police and the crowd were laughing and smiling.
After the fire the town was filled with groups dancing and singing in the middle of the street (nicely blocking traffic). Like Eid, everyone suddenly had new clothes and the women were dressed in white.
The floors of resturants, shops and homes are sprinkled (liberally) with fresh green grass to create a sense of nature and peace. It's springtime in Ethiopia so the aesthetic might be comparable to Easter. Grass crosses, bonfires and anything within reach are decorated with a yellow flowers similar to a buttercup. Unofficially, its the "Meskel flower" because it only blooms during Meskel. Currently, all the hills in this part of Ethiopia are a deep green with fringes of bright yellow.
Anyway, back to the bonfire. For the next two days there are numerous other smaller fires on sidewalks or in homes (I watched a local drunk prove his bravery by walking through one yesterday). Afterwards, like Ash Wednesday, the charcoal is used to make the symbol of a cross on the forehead. The children go a little made with it and paint their whole faces.
Today, in Gondar, I got my own ash.
While talking to a group of hustlers one of their friends approached carrying a charred log.
I said, "Ah Happy Meskel..."
Immediately, a member of the group with one leg smiled broadly and wiped the ash across my forehead and cheek.
He leaned back and declared, "Now you are Orthodox!"
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Capitol of Ethiopia: Addias Ababa
Unlike almost every other place I've gone, I arrived in Ethiopia at
night. When I woke up the next morning I realized that I had no
concept about what I would find outside the door of my hotel room.
Addias Ababa (meaning "new flower"), the third highest capital city on
earth, is a sprawling hilly place. It seems like every
street/corner/alley has a cafe and an Ethiopian/Italian restaurant.
The traffic moves slowly because there is always a person or dog
walking into the road. In that note, unlike where else I've been, the
dogs are multiple breeds similar to german shepherds, sheepdogs,
retrievers etc.
On the west side of the city is the Mercato which is supposedly the
largest market in Africa. I don't think anyone knows exactly how big
it is as no one has ever been able to make a map of it. In my own
quest I walked about a kilometer before I got through the clothes
section and into the timber section. I never found the food section.
The destitute population is larger than anywhere I've seen, consisting
of war veterans, the elderly, polio victims, and children (generally
sent out to beg by their mothers).
The city itself is not dangerous, but the local hustlers are very
pushy. In Dar Es Salam, for instance, you can shake them off pretty
easy, but here if you don't respond immediately to their calls they'll
occasionally walk up to you with declarations of "Why are you such a
hateful person that you would ignore me?" or "You're a racist".
Honestly, its a nice little trick since then you end up talking to
them to defend yourself.
The city is big enough that there is always something new to find/see.
Quick example: while strolling around last Friday I began to notice
how quite it had become suddenly. When I turned the corner onto a main
road I found myself confronted with a sea of people on the street
praying. It was Friday prayers and the Mosque was past capacity.
Traffic was diverted and the street was filled with men using large
sheets of brown paper in place of prayer mats. When it was finished,
everyone rose in unison and there was a quiet rumble of greetings and
the sound of hundreds of sheets of paper being folded up. Probably one
of my favorite "audio" experiences of the trip.
Time and dates in Ethiopia take some getting used to. Their calendar
has an extra month for instance (everyone loves to tell you that there
are "13 Months of Sunshine in Ethiopia!"). For me it is 5:30 PM on
September 26, 2011. For Ethiopians it is 11:30 September 15, 2004.
Thus far, Ethiopia is the cheapest country I've visited. My hotel in
the capital is about $7 for a 3/4 bed and a sit-down toilet. A meal
across the street is $1.50. I feel this is matter of fewer tourists
than East Africa so the prices haven't been inflated. Granted, a few
hotels will look at me and give me the "farinji price" (foreigner
price).
night. When I woke up the next morning I realized that I had no
concept about what I would find outside the door of my hotel room.
Addias Ababa (meaning "new flower"), the third highest capital city on
earth, is a sprawling hilly place. It seems like every
street/corner/alley has a cafe and an Ethiopian/Italian restaurant.
The traffic moves slowly because there is always a person or dog
walking into the road. In that note, unlike where else I've been, the
dogs are multiple breeds similar to german shepherds, sheepdogs,
retrievers etc.
On the west side of the city is the Mercato which is supposedly the
largest market in Africa. I don't think anyone knows exactly how big
it is as no one has ever been able to make a map of it. In my own
quest I walked about a kilometer before I got through the clothes
section and into the timber section. I never found the food section.
The destitute population is larger than anywhere I've seen, consisting
of war veterans, the elderly, polio victims, and children (generally
sent out to beg by their mothers).
The city itself is not dangerous, but the local hustlers are very
pushy. In Dar Es Salam, for instance, you can shake them off pretty
easy, but here if you don't respond immediately to their calls they'll
occasionally walk up to you with declarations of "Why are you such a
hateful person that you would ignore me?" or "You're a racist".
Honestly, its a nice little trick since then you end up talking to
them to defend yourself.
The city is big enough that there is always something new to find/see.
Quick example: while strolling around last Friday I began to notice
how quite it had become suddenly. When I turned the corner onto a main
road I found myself confronted with a sea of people on the street
praying. It was Friday prayers and the Mosque was past capacity.
Traffic was diverted and the street was filled with men using large
sheets of brown paper in place of prayer mats. When it was finished,
everyone rose in unison and there was a quiet rumble of greetings and
the sound of hundreds of sheets of paper being folded up. Probably one
of my favorite "audio" experiences of the trip.
Time and dates in Ethiopia take some getting used to. Their calendar
has an extra month for instance (everyone loves to tell you that there
are "13 Months of Sunshine in Ethiopia!"). For me it is 5:30 PM on
September 26, 2011. For Ethiopians it is 11:30 September 15, 2004.
Thus far, Ethiopia is the cheapest country I've visited. My hotel in
the capital is about $7 for a 3/4 bed and a sit-down toilet. A meal
across the street is $1.50. I feel this is matter of fewer tourists
than East Africa so the prices haven't been inflated. Granted, a few
hotels will look at me and give me the "farinji price" (foreigner
price).
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
1000 Cups
I've spent a lot of my time at a cafe called "1000 cups" which has the best coffee I've had yet in Africa. On Saturday I swung by intending to charge my camera and then leave after a morning coffee. However, the power was out in Kampala all weekend and I found myself there for about 7 hours. I enjoyed it throughly though, and in the end met a number if people including:
-The Ugandan owner who went to college in Boston and has a passion for American films and Lee Child novels.
-Solomon who is a "real estate investment analyzer"
-A cynical, but funny IT technician.
-A British couple in Uganda to see first hand the school their church funds
-3 German hospital workers
-Someone who had been previously been hired by the US government as a security contractor in Basara, Iraq.
-2 Norwegians who were performing at the Kampala Arts Festival.
Anyway, if you ever find yourself in Kampala, check out "1000 Cups".
Jinja
I've never been to Egypt, but now I've seen the source of the Nile. Very different terrain up here I imagine.
Lake Victoria pours out into the Nile in Jinja, Uganda. Jinja is the formal colonial capital of Uganda and was at one point an industrial power house in the country. Now, the industry is mostly gone (except for the Nile Beer brewery) and Jinja itself has a sleepy feel. It kind of reminds me of an old west town with tumbleweeds rolling down the street. Old white concrete colonial buildings are tinted orange with red dust and filled with little shops with names like "Jesus is Lord: Ladies Wear".
I took a boda boda along a long dirt path to see the official source of the Nile (only way). After strolling around I sat on a grassy hill near the spot the river was first found by a British explorer. Next to me a resort was under construction, hundreds of birds crowded the rocks below where a few Ugandans bathed, the tourist bar across the river blared Madonnas "Material Girl", a toddler wearing only a shirt ran by screaming "Bye Muzungo!", two cell phone towers rose over a nearby hill, and above me a black plastic bag rode up the thermals. The river itself was beautiful. Everything felt quintessentially East African to me.
Lake Victoria pours out into the Nile in Jinja, Uganda. Jinja is the formal colonial capital of Uganda and was at one point an industrial power house in the country. Now, the industry is mostly gone (except for the Nile Beer brewery) and Jinja itself has a sleepy feel. It kind of reminds me of an old west town with tumbleweeds rolling down the street. Old white concrete colonial buildings are tinted orange with red dust and filled with little shops with names like "Jesus is Lord: Ladies Wear".
I took a boda boda along a long dirt path to see the official source of the Nile (only way). After strolling around I sat on a grassy hill near the spot the river was first found by a British explorer. Next to me a resort was under construction, hundreds of birds crowded the rocks below where a few Ugandans bathed, the tourist bar across the river blared Madonnas "Material Girl", a toddler wearing only a shirt ran by screaming "Bye Muzungo!", two cell phone towers rose over a nearby hill, and above me a black plastic bag rode up the thermals. The river itself was beautiful. Everything felt quintessentially East African to me.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Kampala and Boda-Bodas
Kampala, Uganda is one of the maddest cities I've seen yet on this
trip. It's not very large, but it's dense. I still haven't quite made
sense of the bus station. There are four taxi, minibus, and "large
bus" stands within a few blocks. They are surrounded/connected by a
maze of markets and 3 columns of minibuses snaking around the block
that never seem to move.
Traffic is mostly paralyzed. I'm used to taxi drivers occasionally
turning off their cars to wait in traffic, but here they seem to be on
and off about six times a minute. As a result most people get around
on boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis).
I've seen motorcycle taxis in Africa, but never like this. They weave
in and out of cars through any space available, drive down the wrong
way of one way streets and take short cuts through gas
stations/sidewalks/medians etc. Kampala is built on a series of hills
(like Rome!) so the boda-bodas appear out of no where at the top or
fly on the downhills. And there are thousands of them.
Most of the drivers are from the villages where a bank gives them a
loan for the bike. With what they make in a day, the drivers can get
some food, gas, and maybe beer, but the rest of the money goes towards
the loan. If the driver is ever able to fully pay it off, they become
the owner of an old and overused motorcycle.
trip. It's not very large, but it's dense. I still haven't quite made
sense of the bus station. There are four taxi, minibus, and "large
bus" stands within a few blocks. They are surrounded/connected by a
maze of markets and 3 columns of minibuses snaking around the block
that never seem to move.
Traffic is mostly paralyzed. I'm used to taxi drivers occasionally
turning off their cars to wait in traffic, but here they seem to be on
and off about six times a minute. As a result most people get around
on boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis).
I've seen motorcycle taxis in Africa, but never like this. They weave
in and out of cars through any space available, drive down the wrong
way of one way streets and take short cuts through gas
stations/sidewalks/medians etc. Kampala is built on a series of hills
(like Rome!) so the boda-bodas appear out of no where at the top or
fly on the downhills. And there are thousands of them.
Most of the drivers are from the villages where a bank gives them a
loan for the bike. With what they make in a day, the drivers can get
some food, gas, and maybe beer, but the rest of the money goes towards
the loan. If the driver is ever able to fully pay it off, they become
the owner of an old and overused motorcycle.
Today I took my first boda-boda.
I picked the first driver I found who would give me a good price and
didn't look like a teenager. When he put on his helmet (I didn't get
one) I noticed the bottom half of the plastic windscreen had been
broken off. Good sign!
To sum it up, it was the first proper adrenaline rush I've had in a
long time. The route he decided to take included main streets, side
streets, dirt paths and long steep downhills. We almost hit two other
boda-bodas and were about 4 inches from slamming straight into an SVU
that cut in front of us (seriously I almost fell off). The entire time
I had a stupid grin on my face, saying out loud into the wind, "Weeee!
We're going to die!"
And that was my day thus far.
Oh, and I also had some really good coffee.
Lake Vicotria Ferry
My ferry across Lake Victoria left at 9pm so I arrived at the dock at
8pm and had a Safari beer in the incredibly dingy bar at the ferry
port. While I waiting I struck up a conversation with a few locals,
one of whom happened to be a "Tanzanian Health Inspector for the port
of Mwanza" (read: bribe taker. just kidding.... not really...) He was
a little drunk and decided he would escort me on board.
The boat defined the look of "weathered". The steel hull was painted a
pale yellow that gradually faded to rust along the crevices. The
wooden floors and railings had been polishing of thousands of feet and
hands, almost seemed like they would be soft if you touched them.
Anyway, we walked through the loading gate and onto the boat and he
began to to introduce me to all the officers. It was kind of like
being a child getting a tour of the cockpit.
Finally, he showed me the bar, chugged down some beer and hopped off.
Once the boat pulled away I locked up my backpack and started to
explore (where are the lifeboats? am I the only muzungo? etc.).
Eventually, I made my way back to the bar. I had a feeling that my new
health inspector "friend" had left his beer tab for me to pay.
I was right.
Occasionally, the bartender or a steward would ask for the money. I
would laugh (politely), hold their hand (friendly custom), and explain
in my personal mix of English and Swahili that "1: I was unaware that
we was drinking on my tab. 2: He was not my friend. 3: If they wanted
any money they should find him in Mwanza" Long story short, I never
paid a shilling for his tab.
Overall, the ride was uneventful, I chatted in the bar, watched the
black waters of Lake Victoria, and went to sleep.
The next morning we arrived in Bukoba at 6:45am. I rushed to the bus
station and caught a bus to Kampala, Uganda with 10 minutes to spare.
8pm and had a Safari beer in the incredibly dingy bar at the ferry
port. While I waiting I struck up a conversation with a few locals,
one of whom happened to be a "Tanzanian Health Inspector for the port
of Mwanza" (read: bribe taker. just kidding.... not really...) He was
a little drunk and decided he would escort me on board.
The boat defined the look of "weathered". The steel hull was painted a
pale yellow that gradually faded to rust along the crevices. The
wooden floors and railings had been polishing of thousands of feet and
hands, almost seemed like they would be soft if you touched them.
Anyway, we walked through the loading gate and onto the boat and he
began to to introduce me to all the officers. It was kind of like
being a child getting a tour of the cockpit.
Finally, he showed me the bar, chugged down some beer and hopped off.
Once the boat pulled away I locked up my backpack and started to
explore (where are the lifeboats? am I the only muzungo? etc.).
Eventually, I made my way back to the bar. I had a feeling that my new
health inspector "friend" had left his beer tab for me to pay.
I was right.
Occasionally, the bartender or a steward would ask for the money. I
would laugh (politely), hold their hand (friendly custom), and explain
in my personal mix of English and Swahili that "1: I was unaware that
we was drinking on my tab. 2: He was not my friend. 3: If they wanted
any money they should find him in Mwanza" Long story short, I never
paid a shilling for his tab.
Overall, the ride was uneventful, I chatted in the bar, watched the
black waters of Lake Victoria, and went to sleep.
The next morning we arrived in Bukoba at 6:45am. I rushed to the bus
station and caught a bus to Kampala, Uganda with 10 minutes to spare.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Not on the Pemba ferry
I'm case you may have read the NYtimes article about a ferry capsizing from Zanzibar to Pemba, I would like to assure you that I was not on that ferry. I am over 100 miles away on Lake Victoria where after a similar tragedy 15 years ago the government has gone to enormous lengths to ensure safety standards for ferry travel.
My heart goes out to the families of those aboard that ship.
Mwanza
I'm not really sure how I feel about Mwanza, Tanzania. When I arrived yesterday I was tired and dehydrated and the city felt dusty and crappy. Slowly, as I've explored, it's grown on me.
It's Tanzania's second largest city and the main port on Lake Victoria (I've seen Lake Victoria!). There are no crows, unlike almost everywhere else I've been in Africa. Instead, the skies are littered with brown hawks and kingfishers. On the ground, giant nasty looking cranes roam through trash. The terrain is hilly and possibly resembles San Francisco before development.
For a city of it's size there are few mzungos (white people). As a result, people are often surprised when I greet them in Swahili. Also, there are only a couple of hawkers offering safari tours.
Today, I strolled out of town, eventually settling on a large rock to watch village life on the hill below. Two young girls sat nearby starring at me, occasionally offering a "shikamoo" (an gesture of respect for an elder). After a few minutes a teenage boy sat down and we chatted for twenty minutes. He asked my opinion on "girls in secondary school being allowed to have abortions". This was a subject he had been asked to debate in school. Obviously, I chose my words carefully.
I'm here until tomorrow evening when I'll take a night ferry to Bukoba. Inshallah, after docking I'll be able to immediately catch a bus to Kampala, Uganda.
Side note: the bus is only six hours! Barely worth it to even bring a book...
It's Tanzania's second largest city and the main port on Lake Victoria (I've seen Lake Victoria!). There are no crows, unlike almost everywhere else I've been in Africa. Instead, the skies are littered with brown hawks and kingfishers. On the ground, giant nasty looking cranes roam through trash. The terrain is hilly and possibly resembles San Francisco before development.
For a city of it's size there are few mzungos (white people). As a result, people are often surprised when I greet them in Swahili. Also, there are only a couple of hawkers offering safari tours.
Today, I strolled out of town, eventually settling on a large rock to watch village life on the hill below. Two young girls sat nearby starring at me, occasionally offering a "shikamoo" (an gesture of respect for an elder). After a few minutes a teenage boy sat down and we chatted for twenty minutes. He asked my opinion on "girls in secondary school being allowed to have abortions". This was a subject he had been asked to debate in school. Obviously, I chose my words carefully.
I'm here until tomorrow evening when I'll take a night ferry to Bukoba. Inshallah, after docking I'll be able to immediately catch a bus to Kampala, Uganda.
Side note: the bus is only six hours! Barely worth it to even bring a book...
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Tengeru Village
I am currently staying with my friend Thompson and his family about
15km outside of Arusha in Tengeru Village. I arrived on Sunday with a
5kg bag of rice and half a kg of instant coffee (somewhat of a
delicacy). The family has welcomed me warming and I'm having trouble
finishing the amount of food they have make for me.
Currently, Thompson is out of work and finding odd jobs to support his
family. His two elder sons are at boarding school and as I understand
it doing very well. His two younger daughters (10 and 13 years old)
have been around the house as they attend local schools.
Thompson is looking to either:
A. Save enough money to go back to mines (he needs enough for a box of
dynamite).
or
B. Save enough to attend French classes in order to get a tourism job.
As we all know, the French like to be spoken to in French...
I'm in Arusha right now to work out some plane flights and I think
I'll try to buy him a French-to-English-Swahili book as a surprise.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying their hospitality. Yesterday, we walked
to his mother's house with a bundle of banana leaves for her two cows.
She was thrilled (understatement) that I had come around and sat me
down and presented me it a bottle of Coca-Cola. Repeatedly, she told
me how much she loved her son for sending me over (at least that was
what I made out since she doesn't speak any English).
On the way back I had to move quickly through the village because if I
lingered I would have started a riot. Every child who saw me would
desperately chase after us trying shake hands with the mzungo (white
person).
His step-granddaughter (4 years old) has also been around and is
developing an obsession with me. She is always around the corner
watching whatever I do. If I say hello (mombo) she'll break into a big
smile and hide her face. I'm hoping by the time I leave she'll be
brave enough to say "hi" back.
15km outside of Arusha in Tengeru Village. I arrived on Sunday with a
5kg bag of rice and half a kg of instant coffee (somewhat of a
delicacy). The family has welcomed me warming and I'm having trouble
finishing the amount of food they have make for me.
Currently, Thompson is out of work and finding odd jobs to support his
family. His two elder sons are at boarding school and as I understand
it doing very well. His two younger daughters (10 and 13 years old)
have been around the house as they attend local schools.
Thompson is looking to either:
A. Save enough money to go back to mines (he needs enough for a box of
dynamite).
or
B. Save enough to attend French classes in order to get a tourism job.
As we all know, the French like to be spoken to in French...
I'm in Arusha right now to work out some plane flights and I think
I'll try to buy him a French-to-English-Swahili book as a surprise.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying their hospitality. Yesterday, we walked
to his mother's house with a bundle of banana leaves for her two cows.
She was thrilled (understatement) that I had come around and sat me
down and presented me it a bottle of Coca-Cola. Repeatedly, she told
me how much she loved her son for sending me over (at least that was
what I made out since she doesn't speak any English).
On the way back I had to move quickly through the village because if I
lingered I would have started a riot. Every child who saw me would
desperately chase after us trying shake hands with the mzungo (white
person).
His step-granddaughter (4 years old) has also been around and is
developing an obsession with me. She is always around the corner
watching whatever I do. If I say hello (mombo) she'll break into a big
smile and hide her face. I'm hoping by the time I leave she'll be
brave enough to say "hi" back.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Swahili
I really like this language. The words are phonetic and its relatively
easy to pick up.
My favorite word is MARAHABA. "Marahaba" is the response to SHIKAMOO
(which literally translates to "I hold your feet"). When you greet an
elder you say "Shikamoo" and they respond back "Marahaba". Most older
Tanzanians will touch their heart and say it in a deep growl from the
back of their throat. They way they say it is probably why I like it
so much.
My least favorite word/phrase is "HAKUNA MATATA". According to "The
Lion King" this means "no worries for the rest of your days", but it's
not really Swahili, its Disney-ili. As I understand it, before the
movie came out no one said it. Instead, they said "Hamna Shida" (no
problem). "Hakuna Matata" is generally directed towards tourists
(wazungo) because they find it so cute. Every time I hear it my brain
reads it as "Hi! I'm going to sell you a low quality piece of **** for
an exorbitant price!".
Anyway, I'm back in Dar Es Salaam. It's bittersweet. I'm leaving an
amazing week in Zanzibar but returning to Safari Inn where I've gotten
to know all of the taxi drivers and hotel staff in the last couple of
weeks. Tomorrow I leave for Moshi on what should be my final grueling
10 hour bus ride (inshallah).
In Moshi I'll be staying with my friend Thompson which should be interesting.
easy to pick up.
My favorite word is MARAHABA. "Marahaba" is the response to SHIKAMOO
(which literally translates to "I hold your feet"). When you greet an
elder you say "Shikamoo" and they respond back "Marahaba". Most older
Tanzanians will touch their heart and say it in a deep growl from the
back of their throat. They way they say it is probably why I like it
so much.
My least favorite word/phrase is "HAKUNA MATATA". According to "The
Lion King" this means "no worries for the rest of your days", but it's
not really Swahili, its Disney-ili. As I understand it, before the
movie came out no one said it. Instead, they said "Hamna Shida" (no
problem). "Hakuna Matata" is generally directed towards tourists
(wazungo) because they find it so cute. Every time I hear it my brain
reads it as "Hi! I'm going to sell you a low quality piece of **** for
an exorbitant price!".
Anyway, I'm back in Dar Es Salaam. It's bittersweet. I'm leaving an
amazing week in Zanzibar but returning to Safari Inn where I've gotten
to know all of the taxi drivers and hotel staff in the last couple of
weeks. Tomorrow I leave for Moshi on what should be my final grueling
10 hour bus ride (inshallah).
In Moshi I'll be staying with my friend Thompson which should be interesting.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Eid in Zanzibar
I've been in Zanzibar for about a week and its wonderful. Even better
than the last time I was here in 2007.
I met up with a friend from the train and we're staying in our own 2
bedroom apartment in the middle of Stone Town for about $9 a night.
Each day begins and ends with us sitting on our balcony and watching
the street below.
Stone Town is the main town of Zanzibar Island and a beautiful place
with ancient stucco buildings and a maze of tiny streets only wide
enough for a moped.
If you leave town, the beaches look like a default Windows desktop.
Its one of my favorite places in the world.
than the last time I was here in 2007.
I met up with a friend from the train and we're staying in our own 2
bedroom apartment in the middle of Stone Town for about $9 a night.
Each day begins and ends with us sitting on our balcony and watching
the street below.
Stone Town is the main town of Zanzibar Island and a beautiful place
with ancient stucco buildings and a maze of tiny streets only wide
enough for a moped.
If you leave town, the beaches look like a default Windows desktop.
Its one of my favorite places in the world.
For the past few weeks, every place I have been as revolved around
Ramadan. This means I've ducked in to a cafe to have a sip of water
while the sun is up. Everyone is pretty strict about keeping up with
their prayers, enough so that I can use the call to prayer to judge
the time.
My best Ramadan experience was last week in Dar Es Salaam. After
sundown, a friend and I met up with a local we'd met the previous
week. While we ate he explained to me that that night was the most
important and longest prayer because it commemorates Mohammed's
revelation of the Koran. Then he invited me to GO PRAY WITH HIM.
So I did.
He gave me a quick run down of what to do and joked that my beard was
long enough I wouldn't get too many strange looks.
I don't have time to go through the entire process of washing, motions
and procedure, but I will say that it was one of the best experiences
of my trip.
Anyway, Ramadan has just finished in Zanzibar which means that we've
entered the 4 day festival of Eid. There is a collective relief and
spirit of joy throughout the town. The poor are fed, candy and toys
are dolled out to children and everyone is constantly moving around to
see friends and family.
For Eid it is tradition that everyone wears new clothes (clean ones
for me). The happiest are probably the little girls strolling around
in brightly colored dresses covered in flowers and plastic gems.
Walking around town there is a constant refrain of "Eid Mubarak" (may
you enjoy a blessed festival).
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Mombasa
My hotel room in Mombasa is in the middle of town on the second floor of a building (turn right at the landing to go to reception, not left into the Evangelical ministry). Outside are dozens of wooden tables selling literally thousands of pairs of pants. My room is infested with ants and my bathroom is infested with moths (so much so that when I took a shower I didn't squash any because I felt like I was on their turf). Across the street is a mosque that reads from the Koran into the night. On the plus side, the mosquito net over my bed is pretty big.
Mombasa is an island city (like Manhattan), but doesn't feel like it (like Manhattan). In the past 500 years it has been ruled by Portugese, Arabs, Germans, British and now Keyans. There are also a fair amount of Indian expats and some Chinese (in my experience there are "some Chinese" in every African city these days). As a result, Mombasa is a bit of cultural mix and has some great resturants and a vibrant nightlife.
Traffic is pretty bad, but getting around can be fun. The minbuses are brightly colored, play a loud constant African beat and the interiors are lit by black lights. Also, like Dar Es Salaam there are numerous three wheeled tuk-tuks driving around. Used as transport they can be quite exciting: you feel like you could die at any moment as they weave through the streets.
Tanzanians have a stereotype of Kenyans being haugty. I don't find them rude (I've met some very generous ones) but they do come across as less friendly and interested in new people. That said, I don't get hassled on the street here and this is the first African city I've been to where no one has offered me weed.
In my pictures below, the smiling man is Mr. Wycliff. He gave me some coins from the British colonial period. In exchange I need to mail a copy of that picture and a couple of bucks for the coins. Someone, please remind me to do this.
There are a fair amount of children begging on the street. From my hotel window yesterday, I watched a mother leave her five year old daughter and toddler son to beg for change from passing cars. This lasted about 5 minutes once the mother was out of sight. Soon, her children were joining other kids doing cartwheels in the median.
Last night, returning from a bar, I decided that I didn't like the cookies that I had bought for myself and would give them to some children on the street. I walked up to group of little boys and handed them to the nearest child who promptly snatched them from my hands. A few minutes later I found him sitting under a tree licking the frosting off and then devouring the rest of the cookie. When another child from his group approached he bolted away. As he ran toward me I blocked his path a bit and yelled.
He stopped and looked back at me. In a combination of English and Swahili I scolded him: "Hapana! Share biscuts with Rafiki" This was accompanied by some tipsy hand grestures on my part.
I guess the point came across because he sulked back to the other children and divided up the remaining cookies.
Mombasa is an island city (like Manhattan), but doesn't feel like it (like Manhattan). In the past 500 years it has been ruled by Portugese, Arabs, Germans, British and now Keyans. There are also a fair amount of Indian expats and some Chinese (in my experience there are "some Chinese" in every African city these days). As a result, Mombasa is a bit of cultural mix and has some great resturants and a vibrant nightlife.
Traffic is pretty bad, but getting around can be fun. The minbuses are brightly colored, play a loud constant African beat and the interiors are lit by black lights. Also, like Dar Es Salaam there are numerous three wheeled tuk-tuks driving around. Used as transport they can be quite exciting: you feel like you could die at any moment as they weave through the streets.
Tanzanians have a stereotype of Kenyans being haugty. I don't find them rude (I've met some very generous ones) but they do come across as less friendly and interested in new people. That said, I don't get hassled on the street here and this is the first African city I've been to where no one has offered me weed.
In my pictures below, the smiling man is Mr. Wycliff. He gave me some coins from the British colonial period. In exchange I need to mail a copy of that picture and a couple of bucks for the coins. Someone, please remind me to do this.
There are a fair amount of children begging on the street. From my hotel window yesterday, I watched a mother leave her five year old daughter and toddler son to beg for change from passing cars. This lasted about 5 minutes once the mother was out of sight. Soon, her children were joining other kids doing cartwheels in the median.
Last night, returning from a bar, I decided that I didn't like the cookies that I had bought for myself and would give them to some children on the street. I walked up to group of little boys and handed them to the nearest child who promptly snatched them from my hands. A few minutes later I found him sitting under a tree licking the frosting off and then devouring the rest of the cookie. When another child from his group approached he bolted away. As he ran toward me I blocked his path a bit and yelled.
He stopped and looked back at me. In a combination of English and Swahili I scolded him: "Hapana! Share biscuts with Rafiki" This was accompanied by some tipsy hand grestures on my part.
I guess the point came across because he sulked back to the other children and divided up the remaining cookies.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Dar Es Salaam
Just got into the 2nd half of my trip. I've been in Dar Es Salaam for three days now and will be using it as my home base as I travel to Mombasa and Zanzibar.
So Matt, what is Dar Es Salaam like?
Well, Dar Es Salaam is the largest city in Tanzania with a population of 2.5 million (metro area).
I'm going to talk about Dar Es Salaam proper i.e. the city center. Specifically, I'll ignore the posh suburbs like Msasani Peninsula where you'll see a husky American wearing a Jim Beam shirt in the middle of Ramadan and a "Masai Warrior" opens the front door of your resort hotel.
A few days ago, my friend described Dar Es Salaam as a "dirty, broken, hell hole filled with scarred and deformed thieves". Granted, she was coming off a long day.
The city is seedy, humid and mad, but also vibrant and diverse.
First off, the coast of this part of Africa (the Swahili coast) is like no place else on Earth. The culture has been heavily influenced by Arab traders for more than 12 centuries. This went so far that in the early 1800s the Sultan of Oman (it's near Saudi Arabia) moved his capital to Zanzibar (an island off the coast). The architecture feels more Arabic than African and the language of Swahili is Arabic influenced.
A large population of the coast is Muslim and finding a meal can be hard during Ramadan (but I've still managed to eat some of the best Indian food in my life).
The first night in Dar Es Salaam I wondered into a cafeteria of sorts with the two women I traveled with on the train. There wasn't much to eat as the restaurant didn't buy much during Ramadan.
As we tried to figure out what to eat, an older man came to our assistance and explained the food in front of us.
He sort of looked like a middle eastern Robin Williams and was in a good mood after breaking his fast for Ramadan. He told us his grandfather used to own the building until it was nationalized after Tanzania gain independence (1960s). "Before that," he said, "Dar Es Salaam was a little piece of heaven." But he's lost his love for it. Walking around I can understand what he means: the buildings are beautiful but decaying.
Once we finished our meal he happily paid for it and wished us a good journey. Hopefully I'll see him again so I can return the favor.
So Matt, what is Dar Es Salaam like?
Well, Dar Es Salaam is the largest city in Tanzania with a population of 2.5 million (metro area).
I'm going to talk about Dar Es Salaam proper i.e. the city center. Specifically, I'll ignore the posh suburbs like Msasani Peninsula where you'll see a husky American wearing a Jim Beam shirt in the middle of Ramadan and a "Masai Warrior" opens the front door of your resort hotel.
A few days ago, my friend described Dar Es Salaam as a "dirty, broken, hell hole filled with scarred and deformed thieves". Granted, she was coming off a long day.
The city is seedy, humid and mad, but also vibrant and diverse.
First off, the coast of this part of Africa (the Swahili coast) is like no place else on Earth. The culture has been heavily influenced by Arab traders for more than 12 centuries. This went so far that in the early 1800s the Sultan of Oman (it's near Saudi Arabia) moved his capital to Zanzibar (an island off the coast). The architecture feels more Arabic than African and the language of Swahili is Arabic influenced.
A large population of the coast is Muslim and finding a meal can be hard during Ramadan (but I've still managed to eat some of the best Indian food in my life).
The first night in Dar Es Salaam I wondered into a cafeteria of sorts with the two women I traveled with on the train. There wasn't much to eat as the restaurant didn't buy much during Ramadan.
As we tried to figure out what to eat, an older man came to our assistance and explained the food in front of us.
He sort of looked like a middle eastern Robin Williams and was in a good mood after breaking his fast for Ramadan. He told us his grandfather used to own the building until it was nationalized after Tanzania gain independence (1960s). "Before that," he said, "Dar Es Salaam was a little piece of heaven." But he's lost his love for it. Walking around I can understand what he means: the buildings are beautiful but decaying.
Once we finished our meal he happily paid for it and wished us a good journey. Hopefully I'll see him again so I can return the favor.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Train to Dar Es Salaam
Let's pretend that you are taking a train from New York City to Chicago (I know Amtrak doesn't do the route straight, but we'll use our imagination).
Your train is scheduled to leave at 1pm, so you arrive at Penn Station at 12:30, ticket in hand. But your train is not leaving at 1pm. On the grapevine you hear that it has been delayed for 2 hours.
Okay, fine. Sit down read a book.
At 2pm the train has been delayed until 4pm.
Okay get some food.
At 3pm an Amtrak representative wheels out a chalk board which reads "DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES BEYOND OUR CONTROL THE TRAIN WILL BE ARRIVING AT 7PM"
Four hours later 7pm comes and goes without a train passing through the city. The sun starts to go down and there is a city wide blackout in New York so now you are sitting in the darkness. The bathroom was nasty before, but the stench is now filtering across Penn Station. It has no plumbing nor has it been cleaned since the morning and can't be cleaned until the station is empty and the sun comes up.
At 8pm some wheels away the chalkboard and doesn't return.
At 11pm everyone has begun to wrap up in a blanket to sleep. As far as you can tell everyone who works for Amtrak has gone home.
At 2am you fall asleep on the stone floor.
At 4am the train is said to be near.
At 5am it arrives.
In New York, there would have been a riot. In Mbeya, Tanzania there is patience. I heard my favorite line while talking to a local around 8pm: as he was breaking his fast for Ramadan he said "Don't lose hope, the train always comes."
It was a little hellish, but could have been much worse. As I waited for the train to Dar Es Salaam I had good company with other travelers.
Four days before, I had come to Mbeya early to buy tickets for myself, a South African girl and an Irish couple that I had met in Malawi. We planned to shared book an entire 4 four person compartment (only single gender compartments unless you buy the whole thing). However, the Irish couple never showed (in their defense I met them in Dar last night and learned one of them had contracted malaria in Malawi). To help fill our room I offered a ticket to a British woman who had gotten a 2nd class ticket and would have been sleeping in a room with strangers. Together, we three were a little team who would band together and make the journey to Dar surviving further delay, stench, food shortage, alcoholics, a stomach bug (pole sana to Lauren), crying babies, bureaucracy and freezing temparatures.
And we only arrived a mere 15 hours late.
Your train is scheduled to leave at 1pm, so you arrive at Penn Station at 12:30, ticket in hand. But your train is not leaving at 1pm. On the grapevine you hear that it has been delayed for 2 hours.
Okay, fine. Sit down read a book.
At 2pm the train has been delayed until 4pm.
Okay get some food.
At 3pm an Amtrak representative wheels out a chalk board which reads "DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES BEYOND OUR CONTROL THE TRAIN WILL BE ARRIVING AT 7PM"
Four hours later 7pm comes and goes without a train passing through the city. The sun starts to go down and there is a city wide blackout in New York so now you are sitting in the darkness. The bathroom was nasty before, but the stench is now filtering across Penn Station. It has no plumbing nor has it been cleaned since the morning and can't be cleaned until the station is empty and the sun comes up.
At 8pm some wheels away the chalkboard and doesn't return.
At 11pm everyone has begun to wrap up in a blanket to sleep. As far as you can tell everyone who works for Amtrak has gone home.
At 2am you fall asleep on the stone floor.
At 4am the train is said to be near.
At 5am it arrives.
In New York, there would have been a riot. In Mbeya, Tanzania there is patience. I heard my favorite line while talking to a local around 8pm: as he was breaking his fast for Ramadan he said "Don't lose hope, the train always comes."
It was a little hellish, but could have been much worse. As I waited for the train to Dar Es Salaam I had good company with other travelers.
Four days before, I had come to Mbeya early to buy tickets for myself, a South African girl and an Irish couple that I had met in Malawi. We planned to shared book an entire 4 four person compartment (only single gender compartments unless you buy the whole thing). However, the Irish couple never showed (in their defense I met them in Dar last night and learned one of them had contracted malaria in Malawi). To help fill our room I offered a ticket to a British woman who had gotten a 2nd class ticket and would have been sleeping in a room with strangers. Together, we three were a little team who would band together and make the journey to Dar surviving further delay, stench, food shortage, alcoholics, a stomach bug (pole sana to Lauren), crying babies, bureaucracy and freezing temparatures.
And we only arrived a mere 15 hours late.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Matt in Malawi
Converse sold
A few days ago, my friend Mike and I decided to walk into town to pick up a few odds and ends. We we found about half of what we needed which is an okay percentage (for instance the bakery still had fresh bread but the clinics have no cough syrup this week).
While walking back I decided to order some food at the restaurant at the top of the hill. (For dinner you have to order three hours in advance so they can buy ingredients). The owner/cook is named Calvin: a Rastafarian who was one of the original vendors to tourists in the area, but now happily lives outside of the hawker stalls (as a Godfather figure to the rest, Mike says). He also good conversation: "Rastas believe that the fruit of the tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden is weed not apples. I smoke everyday for meditation and health, and I haven't gotten malaria or a headache in 15 years."
Anyway, as we approached his thatched summer hut we saw a large cloud of smoke drifting out onto our path.
"I guess it's a camp fire? Calvin prolly knows what he is doing", Mike suggested.
Still, we walked over to check and discovered several bush fires that had crept up the hill towards his hut. Calvin and his friend said hello calmly as the beat flames with tree branches and doused them with a couple bottles of water. Joining in the effort, we twisted off a couple branches, and I selected a flame and went to work. It took a couple minutes to kill it and within ten minutes, the fire had been subdued.
"When you get a chance can I order some dinner?" I asked.
Calvin nodded and strolled back and sat down with a little notebook and wrote down my order. Then, with smoke still pouring through his hut, he lit a large joint, sat back and looked out at the lake.
Mike and I departed back to the lodge where I picked up a my pair of black high topped converse that I wanted to sell as I was tired of carrying the extra weight.
On the way to the craft market I stopped by Calvin's to see if the fire was still under control. It was, and he was sitting exactly where I had left him. He turned and eyeing my shoes asked if he could try them on.
"Sure."
He laced them up and to my surprise they fit him perfectly and looked pretty smart as well.
We agreed to trade my shoes and a razor I didn't need for 4 small paintings of his.
While walking back I decided to order some food at the restaurant at the top of the hill. (For dinner you have to order three hours in advance so they can buy ingredients). The owner/cook is named Calvin: a Rastafarian who was one of the original vendors to tourists in the area, but now happily lives outside of the hawker stalls (as a Godfather figure to the rest, Mike says). He also good conversation: "Rastas believe that the fruit of the tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden is weed not apples. I smoke everyday for meditation and health, and I haven't gotten malaria or a headache in 15 years."
Anyway, as we approached his thatched summer hut we saw a large cloud of smoke drifting out onto our path.
"I guess it's a camp fire? Calvin prolly knows what he is doing", Mike suggested.
Still, we walked over to check and discovered several bush fires that had crept up the hill towards his hut. Calvin and his friend said hello calmly as the beat flames with tree branches and doused them with a couple bottles of water. Joining in the effort, we twisted off a couple branches, and I selected a flame and went to work. It took a couple minutes to kill it and within ten minutes, the fire had been subdued.
"When you get a chance can I order some dinner?" I asked.
Calvin nodded and strolled back and sat down with a little notebook and wrote down my order. Then, with smoke still pouring through his hut, he lit a large joint, sat back and looked out at the lake.
Mike and I departed back to the lodge where I picked up a my pair of black high topped converse that I wanted to sell as I was tired of carrying the extra weight.
On the way to the craft market I stopped by Calvin's to see if the fire was still under control. It was, and he was sitting exactly where I had left him. He turned and eyeing my shoes asked if he could try them on.
"Sure."
He laced them up and to my surprise they fit him perfectly and looked pretty smart as well.
We agreed to trade my shoes and a razor I didn't need for 4 small paintings of his.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Nkata Bay
Since Tuesday I feel like I've been on vacation.
I'm in Nkata Bay on Lake Malawi which is so big it feels like an ocean. I'm staying at a lodge outside of town (down a foot path a located along a sloping hill that leads down into the bay). Lizards with bright blue tails crawl around giant brick steps that lead between chalets and the bar. When you talk to other guests about their plans the general response is "I've been teaching English for about four months, I'll prolly leave when I run out of money in a couple months."
Every couple days someone will take a three hour mini bus to the nearest large town and bring back a newspaper which everyone trades around throughout the day.
On Wednesday my major activity was swimming to the bar.
Today I snorkeled and then sat around eating fresh bread one of the cooks was selling.
I'm in Nkata Bay on Lake Malawi which is so big it feels like an ocean. I'm staying at a lodge outside of town (down a foot path a located along a sloping hill that leads down into the bay). Lizards with bright blue tails crawl around giant brick steps that lead between chalets and the bar. When you talk to other guests about their plans the general response is "I've been teaching English for about four months, I'll prolly leave when I run out of money in a couple months."
Every couple days someone will take a three hour mini bus to the nearest large town and bring back a newspaper which everyone trades around throughout the day.
On Wednesday my major activity was swimming to the bar.
Today I snorkeled and then sat around eating fresh bread one of the cooks was selling.
Protests on the way
Late July in Malawi, food protests evolved into a political protest which became riots fueled by a multiple long simmering grievances held by the Malawi people (economy, lack of jobs, petrol shortages, corruption, Chinese business, etc.) 22 people were shot by the government. I've talked to a few people who were here at the time and have gotten stories of tear gas and mobs.
It's common knowledge across the country that the next protest will occur on the 17th of august. Travelers either:
It's common knowledge across the country that the next protest will occur on the 17th of august. Travelers either:
A. Plan on getting out of the country.
B. Holding up in their hotel/lodge.
I will personally be out of the country, and at this point with a couple days to spare.
No one has any idea how it will turn out. The government devalued the currency today and the main political party has been bleeding members. I've heard that the police won't fire on protesters, but the army (bolstered by troops from Zimbabwe) would.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Lilongwe, Malawi
Lilongwe was my favorite African capital so far. Nothing to special, but more compact and easier to get around.
A few hours after getting in, I took a minibus to the local football stadium and watched a match. The game was between a government sponsored team and a team funded by "a very rich man from the city". In the end, the metaphor for Socialism won 3-2.
A few hours after getting in, I took a minibus to the local football stadium and watched a match. The game was between a government sponsored team and a team funded by "a very rich man from the city". In the end, the metaphor for Socialism won 3-2.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)