Jo's Travel Blog

Rajasthan: Xmas 2011 plus New Years 2012.

2012-01-11T18:11:00.000-08:00

Or this could be subtitled, The Dog Ate the Newtons, or The Cow in the RR station.

This year three of us from last year’s Oman trip plus a fourth from a Mali trip, joined forces to explore Rajasthan independently. Two Americans and two Brits, all women of a certain maturity. Most of the planning was done by one of the Brits and implemented by a New Zealander with an Indian bas ed tour company.

Accommodation was in reasonably priced guesthouses, havelis, hotels and two nights sleeping out on charboys. Transportation was mostly by train - first class, second class, third class, coach - where ever we could get seats. Several times we had car and driver as there was no other way to reach the destination. Locally, the four of us crowded into motorized rickshaws (aka tuk-tuks) as necessary.

The itinerary was Delhi>Jaisalmer>Jodphur>Jaipur>Pushkar>Udaipur>Ranakpur>
Ranthambore>Agra>Delhi with one going on to Bharatpur for two days bird watching while two headed home and another onto Mumbai to visit a friend. Armed with three guidebooks - Rough Guide, Lonely Planet and Footprints - and an ability to bargain, we spent three weeks in Rajasthan. And yes, Indians celebrate the holidays, with lights and trees and tinsel.

Actually, on Christmas Day, we were homeless in Pushkar. We had to check out of our guesthouse before noon and weren’t due to take the the “Midnight Flyer” out of Ajmer to Udaipur until 12:55 AM. Fortunately, the parent haveli for our lodging let us leave baggage. We wandered about the town, famous for its Fall Camel Fair.

Three of us made Puja with flowers given us; however, we may not have had the proper attitude for difficulties followed us for a few days afterward. We had a good Christmas dinner at the haveli and then to the Ajmer station, where the floor was covered with sleepers, not unique, but the wandering cow was. Roaming in between prone bodies, she managed not to splat on anyone.

Turned out there was a mistake in our tickets, the first train to Udaipur was full up, and we waited for the next train, now with only a General ticket but no seat/bunk assignment. Time was spent observing the rats’ activity about the station. Did get on this train, did get places to sit/ lie down.

New Years was better - we had a roof over our heads at Ranthamblore - but a severe thunder storm blew the management’s plans for a big New Years Eve Garden gala outside with food, fire, music and dancer. It became a crowded inside affair, still with food, music dancer - and space heater.. New Year’s Day was dry so we did eat outside, huddled about the various fire pits. But two trips for some, three for others, out to the the National Park netted no Tiger sightings - suspect they holed up with the storm and the wet. But there was a interesting film shown, Broken Tail, following a local tiger that wandered way off its turf

But first was Delhi where we stayed in the Old City, walking distance to the Red Fort, the Jama Mosque,Lahore Gate and Gandhi Memorial. Hiring a taxi, we moved into New Delhi and Humayun’s Tomb (precursor to the Taj Mahal), Connaught Place, India Gate where a rehearsal for Government Day ceremonies was happening, and a walk around the beautifully maintained government buildings - as contrasted with other parts of Delhi that weren’t as beautifully maintained.

Then, to Jaisalmer on the edge of the Thar desert. It reminded me of Timbuktu - what is there about frontier desert towns? A gritty, unfinished quality. We stayed at a charming guesthouse on the edge of town where arrangements were made for two nights in the desert with two camels, overnight in the desert being a big tourist attraction, I found it a tacky desert, decorated with bits and pieces of trash.

We “camped” roadside near the structure holding equipment for the campout. The quilts and charboys were lugged a bit away, so there was an illusion of solitude,but tire tracks and lights of a nearby village gave lie to that illusion. We, our guide, his eleven year helper, and the camels, wandered about aimlessly, returning to to base at night. To experience the true Thar desert, you needed a permit to get further in, nearer the Pakistan border.

But others in the Gang of Four, enjoyed the experience. even the roaming dog who stole the raspberry newtons from my backpack, wrapping and all.

In Jaisalmer, there was the Fort with its shops and Jain Temples, the lovely Gadi Sugur, once the source of water for the town, and the puppet show - actually marionettes. Fascinating place.

Jophur was next: My notes describe it as “crowded, colorful, dusty, noisy and messy” but then, that describes many Indian towns. LP says of The Fort, Meherangarh, that it is “the most formidable fort in fort-studded Rajasthan”. No argument from me. Awesome, though I was impressed by all the Rajasthan Forts. However, this museum shop had the best selection of any shop on the trip. And the Museum had a lovely collection of old photos taken when King George and Queen Mary were in Jodphur for a Dubar.

Onto Jaipur where we stayed in the middle of the old city where the hotel warned occupants to keep windows shut to keep the monkeys out. On our list was Jantur Mantar, the observatory, which is the best preserved of the five built by Jai Singh. It was as I remembered, with various constructs for measuring the sun. Three of our group took a look at the City Palace Complex and weren’t particularly impressed. But the Fort-palace at Amber was not to be missed, with or without the elephant ride.

Next was the brief stay at Pushkar before heading onto Udaipur, where we relaxed three nights at a haveli overlooking Lake Pichela. Per LP, Udaipur is called the Venice of the East. Lovely and serene - though once away from the haveli, the sounds of India were unabated. We took a boat trip about the lake, three of us had massages, we explored the City Palace and museums, had free tea in the Chrystal Gallery - or at least I think it was - and an evenings entertainment by rather mature dancers and marionettes.

Ranakpur was next. This by car as no train went there. Enroute we stopped at Kumbhalgarh, a huge secluded 15th Century fort, with 36 km. of walls, surrounding palaces, gardens,and temples. Once at Ranakpur, we had the evening meal at an nearby elegant hotel - and I was more impressed by the price than the meal. But the hotel was worth a walk through. The next morning was spent at the Jain Temple complex. with their erotic sculptures and distinctive architecture.

Then to Ranthamblore, with the rainy New Year’s Eve and unsuccessful tiger hunt. However, the Park was beautiful and birds and beasts were about - just not the elusive tiger. .

Agra is in Utter Pradesh but a sight of the Taj Mahal is mandatory for a traveler in India - and two of our group hadn’t been before. We spent time at the imposing, red sandstone Fort where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son for seven years, the Itimad-ud-daulah (aka “baby Taj”) and the Taj Mahal and its adjacent structures and gardens. It was foggy/smoggy but the Taj’s beauty shown through.

This was the end of the line: three of us back to Delhi and one off to Birder’s Inn.

Throughout the journey, we experienced the generosity and kindness of Indians, even when I impolitely waved off a man only trying to keep me from getting totally lost. People made room for us when we were dumped on a train without seat assignments. Strangers were happy to help us find ourselves.

India is a vast country of differences. I had been in some of the cities - Jaipur and Agra - ten years ago; they seemed even nosier and more crowded than I remembered. But earlier this year, I was in NE India which has a different atmosphere than Ladakh, where I traveled last year - both less frenetic. And all varied from Rajasthan. There is a vibrancy and energy which contrasts with the grubbiness and poverty.

Ladies beat the wash to death on one ghat while the trash lies up on another. Proprietors sweep litter before their shops into the open gutters.

There were a large number of Indian tourists - one can only conclude Indians are becoming more affluent and able to travel. One Indian though, said Indians are getting more aware of a larger world than just their families and are now exploring their country. They were surely on the go over the holidays.

Hot water was unpredictable: sometimes, yes but often, no. The trains, though a bit old and grimy, did work: clean sheets and pillow covers were handed out on the sleepers. Hot food was hawked. The only scary time was trying to board in Delhi, when several carloads just debarked and were in a rush to get up and over the stairs and overpass - we were going against the tide and were close to being trampled down.

We ate Indian vegetarian, which was cheap and good. Most places where we stayed included breakfast which often meant corn flakes - either that or chocolate flavored cereal though occasionally, muesli) and omelets, along with Indian items.

I paid roughly $1000 for accommodations and train fares. I spent less than $500 for food, admission tickets, extra transportation and purchases. Airfare with Cathy Pacific cost $1843.20 roundtrip San Francisco to Delhi (and assigned me a bulkhead aisle seat on the Hong Kong-San Francisco segment home).

GARP November 14-28, 2011

2011-12-01T15:38:00.000-08:00

Wadi Mousa Jordan:

This was my fourth year with the Great Arab Revolt
Project: looking for artifacts from WW1, tracing
the activities of the Arabs versus the Ottoman.
Noted for the involvement of TE Lawrence, many military
professionals were active in supporting the Arab.
In reality, the Brits were actively sponsoring the
Arab effort - with munitions and money! And following
their own political goals.

I became interested after hearing Neil Faulkner, the
co-director of the project, speak at a TE Lawrence
symposium at Oxford some years ago. I have continued
an involvement as I enjoy being part of a historical
adventure: finding bits and pieces that prove/disprove
various theories.

I look forward to each year's expedition and have convinced
several fellow travelers into participating. I think it
important to bring past into present. I like the historical
and philosophical approach of conflict archaeology. As
I trowel, dig and sieve, I feel closeness with those
figures of the past. It keeps me going as I lug goofer
after goofer of sand, rock and dirt of the spoils heap.

We had seven working days, several orientations and two
days off - trips to Petra and Aqaba (though a few went
to the Copper Mines and Wadi Rum, instead). It was a
combination of volunteers and professionals: Brits,
Canadians, an Australian, an Austrian, Americans, a
Jordanian, a Swiss - some returnees and some newbies.
All ages and backgrounds. Over the two weeks, we blended
into cooperative teams.

We started with a quick trip to Little Petra, then the
ruins and of ancient village and finally, a wreck of a
castle walking distance to the hotel. The next day, was
a visit to Year #2's project at Ma'an, to see the restored
railroad station and Abdullah's palace - which could be
a tourist site but the museum's door was locked - only a
mangy looking policeman about to keep out strays.

Then off to climb one of the many hills, covered with sharp
black volcanic rocks - where I managed to crash into a
trench and do a nice job of banging up shoulder, hip and
knee. I managed to carry on with minimum aches and pains
but it wasn't the best of ways to begin.

Though we were scheduled to work about Abu al Lissan, the
site of the major battle between Hashemites and Ottomans,
it was not possible as there were problems with permissions.
So we ended at Ghadir ed Haz, a building blown up by Arabs
and mentions in Seven Pillars of Wisdom, our bible for
much of the work. From there we went onto Birds Nest Camp
where we worked on tent rings for several days. Not my
favorite assignment!

En route to a new assignment, there was a stop to see the
Japanese made facsimile of the Hejaz RR engine, now used
to transport tourists on a Aqaba-Wadi Rum run. I worked
several days at what was called the Square Fort, with a
day at Petra in between. And Petra, even after three
visits, continues as awesome as ever with a fair amount
of tourists, even in the off season.

The next move was to Sidden's Ridge Camp - named in honor
of the WW1 RFC pilot who mapped the area. Four of us
clogged through a never ending mound of sand, to clear
what appeared to be some redoubt. The only blessing was
that we didn't have to sieve. Along the way, there was a
visit to Udrudh, ancient ruins from several earlier
civilizations. And time to visit digs of years past:
from Wadi Rum to Fassu'ah Ridge, where I worked the
first year with GARP.

While I didn't find anything, others were more successful.
Not only did we come up with WW1 artifacts, but there
was a Roman coin and some probable neolithic items,
which went to the sponsoring Jordanian University.

The final day was spent at Aqaba - looking at those working
at the Aylah Project next to an old Mosque site. I then
wandered happily about the Old City, into the Fort and
next door Museum where the antiques were beautifully
presented. Fascinating city, Aqaba - at the apex of
Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Israel. There was a lot
of new building, but the Old City remains satisfying.

For me, there is nothing as rewarding as a working holiday,
a feeling of contribution. Not that I was discomforted.
I stayed at a 3* hotel, albeit a room with no heat, regular
meals and internet capability. I worked with a dedicated
and interesting group. I was in the Middle East, one of
my favorite areas. What more could one want?

BA was good to me coming home. Upgraded me to Econ+ and
the seat next to was empty. That almost made up for the
overnight at LHR's Terminal 1, Gate 2. Arrived home with 6 dinars and a Dollar - which went for bus fare.

Costs: Airfare SFO-LHR: $955.97. GARP inclusive airfare from LHR, room and board: $3835.

2011-11-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

Sinai-Western Desert: October 2011

I was last in Egypt in 2000, my first - and certainly, not my last - visit to a Muslim country. I spent time in Cairo: stayed in the Dokki area, charged across Tahir Square from the Nile Hilton to the American University to visit their bookstore, went to the Symphony performances, did the Museum, wandered about Old Cairo and saw The Pyramids. Somehow, squeezed in a day in Alexandria, a trip out to the Sinai, and the Nile cruise to Aswan with the usual stop overs at various archaeological sites. A day at Aswan and a flight to Abu Simbel completed the trip. Became friends with a New Yorker, handling her mid-life crisis by taking a year off to backpack around the world - marvelous writer who could have easily gotten her trip-notes published. We’re still in contact.

A year and a half ago, when I read Alex Berenson’s description of his protagonist's, John Wells’, reentry into Cairo in The Midnight House, I knew I had to return. If not to Cairo per se, at least to Egypt. Originally, this was to be a Western Desert-Libyan camping trip but that crashed with the Libyan Revolt. So a Western Desert week was combined with an earlier week in the Sinai - a trip I had put off for I wasn’t sure how I’d manage the Mt. Moses climb - I am an ok recreational hiker but I’m not, and never have been, a serious trekker or climber.

The Sinai trek was an Exodus tour: twelve of us - seven Brits, 2 Canadians, mother-daughter Serbians, and me, the lone American. All younger and all up to the task of scaling the walls of the Wadis. No matter what my efforts, I was dead last in both climbs and descents. It was beautiful country, but sandy, rocky and well sprinkled with boulders. Not much of a path. Sandstone hills and the mountains? Breathtaking, particularly in evenings. Granted at times, it was hard to appreciate the surrounding beauty when one’s energies were spent remaining upright while moving from handhold to toehold in rocks and boulders.

We started in a 5* hotel in Giza in sight of the Pyramids. But then a drive to Southern Sinai where we we walked into our camp in the Jebel Sarabit area, prepared to climb up to climb up to the top the next morning, to explore the ancient Egyptian temple of Hathor and check out some Pharonic era turquoise mines. Then via 4x4s, a stop at the Forest of Pillars before arriving at the camp site at Wadi Jebal. The next day was trekking to Wadi Tellah, where it was so isolated that camels carried our stuff. Enroute, we visited a local school - coeducational with male teachers. We continued on, eating lunches on the move - I managed to lose mine down on wadi or another. I declined an offer for an extra added climb ending in featuring a water hole for the swimmers. Turned out, no water hole and it was almost dark as that bunch felt their way down to the camp.

The following day, we clambered out of the Wadi and to Fox Camp and St. Catherine’s Monastery. The church/ monastery was golden and glorious as only the Greek Orthodox can do it. It dates back to 337 AD and has enticed a steady stream of tourists/pilgrims since.

At 1:30 AM, we gathered to start the climb up Mt. Moses: my notes read: will try for Mt. Moses with little expectation of reaching the top. I was a good predictor. By the time I had reached the final steps. the choice was climbing to the top and missing the sunrise, or going out on one of the cliffs and enjoying the sunrise. I chose the latter. But coming down, I was for once, no longer last!

That afternoon, all but me went on a three hour trek, reportedly was rough going at first but lovely, once the the climb was over. I hung about the camp, walked down to St. Catherine’s Village and did some hiking about the area. I enjoyed the solitary time.

We stayed in fixed camps for all but the beginning and ending nights. They were for tourists,with Western toilets -- even if superimposed on a pit - and toilet paper. Tents were used by four of us; the rest settled for sleeping bags only, except at Fox Camp, where there was an open air but covered area available along with rooms - five opted for rooms. Along with some of our Bedu helpers. I was - and am - committed to outside sleeping - watching the universe above is an exhilarating experience.

So it was back to Cairo, with a stop at the Red Sea for the swimmers. Seven check points with only one doing a pro forma passport check. And the following day, I moved to a 4* hotel in another part of Giza, far from the Pyramids. A part of Giza where goats, sheep and cows lived next to Toyotas and coffe houses. Where I ws able to walk down back streets and find the old Cairo I loved. Where village life continued. Where donkey and horse carts mixed with automobile traffic. Even on the freeways!

This was an Explore group of thirteen: two Danes and me were the non Brits. This tour involved travel by bus and 4x4, into the El Alamein area of WW2, down into Siwa where we moved into the Great Sand Sea and then, the White desert. Five nights in a hotel, including two in Cairo (I missed out on one of those, being at the airport, catching a flight home!) and three nights rough camping.

The beat-up tanks - and one crashed Spitfire - at the El Alamein Museum were of interest to me, for I remember media accounts of the desert battles. There was a ringer: a Sherman tank, left over from the Israeli conflict. The Museum divided artifacts into British, German, Italian and Egyptian sections, giving equal space to all sides in that conflict. We did wander about the immaculately kept British Cemetery but weren’t able to get into General Rommel’s cave.

Moving on, we were at Siwa for several days. I knew of the Sanusi via Russell McGuirk’s writing on The Sanusi’s Little War, when they were opposed to the Brits in WW1. So the historical implications of that area seriously interested me. Some bicycled to visit the Oracle of Amun and ancient Shalli - I and others rode a donkey cart instead. My bicycling skills are doubtful at best. I walked about the town a bit, trying to get a feel of the conservative place where women were totally covered.

Collecting an Army officer to provide security, we t went into the desert, driving into sand dunes where the 4x4 drivers thrilled passengers with charges up and down the steep dunes. It was much like The Wahiba Sands in Oman. Camped the night at Bahrein Oasis. Continuing on the Great San Sea to Ain Della, now a Egyptian Army outpost, but in its day, the WW2 base for the Long Range Desert Group, And earlier, the last known location of the Lost Army of Cambyses, an long lost Persian Army circa 514 BC.

There was a brisk wind that night so I found myself covered with sand - despite all efforts to shake it off, I ‘m still shedding.

Heading into the White desert, marked by surreal chalky eruptions throughout, very other worldly. There was a stop at touristy hot springs - though no tourists there. Then dropped off our Army guy as we were leaving his territory. Up early for a long drive back to Cairo, stopping enroute to visit the Golden Mummies at Bahariaya Oasis. A final dinner in Cairo for the group and I was gone - off to the airport and home. courtesy KLM., and I do recommend them.

Comparing the tours: The first one was an active, experiential one that I was lucky to survive, while the second one was more passive - sightseeing and photographing were the main activities. Leaders, assistants, drivers and cooks with both groups were excellent, particularly the group leader with the Sinai group, who nursed me along the treks.

Exodus provided water; we paid for our own water with Explore. Both are small group, British budget tours, very ecologically conscious.

Exodus tour cost $810 less $39.50 discount for past travel. Explore charged $1150 less 57.50 discount for past travel. Airfare (Air France/KLM) booked through Adventure Center: $1500. Most meals were included.

The hotels on the road, used by Explore were very comfortable resort hotels but few tourists about. For a country so dependent on the tourist industry, Egypt was hurting as a result of Arab Spring, though I saw nothing either in or out of Cairo that should deter anyone from traveling there.

I once said I would really take a serious look at my travels if I reached a point of being the last man moving. Which means I’d best read very thoroughly descriptions for anything labelled “trek”. And realize that much as I’d like to do it, there is a limit to my physical capabilities. Damn!

Am I Really up to Trekking?

2011-11-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

Sinai-Western Desert: October 2011

I was last in Egypt in 2000, my first - and certainly, not my last - visit to a Muslim country. I spent time in Cairo: stayed in the Dokki area, charged across Tahir Square from the Nile Hilton to the American University to visit their bookstore, went to the Symphony performances, did the Museum, wandered about Old Cairo and saw The Pyramids. Somehow, squeezed in a day in Alexandria, a trip out to the Sinai, and the Nile cruise to Aswan with the usual stop overs at various archaeological sites. A day at Aswan and a flight to Abu Simbel completed the trip. Became friends with a New Yorker, handling her mid-life crisis by taking a year off to backpack around the world - marvelous writer who could have easily gotten her trip-notes published. We’re still in contact.

A year and a half ago, when I read Alex Berernson’s description of his protagonist's, John Wells’, reentry into Cairo in The Midnight House, I knew I had to return. If not to Cairo per se, at least to Egypt. Originally, this was to be a Western Desert-Libyan camping trip but that crashed with the Libyan Revolt. So a Western Desert week was combined with an earlier week in the Sinai - a trip I had put off for I wasn’t sure how I’d manage the Mt. Moses climb - I am an ok recreational hiker but I’m not, and never have been, a serious trekker or climber.

The Sinai trek was an Exodus tour: twelve of us - seven Brits, 2 Canadians, mother-daughter Serbians, and me, the lone American. All younger and all up to the task of scaling the walls of the Wadis. No matter what my efforts, I was dead last in both climbs and descents. It was beautiful country, but sandy, rocky and well sprinkled with boulders. Not much of a path. Sandstone hills and the mountains? Breathtaking, particularly in evenings. Granted at times, it was hard to appreciate the surrounding beauty when one’s energies were spent remaining upright while moving from handhold to toehold in rocks and boulders.

We started in a 5* hotel in Giza in sight of the Pyramids. But then a drive to Southern Sinai where we we walked into our camp in the Jebel Sarabit area, prepared to climb up to climb up to the top the next morning, to explore the ancient Egyptian temple of Hathor and check out some Pharonic era turquoise mines. Then via 4x4s, a stop at the Forest of Pillars before arriving at the camp site at Wadi Jebel. The next day was trekking to Wadi Tellah, where it was so isolated that camels carried our stuff. Enroute, we visited a local school - coeducational with male teachers. We continued on, eating lunches on the move - I managed to lose mine down on wadi or another. I declined an offer for an extra added climb ending in featuring a water hole for the swimmers. Turned out, no water hole and it was almost dark as that bunch felt their way down to the camp.

The following day, we clambered out of the Wadi and to Fox Camp and St. Catherine’s Monastery. The church/ monastery was golden and glorious as only the Greek Orthodox can do it. It dates back to 337 AD and has enticed a steady stream of tourists/pilgrims since.

At 1:30 AM, we gathered to start the climb up Mt. Moses: my notes read: will try for Mt. Moses with little expectation of reaching the top. I was a good predictor. By the time I had reached the final steps. the choice was climbing to the top and missing the sunrise, or going out on one of the cliffs and enjoying the sunrise. I chose the latter. But coming down, I was for once, no longer last!

That afternoon, all but me went on a three hour trek, reportedly was rough going at first but lovely, once the the climb was over. I hung about the camp, walked down to St. Catherine’s Village and did some hiking about the area. I enjoyed the solitary time.

We stayed in fixed camps for all but the beginning and ending nights. They were for tourists,with Western toilets -- even if superimposed on a pit - and toilet paper. Tents were used by four of us; the rest settled for sleeping bags only, except at Fox Camp, where there was an open air but covered area available along with rooms - five opted for rooms. Along with some of our Bedu helpers. I was - and am - committed to outside sleeping - watching the universe above is an exhilarating experience.

So it was back to Cairo, with a stop at the Red Sea for the swimmers. Seven check points with only one doing a pro forma passport check. And the following day, I moved to a 4* hotel in another part of Giza, far from the Pyramids. A part of Giza where goats, sheep and cows lived next to Toyotas and coffe houses. Where I ws able to walk down back streets and find the old Cairo I loved. Where village life continued. Where donkey and horse carts mixed with automobile traffic. Even on the freeways!

This was an Explore group of thirteen: two Danes and me were the non Brits. This tour involved travel by bus and 4x4, into the El Alamein area of WW2, down into Siwa where we moved into the Great Sand Sea and then, the White desert. Five nights in a hotel, including two in Cairo (I missed out on one of those, being at the airport, catching a flight home!) and three nights rough camping.

The beat-up tanks - and one crashed Spitfire - at the El Alamein Museum were of interest to me, for I remember media accounts of the desert battles. There was a ringer: a Sherman tank, left over from the Israeli conflict. The Museum divided artifacts into British, German, Italian and Egyptian sections, giving equal space to all sides in that conflict. We did wander about the immaculately kept British Cemetery but weren’t able to get into General Rommel’s cave.

Moving on, we were at Siwa for several days. I knew of the Sanusi via Russell McGuirk’s writing on The Sanusi’s Little War, when they were opposed to the Brits in WW1. So the historical implications of that area seriously interested me. Some bicycled to visit the Oracle of Amun and ancient Shalli - I and others rode a donkey cart instead. My bicycling skills are doubtful at best. I walked about the town a bit, trying to get a feel of the conservative place where women were totally covered.

Collecting an Army officer to provide security, we t went into the desert, driving into sand dunes where the 4x4 drivers thrilled passengers with charges up and down the steep dunes. It was much like The Wahiba Sands in Oman. Camped the night at Bahrein Oasis. Continuing on the Great San Sea to Ain Della, now a Egyptian Army outpost, but in its day, the WW2 base for the Long Range Desert Group, And earlier, the last known location of the Lost Army of Cambyses, an long lost Persian Army circa 514 BC.

There was a brisk wind that night so I found myself covered with sand - despite all efforts to shake it off, I ‘m still shedding.

Heading into the White desert, marked by surreal chalky eruptions throughout, very other worldly. There was a stop at touristy hot springs - though no tourists there. Then dropped off our Army guy as we were leaving his territory. Up early for a long drive back to Cairo, stopping enroute to visit the Golden Mummies at Bahariaya Oasis. A final dinner in Cairo for the group and I was gone - off t the airport and home. courtesy KLM., and I do recommend them.

Comparing the tours: The first one was an active, experiential one that I was lucky to survive, while the second one was more passive - sightseeing and photographing were the main activities. Leaders, assistants, drivers and cooks with both groups were excellent, particularly the group leader with the Sinai group, who nursed me along the treks.

Exodus provided water; we paid for our own water with Explore. Both are small group, British budget tours, very ecologically conscious.

Exodus tour cost $810 less $39.50 discount for past travel. Explore charged $1150 less 57.50 discount for past travel. Airfare (Air France/KLM) booked through Adventure Center: $1500. Most meals were included.

The hotels on the road, used by Explore were very comfortable resort hotels but few tourists about. For a country so dependent on the tourist industry, Egypt was hurting as a result of Arab Spring, though I saw nothing either in or out of Cairo that should deter anyone from traveling there.

I once said I would really take a serious look at my travels if I reached a point of being the last man moving. Which means I’d best read very thoroughly descriptions for anything labelled “trek”. And realize that much as I’d like to do it, there is a limit to my physical capabilities. Damn!

Sleeping in Airports

2011-09-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

There is a website, Sleeping in Airports.com. Really! Lists and grades airports all over the world. JFK is one of the ten worst and Changi/Singapore one of the ten best. Some of the others I’ve slept in aren’t listed.

I didn’t think JFK was that bad but certainly, Changi is that good. As is Dubai, at least the main international terminal; can’t say that much about the secondary terminal where I waited after a Kam flight from Kabul. Most of my overnight stays have been at Heathrow, as I go yearly from there to/from Amman, then catching flights to/from SF. The timing is ok coming but way off, returning - I come into LHR afternoons and then fly out the next mid morning. The best timing is with British Air.

There have been three past stopovers at LHR. The first one was bad! While the lighting was low and the loudspeakers at a minimum, the cleaning crew was busy and the air conditioning was blasting away. So between the noise and the cold, I got little sleep even though stretched out on a bench.

The next year, there was a system. All the overnighters were corralled at one of the gates with chaise lounges and various vending machines. And at about 5 AM, staff came with tea and coffee. The same routine happened last year only no tea and coffee in the AM. Two of the sleepovers were very hung over Russian seamen, frightened they would miss their plane. I ended up herding them from Terminal 1 to Terminal 5, where the three of us were scheduled on our respective flights.

JFK’s system is similar. One terminal is assigned to house the overnighters. Again, there are chaise lounges and benches for sleeping, vending machines and, as I recall, one fast food stand was open. It worked for me. It wasn’t a bad set up.

Moving on to Changi: the international terminal has about everything you could want., including a hotel where rooms can be had by the hour - which I have done. In fact, I must admit my two overnight stays there were at their hotel - so perhaps I shouldn’t count that one. It wasn’t truly an airport overnight camp in.

There is a hotel at Dubai’s main terminal, but it is expensive and was not considered. The first time, I slept in chaise lounges and on the carpeted floor with many others of all shapes and sizes. As I was on an Emirates connecting flight, I had a chit for a meal. The second time was even better: there was a separate dining room for transit passengers, so I camped out there for a good part of the night. I was offered a free room off grounds as again, I was on a connecting flight, but I didn’t want to hassle with the security in and out of the airport - if it had been the airport hotel, I would have grabbed it. All in all, it was a fairly decent experience, as airport overnighters go.

The secondary terminal was almost the direct opposite. Bare floors, basic chairs. Seated in a line up before closed counters, waiting for boarding passes. If it weren’t for my companion, an ex-Army, contract truck driver, flying home to Texas, I would have gone mad. I might not have agreed with him, but he was someone to talk with.

The other basic overnight wait, has been at the Orange county/John Wayne airport. Several years ago, on several occasions, I combined a family visit with a Performing Arts Center program, flying down from San Jose in the AM and flying back the next morning. I would take the cab to the airport after the performance and spend the night in a metal chair, waiting for the dawn and an early flight out. The first time I was saved by a sometime minister from the Islands, going back to the mid-west to be formally invested; the second time, was with a young guy watching old Westerns on his laptop.

Because of a missed connection, I ended up spending a night in the cafe at a Buenos Aires airport - not comfortable but the inner woman survived.

The most recent over night was in Beijing's new International Airport. Again, I had the choice of a hotel room off grounds as it was a connecting flight with China Air. And again, I didn’t want to hassle. The terminal was a magnificent new one with hourly rate hotel and lounge onsite. And by the time I had decided I would try one or the other, they had closed down. I spent time as I have at LHR, using the free computer and wandering around before lights were lowered, shops closed up, and it was time to stake out a chaise lounge for the night. And I, along with other strays, settled in at our respective gates. It was quite quiet and away from the noise of the cleaners. I would rate this among the top 10, guys!

Seventh Raleigh Spy Conference: August 24-26 2011

2011-08-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

I had heard about the Spy Conference several years ago, when they focused on female spies but had other places to go and things to do. This year, the timing worked.

The topic was: Spies Among US, the Secret World of Illegals concluding with former NSA/CIA director General Michael Hayden, reviewing the Bin Laden operation. Sponsored by a local magazine, the gathering is the major intelligence conference specifically for “civilians” by the Association of Former Intelligence Officers.

This year’s topic was inspired by the FBI’s detention of ten Russian illegals in the US last year, including the rather flamboyant Anna Chapman. It was fascinating to hear the back stories of this and other incidents, beginning with pre-WW2 and Rudolph Abel affair. And it did help that I joined up with a retired USAF colonel/ DIA agent and a British researcher - the Colonel and I being WEB Griffin fans. They identified various players in the Intelligence game. Also, one of the speakers, Nigel West, was familiar to me from a symposium in the UK several years ago - he is a prolific writer and facile speaker.

In addition to the British perspective, a former director of CIA’s clandestine service, gave a historical overview of use of illegals, who operate in addition to a foreign embassy’s legal staff in obtaining information. A retired Canadian intelligence officer talked about how prospective operatives transited via Canada. Another retired CIA officer - the “other man” in the Robert Hanssen case - discussed “the spies next door”, the ten individuals who were returned to Russia in exchange for four of ours.

There was a round table featuring the author of the new biography about OSS founder William Donovan - which has had very good reviews; a journalist who has a new book out on American-Chinese spy wars, and an ex-CIA officer who has concerns regarding covert influences on American/Western institutions.

The keynote address was the concluding event: General Hayden’s discussion of the Bin Laden operation, which involved at least ten years’ effort, several Presidents and CIA directors, before it came to fruition, I found it most interesting for I had recently heard Admiral Eric Olson, who headed up the Special Operations Command, talk - or avoid talking - about B-L take-down at the Aspen Security conference on C-Span several weeks ago. One comment General Hayden made which caught my attention was that the CIA is reverting to its roots, using more of the OSS approach - which was to the good. Considering that Petreaus and Panetta had done a bit of a switch, it fits - see John Berry’s June piece, Obama’s Secret Wars (Daily Beast).

It was largely the gray-haired set that attended the two day event: active and retired veterans of various government agencies, researchers, interested citizens and IT “groupies”. Unlike me, many had come before - there have been seven previous conferences. There were handouts from the CIA Historical Collections division and books for sale by participants. The two social gatherings featured marvelous buffets - one at an excellent restaurant and the other at a jazz club - : live music with bass, guitar and vibes, with a sometime tenor sax.

I stayed downtown. As there are no overpasses or ring roads, all the traffic charges through the City. I did a fair amount of walking, including into the Farmer’s Market which was alive, interesting and active as Farmer’s Markets tend to be. Buildings range from old brick and stone to modern concrete and glass. There is some greenery with trees along the walkways and kept - and unkept - grounds..

I would return, but only for the Spy Conference.

There was the threat of hurricane Irene so I left Friday afternoon rather than Saturday morning - United was most helpful in changing the flight even though I was traveling on miles. And the airport is most modern and comfortable and with a second hand bookstore - I did make use of that. So home midnight Friday, to be greeted by a loving Siamese.

With use of FF miles for airfare, cost ran less than $700: United Airlines ($40), hotel ($240), meals ($50), conference fee($150) shuttle ($40) and cat care ($140).

Book Recommendation

2011-08-04T17:41:00.000-07:00

A Line in the Sand: Britain, France and the Struggle that Shaped the Middle East

James Barr has a new book out. Simply put, a good read and I recommend it.

I’ve wandered about the Middle East a bit and done a fair amount of reading about the area particularly from WW1 through WW2. And I have a fascination with the predominately British characters who haunted the area, for self and Empire. In my simplistic script, the French were the Bad Guys, holding the Arabs back. So did the Brits, but I was inclined to forgive them. After all, they had TE Lawrence in his flowing robes.

And that certainly didn’t endear them to the French!

The French are still the Bad Guys - not that the Brits were always the Good Guys. Both were out for what they could get, damn the torpedoes - or rather, the Arabs. And James Barr’s latest work is about the over the thirty-four year competition between the two countries to obtain/retain supremacy in the Middle East.

It isn’t just that the French resisted freeing Syria after WW2, but the way they went about revenging themselves on the British who seemed one step ahead in the Intelligence game. But then there was the equivocations of the British government; their failure to face down the French! It was in Palestine where the French got theirs back, supporting in one way or another, both Irgun and Stern terrorist gangs Even the US got into that act with well meaning and, hopefully, unknowing citizens paying into those particular Jewish coffers (much as occurred later, during the Irish Troubles).

Barr documents this all in a well written history and thoroughly documented history of the time. While I knew the ending, the journey was memorizing.

I can’t resist but conclude with a comment by the former Chief Secretary of Palestine, a survivor of the King David Hotel bombing, that might be a guide in today’s foreign policy: “.....it’s not your business or my business .....to interfere in other people’s countries and tell them how to run it, or even to run it well. They must be left to their own salvation.”

A Ger, not a Yurt: Two weeks in Mongolia & the Naadam Festival

2011-07-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

On June 30, 2011, I was at SFO, checking in at the Air China counter, the only Westerner in line, with a reservation clerk very doubtful about my beat up passport and lack of visa (not required for US citizens in Mongolia). After several consultations, I finally succeeded getting my boarding pass and then, through Security to the lounge where I chatted with a guy who looked ex-Special Forces, who was hoping for a Shanghai flight - wondered how he got that far without some sort of boarding pass?

This was the start of the two week Mongolian journey that took me to Chinggis Khan country that still has elements of the old days and an appreciation of past history. But like most developing nations, Mongolia is a combination of old, new and undecided. The capital, Ulaanbaatar, shows evidence of the past communist influence and is a work in progress. A dozen of more cranes lurk above the City along with "moderne"structures and uncompleted Russian block houses hiding the old, ill kept ethic buildings. There is no consistency.

And why was I there? Certainly not to spend time in UB, but to get out to the countryside, to the mountains and meadows and above all, the Gobi desert. I was with an Explore group of six: three Brits, an Irish and a Portuguese and me, the token American. It was an exceptional compatible group with a knowledgeable tour leader. There were few glitches, other than stolen Blackberry and a wrecked ankle necessitating one woman's early flight home.

The Itinerary, backwards or forwards, was pretty standard for travelers at this time of year: Ulaanbaatar-Magno Khan-Karakorum-Saikhan Ovoo-South Gobi-Dafanzadgad. Motor transport one way and fly the other. We went by a sturdy fifteen passenger Russian bus out and flew back. Then, drove onto Jalman Meadows for several days before returning to UB for the Naadam Festival, a yearly celebration of wrestling, archery and horse riding skills. There were a fair number of tourist - people came for horse riding trek, camping expeditions and, as we did, just looking-around tours.

After a day orienting to UB, we left, bumping our way to the most basic of the five Ger camps - but one of the best located. In the mountains, with scrub valley terrain, reminding me of Algeria/SW United States, Morocco/The Sudan. The air was clear; the scenery awesome. One day was spent on a 10K hike, at least 3K up into rocky passages before the struggle down a more graduated path. Both evenings, several of us clambered onto nearby rocks to observe/photograph the astounding sunsets.

The next major stoop was at Karakorum, the ancient capital of Mongolia, much in need of restoration. Equally significant was the nearby Erdene-Zi Monastery, established in the 1500s, now more of a museum. Recently, the practice of Buddhism is returning so the Monastery is being restored, albeit slowly. There was also a beautifully executed new museum, focusing on Mongolia's history - all but barren of visitors.

Windy, cold and wet, the bus struggled toward the Gobi, overheating several times. Bumpy tracks and barren landscape until The Flaming Cliffs, similar to Canyonlands in the US, An area where Roy Chapman Andrews found dinosaur eggs. Enroute I did my bactrian (two humped) camel ride - very brief when you consider I've suffered on dromedaries (one humpers) for ten days. But muh more comfortable - and with stirrups! Two Ger camps and several villages on and we were on the Gobi, with surprisingly green scrub from the rains.

One hike was in the Gobi Gurvansaikhan National Park, where we got in as far as the glacier; then to another path into the rocks where we were slowed by a second glacier. Flora and fauna abounded with the photographers busy, snapping away.

From here, it was a flight to UB and onto Jalman Meadows, described as a true wilderness, a transition zone between steppes and forest. Though much of the countryside so far had seemed quiet and peaceful, Jalman Meadows seems most serene. Several of the group took the opportunity to ride horses, several simply walked about the area with its nearby river, and all went on a yak cart ridge across the river and into the trees.

Throughout, we passed nomads with their gers and livestock. I have never seen so many free range horses. Sheep, goats and cows populated the landscape, blocking traffic (such as it was). It seemed another era.

Back to UB for the Festival: the city was crowded with both Mongol and overseas visitors. The opening ceremonies on the main square had heavy military and political attendance. Then to the main stadium where the Olympic-type proceedings continued. Bands, drill, gymnastic exercises - all before a large enthusiastic audience. By afternoon, the wrestling was in one stadium and archery was in another - with women allowed to compete in the archery contests.

The audience was of as much interest as the performances: clothing ranged from tunics and sashes of the old days to micro-mini skirts and t-shirts of new times - and everything in between. Many of the older folk wore medals stemming from the communist days. Concessionaires were all over. There seemed a party atmosphere of a State Fair.

Horse Racing was the second day, in a venues way out of UB. Though we left early, we had competition from hundred of others. I have never experienced in such a automobile jam, going or coming Suddenly a four lane road is eleven lanes, all going the same way. Checkpoints ignored, cars squealing through gas stations and across streams with police efforts to corral the chaos, unsuccessful!

The horse racing venue was lovely: grassy hills with a fence defining the track and the army providing some security. Concessioners sold kites, people brought small pup tents and picnicked and the horses did not run on time. About an hour plus, late, the trotted to their starting point and too off, one firmly took the lead and stayed throughout.

Then, back to the chaos of returning to UB. And the fight home the next day!

Accommodations: I had called them yurts, which is apparently the Russian term - yurt or ger - all the same. Portable, felt covered over a rounded wooden lattice-=like frame with waterproof fabric covering it all, they are quite quite comfortable. Several of the one I stayed in had a wood stove with the smoke exiting via a hole at the apex. Two had electricity - otherwise, it was candle power. All were set up for two person occupancy with comfortable beds and plenty of bedding. If I were rating them: 1-2 star; 3-3 star and 1-4 star. The UB hotel with a standard 3 start, good location and with internet and wi-fi.

Facilities: Two of the ger camps had buildings with toilet and sowers. The rest had shower-gers with hot water heated on the wood stove, mixed with cold, poured into a cylinder with a presssure pump to push out water for showers. It worked ok, though I found it easier to mix hot and cold water in a pail and do a Hindu bath. The toilet at one camp was a set of chemical units; the other were put toilets with a Western seat (though the first place had a squat pit toilet for those inclined).

The food: Plentiful but basic meat-rice-potatoes diet. Mornings were good: often cereal/muesli. eggs. bred. cucumbers and tomatoes. Sandwiches, tomatoes, hard boiled eff and apple/orange for lunch as often, we ate on the run. Salad, soup and meat-rice-potato at night. As a non-meat eater, it was difficult for me - I recall chicken four times in two weeks. Out of desperation, I did end up chewing on some meat though did ignore the "mystery meat" sandwiches.

Entertainment: On one of the last evenings in town, Nomadic Journeys, who was the local provider for this tour, had all their groups together for dinner (maybe the worst meal of the trip) and entertainment. A ethnic musical group who did throat singing was outstanding. The style show was unique. I would have preferred both in a different setting than a standard hotel dining room with a bunch of noisy tourists. busy with picture taking.

Accommodations: I had called them Yurts, which is apparently the Russian term - they are the same. Portable, felt covered over a rounded wooden lattice-like frame, with waterproof fabric covering it all, they are quite comfortable. Several of the ones I stayed in had a wood stove with the smoke exiting via a whole at the apex. Two had electricity; otherwise it was candle-power. If I were rating them: 1-2 star, 3-3 star and 1-4 star. The UB Hotel was a standard 3 star, good location and with Internet.

Facilities: Two of the Ger Camps had buildings with toilets and showers, The others had Shower-Gers with hot water (heated on the wood stove) to be mixed with cold, poured into a cylinder with a pressure pump to push out water for a shower - in one instance I found it easier to mix hot and cold water in a pail and take a Hindi bath. The toilet at one camp was a set of enclosed chemical units and others were pit toilets albeit with a Western seat. (though the first place had a squat pit toilet for those inclined).

The food: Plentiful but a basic meat-rice-potatoes diet. Mornings were good: often cereal/muesli, eggs, bread, cucumbers and tomatoes. Sandwiches, tomatoes and hard boiled egg at noon for often, we were eating on the run. Salad, soup and meat-rice-potato at night. As a non meat eater, it was difficult for me - I recall having chicken four times during the two weeks - and two of those times was at lunch. I ended up eating some meat, though did ignore the ”mystery meat” sandwiches.

Cost: Explore Worldwide Land of the Great Khan-Naadam Festival tour: $3500 for two weeks including almost all meals. (I get a discount as a prior Explore client). Air China: $2000 including an overnight hotel in Beijing due to the long layover. Also, I was upgraded to Business class Beijing to SFO - a nice touch!.

June 2011 at Ashland, Oregon

2011-06-13T19:12:00.000-07:00

Oregon Shakespeare Festival 2011

Whether I am gone two days, two weeks or two months, I take the same amount of stuff - what I can fit into a carry-on, usually a backpack. It’s been at least twenty years since I’ve checked luggage. Two incidents of late arrival checked baggage with severe inconveniences made a believer of me.

I was reminded of all this at the Medford Airport when I flew in for two days at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Two were scheduled for the shuttle to Ashland but I had to wait for the other passenger, not only to discover her checked bag was a no show but hang around with the other half dozen passengers to report missing luggage. .

I did feel a bit smug with all my stuff stashed about my shoulders.

Eventually, I got to the Columbia Hotel, where I’ve stayed past years: a reasonably priced hotel on the main street with Victorian motif and shared facilities, close to theatres, park, stores, library and restaurants. I first attended the Festival in the mid-fifties and then, faithfully since the mid-sixties. I’ve traveled from the Bay area by auto, bus, train and plane.

I love Ashland with its small town feel, the incomparable Lithia Park and the State University. When I was doing an agonizing reappraisal of my life some six years ago, it was high on the list of places where I considered living. I settled for remaining in the Bay area but continuing the yearly trek to Oregon.

This year I had signed on for four plays: two Shakespearean - Julius Caesar and Henry IV # 2, The Language Archive and G&S’s Pirates of Penzance a la Johnny Depp. Three were superb: Julius played by a woman was surprisingly effective, The Language Archive was more affecting than I expected: I thought it would be more of a intellectual exercise. Henry IV #2 was ok, not the strongest of Shakespeare’s historical plays and I wasn’t taken with the portrayal of Falstaff, particularly the Prince’s termination of his relationship with the old man.

From Spring through Fall, there are a dozen plays performed in three theatres, including an outdoor Elizabethan venue. There was a great selection this year. Unfortunately I always have to squeeze in time between more major trips so don’t always get to plays of choice. My hope is next year I can return to the Ontario, Canada Shakespearean productions and the Shaw theatre in Niagara-on-the-Lake.

Besides theatre, I did my usual walk to my favorite restaurants - breakfast at Morning Glory is worth the trip. There is a stop at the library to use the computer, up the town’s hills along tree lined streets for aerobic pump and the hike through Lithia Park. I suspect I’ll allow another day next year and river raft on the Rogue, something I’ve put off for far too. long. I did get to to several extra events, the post play discussion and evening pre-play musical performances.

A good couple of days but needed to be longer.

Round-trip air fare non stop from SFO-Medford via United $511 - I should have use frequent flyer miles and will do so next year. (The other way to go, cheaper, is Alaskan from San Jose to Portland with a connecting flight to Medford.) Round trip shuttle to Ashland: $60. Accommodation for three nights : $269.50. Four plays: $260.:

March-April 2011: Three Weeks in Northeast India

2011-04-22T21:52:00.000-07:00

Back in India again - fifth time! Ten years ago, my husband and I arranged a rip from Delhi via the Golden Triangle to Lucknow, Allahabad and the Kumbh Mela, ending at Varanasi, traveling by auto and train. In 2004, I traveled with Explore from Bangladesh to Darjeeling, Sikkim and Bhutan. Several years later, I was with Sundowners on a journey which included a train ride from from Delhi to Amritsar before venturing onto Pakistan, China and several of the ’Stans. Last year, it was back with Explore, Delhi to Lakdakl: Manali. Leh and Amritsar.

This time out, I was with an American company, Advantage Travel, who had arranged an extensive, three week tour of the northeast portion of India, the so called Seven Sisters, which borders on Bangladesh, Burma and China. Tripura, Assam, Nagaland, Manipur, Mizoram, Meghalaya and Arunachal Pradesh: all different tribes, all in transition, all feeling neglected by the central government. And all well policed by the Assam Rifles, para- military units with a long history predating the partition. Because of unrest in the region for years, travellers were not allowed into the border states; even now, special permits had to be obtained.

In several states, there were demonstrations protesting the high cost of living and lack of government concern for the area. Women led the marchers with a lesser number of men in the rear. The parades were relatively quiet with no conflict.

Surprisingly, Christian missionaries, both Western and Indian, have left their mark on several states, though Hinduism is still the predominate religion overall. Buddhism, Islam and Animism continued to be practiced. The government is concerned enough about the encroachment of Christian proselytizers that permits into the area included a prohibition against missionaries.

In Tripura, a flag lowering ceremony is performed at the border between Bangladesh and Indian troops, not as elaborate at the one at Wagah, the Pakistan-Indian border. But impressive enough. As with Wagah, the movements are all very precisely, exaggeratedly British, one of the many things left from the British Raj.

There were several festivals: the Monyu festival in Nagaland and the Goru Bihu Festival in Assam. Some differences: our group of ten were strictly observers in the earlier event while several of our group got more involved in the Goru Biru Festival, with photos in the newspapers and television interviews. This one involved washing of cows in the river - cows’ protestations resulted in more people getting washed than cows - and an afternoon presentation by various drummers and dancers. Between these two festivals, a exhibition dance group performed atop our Mizoram hotel with people and pigs observing from nearby buildings.

Houses were built on stilts - concrete, wood or bamboo, with wood or bamboo matting flooring and walls. Roofs were either thatched or corrugated - or both. The cooking place was in the middle of the kitchen-eating area. Above was a rack to store goods. Other rooms were very plain, with coverings rolled up along the walls. I was in several houses, from very basic or more elaborate but all followed this simple plan. In both the flat land and the hills, stilts were needed due to the rains.

One of my big interests in seeing this area was the importance of Kohima and Imphal during WW2. I reread John Master’s Road Past Mandalay and a biography of Michael Calvert to prepare myself for the sites: Kohina had been he scene of a significant British- Japanese battle and Imphal has was significant staging area for British and Indian Army troops during WW2.

The large cemeteries were immaculately kept, by the Commonwealth, unlike the British cemeteries in Kabul and Gilgit . I photographed the grave of the one Assamese soldier killed on one of the conflicts - and the grave of a forebearer of mine, a totally unexpected discovery. As I looked at the huge number of graves, mostly of young Brits, Scots, Irish, Indian and Gorkha, I could only think, what a waste - a waste we are continuing even now!

Throughout, there were museums, mosques, palaces, temples, monasteries, shrines - all old and significant to the religious believers of the area. Time was spent in a Tibetan community, where they were sure of a return to Tibet! At one monastery, a great banging of cymbals was part of The ritualistic circling by one to two dozen acolytes.

Shillong had been a summer capital for the British Raj who were driven there by the South’s heat. a delightful place with some of the old British bungalows still surviving, and a hugh golf course, now overrun with local families. Out a ways, was living Root Bridge and the Elephant Falls - the Falls weren’t too spectacular as the water level was down but a bridge from tree roots was pretty unique.

We spent time in two schools: one in Mizoram,the other in Arunachal Pradesh. The Mizoram facility was Christian run for abusers and users, orphans, and the mentally challenged. No money, lots of rice and a willing spirit. The one in Arunachal Pradesh was a boarding school - the kids were from two different schools, one of girls and one co-ed, ages through high school. They put on a charming program and were very open in talking with us.

In lieu of an semi-built bridge, we rode a ferry across one river, than did two more ferry rides to/from the Majuli Island. And these ferries were really basic: old wooden barges where vehicles were driven aboard via planks with blocks at front and back. As passengers, we simply stood around., handing onto some railing or another. On two of the trips, the boat got stuck on a sandbar - crew dived in with bamboo poles to push off. Now when I read about ferries going down in in one of the far corners of this earth, I know what they mean. I wondered what our tour leader, a former Navy Commander, thought of it all.

Throughout Assam were the tea plantations with colorful dressed women, plucking the tea leaves. We stopped at the manufacturing plant where the Sikh manager explained the process and his wife served us tea. The field workers were there, waiting for their pay.

Toward the end, we started seeing more Westerners, particularly at Kazieranga Park. Early on, there had been a couple of Russians, an Footprints editor, two European guys, and a missionary couple from Tennessee. But at Kazieranga, there was an European couple, two Kiwis on their way to Nepal, a journalist from Vermont, and a retired Britisher and his wife, now living in Palo Alto . Altogether though, less than two dozen.

All in all, the trip was well worth it: the mountains awesome and the people friendly. I felt I was moving through living history, particularly when having tea with a Sadhu, along the river bank. I was able to talk with people and see areas before they were affected by tourism. Our local guide was superb and intelligent - this was his home turf and he made sure all went well for us.

Accommodations: Overall, better than I expected. Though some stops had only squats, most had Western toilets which helped as some of the group was unfamiliar with squats. With one exception, the hotels all had Western plumbing. Several hotels were quite luxurious - local politicos stayed here - several were nicely picturesque and the remainder were basic. One place managed to have Western toilet, no tub or shower but pail, bucket and plumbing for Hindu bath - with no drain! But did have an internet! Others were sans hot water. Ah, c’est la guerre!

Roads: Ah, the Indian roads have not changed. Still bumpy, narrow and chancy. All sorts of vehicles on them from the colorful trucks to the hand drawn carts. Not as bad as they are during the rainy season but still bad! Two lane asphalt on a good day - with three vehicles trying to pass. And obeying signs to honk. The several internal flights were a relief.

Cost:: $7580 which included flights from SFO-India plus internal Indian Flights. All other expenses, including meals, were included. I paid an additional $300 for local tips and donations.

NB: I really lucked out on my roommate. A lady with a sense of humor who put up with my warped approach with life.

Quick Trip to London: 8-14 March 2011

2011-03-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

It’s over a year since my last foray to London - time to return! So when 1) there was an TE Lawrence-Middle East presentation by Rory Stewart, now a MP, at the Army Museum, 2) my niece, Linda, was willing to accompany me, 3) my colleague was available so we could plan our December Rajasthan trip and 4) the Royal Ballet had a new Wheedom piece - well, what could I do but take off. And to add to it all, just before leaving I was notified the Army Museum was showing a film about TEL with Michael Asher, my camel trekking leader.

It was a full five days and I didn’t get a seat for the Ballet performance - it had been sold out for sometime. But I and my colleague waited it out at the National Theatre and eventually got seats for Frankenstein, an absolutely stunning theatrical event. And we used our waiting time to sketch out the Rajasthan excursion.

And there were two other performances I attended, but not nearly as spectacular. Priscilla was a very Las Vegas type musical while Rattigan’s Flare Path was a WW2 drama, directed by Trevor Nunn.

And in lieu of the sold out Ballet performance, I spent the evening with another traveling companion of yore. While we’ve met in London before, we keep missing each other on trips. She was on one tour ahead of me In Georgia, I keep hoping we’ll met, for she is a good company. If I can arrange a Balkan trip next year, she may be interested.

Impelled by my niece’s enthusiasm, I got to the both the House of Commons and House of Lords. We heard a bit of the debate of Woman’s Issue (Commons) and Falklands (Lords). It is rather overwhelming to walk about the buildings, housing the traditions preceding our democratic system.

I chatted with a Security Officer about how it all worked for there was security personnel backed by unarmed and armed (Heckler-Kochs?) police. All were from the Metropolitan Police - no privatization here.

The Army Museum was in Chelsea, much smaller than the Imperial War Museum, but well designed. There was a nicely presented exhibit about the Afghan Wars - I couldn’t help but think of George MacDonald Fraser’s Flashman, as the first of the series for me was the one on Afghan War #1, which I had picked up in Kabul. It was almost a full house for both film and presentation.

The film, In Search of Lawrence, was well done: about the effort on Asher’s part to verify two of TEL’s desert journeys - he was successful with one but unsuccessful with the other. Conclusion was that TEL exaggerated - probably not for the first or last time. The real delight was meeting Michael’s son, a really nice young man who is studying in the UK.

Rory Stewart was on a fast schedule. Quick trip from Cumbria and an equally quick return. A engaging and facile speaker, he talked about half an hour - with slides - about TEL as one of the mavericks (my term) who were active on Britain's behalf in the Middle East during and after WW1. The theme seemed to be a need to have new, knowledgeable personnel in the Foreign office. The discussion ended with comment on the current Libyan conflict and whether Britain should be involved. Not unilaterally but with UN sanctions appeared to be the consensus. With Stewart’s schedule, no chance to chat. A hail and farewell, and barely that.

We got out to the Wigmore for the Sunday morning chamber concert and then, lunch. I did see the office of the Palestine Exploration Fund,a rather dingy exterior quite hidden away with little identification in a rather small mews. The PEF are another link in the Lawrence legend for it was at their behest, Lawrence and Leonard Woolley mapped the Negev desert pre-WW1.

I did pop for the £10 to see the magnificent Afghan exhibition at the British Museum, probably much safer here than in Kabul. In fact, both times I was at the Afghan Museum in Kabul, they had more photos of their precious artifacts than artifacts for most were out of the country, on display. This was a much more elegant presentation than the one I saw awhile back in San Francisco. Well worth the cost.

I did stop by The Traveler to see about going through Saudi Arabia as part of following the Hejaz RR from Syria through Jordan to its ending in Medina. Not much optimism there about that. They had tried to combine Jordan and Saudi Arabia in a tour featuring he Nabataean sites with no success.

It worked out, traveling with Linda. We did some things together and then, went out on our own - she was into riding the tube and checking out various tourist sites while I was more into walking about, taking care of odd bits of business and checking out performances. The weather held: just a few sprinkles and even some sun!

Meals: Mostly, picked up bits and pieces along the way, at the National Theatre and Pret A Manager. Linda and I did have two proper meals, one at the Wigmore and another at the West End Kitchen on Panton street. The Wigmore was at the going rate while the Kitchen was less expensive.

Accommodation: We stayed at my preferred B/B, the Hotel Celtic at Russell Square, Cost for the two was £88 per night: for a small insuite room. Breakfasts are great!

Airfare: I flew United as I could cage an Economy Plus seat for the price of an Economy seat. $707.40 SFO-LHR. (And on the return flight, a kind steward gave me a glass of champagne to sip!)

In the Sudan with Michael Asher: January 2011

2011-02-04T20:54:00.000-08:00

A introductory day in Khartoum, eleven on the road with ten of those camel trekking, and three more decompressing in Khartoum - thus began 2011 and a good beginning it was. Full of varied sights and sounds including agonizing groans of protesting camels as they were packed up in the early AMs. Then there was finding a place to unroll the sleeping bag, somewhere between the camel leavings and the snake holes after cleaning away the rocks. And one morning, awakening to find a camel seated just in front of my nose. If it had been Sam, my cat, he would have fought to the death for inclusion in the sleeping bag.

This was an expedition I had wanted to take on for several years but it had been canceled as either not enough travelers signed up or was thought too dangerous. Subsequently, I did go on one of Michael Asher’s Moroccan treks and survived. But Morocco is not the Sudan with an itinerary rich in British military history - the trail of the failed Camel Relief operations for Gordon in the 1880s when the dervishes attacked Khartoum. In fact, Asher, an author and the last of the great desert explorers, wrote the definitive book about that “Ultimate Imperial Adventure”, Khartoum.

Five of us had traveled with Asher before while seven came from Kenya, including their trip organizer. Ages ranged from twenties to myself, one of four Seniors. We were Brits, Americans, Germans, Kenyans and a South Korean. Our backup? Thirteen camels, four camel men with their mounts and a cook: “participatory camping” as the tour books label it. Everyone pitched in with the Kenyans doing more than their share. Tents were available, but for me, the joy in this kind of travel requires sleeping in the open, counting stars as best I can, nearsighted as I am.

Khartoum was not impressive. A combination of the old and dusty with the new and incomplete. Someone (Bashir?) saw Khartoum as a potential Dubai (and we can carry that back to Dubai’s genesis, Las Vegas - and why would anyone want to copy that?) so there are bits and pieces of “Moderne” architecture, incongruent with itself and certainly, with the landscape of the country. For example, the old brick post office, left over from colonial days, could have been the basis of government. offices, at peace with the surroundings. The City Planner, if any, was not in touch with Frank Lloyd Wright’s precepts. There was not even a theme of Islamic styling which would have made sense for a Moslem state, guided by Sharia law. Anyway, the country didn’t have the money to finish the Dubai-inspired building spree. A work not in progress?

The two Niles, Blue and White, converge at Khartoum, which is a three part city. Khartoum proper where we stayed, the old City of Omdurman with its souk, the Mahdi’s tomb and the Khalifa’s House, and North Khartoum, a more industrialize area. Before starting off on the camels, there was time to tour the City with stops at several museums. I was most interested in seeing two of the existent gunboats remaining from the Sudan War with the Madhi. I did miss the Commonwealth War Cemetery - for some reason, I like the old burial grounds and am certainly glad I saw the British cemeteries at Gilgit and Kabul. Actually, I even enjoyed the day spent wandering around Arlington some years back.

The trek started at Metemma (near Shendi) and went through the Bayuda Desert to Kosti. From there we drove to the final camp site near the Old Meroe pyramids and the Lion Temple at Musawarat es Sufra. The terrain was mixed: sandy to scrub to shaley to rocky. The trek totaled some 287K of which I walked about half. The longest day was some 40K, coming into Jakdul Wells, an alcove of greenery in a very rocky land. Arrival was after dark and I had made the mistake of walking the last segment, figuring I’d trust myself trekking in, rather than the camel. Bad decision. I had no flashlight and was trailing far enough behind that I. lost sight of our group. A couple of shouts and the German veterinarian - who walked almost the entire trip - dropped back to give aid and comfort. Without his help, I might still be there.

Earlier we camped at Abu Klea, where the bloodiest battle of the Sudan War was fought. Nearby was a monument to the bravery the doomed soldiers. As I - or the camel - trudged along, I thought of those guys, over a hundred years ago, coming across this same land with hopes of saving their fellows from the enemy. Mike’s familiarity with the area and the history made it come alive for me. It is always the historical bit that catches my fancy - trekking in the footsteps of the past, as it were. And except for the first and last days, no signs of “civilization”.

There were some nomads herding goats, donkey riders passing by, camels grazing and car/truck tracks occasionally - but no vehicles. Water was gotten from local springs and wells. At one bleak spot, there was well used by the locals. For a price, a man and a young girl, with the aid of a donkey, would haul water up. They appeared to live nearby in a quite basic shelter. The meeting spot of the Bayuda. Wall Drug Store lives! (and E-mail me if you miss that allusion!)

The drill: a break every hour. I tried to alternate between walking and riding; certainly, I did better in the saddle than on the Moroccan trek. But often it was a toss up between bum butt and bum feet. Noon time gave us a ninety minute rest. Though nippy in the early AM it was quite warm in the afternoon . A couple of days there was a really significant wind chill factor. In fact, the first night, I was quite cold - it was the first and last night I changed into my nightshirt. From there on, it was sleep with clothes on. But on finding out this trip has been done in 100F weather, I realized how lucky we were.

For the most part, I manged with my camel - though we did not become close. Several of the women were devoted cameleers who identified with their mounts. But a early on, head-over-heels fall over the top when I thought to get off and he thought to get up, probably influenced our relationship: I didn't really trust him nor he, me! Neither of us were damaged though I had a sore pelvic bone from contact with the saddle horn.

The pyramids and the temples were impressive, though smaller than the Egyptian ones at Giza. The tops of the pyramids had been sheared off by an Italian treasure hunter circa 1834, There is a model showing how they would have appeared had not the Italian drifted by. We drove (for by now, we were in a minibus) on a non existent dirt road to the other artifacts: the Great Enclosure and the Lion Temple. And after a final camp lunch in a lovely shaded garden, we left for Khartoum. There was a coffee/chai stop at Ed Damer, a local market town, and a conversation with a friendly Nubian. Then back to the Acropole where the real world came to life as people sorted out their flights home.

But before leaving, there several hours with the Whirling Dervishes. A combination of county fair and religious ceremony, it was for the Sudanese. It was not a performance for tourists but was an expression of their religious belief. The grounds around the mosque were crowded with locals. The drumming was insistent and repetitious. In the early hours, would-be dervishes moved about, jumping and spinning. Later, the real pros appeared, dressed in green with red trim, circled by believers who undulated back and forth as they chanted to the drums’ rhythms. It all came to a halt with the evening Call to Prayer. I saw about a dozen Westerners and about the same number of photographers. It was a mind blowing experience, similar to some Ogalala Sioux ceremonies I’ve seen.

I had two days left after the rest had gone which I treasured. After two weeks as part of a group, I enjoyed being on my own. I wandered about, confirmed my fight, bought some scarves at a nearby souk and cleared off E-mails. The last day, the hotel proprietor arranged for me to go to Sabalooqa Falls, the Sixth and final Cataract of the Nile. A most tranquil place, I basically crashed for the half day there before heading back through the nearby small village, to town. And a 2:30 AM call for the ride to the Airport.

Khartoum was quiet during my time there, excepting some student activity in concert with the Egyptian protests. I heard some of this on the last day but saw nothing. The energy centered on the referendum occurring in the South, land of oil. The North had the refineries, built and run by Chinese, with no benefit to local workers - the Chinese brought their own. As we finished the trek, infrastructure set up for industrial use made its presence known. Cars, pickups and trailer trucks rumbled by. A sadness really, after the time of walking and riding in the isolated desert setting.

Impressions: The roads, even asphalted ones, were full of all sorts of travelers, ie: walkers, wheelchairs, donkey carts, three-wheelers, cars, pickups, buses, and trucks up to two trailers. A safe country: never felt ill at ease. People were very friendly and helpful. But you do not travel freely: there are numerous checkpoints where one’s authority to travel out of Khartoum is carefully examined.

Accommodations: When not wrapped in my sleeping bag, I stayed at the Acropole Hotel, an oldie but goodie. Marvelous place with a proprietor who was very solicitous of our well being. and a long time friend of Mike Asher. The hotel has atmosphere and good food. I have no reservations in recommending it. Full board was about $150/daily.

Food: The first question I always get from friends: what did you eat? At the hotel, ate regular food. Traveling, the camels carried our food. So much was concocted with canned this and that after the first few days of fresh fruits and vegetables. Often in the mornings, lovely pancakes with cheese or honey. Salads of one kind or another at noon. Pasta/beans at night. It took a creative genius to come up with some of the combinations. By trip’s end, the camels must have been relieved as they certainly had less to tote - no food, no riders!

Clothing: There seemed no requirement in Sudan the women be covered. though most local women were. Some men wore Western attire while others, the long, often white, gown and with a turban or pillbox hat. One of our camel men did the trek, wearing leather soled, shinny pseudo-alligator skin loafers while another was mostly barefoot.

Visas: That can get complicated. For the US, there appears to be a visa approval authorized in The Sudan, which is sent to Sudanese authorities in the US who have your passport and visa application. As I always do whenever it becomes too complex, I contact G3 in Washington DC to sort it out. I got the passport back with the visa shortly before I left.

The tour cost about $3000; air fare was $1500; tips were $200: extra time in Khartoum was $300 for he hotel and $200 for the trip to the Sixth Cataract. Care for Sam: $780.

Good trip and well worth the cost.

Five Ladies of a Certain Age - Traveling in Oman December 2010

2010-12-23T20:37:00.000-08:00

Several years ago, I came to Oman, stayed in Muscat, toured to Nizwa and the Sands. Then and there, I decided to return and see more of the country, A to Z, Khasab to Salalah. A good share of what I’d knew about Oman came from military writings concerning the 1950s Jebels conflict between the Sultan and the Imam who was aided by Saudis, and the 1970s Dhofar War involving the Yemen communists and Omani rebels with the government aided by the British.

The current ruler, Sultan Qaboos, came into power during the Dhofar War; His positive policies made it possible for the government forces to win over the rebels and chase the Yemenis home, As a result, Oman appears the most stable and peaceful country in the Middle East. So. with the help of a former military man who had been stationed in Oman and a local travel agent I put together a three week tour. I then contacted a number of people I’d traveled with and found five volunteers, several of whom were virgins to the Middle East. By the time we left, one had dropped out due to illness, leaving a total of five women, ages ranging from sixty to eighty: swimmers, shoppers, sightseers, hikers - experienced travelers all! The Gang of Five!

We gathered in Dubai, then into Khasab on the Musandam Peninsula where we got a feel of the area with a drive into the mountains and a dhow cruise with swimming and dolphin watching - a beginning of the variety of landscapes that make up Oman. the people were also a variety - mix of Indian and Arab, the women covered and uncovered. But even the totally veiled ones moved with a degree of freedom and authority not always present in the Arab world.

We then drove through the Emirates to Muscat, Oman's capital. It was a comfortable ride on asphalted roads with time to get a feel of the local scenery, both man made and natural. We ended at a hotel on on the Corniche in the Muttrah district of Muscat, with a view of the harbour including the Sultan’s dhow. Oman was celebrating the Fortieth Year of his rule with a vengeance. Visitors were from all over the World, including Queen Elizabeth of England. The television was full of impressive ceremonies including bagpipers riding camels!

As for us, we did a sightseeing tour which included the Grand Mosque, which must be one of the most beautifully designed buildings in the world, and the old walled city. I managed to wrangle a return to the Armed Forces Museum, which I think does an excellent job of presenting Oman’s history over the centuries. Behind our hotel, there was another small charming museum, Bait Al Baranda, a restored home with exhibits about Omani culture in photos and handicraft.

Then to Sur noted for its boat building plus walks in a series of scenic wadis, before and after. Onto the fabled Wahiba Sands. Then came the old Forts, the Jebel Shams and Jebel Akhdar - where the 50s conflict occurred. We hiked along mountain paths into deserted villages which were balanced with stops at souks, produce and meat/fish markets.

Most interesting was the walk about Al-Hamra, one of the oldest mud-brick villages in Oman, very similar to Yemen villages. It is to be an UNESCO Heritage project. A local family keeps their home in the old style and as an interactive museum, making bread and serving coffee/tea in the old style.

For two nights, we were housed in established camps as we checked out the back country. Then as we headed south, it was basic camping on the beach for three nights, using facilities at the local hospitals and eating at nearby cafes. While we missed the flamingos, there was other wildlife around. The landscape’s variety continued from lush greenery to volcanic desert.

We ended in Salalah, the old capital and home of the Sultans and the frankincense trade of yore. Important to me was nearby Mirbat, where the Fort was the scene of one of the significant battles of the Dhofer War. We were taken by Bedu to Ubar, the Queen of Sheba’s reported lost city and the Rub’ al Khali (The Empty Quarter) where we camped - only for one night unfortunately. A magnificent experience: sleeping under the stars, endless sand dunes and perfect silence. For me, Mirbat, Ubar and Rub al Khali were the piéce de résistance of the journey.

The people were warm and friendly. While walking in the Old City, a uniformed guy presented me with a beautifully smelling rose; when cheering a parade in honor of the Sultan’s rule, one of the participants ran out to toss his scarf to me. We never had a untoward moment. In fact, on several occasions people wanted their photos taken with us.

The women, often fully or partially veiled, were responsive. Sometimes quite aggressive; other times more decorous. Women are as educated as the men and are active in government and business. There is nothing like a woman in black, fully veiled - face and gloves - cashiering at the grocery store. Others would have face exposed with colorful clothing. In Muscat, western dress was more evident.

Camels were all around, often free ranging along the highways. Three memorable sights: a camel couched in the back of a pickup - I have a photo of this; two camels loosely tied to a pickup, trotting behind their mechanized leader along the highway; a string of, say thirty camels, walking along in the Rub’ al Khali, with a pickup herding them.

Accommodations were good. When sleeping out, tents and sleeping bags were provided. Three of us slept outside under stars, enjoying the solar activity. The set camps were comfortable, one elaborately furnished Bedouin-style with rugs on floor, walls and ceilings. The hotels were most comfortable.

I think the Indians control the food industry in Oman. We consistently ate Indian, whether it was at some what beat up roadside cafe or a more elegant hotel dining room. It was all good, very good.

Ali, the guide for the trip’s central region was outstanding. He and the driver, went out of their way to insure that we understood Oman and its people and that we had a good experience. I’ve traveled a bit and rarely felt that I was in such capable care. We all voted him #1!

I managed to lose two out of three caps this time around. Lost the Clive Cussler NUMA cap early on and then the newly purchased Armed Forces Museum cap half way through. Ended up with a red Oman flagged cap.

And yes, I would return again!

The trip, all told, cost about what most companies charge for their much less extensive tours: $2829 which included about half the meals. Emirates airfare from San Francisco to Dubai: $1553.

GARP 2010 : 24 Oct-7 Nov

2010-11-10T15:54:00.000-08:00

GARP 2010 : 24 Oct-7 Nov

Besides love of the desert, TE Lawrence and I have another thing in common - love of a soak in a hot bath. Though on this excursion, I settled for a hot shower. beating on my back.

This was my third time out with the Great Arab Revolt Project (and my fourth time in Jordan), the yearly trip to the Hejaz Railroad area where two weeks were spent digging for artifacts from the WW1 conflict between Arabs and Ottomans. The so-called TE Lawrence war. This year’s explorations occurred south of Ma’an in the Tel al-Shalm. area where I worked on tent rings, a gun emplacement and a structure of unknown usage. -- guesses ranged from a cookhouse to a brothel, the latter a not too serious suggestion. Not only were WW1 items found, but a probable Nabataen site was uncovered. My personal find was a Mauser 1916 cartridge and some bits and pieces of fabric. Much better than the first year when I was digging for mule pucky!

This year’s activity was enlivened by a day’s loan of a Royal Jordanian Air Force helicopter which was used for aerial surveys. Concurrently, the National Geographic filmed for several days - second time around for BBC filmed the first year I was with GARP. Apparently I was caught on camera, beavering away, for I was asked to sign a waiver. Check me out on the Discovery channel, if and when.

An exciting moment: a Jordanian solder came up to several of us, digging away at some sort of encampment, and asked to see my fellow excavator's book, TEL's Seven Pillars, as I recall. The solder thumbed through and then pointed out a bearded Bedouin: my grandfather, he grinned. "My grandfather" was Auda Abu Tayi, TEL's left hand during the Arab Revolt, assuming Prince Feisal was the right hand.

To add to the fun, our co-director was interviewed on Jordanian television one morning and both directors did a presentation at the local University. We stayed in Wadi Mousa, near Petra, where I went on one of our two days off. Been there before, but there are always new sights - I think it’s one of the most fantastic and awesome places on earth.

As always, the digging, scraping and sifting was time consuming and dusty. But had to be done. Possibilities had to ruled in or out. This year, more than others, a goodly share of us were attacked by a severe cold - several stayed back a day to recuperate. I conked out with a brief intestinal reaction one morning, but otherwise, was able to keep working.

Ten professionals directed sixteen volunteers,two of which were professional archaeologists and others were quite experienced, several having been with GARP since the beginning. Four Americans, a Swiss, a Belgian and a Jordanian were the foreigners in the bunch. The project is sponsored by the University of Bristol and the Jordanian Ministry of Antiquities. The last day, we a Turkish scholar joined us. As I’m sure I’ve commented before, this is a egalitarian bunch - I feel like f an extended family member.

The second day off, I went with others to Tafila- the site of the one significant Arab-Ottoman battle, an area that may be explored next year - and Karak - . which reminds me of Scotland’s Sterling Castle in that both totally dominate the landscape. And as with Petra there were busloads of tourists, completely inappropriately dressed for a Islamic country. For other than Amman and the tourist hotels, women in Jordan tend to dress conservatively - long coat and headscarf.

It was election time and I saw numerous candidates’ posters, all males, and the tented gathering places for campaign speeches in the several towns we passed driving from to the sites.

At the end of my tour, I headed home via British Airways and LHR - which meant a night in Terminal 1, the cache for all overnighters at the airport. There were about a dozen of us, including two non-too-sober Russian sailors, not terribly conversant in English who were totally confused by BA’s arrangements and decided I could be their leader.

Cost: SFO to LHR: $1000. GARP, inclusive of room and board plus airfare LHR-Amman: £2450. Well worth it and I will return!

NB: To see some fabulous photos and learn more about the dig, latch onto www.GARP-2010.blogspot.com where Roger Ward has done a terrific job putting the tour together.

Buchercon 2010 or Travels to SF

2010-10-18T15:51:00.000-07:00

This has been the year I’ve attended writers’ conferences: In March it was the Colby Military Writers and now, in October, the Bouchercon Mystery Writers. The first in Vermont and the second in San Francisco.

The Bouchercon began in l970 and is named for a SF Chronicle book critic and author, Anthony Boucher, active in the mid-forties. The organization awards new writers and recognizes those who have been around a bit. But it isn’t just writers who show up: agents, publishers, vendors, editors, librarians, would-be writers and people like me - readers. There were 1350 attendees signed on for the full four days with an average of eighty coming in for a day’s session, per the event’s organizer.

I’m familiar with the writings of probably two or three dozen crime/mystery/ adventure authors, particularly over the past twenty five years of serious travel. As I’m not a TV/film watcher aboard flights, I’ve managed to read my way to and fro where ever. Which means I’ve picked up paperbacks, allowing me into virtual reality - figuring out the good and the bad guys - in LA or Edinburgh or London or Amman, rather than the harsh reality of sausaged into some airline’s economy seat.

I’ve always been a mystery reader starting with Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie and PD James. I trained, in time gone by, as a journalist . I vividly remember sitting nights in The Shack, a quonset hut, housing The Emerald, the University of Oregon’s student newspaper, reaching for the inspiration to type out a decent short story for a creative writing class. Nada! Though I did get through the class, I realized I should stick to the facts, just the facts.

So in another life, I wrote reports about offenders and offenses for Judges and prison staff to read and use in their decisions about the care and feeding of various violators, from minor to major. In many ways, writing was the fun part of the job fro me,where it was a tedious bore for most of the others. Which is why I do a blog. Which is why I was delighted to spend time at a writers conference. To see and hear people who are able to create fascinating characters in challenging landscapes.

The conference was at the Hyatt Regency, a massive building, very modern with hanging light, an atrium and many meeting spaces. There were at least sixty panel discussions about various bits and pieces involved in the craft of writing: there were some seven interviews of authors by other authors; ongoing conversations with authors along with the milling about and socializing that comes with such a gathering.

I happily sat in on five of the interviews, three with authors whose work I do enjoy - David Baldaccio, Michael Connelly and Lee Child. The fourth was with a couple of Scots women who were really a kick: Val Dermid and Denise Mars. And one was with Bill Link, a TV series man, creator of Columbo among others.

Other than a Dashiell Hammett Walk around downtown San Francisco, the rest of my time was spent in the panels, which covered about everything one could imagine. Panelists ranged from totally unknown (though published) writers to top drawer authors. To me, E J Ellroy stood out - a Brit, very clear and confident about his writing.

Another panelist whose work I like was James Rollins of the Delta Force series, a ex- Sacramento veterinarian, who lived up to expectation. I really enjoyed a discussion involving US and UK cop authors - listening to them talk about the differences between US and UK policing was fun for me.

One panel with Bret Battles - I had just finished his latest - and Walter Mosley, whose now deceased detective character was named Easy Rawlins (Mosley says the name was made up!) was part of a discussion of East Coast, really New York, and West Coast, really LA, influences.

There were two other panels I attended: one about San Francisco Noir and another a theatrical effort from a SF based work. I was intrigued with a local author,Eddie Muller, a very articulate and enthusiastic guy, who I hadn’t heard of and whose works I will look up. I may be alone in my ignorance for there was an hour interview with him and is a page long appreciation of him the event’s program.

It was interesting to see how many authors had morphed from lawyer, journalist and cop into a writing career. Once successful, few stayed with their day job but moved onto full time author-hood, as it were. I couldn't help but remember what Khaled Hosseini, who has moved on from his day job as a physician, said: Medicine was the girl I liked and respected , but writing was the love of my life.

There were several dozen vendors about. Books, t-shirts, bags, jewelry!. Even a table with L. Ron Hubbard’s old science fiction stuff for sale. II did not succumb.

There were evening activities: an awards ceremony and reception, Lee Child hosted a Reacher’s Creatures event that really tempted me, a go-go party - I missed them all, racing to catch my bus/train back to Menlo Park. I commuted up, catching my transport at 7AM and trying to get home by 8 PM. Long days. I also missed the final morning’s events which included the Anthony awards.

But all in all, I got my money’s worth: a couple of hundred for the conference and fifty for transportation and meals - I picked up sandwiches from Starbucks across the street. and caged bites from the Hospitality Room, including a welcomed Hagen daz bar one afternoon.

September 2010: Eight Days in North Korea aka DPRK

2010-09-23T21:37:00.000-07:00

Eight Days in North Korea aka DPRK

There is a story, probably apocryphal, that the original Axis of Evil was Iraq, Iran and Syria. When it was pointed out that all were Moslem, the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea aka North Korea, was substituted for Syria. So it was to North Korea that I went in September 2010, traveling with Global Exchange/Realty tours. I had gone with them before: to Kabul and to Palestine/Israel and liked their approach, more educational than most.

There were eight of us in the group, plus the South Korea tour manager. Three were PhDs, one a Fullbright scholar, another a soon-to-be medical student, a ex-Navy guy, a would-be priest, our Italian Global Exchange representative and me, a retired civil servant. Ages ranged from mid-twenties to mid-eighties. Good group though the ex-Navy guy had health issues.

The Juche Idea is DPRK’s guiding philosophy, teaching that “man is the master of everything and decides everything”. This was first articulated by Kim Il-sung in 1955 and is what distinguishes the Korean approach from that of the Soviet Union and Mao’s China. Kim Il-sung is the first and Eternal President, despite his death in 1994. His son and successor, Kim Jong-il, is listed as the Supreme Leader, Chairman of the Presidium and Chairman of the National Defense commission. It is his third son who is soon to be designated heir.

And there is a Kim cult. Portraits of the Eternal Leader are in the foyers of all the buildings I entered, the guides began all their explanations with praises of Kim 1 and 2, people bow before a facsimile of Kim 1 - occasionally Kim 2 is part of the picture but always, Kim 1. Bookstores had a plethora of Kim-written books; almost impossible to find much else.

We had two nights in Pyongyang, a night in Kaesang and the DMZ, returned to Pyongyang for two nights and then a night at Wonsan and back to Pyongyang for the final two nights. The Yanggakdo hotel was some 40+ floors with a revolving restaurant on top - quite classy. You could see the new, even taller, hotel that was being built, a triangular shaped structure. It seemed North Korea was expecting/encouraging visitors. There were other tourists: Germans, Austrians, Canadians, Malaysians, Americans, all with guides. I talked with a Canadian who was part of a group of American teachers who came yearly to consult and advise on educational matters.

But visitors were segregated from the average Korean. We had a tour guide and two assistants. Our guide had studied and traveled in Europe worked for an international organization in North Korea before becoming a guide some four years ago. He was very good. His assistants were pleasant, less facile in English, and filmed us throughout the tour.

We. and the other visitors, not only ate apart from the local people - two dining rooms in the hotel - and were forbidden from taking photos of people. Certainly we could not wander abut on our own - our passports were taken from us upon arrival and returned only as we left the country. As we were ending our trip, an international film festival had begun which meant the hotel was well occupied. I saw two men, probably Eastern Europeans from their accents, waiting around for a minder so they could go on a morning run.

Driving about Pyongyang, I saw lots of statues and monuments but few people walking about. I did see individuals, mainly women, cleaning and clipping for the forthcoming October 10 celebration. Grass clipping was done with both sheers and scissors. And buses and subway were jam packed. We did ride the subway, in a car with only one other passenger, who seemed a bit bemused by us foreigners and quickly ran out at the first opportunity. The North Koreans live in rent-free assigned high rise apartments. Everyone I saw, in and out of the City, seemed reasonably well fed.

Sunday morning was spent at the Bongsu Christian Church where a very professional choir performed. A visiting minister from the US received much applause when she mentioned reunification. The resident minister’s sermon was more about ethics than religion. The members were primarily female and quite well dressed, as opposed to us in our tourist grubs.

In Pyongyang, we visited two hospitals: one was the Maternity Hospital and the other, the Academy of Koryo Medical Science. Equipment in the maternity hospital seemed modern enough. We were told medical care was available to all. The mothers and babies seemed well cared for but quiet; no babies crying. The Academy works with alternate medical care; I was shown acupuncture, accupressive and cupping techniques.

Along with various statues and monuments, we were visited the alleged native house of Kim Il-sung, the Kim Il-sung University, the library (Grand People’s Study House), and the Liberation Museum (which had a lot of captured US equipment from the Korean War US/War of Liberation(DPRK). I didn’t see a lot of students at the University except at the new Aquatic Center. The library seemed well used; I walked by an active English class among others. Both facilities have records extensively computerized (though no Internet available to us!).

A biggie was the visit to the captured US spy ship, Pueblo, where a video was screened, presenting the DPRK point of view. Not a high point of US Foreign policy.

We stopped by several art galleries and a embroidery studio. The embroidery work was exquisite. I watched the workers taking small stitches on thin silk material that would eventually be a figure or a scene. Very Impressive.

The Mangyondae Student and Children’s Palace had an active after school arts program in Western and Korean music and dance. They put on one of the three performances we saw and it was very professional. From drumming to dance to violin solos. The other performances were the Mass Gymnastic and Art Performance Arirang which was a combination of the Olympic opening ceremonies and Cirque du Soliel with a touch of the Edinburgh Tattoo. The third was the Circus where the performers were, I was told, all Army people, even the daring trapeze artists.

A cooperative farm was on the itinerary. Along the highway, there and elsewhere, corn and peppers were set out to dry. At the farm, I observed dried corn being loaded into new sacks with the US flag printed on them. Also, we were invited into a local home, they called it two room but I thought it three (Kitchen, living room and bedroom areas) with refrigerator, washer and dryer. However, facilities are VIPL: very improved pit latrine.

There were two trips out of town: one to Kaesung and the DMZ where the Armistice was signed. The Sinchon Museum,a pean to the atrocities of Americans, was on the agenda. Another video presented with the DPRK point of view. Overnight was at the Kaesung Korean Inn, where sleeping mats with mesquito nets substituted for beds; it was immaculate with TV and modern plumbing. Meals were served on low tables with consumers seated on the floor - hard for some of our crew.

The second out of town trip was to Wonsan. Enroute we stopped by the King Tongmyong Mausoleum, a magnificent spectacle, and the Children's International Camp, where kids spend several weeks in a natural setting (a light weight Adventure-bound?). Overnight, we were on the coast of the Sea of Japan where several of the guys swam - I settled for barefoot walking along the private Foreigners’ beach. The hotel was quite comfortable though not many were staying there.

A day trip was to Mt Myohyang, a tourist attraction, reportedly crowded year round with people, wildlife and hiking trails. There is the International Friendship House, a 200 room marble building with a Korean tiled roof full of gifts sent over the years to the two Kims; nearby is the 50 room annex. It’s as if all the Presidents’ gifts over the years were housed in one rather than the many Presidential libraries across the US. Also in this lovely mountain area was one of the two Buddhist temples we visited, all lovingly restored.

The tour ended with a stop at a souvenir shop, some karaoke after dinner and we were done!

And the good news was I made a tight connection in Beijing so, having left Pyongyang Saturday @ 9AM, I arrived in SFO @ 8 AM Saturday and was in the house, greeted by Sam, the cat, @ 10AM.

The bad news was the computer crashed and I had to put in a new hard drive. .

Impression: This continues to be a closed society, wedded to its philosophical base, the Juche Idea. (I found an excellent discussion of it on Wikipedia.) But there is a tourist infrastructure which seems t indicate the North Koreans are interested in contact with the rest of the world. It may be they want to show off what they have, which they feel is unique to them with little input from the outside. I don’t know.

But people seemed friendly though most of my contact was with the apartatchiks. Our South Korean companion said you could question anything but Kim Il-sung and the Juche Idea. Reunification is a goal but the United States is seen as standing in the way - we are the boogieman, a convenient scape goat. Our guide said he thought perhaps the military and the foreign services could combine in his lifetime but it would be his son’s lifetime before any reunification.

The tour cost $2750 inclusive meals and Beijing-Pyongyang air fare. SFO-Bejing via United was $1184.90.

Ladakh - Two weeks later!

2010-08-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

This morning's SF Chronicle headline: Deluge in desert engulfs tourist spot, killing 112.

A cloudburst followed by flash flood hit a Himalayan desert region in Indian-controlled Kashmir, sending rivers of mud down mountainsides and killing at least 12 people, officials said today.

Nearly 2000 foreign tourist were in the remote area of Ladakh, a popular destination for adventure sports enthusiasts, when the calamity struck, . . . there were no immediate reports of any foreigners being killed or injured in the floods that started early Friday. . . . At least 400 people were injured, as gushing waters swept away housing, cars and buses in a 60-square-mile swath in and around Leh, the main town in Ladakh.

The airport in Leh was hit, most communications were cut and Leh's state-run civil hospital was damaged as torrents of water flooded large parts of the town. . . . Ladakh, about 260 miles east of Srinagar . . . is a high altitude desert, with a stark moonscape-like terrain, about 11,500 feet above sea level.

The main highway linking Leh to the nearby holiday resort of Manali was blocked by landslides. The only other highway linking Ladakh was partially open and vericles waiting to cross had backed up for miles. Poor weather has made it impossible for even helicopters to fly into Ladakh with relief supplies.

Leh to Manali Plus - July 2010

2010-07-27T16:52:00.000-07:00

Lee Child's protagonist, Jack Reacher, is an interesting guy: ex-Army, travels around the US with only a toothbrush, an ATM card and an expired passport. I haven’t quite achieved that: ex-civil service, I travel around the world with a carry-on sized backpack, an ATM card and a valid passport. It is a goal,though, to be as unencumbered as the fictional Reacher. But it was with my normal bits and pieces that I returned to India, my fourth trip and again in the north - I must get to the South one of these days.

This trip was with Explore, one of several small British budget tour groups, booked through Adventure Center. I’ve traveled with them before and never been disappointed. Labeled Little Tibet, the tour began in Ladakh; then Leh to Manali, on to Dharmasala and Armritsar with individual time in Delhi at the beginning and end. I did have a bit of difficulty signing on as Explore isn’t enthused about the solo Senior traveler, aged eighty or over. But with the help of my Adventure Center agent and assurances I could deal with the altitude and long drives on essentially unimproved roadways full of melting snow runoff and falling rocks, I was squeezed in. Actually, I more than held my own, only huffing and puffing when it came to step climbing up to several temples and monasteries. And I would have huffed and puffed on those steps ten, twenty years ago. And I was one of the four who didn’t have intestinal problems. .

The group of sixteen included seven Seniors, one couple, one Scot with ukulele, an Irishman, several Malaysians now Brits, a Canadian, four guys, the Brits and me, the lone American. Most were well traveled - good companions, all! The four single women rotated roommates so we became well acquainted.

I got into Delhi early and caught up on sleep, missed on the two night flight from San Francisco. When the rest arrived, there was the tour of New and Old Delhi - Old Delhi via pedal rickshaw. This was probably my third tour of the City; the sights, sounds, smells and colors of Delhi continue to fascinate me. I could park myself at a curb and just stay there indefinitely, losing myself in the entire scene,

Then we took off to Leh, a hill town, starting point for various tours and treks, There was combinations of Westerners, local Indians and Tibetan refugees. Throughout, there was a large Army and Air Force contingent for The Great Game lives on in this part of India bordered with China and Pakistan. And if Americans are concerned with AlQueda, the Indians and Pakistanis have played their game since Partition, particularly with nearby Kashmir claimed by both sides.

The time in Leh was spent at several monasteries and gompas, including Seville hours at a Buddhist Festival, the performance reminiscent of a similar event I attended in Bhutan several years ago. Here however, we were able to be up close and personal. The grotesquely masked dancers moved in repetitious rhythm to the beat of drums and the sound of wailing horns, augmented by stringed instruments of ancient vintage. The dancers movements appeared to be roughly choreographed but presented no competition to the Rockettes.

Enroute to Alchi, there was a rafting opportunity - no takers. So a long dusty drive. Again, we climbed to gompas and monasteries. I ran into two California women who were marking time to rejoin their trekking group - they dropped out early on with problems climbing in high altitude. At Likir, there was a striking Golden Buddha that caught my attention. Next a lovely morning walk over wet and soggy meadows marked with streams to reach the Saspol caves, two of which were beautifully decorated. Then off to Leh and the Leh-Manali Road which is the second highest motorable road - it had been closed due to rock slides and snow run off as I left California and was barely open, now. But the scenery was awesome, on a par with that along the Karakoram Highway.

It was a two night ride to Manali. The first night was spent in Sarchu, a tent city for travelers, where I managed icey fingers and toes. I slept with every piece of clothing on me - cold, cold! High mountain passes, snow and a rocky, rocky road, nearly indecipherable at times. Road crews were hard at work to open up areas. At best a one lane road, trucks, cars motor cycles and goats navigated past one another. Always a bit exciting to look out your window and see straight down into the valley. The drivers and the Toyota Qualis’ performed magnificently.

As we went from one jurisdiction to another, there were check points where police laboriously wrote down every bit of information from passports - no computers there. In fact, electricity was a bit iffy at times.

The second night was in a comfortable lodge, similar to one I had stayed at in Georgia along the Military Highway. And then a long days drive got us into Manali. where there were a dozen or so Enfield motor bikes parked at the hotel, readying themselves for the ride to Leh. Brits, Kiwis and Aussies, including several women were confident their ride would be less arduous than ours.

There is Old Manali and New Manali, both appearing rather old and tattered. With MJ growing along the road, it was not surprising there were hippies with the Marley-braided hair, wandering about, along with the backpackers and tourists. There were several good restaurants, a bookstore and various shops. Some people hiked and others shopped. All of us got caught up in a morning’s Hindu temple celebration.

The rest of the trip was in a big bus, which bounded and bounced its way down to Mandi, Dharamsala and Armritsar. The view to and above Dharmasala was spectacular - through mist and fog up to McLeod and the old Cantonments to our hotel in Bagsu about 3 km from McLeod and the Dalai Lama’s compound. The rains let up to allow for a wander about the Dalai Lama’s compound - he was leaving the next morning for Leh! Despite intermittent rains the next day, the determined shoppers added to the locals’ economy. while others checked out a museum and returned to the compound.

The last day was spent driving to Armritsar and with time for Jallianwala Bagh where in 1919, Brits had slaughtered peacefully demonstrating Indians. Then to the The Golden Temple, holy place for Sikhs. One of our group was of Sikh heritage; I followed her around, having a much more participatory experience than the last time I was here. I went into the temple and then to the Langar where free food was served: chapatis and lentils.

Thus concluded the tour. I flew to Delhi and stayed in a very nice, reasonably price hotel in Old Delhi, less than half the cost of the New Delhi Hotel where I started this trip. And the restaurant at there was superb, the best food I had in India. There was a mosque in back so I had prayer calls throughout the day. Down the street from the hotel, was half a dozen men/women with portable tables and typewriters, providing business services to the locals. A product market and a book store were further down the street. Though damp and hot, I did walk around, absorbing the sights and sounds of India to hold me until I return.

Then the two night flight home!

Recommendations: Ah, The Broadway Hotel and restaurant in Delhi. I had stayed there on a earlier trip and remembered them fondly. In this case, both were even better than remembered.

The Lazy Dog in Old Manali, an exceptional restaurant.

Costs: Tour ran $1611(allowing for a 10% discount); extra meals probably ran about several hundred dollars. The New Delhi Hotel was $156 for the extra night while The Broadway was $66 for the last night. Airfare was $1700.

Screw-ups: There were a couple of problems. First, I didn’t have a voucher for the extra night at the start and had to make arrangements through the local agent - for a bit, I thought I might sleep a night in the hotel lobby for I arrived at 2AM and sat in the lobby until 10 AM when arrangements were worked out. And $156 is the most I’ve ever spent for a hotel room, anywhere, any time.

The second problem had to do with the tour. Originally listed as a Delhi-Dehli tour - which was one of the reasons I booked this specific itinerary. It turned out the trip ended in Armritsar. Fortunately I found out before I left so transportation to Delhi could be booked. Overall a good experience and I got my 2010 Himalaya fix.

Philip Beck's Monglian trip May 2010

2010-06-25T19:26:00.000-07:00

Philip Beck was on the Moroccan camel trek with me last year. A Canadian, he took off for Mongolia a month ago. Following is his report of the experience:

Mongolian Yak Safari May 2010
Geckos GCYS

In mid-May 2010 I was fortunate enough to go to one of my dream countries: Mongolia.

Yes Mongolia – the appeal of the country to me has always been the fact that I have heard there is a lot of space with deserts, rolling pastures, taiga, and mountains. I saw almost all of on the two week Gecko’s trip that I was on.

Mongolia is the world’s second largest landlocked country. It is also the least populated country by area in the world. Mongolia has two neighbours: Russia to the north & China to the south. Mongolia’s classic continental climate means it has 250 sunny days per year, cold winters & changeable summers with very dry conditions.

Ulaanbaatar (henceforth known as UB) is the country’s capital & largest centre. The population of UB is just over 1 million in a country of almost 3 million people. Just so you know 60 % of the population is under 30. UB is roughly in the centre of the country. There are regular (but certainly not daily flights to Seoul, Beijing, Moscow, & Frankfurt).

A visa for the country is required and it must be obtained in advance.

I arrived in UB and met my group at my Soviet era style hotel called Hotel Zaluuchuud. For a 3 * hotel it was very comfortable and really well located. All the rooms had huge windows that opened and nice rooms. The hotel was our UB base – we stayed here 3 separate times. The staff there made everyone feel really welcome. Our group had a get together dinner at a typical Mongolian style restaurant.

The next morning we started early for a 9:00 AM train that headed S.E. to an area called Ikh Nart Nature Reserve on the edge of the Gobi Desert. That morning in UB was a very cold, grey, windy, and snowy morning. The train journey is part of the Trans Mongolian Railway in part of the larger Trans Siberian Railway that starts in Beijing and ends in St. Petersburg or vv. For the whole route one could see herds of sheep / goats / horses & a few cattle. After a 6 hour journey with multiple stops we were met by our small bus transport / all terrain vehicle to take us the further 2 hours over tracks & dirt roads to our first Ger Camp at Ikh Nart. We arrived in sunshine and 21 °.

The trains ran very smoothly. Trains are the preferred mode of travel for a lot of people. Two cars away from us was a family travelling together and they were enjoying the ride and singing most of the way. The carriages are large & very clean. The windows opened and we were very comfortable.

At our camp at Ikh Nart we stayed in gers. Gers are the traditional housing stock in Mongolia and they are even preferred in UB wherever possible. A local ger would house an entire family with a kitchen, a stove, and a storage area. Our gers were quite spacious. They were usually set up with 2 twin beds, a small table & benches, a wash basin and a wood stove. The even had linoleum lining over the earth floor. Word of caution one really has to be careful upon entries and exits. It is very easy to scrape one’s head or hit your temple as the entries are quite low.. (think round hobbit houses). At our camp there were 13 gers. The camp also had a kitchen ger, a dining ger, a library ger, and a shower ger. Washrooms were spic & span outhouses.

Ikh Nart Reserve is at the edge of the Gobi Desert. The reserve was set up to protect Ibex and Argali sheep. We spent a full morning one day tracking the sheep and exploring the area. Of course there was lots of other desert fauna to seek out and the area had magnificent granite formations scattered all over. We were fortunate to see at least 15 Argali sheep. After a long morning in the sun and a 28 ° day we went back to our camp to the cool comfort of the library where some of us read, others learned Mongolian bone games, and the more adventurous went on an afternoon bike ride.

The ger camp had riding access to Bactrian (2 hump) camels. I can tell you that I was very keen to get on one of these as I have been in India & Morocco on Arabian (1 hump) camels so I said what the heck try something new. I can tell you honesty that these Bactrian camels are a lot more comfortable than the latter camels. Our afternoon adventure was a 1 hour drive to a former dinosaur dig area and a rock hound’s treasure chest. On the way back we stopped at some springs for some water tasting and we managed to see 5 Ibex in about 250 meters away from us.

Spring had just started in Ikh Nart. We saw a lot of different crocuses & irises. The winter of 2009 – 2010 was the coldest on record in Mongolia so we also saw a lot of dead sheep and goats around. Mongolia lost 17 % of their livestock due to malnutrition and disease brought on by a very harsh winter.

We may have had 28 ° days but the nights were very cold. It went down to 8 ° at night. We were very thankful for a polite knock at the ger door at 6:30 AM to light the stoves by a camp attendant.

On the last morning the ger camp was woken up by a herdsman and about 500 + goats and sheep that bleated and bayed and neighed and clanged bells at 4 AM. Our laughs just about drowned out the sounds. Good thing they served us breakfast early that morning.

We ate 3 hearty meals per day at the camp. Lunches were usually served hot and dinners were really great with at least 4 courses. Vegetarians were easily accommodated. We had the opportunity to purchase wine, beer, pop and extra chips or chocolate bars if we needed them.

I really appreciated the huge almost endless blue sky and fresh warm breezes scented with desert plants. I have not seen such huge and blue skies like that since my teen years in SE Alberta.

After breakfast on the last day at Ikh Nart we drove back to UB – a 7 hour drive. We got back to the city in time for some of us to check out the National Museum. www.nationalmuseum.mn

I had time to do that plus I had time go to the post office gift shop for cards. I also found a really great bookstore for a friend’s son who just happened to working a grade 7 Social Studies project on Chinggis Khan and the Mongolian empire of 1206 – 1368.

The next day was another full day. We started at 10 AM at the Gandantegghenling Monastery. This Buddhist monastery is the largest in the country and one of the few not to be completely destroyed by the Russians when Mongolia was part of the Soviet sphere of influence. Perhaps 85 - 100 monks live & study here.
We stayed her about 3 hours.

After Gandantegghenling we drove north then east to Khan Khentii Nature reserve about 150 kms from the border with Russia. We had a surprise along the way. Just 40 kms outside of UB out of nowhere appeared a gleaming 43 meter statue of Chinngis Khan: He is the hero of modern day Mongolia. His gleaming statue had him astride a horse, protected by his generals at a gate. The site will soon be part of an almost completed village for travellers to visit. You can visit on line http://www.genco-tour.mn/en. This statue will soon be for Mongolia what the Taj is for India, The Eiffel Tower for France, and the Statue of Liberty for the USA.

After a picnic lunch and out of the watchful eyes of Chinggis we went on to our second ger camp at Khan Khentii. This area is at a relatively high elevation with snow-capped mountains to the north perhaps 15 kms away. Our camp was set in the Jalman meadows about a 15 minute walk up from the bank of the Tuul River. We stayed at these gers for 3 nights. The meadows were surrounded by hills of tamarack forests. We were just a week if not days away from the greening of the hills. The tamaracks however did have really pretty small new pine cones on them. Parts of these hills were covered in blooming deciduous azalea shrubs and more irises and more crocuses. It was so beautiful. In that area the livestock did well. The horses & foals were healthy. Of course there were goats and sheep were everywhere.

A few of the activities at that ger camp were of course great walks, learning Mongolian archery techniques, and fishing. I brushed up on my archery. I signed up for a full day of horseback riding with a fellow traveller. Mongolian horses are quite a bit smaller than the horses we are used to seeing. They are fitted with smaller saddles and they do not really respond to kicks in the flanks. These horses responded well to a good whack of your reign and some nice words (of course this coaxing was in Mongolian no “giddy up” here! Our horse leader was the same local man who taught us archery. His name is Turmbree. While on the ride we learned Mongolian words for streams, nests, goats, trees, and whatever else we pointed at. In return we gave taught Tumbree the English words. When we ran out of out nests & grass to point at Tumbree started to sing. He had a really strong & melodic voice. You just knew the songs were about love of the land and songs from pastoral traditions hundreds of years old. The songs brought tears to our eyes. Tumbree took us by river banks, up hills, and we forded the Tuul river twice after Tumbree made 100 % certain that is was safe to do so. Because these horses are so small, the river was in full spring run off, and I am 6’ tall I did get wet up to my shins wet but the day was a lot of fun.

The second part of our venture in this region was the yak part of the trip. Yaks loaded down with full carts can walk about 3 to 3.5 hours. We had 3 yaks each tethered to a cart. One cart was for our portable gear, one cart was for the kitchen, and the third was for all the supplies and tools.

Our group followed they yaks for a short while then we could venture off for 6 – 7 hour hikes in the hills or stay with the yaks. We met at our temporary camp. We slept in tents and we set up a kitchen ger each day. The toilets at our camps were pit toilets with a privacy canvas. Each camp was near a river or stream, our water was boiled stream water, and food was again superb as we had our own camp-cook for the 3 full days.

This really made us feel nomadic. We really didn’t have a specific goal in mind, we just set up the ger where is was relatively flat and close enough to the river for water. We would meet horseman and herders all through the day. There were always smiles all around and everything was shared. We all enjoyed these wandering days with the yaks. The ger set up took our camp guides about 15 minutes (we assisted when we felt we would not be in the way)

Toward the end of the trip the weather took a turn for the worse. One night as the wind was howling and the rain was falling my tent roomie & I snuck up to fellow traveller’s tent & shook it for all it was worth. The ensuing laughter drowned out the storm. The last night however we knew we’d get it back. Sure enough at 2 AM they pulled the pegs out of our tent and collapsed it on top of us. It was all in good fun.

The next day we drove back to UB past the giant Chinngis again. We had enough time back in UB to clean up and take in either a last museum (some of the group was glad they went to the Winter Palace others went to the State Department store. I hunted for music so I could find a CD or two of music similar to the songs I heard from Tumbree. I had time to chat with the staff at The Zaluuchuud Hotel, show them our travel pictures, talk about the music, and share fantastic stories.

In the early evening we walked to a theatre to see this show: The Blue Sky Melody of Great Mongolia. This ensemble consists of the creative professional artists of song and dance representing the wonderful beauty of Mongolian national art. They present the special features of the Mongolian life and customs.

The Moon Stone Ensemble was formed in 2002 in UB. The mission of the ensemble is to promote and build international awareness of Mongolian folk art that dates back to ancient times and pass on the rich cultural heritage to future generations. The Moon Stone Ensemble has achieved broad local and international recognition thanks to its successful performances at a variety of cultural events.

We really enjoyed the presentation of throat singing, folk dancing, acting out interpretations of legends, a Mongolian contortionist, and a choir. We were all in awe.

Our farewell dinner was held at a local lively restaurant. We toasted each other and our great tour guide Oso with “tuktoys’ & “suktoys” with Mongolian beer & Mongolian vodka.

The next morning came to fast for my flight home via Beijing. I had to get a window seat for the UB to Beijing leg. For the most part at 35.000 feet we followed the rail line. I found it very hard to leave. I really appreciated the raw beauty of the land and the warmth of the people. I got to experience a spring all over again. We had snow and rain, hot days & stormy days; this is pretty much all what I expected of Mongolian weather.

Mongolia has raw materials the ‘modern’ world wants such as copper & coal and gold. The time to go Mongolia is now before super highways, chain stores, and chain coffee shops take over. In UB a Zara’s is being built a Burberry’s and an Armani Exchange already exist. If you do go plan on a 2012 trip That years will be 250th anniversary of Pax Mongolia. So I say tuktoy to Mongolia and thank you. I will go back.

Vertical Challenge June 2010

2010-06-23T18:25:00.000-07:00

I went two years ago: it’s a helicopter show at nearby San Carlos Airport with about every kind of imaginable vertical flying machine. Police, military and civilian. Big ones and little ones. One day with an air show and the other, just to gaze over the stationery machinery.

Before, I was so enthused by the experience, I not only joined the Hiller Museum, the event’s sponsor, but enrolled in Simulator classes and then flew about the Bay area, first time I had been at the controls of an aircraft since college days.

And I had the same feeling this time. Wanting to be part of this world. I was ready to sign up for flight instruction, enlist in the Marines, apply to the Highway Patrol, whatever it took.

Along with cops and volunteers, Civil Air Patrol cadets patrolled the perimeters, which took me to back to WW2 when I too, was a CAP cadet; I still remember some Morse code.

At the entry, the two woman at the door were dressed in old time airline attendant uniforms, which put you in the proper mood. The aircraft on display in the Museum set the tone even before you got outside to the air field.

The crowd was a mix: all ethnicities and all ages. From wee ones, literally at their mother’s breast, to a sari and sandal clad lady wearing a ball cap. From a forty-ish hunk who demonstrated his chin-up technique (“not bad for the Old Man!”) to young girls in their tank tops and shorts. There were ex-service personnel from WW2, some in their motorized wheelchairs, to the tattooed Iraqi vets.

The show: Several demonstrations by the Coast Guard and the California Highway Patrol and the PGE. their uses of the helicopter plus a model aeronautics show, a flag show, some stunt flying and then: fly bys by several Harriers, fast, fast Marine aircraft, and a C-5, a huge machine, largest one aloft.

II was most impressed by the Osprey, a good sized aircraft which combines aspects of the helicopter with those of more conventional machines. There had been difficulties getting them operational, but all was well now days, per the Marine mechanic I talked with. Other aircraft on display were Cobras, Apaches, Hueys and Blackhawks.

A moving moment was the swearing into the Marine Corps of some 20 or so men and women, who then dog trotted along the field’s edge to the applause of the crowd. All in all, a good show and a great way to spend Saturday.

Theatre in May 2010

2010-05-31T18:57:00.000-07:00

As it turned out, I did get to all the plays I wanted to - plus a rather groovin’ Hamlet. When I originally called in, it looked like I would get to two of the four, but once in Ashland, I was able to manipulate the entire palate: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, She Loves Me, Pride and Prejudice, Hamlet and Well. Well turned out to be the least of the bunch: well directed and acted but incomplete in the writing. The rest were superb.

Since the fifties and my college days - and that does date me - I have been going to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, more or less regularly. I did miss a few years in the sixties when I moved to California. Used to drive, then flew up more recently. Several years ago, I took the Greyhound, just as the Ashland stop was discontinued.

So this year, I tried Amtrak. Less than half the price of flying ($193 San Jose to Ashland as compared to $450 SFO to nearby Medford). Cal train to San Jose, Amtrak to Klamath Falls and the shuttle to Ashland. Even with layovers in Klamath Falls it worked. Seniors and students get discounts so no surprise that they were in the majority. Also families that had more time than money for travel.

On the Seattle-bound train, were a clan of Quakers - females with white winged head coverings similar to the old nurses’ caps, loose cotton dresses and practical tennies; men in basic jeans, blue work shirts with suspenders. Returning were a large group coming from Sacramento-Davis into Emerybille (San Francisco), for the Memorial Day weekend - the ball game and shopping being the big draws.

Since I haven’t ridden American trains since my teens, it was interesting: certainly comparable to European and Asian trains, which I have used in recent times. And much more spacious than the airlines’ economy class. Clean toilets with dressing rooms. A game room. Cafe plus a dining car. And lounges. Over night, time consuming travel (twelve hours) but comfortable. Even with a teenager sprawled out, sleeping, on the seat next to mine.

I had a two to four hour wait for the connecting shuttle; this bus would hold about thirty people. Going over to the Coast, there were seven of us. Only one other stopping at Ashland for the Festival. Coming back, there were four of us - all but me coming from the Coast. An outstanding drive through mountains and trees and lakes with remaining bits and pieces of snow: close to Crater Lake.

Ashland, as always, is enticing. I have been so close to moving there over the years, most particularly five or so years ago when I was doing an agonizing reappraisal of my present and future lives. Lawns, cut and uncut, old Victorian houses, restored and not - styles and placement of buildings without city planning interference; lush greenery after a wet winter and spring. Despite becoming a tourist attraction, it has managed to keep its small town character. Very similar to Stratford, Ontario or Niagara-on-the-Lake,Canadian homes to Shakespeare and Shaw.

I returned to the Columbia Hotel in the middle of town, upstairs above various shops. It’s a place with a Victorian ambiance, under $100 with shared facilities. The owner, a Welshman, is turning over the management to a younger generation, who have modernized a few things but promise not to make any basic changes.

The four days there were spent at the theatre, including a a tour of the three venues, and wandering about town. Not just shops, but around the park and up and down various paths and streets. Chilly and wet, the sun finally came out tha last morning when I walked out to the memorable Morning Glory cafe on Siskiyou Avenue for a final meal before returning home.

You’ll hear from me next year on this one. Oh, and Sam, the cat, managed alright with catsitter and FOS (Friends of Sam) stopping by to play and pet. He forgave me readily for being gone - and that he has to get used to for I’m going into my traveling season.

Volcanic Ash and the Tuaregs!

2010-04-24T17:03:00.000-07:00

Coming home from Algeria via Casablanca and New York to San Francisco on Wednesday-Thursday April 21-22 was Plan C. Plan A was Frankfort to San Francisco which was not possible until Friday, maybe. Plan B was Montreal to Chicago to San Francisco on Wednesday but that meant cash payment, which wasn’t immediately possible. While I did enjoy several extra days in Algiers courtesy the Icelandic volcano debris, when Tuesday came, I was ready to go.

So Plan C it was, with a long Wednesday night at JFK’s terminal 4. For I was able to purchase tickets via my booking agent in the States, bless her! I thought I would miss the connection at Casablanca but the flight was held for a passel of Africans financial experts flying into Washington DC for an economic summit. I lucked out. While it wasn’t a full flight, there were passengers from various parts of Africa, remnants from a tour group and a man from Brussels, trying to get home to New York, the really long way around.

So before noon Thursday, I walked in my front door, a little worse for wear. And thoroughly pissed at my shuttle service, which refused to honor my voucher as I had not given them a required three hours notice of any change in arrival plans. So it was the original $22 plus $35 to get from SFO to my place. They have heard from me.

Initially, it didn’t look too bad. I’d been in Southern Algeria, traveling in Tuareg country and finished up in Tamanrasset when news of the volcanic outburst and its affect on worldwide flights came through. I ws able to get to Algiers on April 18, but obviously, my immediate flight home via Frankfort was canceled until maybe, two days hence.

Comfortably housed the first few nights in a very French hotel in the center of Algiers, I and a fellow traveling companion took advantage of the situation and went on a long day’s tour of Algiers, the Casbah and the Roman ruins at Tipaza.

Algiers impressed me as very French with an Islamic flavor. Abut half of the women were covered but few of the men were in Muslim grab. French and Arabic were the languages of choice. English was a poor third. There was a mix of various nationalities. Several women who ran a nearby internet service were over joyed to talk with an American; they would have adopted me.

The Casbah showed the results of years’ conflict in the area. In fact, we had not only a guide but three plain clothes cops accompanying us. One I would liked to have photographed: a typical Parisian flic: tanned lined face, dark hair, small boned wearing a black t-shirt and pants with a blue jean jacket and tennis shoes.

The drive to Tipaza made you realize why the French fought so hard to keep Algeria - the fertile green fields were very enticing. The ruins at Tipaza are a World Heritage sight, located beautifully on the coast. They are not kept up and you can freely roam about, as the locals happily do. As I crawled up several areas, I knew that in the US, there would be warning signs and fenced off areas. Not here.

The next day, no flight, so a move to another hotel, and serious consideration of how to get home before I ran out of money - my Mastercard didn’t work in Algeria - and May rolled around. But frankly, I do thank Iceland for several unexpected days in Algiers.

This started with a two week trek - via Land Cruiser - in Southern Algeria, the land of the Tuaregs, the Sahara, the volcanic peaks, the ancient paintings and carvings: the Hoggar Massif and Atakor Mountains. Gorgeous, ever changing landscape. Starting in Djanet, returning to Djanet after a week for a day to restock and clean up before taking off again, to end up in Tamanrasset. a week later.

There were three of us: a Brit and two Americans, two guys and me! Plus the four Tuaregs: two drivers, a cook and our guide. It took them and the two vehicles to tote us and supplies. The Tuaregs were the feared fighting veiled tribesmen of yore, who had held off the French incursion until early 1900. No quarter given Like the Kurds, their territory has little to do with the Western imposed boundaries - they still inhabit parts of Niger, Mali and Algeria. According to our guide, southern Algeria receives little from the northern government. The Tuareg now manage with tourism, showing strangers the treasures of their desert and mountains and caves.

Djanet was a desert town; Tamenarsset the same though larger and more of a regional center. It was what was in between that made the trip spectacular. We camped out. Nights, I was rolled in a blanket, having neglected to bring a sleeping bag. There was a tent, but I chose to sleep under the stars. Glorious!

The routine was to have a leisurely breakfast of tea, bread and cheese. Pack up and travel with stops at various sites, unpack a lunch of a salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, tuna and whatever else was about, all presented in style. A several hour respite to escape the hot sun before we took off again until evening, when we bedded down, with a hot supper of soup and stew.

We stopped to view exceptionally shaped sandstone/volcanic rocks and peaks and to photograph the drawings, paintings and carvings of years past. We traversed ergs, wadis, and oueds. We visited a Tuareg village, stopped at various wells, drove over non existent roads - in fact, our driver had a sixth sense directing him to where we needed to go, for there was no GPS.

I saw other tourists, maybe a dozen groups, riding, walking and cameling, during the first week, but only desert people the second week, until we got to Assekreme and the Father Foucault Hermitage, the last night on the road. .

Enroute, there were some two dozen bicyclists on the tough and hard road going to one of the highest peaks of the Atakor Mountains. We stayed in a basic dorm room at the hermitage with an evening in the main facility where we talked and danced with other guests, including a French-Algerian couple, two young professional Algerian women and various guides and locals. The hermitage cook played a mean oud with our guide providing rhythm on a jerrycan. A wonderful ending to the trek.

I spent a day wandering about Tamanrasset, visiting the Africans Market, checking out the local scene at a local cafe, stopping by our guide’s uncle’s home, and enjoying the atmosphere of the town.

Despite all, it was an exciting and marvelous trip. And I must admit, sans Iceland, I would not have had the several days in Algiers. Let me say, I found Algeria to be unique and safe place to explore. There was a fair amount of Security about in the Northern part but nothing on the level of Israel or other places I’ve visited. And no Blackwater/Cie types!

Three good books to read: William Langewiesche’s Sahara Unveiled and Michael Asher’s Sands of Death (about the Flatters expeditions) and Two Against the Sahara (story of a honeymoon trek).

Expenses The tour cost $3950, booked through Journeys International, Inc, plus 400 Euros local fee. In additional I probably paid an additional $250 for three nights hotel in Algiers. Also add another $150 for local tour services: the local guys, Cheche tours,who were our backup throughout the ash crisis. Extra meals were likely $60 - I ate cheap. Add to that extra airfare: $1459 (Royal Air Maroc) and$ 516 (United). Hopefully, I will get a refund for half fare from Luthansa.

Cheche tours was unbelievably helpful in finding us accommodations. Both Journeys and Cheche tours were superb in coming to the fore and helping with the travel problems. It was Journeys that finally got me home after it was clear neither Plan A or B was working. What more can I say?

Oh, I can say more: the day after I arrived home, I acquired a 20 pound, eight year old Blue Point to replace Tiffany, my twenty-plus year old Chocolate point-mix who died last year. Sam is now in charge!

Vermont and the Colby in March 2010

2010-03-10T17:24:00.000-08:00

There were two local (that is, in the US) symposiums set for March: one on spies and targeted assignations and the other involving military writers and Iraq/Afghanistan. The spies were postponed but the military writers’ met as scheduled. And I attended it at Norwich University, the only significant activity in Northfield, Vermont.

It was the 15th Annual William E. Colby Military Writers’ Symposium entitled America at the Crossroads: the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Since I had been in both countries last year, I was interested in the military viewpoint. The panel included four author-speakers, colonels all, who had been involved with Forces’ planning and operations, past and present, three from the US and one from the UK. A fifth author-speaker, who endeared himself to the cadets, was a former Staff Sergeant less concerned about theory, and more about practicalities. More of a Hurt Locker type.

Integral in the discussion of the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan was Counterinsurgency (COIN) philosophy . The major participants had been advocates/practitioners of COIN techniques. Admittedly, there is disagreement among the military between preparations for more conventional warfare (“shock and awe”) as opposed to the COIN approach necessary in Iraq-Afghanistan. Problem: can you do both at once?

Where was it I heard that the Army was always fighting one war ago? And several times at this gathering, I heard: while we may have gotten into Iraq stupidly, that doesn't mean we have to get out stupidly!

All the major speakers believed that committing to a withdrawal date is a mistake, that the locals have to feel secure that combat forces will be supportive until a stable political process is in place, however long that takes. Otherwise, it’s a waiting game for the opposition who can move in at the time and date given.

(To some extent, I believe, that’s what happened in Afghanistan after the US’s original efforts. Following the original effort, the US promptly moved out to deal with the ongoing Iraqi conflict, which had precedence in the planners’ minds.)

it seemed clear that an Iraqi solution was not necessarily an Afghan one. But Western involvement was necessary given the Pakistan-Indian situation. Geopolitically, a somewhat stable Afghanistan is a must. Implied were concerns about the central government’s ability (understandable: many Afghans I talked with were doubtful of Karsai and Afghanistan has a long history of local, rather than central, rule.)

I was impressed that several participants had earned doctorates; all were bright, articulate men, military scholars and published authors. One, a retired LtColonel, has written over half a dozen books including several biographies. Another, West Point graduate, PhD and retired Colonel, has several books and the editorship of a military history magazine under his belt (and I do subscribe to Armchair General).

A two day event with few outsiders attending; most nonmilitary attendees seemed to be donors, It was a close knit group. In addition to various presentations and book signings, the participants spent time in classes, meeting with students. Norwich is a military school headed up by a retired Coast Guard admiral although about half of its student body is civilian. The architecture, engineering and nursing schools bring in the nonmilitary element. A good share of the cadets are from Service families and have made a commitment to the Forces upon graduation. As a result, they benefit from financial aid for attendance at Norwich is not cheap.

The university is located on the outskirts of Northfield, a New England village that is centered around a cross road maybe a mile from the school. “Town” consists of several cafes, a bank, a library, a church with numerous white frame farm houses scattered about. I stayed in one of these, morphed into a comfortable Bed/Breakfast across from Norwich. With snow on the ground, very picturesque New England. Sunny days though a bit “fresh” as the Brits say.

I found myself in a different culture, both in terms of being in New England and the exposure to the military. I’m glad I went and given another stimulating topic, I may return next year.

And yes, Jet Blue turned out to be an excellent airline not only comfortable and reasonably priced but with staff that was courteous and helpful. The shuttle service was prompt and reliable. However, at Burlington Airport, I had the most thorough body search I’ve ever experienced, just one step from a strip search. And I’ve been searched in many venues and countries over the past years.

January 2010: Twenty Days in the Antarctric!

2010-02-17T14:45:00.000-08:00

It was the best of trips, it was the worst of trips!

The cruise itself was a good as they get - I say this as a land lubber. This was my tenth boat trip and I would rather be ashore any day. I’ve traveled on the Rhine, Yangtze and Volga rivers, spent a week on a a Maine Windjammer, was overnight on a Stockholm-Helsinki ferry, spent time coming and going with a bunch of drunken Swedes on a Stockholm-St Petersburg Baltic cruise, did the Norwegian Coastal trip over the Arctic Circle one Christmas, and then there were several cruises in and about Washington-Vancouver Island -Island Passage. It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed them, but I do get restless.

This Quark expedition was aboard the 110 passenger Lyubov Orlova, a retrofitted Russian ship, which was very comfortable. Since the cruise was entitled, Explorers’ Route, time was spent learning about various Antarctic expeditions. The itinerary included a number of trips ashore, limited only by the weather conditions.

The accommodations were comfortable, more so than most of the vessels I’ve been on. The food was great, too much so. My roommate was a joy. Staff was outstanding, both the Russian crew and the Quark staff. There were ongoing presentations about the flora, fauna, geology, birds, seals, whales and history of the region. And several good movies in the evening: I finally saw The Queen with Helen Mirran. and an excellent documentary on Ernest Shackleton, the Antarctic explorer who didn’t succeed in reaching his goal, but did succeed in saving his men. .

Everyone aboard had a camera and some, two. Several were professional photographers.
There were a plethora of birders who were snapping shots of various sizes and kinds of the winged set. Binoculars abounded. There were many opportunities to view the wildlife - up close and personal! And the passengers were from all over: US. UK, Portugal, Japan, China, New Zealand, Australia, Germany, Russia, Israel - you name it.

My main interest was in the history and politics of the area though I did marvel at the diversity of wildlife. The stops at Stanley in the Falklands and Grytviken in South Georgia - where Shackleton is buried - were of most interest to me. I had West’s book on the Falklands war with me and had read both Asher and Geraghty on the SAS’ difficulties there plus Keegan on Intelligence mishaps.

Stanley was as English as Victoria BC, which outdoes the homeland. There was a small museum with momentos from the Falklands War. Also bullet holes in buildings were among the left overs. Grytviken was full of rusted, beached ships from the whaling era along with the wreckage of the Argentine submarine, Santa Fe (ex-US Starfish) which couldn’t be scuttled by the Brits for legal technicalities in the undeclared conflict with Argentina.

One of the staff aboard the Orlova was a real gem: a diver, naturalist and historian who had been in South Georgia during the Falklands War and aboard The Explorer, the GAP ship that sunk in the Antarctic several years ago. He had been around the area for at least twenty years; I found him extraordinarily interesting. But all the staff, with their varied backgrounds, were impressively knowledgeable.

My favorite time were the rides in the zodiacs. Sometimes, paced by whales. Often wet and occasionally, a bit hairy, the rides provided a change from the ship’s routine. When near land, there were usually two trips ashore per day where the penguins, seals and birds held forth for their audience of photographers. I did find my snow walking ability had gone down the tubes: the effort to climb up to a volcano with rubber boots was spectacularly unsuccessful. I was down more than up.

I was able to move about some aboard ship. There was an exercie bike and some weights in a room with space enough to stretch out. The deck railings were at such a height I could use them for an abbreviated ballet barre albeit a bit “fresh”outside as the Brits would say.

I had enough time in Ushuaia to visit their local museum, housed in an old time penitentiary. It was quite unique and included several art galleries as well as material on sea and ships. One block was left in the orginal condition while another block had material posted about the facility and former prisoners.

So the tour itself was a real plus. And I would recommend it!

But then there was the Santiago Aeroporto and the delay at LAX!

In twenty five years of traveling, I have never had such trouble as I had connecting flights in Santiago. both coming and going. Great confusion when I arrived at the International section as to where I was to go to connect with my Ushuaia (Argentina) flight and no system for connecting flights - you go through immigration and passport and security and pay $131 (as the US now charges $131 for Chileans to obtain a visa) and are left adrift. I missed my twice weekly flight to Ushuaia.

I was flying LAN Air, code share with American Airlines. Initially, LAN people assumed no responsibility for my plight, since AA had booked the flight. However, after AA was absent at the airport and incapable of assisting via phone and the Quark emergency number was non responsive, LAN kindly put me on their overbooked flight to Buenos Aires where there was an early AM flight to Ushuaia which allowed me more than enough time to make the boat.

Returning was just as bad, though I didn’t miss the flight. There was the same confusion in finding where I was to be to catch my LAN flight to the US. Again, through immigration and the like - during that procedure, I lost a sack with my medical records. trip notes and gifts and was not allowed to go back to pick it up though a bit later, the LAN representative arranged for look-see with negative results. At the Gate, I was informed I needed to pay $30 to bail myself out and as I left the Gate, my nicely packaged bottles per TSA, were confiscated, with the sniffer dog following me to the aircraft door.

The final frosting: I was held up several hours at LAX as there was a fog overlay at SFO, including an hour on the tarmac!

Ok, the tab: the twenty day Quark trip, booked through Adventure Center, cost $9075 for a double room but note that I had a $5000 discount. Airfare cost $1641. and I did pay an extra $84 for CO2 offset. That was it other than Airport fees in Santiago and Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires charges $100 per American as we now charge their citizens that amount for visas).

The next jaunt is in 10 days or so, out of San Jose via Jet Blue to Vermont - I’ll report back on that one.

A Decade of Memories

2009-12-31T14:40:00.000-08:00

I was asked about the happenings of the past decade by hosts of an online travel group; this was my response:

The past ten years saw serious changes in my life - and
greatly increased traveling. While my husband and I
traveled several times a year - his last trips were to Tibet
and the UK - I increased both the amount of the traveling
and the scope of the trips after I became a single six years
ago. The mobile (a misnomer if I've ever met one) home was
sold, I moved into a triplex and have been on the road ever
since. I've now been in 70+ countries over five continents
and will make that seven continents by February.

I had always wanted to travel but marriage had taken me down
a different path until I convinced my husband to travel
some twenty-five years ago. He had figured that WW2 travel
with US Navy was enough for a lifetime. When faced with an
ultimatum, he decided to tag along. We did gentle travel at
first, nothing to scare the horses. But he ended up willing
to try Egypt, Morocco, India, China, Thailand and Japan
mixed in with an annual trip to the UK.

Since I've been on my own, I have traveled as far out of the
box as seems safe. The Middle East - I've missed out on
Saudi Arabia so far - fascinates me. North Africa? Libya
is still a problem to visit but it looks like I'll make it
to Algeria this year. Asia and Himalayan region are
another of my interests. And then there's Eastern Europe
and the Baltic states; been in some but not all. With luck,
I'll get to North Korea in Sept.

I have a friend who signs on to visit any country listed by
the State Department as a problem - I'm bad but not that
bad, thank you. I'll leave Somalia alone. But I have been
to Iran, Iraq, Yemen, Mali, Afghanistan (twice) and Pakistan
in recent years. And with no problems - just take
reasonable precautions so that I don't become part of the
problem. The plan? To continue checking out the World, so
long as health and money hold out.

So,keep traveling, all! And a Happy New Year!

Middle East Chronicles Part 2 - December 2009

2009-12-23T17:07:00.000-08:00

King Hussein/Allenby Bridge and Beyond

To the Jordanians, it is King Hussein Bridge; the Israelis call it
Allenby Bridge. Either way, it is an historic entrance into
Israel-Palestine. I was alerted both by one of my GARP companions as
well as the tour people, Global Exchange, there could be complications
with the visa. The Israelis were now issuing three kinds of visas:
one to the West Bank, one for the Israeli portion and one encompassing
both. Also, per Lonely Planet, if you looked undesirable, there would
be questions about the purpose of the visit and a request for evidence
of a return ticket .

I do have a second passport so wasn’t concerned about the passport
stamping but my companion was: he was an Australian researching the
Australian Horse activities during World War I and had a note from the
Israeli Ambassador to Australia, requesting Passport Control not to
stamp his passport as he is in and out of Middle Eastern countries
while working on this project. This really confused the young Israeli
officer and led to following exchange: “Why are you here? “To do
historical research about World War I”? “What was that?” “The war
before World War 2.” What was that?” and so on. She finally let him
pass.

My turn: Do I want my passport stamped? No problem! Why was I here?
To visit as part of my interest in the Middle East. That seemed to
flummox her; so at a nudge from my traveling partner, added I was a
tourist. Did I have a return ticket? Yes, and then showed her my
E-ticket which she gazed over, then returned my passport, sans any
stamp. An eighty year old, five foot three inch, gray haired traveler
must have really looked truly undesirable to her.

I assume I did obtain the all necessary permissions for I traveled in
all the sectors though no one asked for the visa stamp at the numerous
check points - and I went through more checkpoints and saw more
weapons than in either Iraq or Afghanistan. And Xe (aka Blackwater)
must have a huge contract with the Israelis for many of the Security
police were theirs.

I was one of a small group traveling under the auspices of Realty
Tours, which sets up educational trips for Global Exchange members. I
had first traveled with them over a year ago to Kabul and had been
impressed by the opportunities to meet with various NGO staff, trying
to provide services and provide some kind of peaceful solution to the
country's’ problems. It had given an insight beyond what one would
normally obtain, looking at one ruin or another.

There were two free days before the tour formally began, two days to do
the usual touristy sightseeing. I was at the Gloria Hotel, just inside
the Jaffa Gate in the Old City. Another group member had also arrived
early, so we paired up for some of the time. He wanted to go to
Bethlehem so we signed on for a half day tour. The two of us were the
tour.

A cab came to pick us up with a Christian Palestinian driver and a
Jerusalem license plate: all of this is important for one’s passport
and permit depends on ethnicity, residence and religion which then
determines your ability to travel within the area. We were taken to a
check/transfer point. He dropped us off there, to go through the wall
- and yes, there is a wall to out-wall Berlin any day! - and a caged
barred area. Once through. we met another taxi driver who took us to
Bethlehem where we did sightseeing with our guide, a Palestinian woman
with a Brazilian passport (she and her family had lived there for
thirteen years before they could return, but still no local passport)
and a permit to live in Bethlehem (but still couldn’t go into the West
Bank/East Jerusalem much less Israeli territory).

Though out the various venues, there were many devote believers. I was
most interested in the varied appearance of the visitors. A Cameroon
choir came with their own priest - the singing was lovely; I wished I
had a tape recorder. Most were obviously moved by being in, what was to
them, the most Holy of places. The several modern additions to
ancient buildings showed great sensitivity by the architects involved.

That afternoon, we hired our driver to take us to Ramallah and to view
some of the settlements. Had lunch in a street cafe and saw the
wonderfully designed Arafat memorial/tomb. Also found out that the
“settlements” are large condomium units, set up on hills often
containing aquifers for the area, taken by the Israelis who use 80%
and sell 20% back to the Palestinians. Settlements are throughout the
Palestinian areas, as if the Israelis are setting their stamp on the
land, making it impossible for the Palestinians to have contiguous
territories..

Spent the next day wandering around the colorful Old City, with a
break for lunch at the King David Hotel, part of my tracing the
British presence in Jerusalem after the Balfour Agreement and the
Mandate. This was the hotel blown up by the Jewish Irgun in 1946,
killing 91; giving truth to the phrase, one man’s terrorist is
another man’s patriot. Old photos line the hallways of this now 5-star
establishment, bringing memories of another time. I also walked up to the
elegant American Colony Hotel in East Jerusalem where TE Lawrence had
stayed, reportedly meeting with his infamous biographer, Lowell Thomas.
They too had a excellent selection of old photos of bygone times,

And on to the tour, which was an investigation of Prospects for Peace
and Justice. In nine days of travel and interviews with at least
twenty-two Israelis, Bedouins, and Palestinians (both Christian and
Moslem), I found a lot of hard working, sincere and devoted
individuals. We met with many human rights representatives, former
soldiers, members of bereaved families, students and administrators at
Bir Zeit University, various women’s groups, a prisoner’s right
organization, an Israeli demographer, non violent resistance groups,
educators, and media people.

We stayed both in Jerusalem and in East Jerusalem (at St George’s
Guest House, across from the American consulate) but traveled to the
Dheisheh and Jenin Refugee camps; stayed overnight at the Ibdaa
Cultural Center at Dheisheh with triple bunk beds and no hot water.
And like “settlements”, “camps” are a misnomer - they are small,
crowded, slum like ghettoized apartments, in an urban area, not the
tented communities I had pictured from CARE’s photos of African refugee
camps.

Near Bethlehem in Beit Sahour, we spent a night with a local family.
Mine was a school administrator-teacher with a son in high school, two
daughters married (one still in Bethel and the other overseas) and his
former teacher-wife, now operating a travel business.
Palestinian-Christian, there were photos of himself with Arafat in his
living room; he said he was no longer active - it was too dangerous for
he would be at risk from the Palestinians. I watched the CD of the
Christening party of his granddaughter, which was obviously a Big
Event in their lives.

At Janin, I was most impressed by The Freedom Theatre’s work with the
children, a pre professional program both in media and stage. We were
shown around by an International (overseas volunteers are termed
Internationals in this country which must label and categorize you!)
who had taken a troupe overseas recently to perform. They had modern
equipment and what I saw of a dramatic production, was impressive.

We spent time in Hebron where I was able to enter the Ibrahimi Mosque,
now shared with a synagogue. There were soldiers and checkpoints
throughout the town. Israeli settlers had residences above the local
souk. Barbed wire had been strung above the walk way for the settlers
threw down various garbage on the locals walking and shopping below.
Time was spent at the local [pre-school where several of our group made
their day with balloon creations for the kids - and teachers who took
some for their own children.

Toward the end of the tour, we went north to Jayyous and Mas’ha, to see
the effects of the ever present wall, which has affected the economy
and society of this agrarian community. I observed an instance where
a farmer with horse and cart had to clear though a virtual wall
(electrified fencing along two sides of a cleared “road”)r through an
opening staffed by two armed soldiers to get to his fields. Others
have just left fields untended rather than deal with the soldiers’ and
the sometimes unpredictable hours.

I was in the Negev one day, where an Israeli-Bedouin organization was
working with the semi-nomads to help them establish recognized villages
which meant they could have water and electricity and find a means of
economic lsupport. The last day was spent in Jaffa, the picturesque
former Palestinian port, which has been overwhelmed by Tel Aviv.

Near where we stayed in East Jerusalem, a family had been evicted by the Israeli government so settlers could be moved in. Part of the home had already been destroyed. The Arab owner had gone to Turkey to search Ottoman records for the title. In the meantime, Israeli Police stood by, family members camped out, activists and media made themselves known. I witnessed the sad scene one afternoon as we drove by.

I did talk with a thirteen year resident of Jerusalem, who was
surprised that we were not able to get into one a settlements for a
scheduled interview. Wrong entrance we were told at the checkpoint; we
needed to drive half an hour away, for the “right” entrance for our
minibus. This resident seemed concerned that I was influenced by
presence/absence of Jewish participants and/or the presence of a
Palestine guide. She pointed out that during the last Intifada, she
had had to draw her shades at night for fear of being targeted. She
simply did not go into East Jerusalem.

Leaving was memorable: three of us were on the sherut (shared taxi) to
the airport. The next person to be picked was tardy but finally
appeared after ten or so minutes: a sixtish black hatted, fully bearded
Orthodox (Hasidic?) Jew, escorted to the vehicle by four dancing,
singing younger versions of himself . Though we collected several more
passengers, none exhibited such panaché.

Getting through the airport and security and onto the aircraft was less difficult than entering over the Bridge. Initially told I was way too early and would have to wait several hours before going through Security - which I like to clear ASAP and particularly, as I was warned of probable complications in exiting Ben Gurion - I was finally directed over to the entryway to the gates. Clutching E-Ticket and passport in hand, assuring one and all, I had no luggage other than my backpack, I was cleared quite routinely, assigned a “2” status (it’s a 1 to 8 scale with 8 being assigned to very suspicious characters!) and sent on my way. No serious search and few questions. No problem!

Reactions: I did not visit Haifa or Tel Aviv nor did I get to the
Golan Heights and Gaza. We did spend time in Palestinian areas and
Jerusalem, which is a small sample to draw from. Overall, I felt that
the Jews, so long oppressed, had become the oppressor. Palestine was
but a suzerainty of Israel.

I had thought matters would be bad but not so bad that there is not
only apartheid, but an apartheid that includes separate roads into
various areas, for separate peoples. Areas are labeled A, B, and C
which determines the right of passage and who is in charge.
Checkpoints galore.

People on both sides of the wall are deeply concerned about human
rights and peacemaking but that doesn’t appear to influence the
leaders’ actions. Talk, yes! Behavior, no! I suspect there is enough
blame around to share so both Palestinians and Israelis could to move
on rather than try to out rationalize and out manipulate each other.
One-state or two-state solution, neither will be meaningful unless the
politicos are serious about a solution.

I returned home depressed: another intifada would not surprise me.

Costs: The Global Exchange fee was about $2200 for accommodation and two
meals a day. I paid $180 for my two additional nights in Jerusalem.
Airfare: BA SFO-Heathrow-Amman; Tel Aviv-Heathrow-SFO: $1491.

Middle East Chronicles Part ! - November 2009 Back to The Dig, plus Toting and Sievin

2009-12-20T17:25:00.000-08:00

Back to The Dig, plus Toting and Sieving

Last year I spent two weeks on a dig along the Hejaz Railroad in an effort to determine the extent of the WW1 Arab Revolt. It is part of a ten year conflict archaeological project sponsored by the University of Bristol and the Jordanian Ministry of Antiquities. Exhausted and filthy dirty at the end of the 2008 session, I promptly signed on for this year’s expedition. Along with other volunteers, I paid for a three star hotel, meals, time at Wadi Rum, Aqaba, Petra and ten days physical labor.

There were thirty-two in the group, twelve of whom were staff and the rest, like myself, enthusiasts: students, seniors, archeologists, former military and a photographer-writer. A number had been with the project since the start. We began with a recce at Wuheida, south of Ma’an; east of the wadi originally Turkish territory and the west side an Arab encampment, both tribal and Arab army, with a large stone-marked area that might have been Prince Feisal’s compound. Most of the time was spent checking out and digging in this area, though we did return to the Betn al-Ghoul camp sites along the Hejaz for a day.

Rain sent us to an area that we named Makin’s Fort in honor of the Air Corps pilot who photographed the area. - dug at what might have been a dwelling whose roof had burned - artillery shelling? It is exciting to work on sites whose function is under continuing speculation. And so each days work went. My finds improved over last year’s mule pucky: I advanced to an unexploded British Army .303 cartridge.

And this year we had more visitors than before. By the time we finished up at Makin’s Fort, we had been questioned by the Bedouin police, the Army and the Traffic police.

At Wuheida, The local Sheikh came by, claiming the land was his and so, we must hire his two sons to help us haul ourselves and equipment. State visitors and authors came by. Students came by - we were a popular bunch. The sadness was that a good share of the eastern site at Wuheida had been raped by bull dozer.

The off-days were great! Rather than return to Petra - I had been there several times before - I went with a few to Karak (one of the old nearby Crusader Castles), the Dead Sea and finally by Tafilah, scene of a pitched battle between Ottomans and Arabs. - driving by at dusk, there was little to mark the area as memorable, though several of our group spent a day there with one of the military guys, doing a recce.

The final off-day was spent at Wadi Rum; four of us marked out our own path of travel rather than spend part of the day a Aqaba. This was my third session at Wadi Rum: the first by camel and the second by jeep. This was another run by jeep, but we were able to choose our exact itinerary. One person spent most of the day wandering about Lawrence’s Spring while others went off to various canyons and natural bridges. I could spend days trekking around the area. We ended the day with a royal Bedouin feast.

As with last year, there were evening talks by our leaders, helping us appreciate the meaning of what we were doing; most particularly to understand the nuances of conflict and landscape archaeology. In my school days, admittedly awhile back, there was cultural and physical archaeology - and not much else.

I ended this season with a couple of days in Amman where a healthy climb got me to the Archaeological Museum, the Citadel, Temple of Hercules, a Byzantine Basilica., the Uumayyad palace and cistern with adjacent sights. Also, did a wander about town with a fellow digger from the GARP expeditions.

In Wadi Mousa, the Hotel was the Edom: I have stayed there twice before: first with an Explore tour and twice now with GARP. Would guess it to be moderate in price; certainly convenient and comfortable. In Amman, I stayed at the Toledo Hotel, a very elegent 3-star hotel, just up from where the main bus depot been: #1 on Lonely Planet’s current listing. Airfare: BA SFO-Heathrow-Amman; Tel Aviv-Heathrow-SFO: $1491.

Coming: the Middle East Chronicles part 2 - December 2009. The King Hussein/Allenby Bridge and Beyond.

Philip's Camel Trek

2009-11-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

(Philip Beck, my Canadian companion on the Moroccan camel trek, reported on his experience. It is a lovely piece - with several corrections: I have yet to travel in South America; while I have wandered about the Himalayas, I haven't done a proper trek; I have been more in the Middle East and Africa than Arabia.

Here's Philip's impressions of the Sahara Camel Trek - and he rode the camel much more than I did, brave man that he is!)

Southern Morocco Camel Trek
by Philip Beck

“For the true adventurer the rewards are found more in the striving and the journey than the achievement of the goal.” (Author unknown)

I came across this quote many years ago and have never forgotten it. Rarely does the opportunity arise for a real adventure: a journey in a remote region where taxing physical effort is required; where the daily rewards are both social, like enjoying your fellow travelers’ company and sharing in your leader’s expertise, and more intimate, like gazing at the Milky Way or even contemplating the crystalline intricacies of a single grain of sand. Exodus’ AMC Southern Morocco Camel Trek is one of these adventures. I was lucky enough to be on this trip in October of 2009.

The backbone of the trip is a 210 km trek from Zagora to Merzouga and the dunes of Erg Chebbi in the Moroccan Sahara desert. This trip’s mastermind and designated leader, Michael Asher, is an internationally renowned desert explorer, author, and environmentalist. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Asher_(explorer)

Michael has received the National Geographic Society’s Ness Award for his desert exploration, and the Royal Scottish Geographical Society’s Mungo Park Medal for exploration and for his work with camels. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 1996. With his wife, he was the first westerner to cross the Sahara from west to east: a 7,430 km. journey by camel that took nine months. (By comparison, it is only 6,700 km from Dawson City, Yukon to Halifax, Nova Scotia!) Michael has also produced films, directed documentaries, and contributes to leading newspapers and magazines. You could not ask for a more knowledgeable leader: a true adventurer who has spent many years in the Sahara living with nomads. Michael shared stories the whole trip about the nomads, desert life, and ecology.

Our group of eleven included six from the UK, one from Korea, one from the UAE, two from the US, and me. Our ages ranged from a 26-year-old to a woman who celebrated her 80th birthday on Day 7. The cooks made a special dessert that night to mark the occasion. This lady had just come from Afghanistan, had traveled through most of the Arabian Peninsula, trekked in the Himalayas, and hiked in South America. I learned a lot from her. One of her secrets is her can-do attitude.

Our group met in Marrakech. The following day we drove by mini-bus over the High Atlas Mountains to Zagora. We passed kasbahs, oases, and villages, and finally reached the end of the road. We met our camels and camel guides ten km past the end of the road just by the Tzi N’Tafilet Pass by 4 X 4’s. Our journey to Merzouga would take us ten days.

Each day we awoke at 5:30 a.m., before the sun rose at six. By seven we had eaten breakfast, packed up, and were ready to set off. We walked or rode for four hours, traveling five or six km per hour, with a rest and snack break every hour. At 11:00 we would find a place to have a three-hour break. We found shade from the hot sun under nearby trees or hillsides and if needed the camel men would put a large tent up for us. They also had lunch ready by around 12:15 after serving us glasses of re-hydrating and therapeutic green tea with as much sugar as we needed.

The afternoon trek likewise lasted three to four hours. The camel men again had tea ready within 30 minutes of our arrival and set up the tent. We got to our stop for the evening just before glorious colourful sunsets. Dinner was usually between 6:30 and 7:00 p.m. Dinner was in the big tent by the light of a single lantern. Each evening we talked about the day and share stories and philosophies. We slept under the stars. Everyone’s last sight each night was the Milky Way and meteorites blazing across the limitless desert sky. We were there when there was no visible moon. This allowed for really clear stargazing.

The desert was mostly uninhabited. We passed only four or five settlements in the ten days. One day we met Berber nomads and visited their tent. Often we crossed paths with herds of camels or goats. We walked through mountain passes, crossed plains, bushwhacked though wadis (dry river beds), and gazed across the desert from the tops of dunes. We got our water from wells. One day we braved a mini sandstorm. Most days a breeze kept us fresh. We all had to keep our faces and heads covered to protect us from the sun. We found fossils. To our great surprise there was a lot of green: oases of palms, grasses, shrubs, desert melons and a few trees.

There were seven camel men plus a cook. Besides preparing our meals and teas and setting up the big tent, they packed and unpacked our gear, tended to the camels, ensured our comfort on the camels, and made sure we didn’t wander off track while walking. I have never seen such a team work so hard and seamlessly in my life. The meals they cooked were far better than the basic fare I was expecting. Every morning I looked forward to oatmeal porridge with fig jam spooned in to sweeten it up. Every day the team made fresh bread in the sand under a fire. These camel men greatly enhanced our group’s experience. They clearly loved what they were doing. Who wouldn't be happy living in the desert at peace, sharing your life experiences to an appreciative group? Our camaraderie with the camel men, evident from the start, developed into real friendships. We walked with them all day long and even though the majority of us spoke no Arabic other than “sukran” and “salaam alekum,” and no Berber, we communicated in broken French (on both sides), smiles, and friendly teasing. These guys spent a large part of the day teasing each other and laughing as well.

The Sahara is wilderness but we were within striking distance of roads and settlements if an emergency arose. We saw snakes and scorpions but a real concern to be aware of was the possibility of dehydration. We had to drink five or six liters of water each day, which for me that meant a few gulps every 15 to 20 minutes. One of these liters had salts dissolved in it to replenish what we’d sweated away.

Some minor annoyances I’d expected turned out to be fine. I was surprised how easy it was to stay clean for so long without a bath or shower. There were a lot of flies in the daytime and moths at night, but we just got used to them. The highest it got was during the day was 32. The evenings went down to about 12.

Our trip ended after a day and a half in the Erg Chebbi. The trip ended too soon. After big handshakes and hugs with our new friends the group realised that we had all accomplished something really big and really important. We also realised how lucky we were to have such a great experience in the desert, learning and sharing.

The highlights were:

• the beauty of the desert and learning about the desert ecosystem

• the Milky Way and shooting stars at night

• the company of Michael Asher

• trekking in a place little touched by ‘progress’

• a slower pace of life as we lived our days by the sun’s rhythms

• learning about and appreciating a nomadic way of life

Morocco is changing and modernizing rapidly. Each day in the Sahara we saw a few jeeps, a specially outfitted overland truck, or quads. Often they stopped and took our pictures. We attracted their interest because we were doing the authentic journey. I’m afraid that in five or ten years the route we took may be paved over. Go there as soon as you can.

Road to Morocco - without Bob, Bing or Dorothy!

2009-10-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

For several years, I had been trying to sign on to one of Exodus’/Michael Asher’s camel treks without success. The Kenyan ones were canceled - lack of participation - and there were visa issues with the Sudanese ones.

So when an October Moroccan Sahara trek was announced, I immediately contacted Adventure Center with deposit in hand. I was a fan of Asher’s from his TE Lawrence and Wilfred Thesiger biographies to his recent history of the SAS, Britain's Special Forces unit. The fact that he also was the last of the great desert explorers added to my determination to go, cheerfully ignoring Exodus’ listing of this tour as Moderate/Strenuous plus my past experience with camels which have left me walking most of the time.

Normally, I leave tours labeled Strenuous, alone. Adventurous, I’ll consider; Strenuous I avoid. But not this one, my Birthday present to myself. The thought of riding/walking across the Sahara for ten days - magnificent!

Marrakesh was the gathering point for the eleven intrepides who were set for this trip, several of whom had increased workouts in preparation. We were a mixed group: There was an Aussie couple, a Korean woman, an Emirates Arab, a Canadian, another American woman and the rest Brits. Ages: from twenty eight to eighty. And it was the best group I’ve ever traveled with - we bonded together well.

From Marrakech, we drove to Zagora where we were to met our camels and crew and have an introduction to the trekking. The problem was, to use an old Anglo-Saxon expression, some dumb shit didn’t get the word! So camels and crew were not where they were supposed to be and the local agent refused responsibility. Finally we made connections but no trekking that day. Just a chance to try on the camel of choice and camp out, with serious business to begin the following day.

The terrain ranged from hilly and rocky to sandy with brush to a packed gravel road to sand. All walked the first hour and then choices were made either to walk or ride for the next hour segment and so it went. At noon there was a several hour respite for lunch. Usually about six PM, we were done for the day. The scenery was great; the sunsets and sunrises were breathtaking.

By the end of the third day - second day of trekking - I really wondered what I had gotten myself in for. My nether regions were shot. The thought of more camel riding, no matter how the pads and blankets were arranged, sent me into outer space. By the fifth day, I had pulled a groin muscle. I obviously had more trouble than anyone else. Others could give themselves a break with an hours ride. I would try it and within half an hour, was off the animal and back on foot. At the end of the trek, my feet were as taped up as they had been when I was doing point work some years ago.

I had no choice but to suck it up and keep going. And once I realized that, I put myself into The Zone and trudged on, hopefully at a pace that didn’t hold anyone up too much. I made good use of the rest periods. And enjoyed the completion of each days journey, which was about 20+ kilometers. By the time we completed the trek at Merzouga, I was quite pleased with myself.

While others had bits and pieces of problems, most did well. An Aussie walked the entire distance and the Arab only rode the final bit. My fellow American, a devoted cameleer, rode the full trip. Several had intestinal problems. So far as I could tell, my roommate, the Korean woman, smaller than I am, had no difficulty and kept plugging on.

Though tents were provided, we all camped out. Mostly, the sky was clear and, even without my glasses, I could see the starts. It was a extraordinary experience, to lie there and breathe the clean outdoor air. I’ve rarely done this for I was never a camper in my salad days, so really appreciated this experience.

The sadness of the trip was the encroachment of civilization. Motorbikes roaring across the land and the tracks of 4x4s in the sands. of the Erg Chebbi broke into the desert isolation. I wonder if there is any place left that Man hasn’t attacked.

Michael Asher was an outstanding guide - very sensitive about and concerned for everyone’s welfare. Obviously knowledgeable about the area and facile in Arabic, one had every confidence in his leadership. He also kept the evening’s discussions going: we had several very bright and knowledgeable people in the group who were responsive to Asher’s rather Socratic style.

At the end, we had a day in Fez including a tour of the City and the Medina. For the first time, overseas, I bought nothing home with me. In fact, I lost both ball cap and duffel carrier at JFK.

Would I do this again? Probably!

Addendum:

Food was plain but good: pasta, couscous or rice with various vegetables, cheese bread, jam and sardines. Fruit or chocolate pudding for deserts. Often, there was oatmeal for breakfast.

Accommodations in Marrakesh, Zagora and Fez were very comfortable. The Fez Hotel was a bit out of the way, however.

Tour cost was $2703.25 , which included a discount for past patronage. Almost all meals were included. Air transprt was on Delta and Royal Air Maroc and cost $2403.25, plus $200 I paid at JFK to catch an earlier flight to SFO.

Back in the news again!

2009-09-30T15:13:00.000-07:00

One of the guys with the Afghan trip forwarded the following, the result of an interview on the last night in Kabul:

Yahoo! News
Afghanistan, via war and election, by minibus
by Lynne O'Donnell Sun Sep 27, 2:30 am ET

KABUL (AFP) – Getting caught in the crossfire of battling warlords or caught short with dysentery might not be the best selling points for the holiday of a lifetime, but in Afghanistan it's all part of the adventure.

A recent group of intrepid -- some would say ill-advised -- travellers who drove through central Afghanistan had to deal with security forces on heightened alert for insurgents bent on disrupting national elections.

For three weeks they bedded down in tiny guesthouses after days spent bouncing along war-pitted roads in an unsprung minibus, being roughed up by police at armed checkpoints and facing daily fear of kidnap.

Amid the discomfort and fear, they discovered the warmth of people who spontaneously invited them home for tea and cake, as well as breathtaking scenery and some of the world's greatest but least visited historical sites.

Geoff Hann, a Briton who specialises in travel through seemingly inaccessible parts of the world, has been bringing tourists to Afghanistan -- on and off depending on the security situation -- for 30 years.

Leading his latest group of five, he arrived in Kabul on August 2 for a tour of some of the many sites, including the minaret of Jam and the mountainside niches that once held the Bamiyan buddhas, that could make Afghanistan, once again, a tourism hotspot.

But as a Taliban-linked insurgency expands its footprint across the destitute country, the flow of tourists that reached a peak in the 1970s has slowed to barely a trickle.

European tourists first started coming to Afghanistan in 1959, when 600 came to see historical sites on horseback, said Sayed Amanuddin Baha, director of the culture ministry's Afghan Tour travel agency.

By 1977, when Afghanistan was a fixture on the hash-hazed hippy trail, the country was earning millions of dollars a year from about 120,000 foreign visitors, he said.

Since then, Afghanistan has been mired in violence and during the rule of Taliban fanatics from 1996-2001, few foreigners were granted visas.

Things began to pick up after the Taliban -- who refused to expel Osama bin Laden from Afghanistan after the September 11 attacks -- were overthrown in late 2001 in a US-led invasion.

But with the insurgents having re-established a permanent presence in many parts of the country, visitors who come for pleasure are rare.

Hann's group ranged in age from 29-year-old Mark Hansel, an electrical engineer and history buff from London, to 79-year-old Jo Gilbert, an inveterate traveller from San Francisco and one of two women on the trip.

After a day spent bumping over cratered roads, the group would sometimes turn up at a remote teahouse, the only accommodation available, to find they had to share a room and, yet again, forgo a shower.

"I didn't mind the conditions at all," said Gilbert, a former prison officer who described herself as "a traveller and a blogger".

"We became tolerant of each other's foibles," she said, as Hansel mumbled: "It's not like we had a choice."

Hann said he aims for a few tours a year -- 10 travellers being the optimum number -- despite the deteriorating security situation, and finds most problems are more to do with the digestion than security.

"We get people who get dysentery. One lady broke a foot -- she stumbled along on a crutch. Three or four years ago we were caught up in a warlord's battle and we had moments in 2001 when we came up against the Taliban.

"My philosophy is that you could be in your hotel and get blown up, which is fairly unlikely. We are not in the danger area for IEDs," he said, referring to roadside bombs the Taliban deploy against foreign and Afghan troops, mostly in the south where their influence is strongest.

"When it comes to kidnapping, we don't advertise where we're going or what we're doing, we use local transport hired on the spot and I find that people look after us as their guests -- and they want the money," he said.

For those willing to risk a war-zone vacation, insurance costs 200-350 pounds (325-570 dollars) for three weeks, he said, and double that for the over-75s.

Gilbert said she has been traversing the globe since 1976, largely alone since her husband died in 2003.

She wanted to see Afghanistan "outside the urbanised bubble of Kabul", she said. Because the war-ravaged country is in such dire need of help rebuilding itself after 30 years of war, she would like to do voluntary work.

"I can teach, I was a prison officer so I can work with the police, work in jails, as a consultant," she said.

After a couple of days in noisy, dirty Kabul -- where most buildings are hidden behind massive blast-proof walls and barbed wire, and traffic follows no discernible rules -- the group headed north to Mazar-i-Sharif.

That meant driving through the Salang tunnel on what has become, just weeks later, one of the most dangerous highways in the country.

Locals report increased Taliban activity as the insurgents target a new supply line from Tajikistan for the more than 100,000 foreign troops under NATO and US command.

Mazar, a bustling trading cross-roads for Central Asia, is famous for its carpets and textiles, and the Blue Mosque, which is revered by Shiite Muslims and which is under a constant cloud of circling white doves.

From there they drove to Bamiyan, formerly home to the famous Buddhas carved into the side of a mountain 2,500 metres (8,200 feet) above sea level about a thousand years ago but destroyed by the Taliban in early 2001 as idolatrous.

The group visited some of the country's most famous landmarks, including the minaret of Jam in Ghor province, a region so poor that even the capital Chaghcharan has little electricity or running water.

Not far from the minaret, the group had an unnerving encounter when their minibus was flagged down by two armed men.

"It was a nervous time for about five minutes," said Londoner Kulvinder Matharu, 44, a telecoms engineer and keen amateur photographer.

"I was thinking we'd have to get the dollars out and pay these people off," he said, the memory of his fear still fresh.

In contrast, he said, he was delighted by the charm and hospitality of the western city of Herat, regarded as Afghanistan's most cultured city and where Iran's influence is strong.

"In Kabul it's edgy and you feel slightly under siege but Herat seemed like a different country," Matharu said.

"Out of the blue, this family asked us to share cake and tea with them, and I thought that was wonderful."

Security considerations forced Hann to change some plans -- arriving by air rather than driving through the famed Khyber Pass from Pakistan and spending time in Kabul around the election rather than venturing too far from safety.

Nevertheless, Gilbert said the August 20 poll "was one of the reasons I was glad to be here at this time, to see how involved the people were everywhere we went in the election".

The vote has since descended into farce amid allegations of fraud that could force President Hamid Karzai into a run-off against his main rival, former foreign minister Abdullah Abdullah.

Copyright © 2009 Yahoo! Inc. All rights reserved.

NB: I didn't start serious traveling until 1986 and while I did work a year in a prison I managed thirty-plus years as a probation officer. (Ah, the confusion continues between probation, prison and parole!)

Conferences, culture and modern plumbing - two weeks in the UK!

2009-09-19T10:19:00.000-07:00

Once a year, I must get my UK fix - while others head to New York or Paris, I go to London. This year worked well for I was able to combine two conferences with some play time. First, I signed on for the Oxford Conflict Conference which focused on The Making of the Modern Middle East. This was consistent with my interest in that area plus my participation with Global Exchanges’ December Israel-Palestine study tour. Following that was an Ancient World Conference at the University of London, focused on Egypt - I wouldn’t have made the trip for that but since it was there and I was there, why not? And then came several days of seeing friends met on various tours and going to theatre - at best, combining the two.

I knew the potent were positive: at the start, United Air upgraded me from economy to business class. And that’s it how it continued. The Heathrow-Oxford bus timing was perfect; the Christ Church college room was newly refurbished and ideal for me. I had stayed at St. John’s College last year when I attended to the TE Lawrence symposium. St. John’s was put to shame in comparison to the grandeur of Christ Church, particularly the magnificently high vaulted ceiling dining room used in Harry Potter films. One of my fellow attendees who had studied at Christ Church, commented he felt so unworthy - and I could understand that.

The conference was held in a small modern lecture hall with good sound. It was put together by the Middle East Centre at St. Anthony’s College, Oxford with experts from the UK, Australia, Egypt, America, and the Middle East. Starting with TE Lawrence, talks progressed through the mandates, the Arab-Israeli conflicts, Egypt’s role, Hamas and Hesbolla, security issues and Al Quaeda ending with missed opportunities for some kind of resolution. It seemed Israel was mostly responsible for dropping the ball - or refusing to catch it.

For the most part, wonderful, engaging speakers. With an equally bright and knowledgeable audience including PhDs, retired and active Navy personnel, government staff and politically interested souls like myself. There were about 120 attendees (including thirty Elder hostelers), primarily Brits and Americans with a few assorted Europeans.

A pre-conference day gave me a chance for a walking tour of Oxford, including visiting several other Oxford colleges and a boat trip to Iffley with its lovely little ancient church, St. Mary’s. Mid-conference, we packed up and went to Waddesdon Manor, the home of the Rothschilds who were active in supporting early Jewish settlements in Palestine. It was an absolutely fascinating place: the Manor is actually a museum. The grounds are extensive. All part of a bygone era of “Conspicuous Consumption” as Veblen termed it.

I ws so stimulated by the conference, both speakers and attendees, that I didn’t sleep much but kept rewinding the tapes in my head. One of the speakers I met during last year’s TE Lawrence Society symposium and I did have opportunities to talk with him. In fact, all the speakers made themselves available to the conference attendees for questions and discussions. And comfortably housed and fed, I did hate to leave.

But, moving onto the London: I had miscalculated in booking my hotel, so had no place to stay the first night. Ended up in a small hotel in Bloomsbury where I had stayed in years past. It had deteriorated into a backpackers place: bed but no breakfast. Cheap and relatively clean. The rest of the time I was at The Celtic Hotel at Russell Square: recently repainted with bright new facilities. A rabbit warren of rooms throughout - three row houses combined, similar to The Tabard Inn in DC. I was on the top floor in a small room but with toilet across the way and shower down the stairs. Full English breakfast, for those that want that much. Impeccably kept place. I will return!

And off to the the Ancient World Conference at the University of London. This group was largely concerned with early digs in Egypt including facial analysis of ancient Egyptians and the like. It was hard for me keep alert though the audience was fascinated and the Q&A was spirited. I was interested in a talk about Nimrod for I had been so close and was totally awake for Michael Wood’s presentation: Alexander’s Greatest Battle. He was a terrific presenter with outstanding films of Syria and Iraq - and the Panshjer VAlley in Afghanistan. He had been filming there accompanied by the military and two armoured cars, a far cry from five civilians and a minibus.

Monday arrived and I now had three days to visit friends and check out theatre. Spent one day in Hampstead with a companion from this year’s earlier Iraq tour: a mid-seventish woman who bicycles all over: London, the UK, Africa, the world. The next day she and I met another Iraqi tour participant, an Ukrainian who may å be moving to Moscow, and had lunch while I spent the evening with a friend from my Mali trip - she is interested in the Salalah-Ubar-Rub Al Khali possibility. I’m recruiting for t hat, if I can get it together.

The final day, I had lunch with a young engineer, a survivor of Afghani chickhanas. And the evening was with a friend from my first Mid Eastern trip who is about as passionate about theatre and travel as I am. The plays seen were The Pitman Painters at the ‘Royal National (excellent); War Horse, also a Royal National production (outstanding total theatrical experience) and Judgment Day at The Almeida (dark Brechtian drama)

And United upgraded me to Economy-plus on the ride home. What more could a girl want?

Costs: Airfare from SFO to LHR: $831.60. Christ Church conference, including accommodation and meals: £1200. Ancient World conference, including meals: £155. Accommodation in London including breakfast: £250.

Afghanistan 2: Three Weeks of August 2009

2009-08-26T02:28:00.000-07:00

When I left Kabul in March 2008, there remained four more things I wanted to do there: come in through the Khyber Pass, spend time in the countryside, visit the Minaret of Djam and work for a month or two in Afghanistan. I achieved half of the goals this August: countryside and Djam. Plus, the excitement of being around during election time.

I traveled for three weeks: Kabul, Mazar-i-Sharif, Bamiyan, Herat and “the places in between.” The route started from Kabul, through the spectacular Salang Pass - the tunnels reminiscent of ones in Georgia, also built by the Russians - to Mazar; then back down to just short of the Pass where it was a back country road to Bamiyan, where once the huge Buddhist statues stood until the Taliban took them out in the name of Islam.

From there to Afghanistan’s newly established national park at the scenic Band-i-Amir lakes. Then across the mountainous Central route to Herat, with a stop at the Minaret of Djam, the magnificent remains of the an ancient civilization, hidden in a valley at the end of a nearly non existent road? trail? path? The route walked by Rory Stewart a few years back and now reportedly too dicey for Western travel. I don’t know if that’s because of Security concerns, bad roads and/or lack of acceptable accommodation. Or all of the above.

Rather than follow the Northern route from Herat to Mazar-i-Sharif and then back to Kabul as planned, the return was on a Herat-Kabul flight so more time could be spent in these two cities, both targets of the Taliban set on invalidating any elections. There were threats, bombings and shootings in both Herat and Kabul who were under close security just before and on election day.

I traveled with three others plus our tour leader who arranged the trip - same person who had set up the Iraqi tour. He was familiar with the territory, having traveled in the area since the hippy days of the seventies. Cross country travel was by mini bus - four cylinder, 4 wheel drive vehicles that took the terrain in stride - into, onto and over rocks, streams, river beds, cow/sheep trails and dirt roads with a bit off off-road driving. Other than in the cities and Bamiyan, we stayed in Chaikhanas (teahouses), all in one room with sleeping bags on the floor. Facilities, when available, were on a par with those in China’s old Hutongs. Otherwise, it was back of a wall. Several Chaikhanas did not welcome Westerners so we took pot luck.

The highlight for me was getting to the Minaret of Djam, Afghanistan's first World Heritage site. After taking photos, I just sat and reveled in the aura surrounding the place. Our two guys skinny dipped in the adjacent river, the rest simply walked about the area. The police stationed there to discourage visitors from stealing artifacts, fixed tea for us before we left.

I did appreciate the opportunities to talk with local Afghans. One time, while at a Sufi Shrine, we shared tea and cakes with a group of young people. Later, at another Sufi temple, the Imam, his brother and his nephew prepared tea for us. Most people seemed friendly, though in the villages, very curious about the strange foreigners, The police, most concerned about our wanderings, stopped and questioned us at various chec k points. We were briefly detained though offered tea, In Chisht, when we were quite close to the end of the journey to Herat. After a night in Obeh at the Hilton of Chaikhanas (indoor plumbing and water), a relay of armed guards then accompanied us to our Herat hotel.

The closer to the election, the tighter the Security. Initially, Kabul seemed to have less police and Army visible than when I was there earlier. But the divisive cement walls and barriers, a la Baghdad, were being installed. Whatever charm Kabul had - and it isn’t much at best - was lost in the translation. However, by the time we returned,to Kabul, a day before the election, Security was ever present. The airport was closed for several hours following a shoot out with the Tallies at a local bank. Several days later when I left, things were more normal. But walking around Kabul election day with everything shut down and little traffic other than police and Army, reminded me of Neville Shute’s “On the Beach”.

Remembered: Heat and Dust, though no Julie Christie. The striking tiles on the Mosque at Mazar-i-Sharif. The de miners and European Union representative at Shahr-e-Zohak citadel near Bamiyan. The dedicated South African with Wildlife Conservation working with local Afghans in developing the park at Band--i-Amir. The nomad camps lining the way into Djam. The Citadel at Herat where the guide, a guard with a Kalashnikov in his right hand and a cast on his left arm, took two of us into every nook and cranny of the in-process restoration. The drone taking off at Herat's airport. The cheerfully optimistic rug dealers who were sure one of us would buy that extra special rug - and sure enough, three guys succumbed. Kabul’s now totally blocked off and unviewable Bella Hassar. The crowded, noisy and colorful bazaars of Herat and Kabul. The freelancers at the no-star Mustafa Hotel vs the expense account set at the 5-star Serena Hotel. Istalif the pottery village developed by Turquoise Foundation, with few customers and closed shops. The Panjshir Valley with Massoud’s mausoleum becoming a building site as his admirers continue to “improve” it. The Shah M Bookstore where I bought George MacDonald Fraser’s Flashman Papers, covering the First Afghan War.

Accommodations: Ranged from Chaikhanas to basic Afghan hotels to the yurt in Bamiyan, with nary a Westerner in sight.

Water: I had purchased and packed a water purifier. Didn't need it for bottled water was readily available. Also Rani, a wonderful fruit drink from the Emirates.

Food: Nam and tea were standard breakfast with sometimes eggs and jam. Lots of Kabobs and rice. Two trips to the Serena found me happily chomping away at their luncheon buffet at $30 per person. In Herat, ate at two newer and nicer hotels, patronized by Westerners, for around $20 for the evening meal. A final night in Kabul took us to Sufi 2 on Moslem street: good Afghan food and great Afghan music; packed with Westerners.

Costs: Hinterland Travel charged £1980 for the tour which accounted for a 10% discount for early booking. Only breakfast was included. I also paid approximately $100 for add-on excursions. Airfare on Emirates, San Francisco-Dubai, was $1583.09 plus Kam Air Dubai-Kabul $430; (Despite some reports, Kam Air does not use aging Aeroflots but Lockheed and McDonnell-Douglas aircraft.)

N.B. Keep tuned for there is a good chance I’ll be returning to complete the other two parts of the pinochle, Khyber Pass and short term work in Kabul. For the moment, I’m off to the UK in September for a conference at Oxford and play time in London.

Wanted: Tourists for Iraq and Afghanistan!

2009-07-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

You really can’t blame them for trying. Poor countries. The Dollar and the Pound and the Euro look good. Are good for their economy.

Both Iraqi and Afghan government tourist pooh-bahs is are encouraging travel in their countries, regardless of ongoing conflicts. Granted, eight of us got through Iraq in March 2009, the first Western travelers since 2003. And it’s gone to their heads - more tours are planned with both British and, believe it or not, Taiwanese tour operators.

Admittedly, the Iraqi’s State Ministry for Tourism and Antiquities have been encouraging travel into the country irrespective of bombings and blastings, but it’s been the Iranian Shias, who honor the sacred shrines in Karbala and Najaf. But there is a difference between managing the religious pilgrim and the Western tourist. Martyrdom is not part of our lexicon. Our expectation to to arrive, see some of the country and its people and then, survive - leaving in one piece.

And that did happen with us. But there was little help from the Ministry in providing opportunities to visit significant sites, ones not problematic security-wise: eg: despite several opportunities, our group was not allowed in the newly opened Museum in Baghdad. And we had to fight to get into Ur, located between two military bases.

Originally, we were to have two Security people,then a carload of guys, then nada! Nada was better for our mini van wasn’t that conspicuous - except when local authorities gave us front and back protection with sirens going full blast.

I must admit the Iraqi took every opportunity to publicize tour travel: media at Babylon, media in our bus, media at the Baghdad hotel: they loved idea of tourism but really didn’t know or want to know how to deal with the reality. The best reception our group had was at Basra with several local Tourist representatives who escorted us throughout that area. What the National Ministry coulda, shoulda and didn’t do.

Now Afghanistan: Several months after I’d returned from Kabul in March 2008, there was an article in the SF Chronicle, heralding the opening of a national park at the Band-i-Amir lakes in Bamiyan province. Apparently, the Aga Khan Foundation is creating an ecotourism project in the area. In June 2009, there was a formal dedication of the park, per CNN. This is in the province where the Buddhist statutes were blown up in Taliban days.

Reportedly, it’s a three hour drive on rocky roads in a 4x4 so getting that should be an adventure in itself.

And there is also word someone is building a five star hotel in Kabul!

I’ll find out for I’m returning in August - which will be hot. dry and dusty! While I’ll return to Kabul briefly, I will be traveling on the old caravan routes to Herat, Mazar-i-Sherif, the Minaret of Djam, as well as Bamiyan province. I suspect I’ll see little of the Ministry of Culture’s minions and the media, but given my Iraqi experience, that will be for the best. Wandering around these fragmented countries, one needs to be as close to the ground as possible.

Surprisingly, there are five organizations booking travel in Afghanistan: two local, one Canadian and two British. All in the north; no one other than military should head down south. Kandahar and the Helmand province are way beyond dicey and no place for civilians. And the Afghan-Pakistan border is another hot spot. But north and central parts of the country have been relatively safe.

So I will have the opportunity to compare - and contrast - these two countries who want to be included on the world’s travel calendar.

(Other countries on my list to visit: North Korea, which which does not encourage visitors; Libya who is still mad at GW and won’t give US citizens visas, and Cuba, which welcomes tourists but it is the the US government which restricts access.. In fact, peaceful and stable Cuba is the only country where the US forbids US travel. Go figure!)

The June Journey: 2009

2009-06-19T19:30:00.000-07:00

The yearly Oregon-Washington Trip

It’s been a lazy spring-summer so far, with my only traveling occurring earlier this month: the yearly trip to the Ashland, Oregon, Shakespeare Festival - done that since the mid-l950s - and then, onto Washington where I visited my husband’s family - done that since he died five years ago.

Should start with Ashland, a pretty town with well kept old time frame homes built during the 1800s and a park, Lithia Park, that is one of the most superb patches of greenery I’ve seen wherever. I stay downtown at the Columbia Hotel, upstairs above the various retail shops, a place with a Victorian motif throughout. Some rooms have facilities but I stay in the back with toilet and shower down the hall. You just try to avoid the sunny side for one will sizzle and fry on a hot day, despite window and ceiling fans. Even in the high season, it’s reasonablly priced.

I fly in to Medford and take the shuttle into Ashland. In past years, I have driven up but it is a long, tiring journey. I did take the bus one year when the bus still stopped on the outskirts of Ashland and I may try the train next year: Bay area to Sacramento or Grants Pass with a shuttle from there. Anyway, Ashland and the plays were fine; the only problem was finding a workable computer. The library PCs didn’t like AOL (or vice versa) and the coffee shop’s IMac also was a bit taken back by AOL. So the cell phone got some use.

There was an ongoing crisis - isn’t there always with families? My sister-in-law’s oldest daughter was seriously ill, in and out of the hospital, so there was some question whether I should go on to Washington. Turned out I did and it worked out, particularly as I left a day early (which cost but was worth it!). Concurrently, my nephew, who I had hoped to see, was down in Southern California, cleaning out his recently deceased mother’s place. So what had seemed like a good plan in April was a bit of a disaster, come June.

The plays were good: Henry VIII and All's Well were in the outdoor theatre where, even with three layers, I had a hard time staying toasty. It always is warm during the day and cold at night. Both plays were well performed. Music Man was the musical and I had a hard time erasing Robert Preston from my mind as I saw this very professional production. Nice choreography! Dead Man’s Cell Phone was sold out when I ordered tickets in “April and was still sold out when I went to the Box office on arrival. So I sat out front until someone came up with a spare to sell - and at face price. The play was a commentary on cell phones and relationships: a bit crazy but enjoyable.

The two I liked best were Equivocation, woven around Shakespeare and the Gunpowder Plot, and Servant of Two Masters, an outrageous Italian commedia dell’arte piece. Both were well directed and very sharply performed. If I hadn’t gotten into the Cell Phone, I was going to try for River Rafting - ah, next year!

I enjoyed the Washington visit with my sister-in-law and her family but three days was enough for all of us, especially since I wasn’t going to have a day with my nephew. Got to Pike’s Market in Seattle which I always enjoy. My sister-in-law’s youngest daughter, with whom I am very close, is a professional editor. I had a screen script with me I had been asked to critique so we spent sometime with that.

I stay at a Days Inn in Kent, walking distance to family, which gives them and me some independence. It was a day with each of various family members, all enjoyable. And the Days Inn has a shuttle to the airport so there is no inconvenience to anyone. Just hope all our various crises are down to a dull roar next year.

Since my return, I was googling to get information regarding the author of the screen play (he’s on Facebook) and ended up googling my name: I found that a gracious writer, Julia Ross, named me as one of Twelve Inspirational Women Travelers on WorldHum.com. I’m keeping company with Martha Gellhorn, Julia Childs and Gertrude Bell among others. And I was really impressed that she liked my writing! Thank you Julia! (And thank you, Warren Price, my old J School Prof, wherever you are!)

April-August 2009: At Home

2009-06-01T14:52:00.000-07:00

For over two months, I’ve been at home. Not traveling, little writing. Reading. Some worthwhile things like working on Robert Fisk’s tome on the Middle East and Dalrymple’s work on the Indian Mughals and some fun stuff, like Jack Higgens’ and Gordon Kent’s adventure writings. Recently, I discovered Dan Fesperson, a worthy equal to John LeCarré and Frederick Forsyth. It was one of his books that was out on the local library’s display table that I casually picked up and checked out.

Most interesting, he writes very human stories that are, incidentally spy/adventure tales, with locales familiar to me: Sarajevo, Berlin, Peshawar, Amman. Amman less so for basically, I’ve been in town only for flights in and out. But I have been in Jordan several times - going back in November for another shot at the GARP archaeological dig along the Hejaz. But his descriptions of Amman provide an excellent guide. And with luck and a second passport, I’ll have time in Amman enroute to Israel and Palestine in December. (Second passport is necessary for any indication of an Israeli visa/entry stamp precludes admittance to Mid Eastern/Muslim countries, excepting Egypt and Jordan).

Anyway, I have become hooked on his novels and have several more recent ones to track down. Like several good writers, he’s a journalist. Journalists - and I was a wanna be - tend to be very observant of details of both the physical and the personal. They use language respectfully as it is the tool of their trade. So these skills serve them well when they move onto to fiction, particularly if it is a combination of reportage and imagination, as in Fesperson’s books.

In my early days, I was a J school student who also enrolled in Short Story classes. I could report but didn’t have the imagination to make it as a fiction writer. As it turned out, for over thirty years, I wrote reports for Courts’ use in sentencing criminal offenders. Often, I tried to find a word or phrase out of the ordinary that might catch someone’s attention; I never knew if I succeeded as there wasn’t a response.

But unlike most of my coworkers,who viewed report writing on the same level as having a root canal, the writing for me was the fun part of the job. Interviewing, yes, but then trying to put a thumb nail sketch of the offender and the crime on paper, particularly within the confines of an imposed outline was a challenge.

And then I got to tag around after him/her, assuming they were not incarcerated, for several years and fine out how right or wrong I was in my assessment It was fun while it lasted, And I have missed the writing, which is one of the reasons for the blog. The other is, to keep track of myself.

For two years ago I was in the Swat Valley, today part of the turf battle between the Pakis and the Taliban. I remember it as beautiful, peaceful place. I looked up my notes: there was a bad road (oh, I remember that, one of the worst!), I ate at Charsadda and stayed overnight at the Rock Resort Hotel. I walked among Buddhist ruins and was impressed by a lovely carved Stupa. I fear all that’s left is the bad road. I see news shots of the area, the distruction in Mingora, the refugees!. A sadness! Man’s worst enemy is man, someone said, and at the rate we’re going, we are going to knock ourselves off before another century.

Come August, I’m back to Afghanistan, this time in the countryside. Up north to Mazur-e-Sharif, over to Herat and Banyan and then through the central part and the Minaret of Djam. Maybe, coming in through the Khyber Pass, depending on safety issues. There are three alternate itineraries. I’m excited about returning to the Land of the Great Game and the unbelievable Himalayans. They are at one end of my spectrum with the desert at the other. People who have conquered either are high on my list of heroes: Ran Fiennes (who also has the two Poles under his belt in addition to Everest) and Michael Asher (ex-Para, SAS and author who has lived in the deserts of Africa). In fact, in October, I will spend my birthday on a camel trek led by Asher - a real high point for me despite a probable sore butt.

In the meantime, I mark time at home: setting up future travels, doing household stuff, taking ballet and doing Pilates, tutoring a foreign speaker and reading. The four months I’ve been home this spring/summer is the longest I’ve been around in five years - the cat appreciates it. Though I am fudging a bit by taking off a week this month for the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon and then, several days with family in the Seattle area.

The late summer and fall will have me on the run, between Asia and Africa and the Middle East, with ten days in the UK stuffed in there some place. At one point, I think I’m home little over a week in between trips. But this is the life I’ve chosen, once I left my day job: travel as much as you possibly can!

First Iraqi Tour since 2003!

2009-03-27T14:12:00.000-07:00

Iraq March 2009

Eight of us were on the Iraqi tour: five Brits (one of whom was a Russian with three passports), a Canadian and two Americans. Ages: 36 to 79. All had traveled extensively, Only one had not been to Afghanistan. For over two weeks of March 2009, we traveled from Kurdish Iraq to the Marsh area.

The trip was organized by Geoff Hann who operates Hinterland Travels and who was the leader of the band. Three of the group had traveled with him before. This was the first authorized civilian traveling group since 2003. The scheduling was unpredictable as the present Ministry of Tourism had little experience in managing more than the Iranian pilgrimages to Kerbala.

For example: we were to have two security guards. Then it was none or Twenty. We chose none, which I felt was safer than even two traveling with us. There was a small bus, driver and interpreter (who saw himself as in charge despite the fact he had never been to most of the places). Occasionally, we picked up police cars, front and back, at times with sirens roaring and lights flashing but most of the time, we were left alone.

And I do mean left: left sitting at checkpoints while police and militias decided what to do with us. Not safe for us. Sometimes, they would drive us to the next check point, heave a sign of relief and a wave as they returned to their post and left the problem with the next bunch. Sometimes, they just let us go.

Forty checkpoints between Basra and Baghdad. Unknown number of speed bumps. No one travels fast in Iraq.

Baghdad: We stayed on three occasions at the old Sheraton, outside the Green Zone but inside security walls; across from where Saddam’s statue was toppled. It was comfortable but not well maintained. There were variety of security people with green, gray, blue, and tan based camouflage uniforms but, all with Kalisnikovs, the weapon of choice in the Middle East.

Ugandans, male and female, handled the Green Zone checkpoints, all four of them. Two pieces of picture identification required. Thorough search - I know, I worked in a prison at one time in my life.

Traffic ranged from tanks to donkey carts. There were concrete walls lining the main thorough fares and concrete blocks necessitating a zigzag approach to enter most streets. A besieged city still, for car bombs and shooting still occur.

We did get to the Kahidmain mosque but never did make it to the nearly opened Museum - which wasn’t open during any of the stays in Baghdad. I was told by the press there wasn’t that much in it; some of them had also gotten a run-around. We did visit an Anglican Church. During the last stay in Baghdad, we returned to the Green Zone and saw the Crossed Swords and then finished up with the Arc of Ctesiphan, an awesome structure in an area guarded by the Sons of Iraq, ex AlQaeda lads.

The North: While there was a fair amount of security around and we were refused admission to Nimrod, things seemed calmer in the Kurdish controlled area. Enroute to Erbil, police escorted us to magnificent Minaret and Mosque (in process of repair) at Samarra. Impressive even though the Minaret was in a Railway yard with barbed wire rolled in front of it.

We drove past Kirkuk, reportedly a bit dicey and not the place for our driver to get lost - but he did. He couldn’t read the Kurdish road signs so he had to ask the locals. Signs are Kurdish/English - no Arabic! Got to Erbil ok with half a pizza for supper. The next day it was The Citadel and textile museum and Mar Benham, a Syrian Orthodox church just out of Mosul.

Then the long drive back to Baghdad and onto Babylon, where Iraqi officialdom and the Iraqi press discovered us. As I didn’t trust their claim not to run anything until we’d left the country, I had nothing to do with them - and they did run material within a couple of days! For security reasons, I didn’t want to be on anyone’s TV until I was well out of the way.

The South: Babylon was extraordinary. The lion and the tower of Babel; Saddam’s old palace which had been stripped of anything valuable. Then to Kerbala with a police escort, leaving us at the town’s border. I felt like I was entering another country for on came the scarves and hejabs. This was the city beloved of Shias, with the Shrine of Abbas and Hussein, martyred grandsons of the Prophet. Our Canadian found a fellow Canadian, here on pilgrimage. There were throngs of Iranian pilgrims wandering about, paying their respects.

Then to the AlTar caves and the desert fortress of Ukhaidher. We were driving around in a sand storm with a 20% visibility on road with long lines of trucks hauling potash. There was a stop at Khifal, an old Jewish Shrine of Ezekiel where I managed to bash my head coming out of the toilet. We ended up at Najaf, the holy city with the tomb of Ali, the Prophet’s son-in-law and fourth Inman.

Then, traveling from one check point to another, we arrived at Nippur, an extensive site and major religious center. We were escorted by the local guards who liked having photos with us and gave us tea at the end of the tour though having only enough glasses for several people at a time.

Moving on, we landed unexpectedly at Samawa in the crummiest hotel of the trip - which is saying some - and where our Russian-Brit got arrested but was returned to the hotel, after trying to sight see around town. Not much to see from my point of view! But in the morning, we were at the site at Uruk where the ziggurat over looks what had been palaces, temples and walls. To Nasiriyah and another basic hotel.

From there to the US Army base where we made arrangements to enter Ur, another archaeological wonder, one I was most interested in as Leonard Wooley, one of TE Lawrence’s coworkers at Carchemish, was the lead archaeologist. It got complicated as someone didn’t get the word our group was to be admitted, which led to a morning wait in the bull pen. However, two female Army Specialists went way out of their way to get us in, feeding and watering us during our wait. And we did get in, supervised by an apologetic captain in the Chaplain corps; we were allowed to photograph so long as cameras weren’t aimed toward the nearby Air Force installation. Amazingly, the site seems in good condition.

From there to the Marsh Arab country where water is returning into the marshes (Saddam drained it off to move the residents out) and where the old timers are slowly moving back.

Basra: Much security but less of the divisive cement walls. Unlike Baghdad, people were out on the river bank, promenading at night: men smoking hookahs, kids running around and families out for a stroll. While there was evidence of the two invasions, one war and the sanctions, it seemed less depressing than Baghdad.

There were four Ministry of Tourism guides with us, two women and two men. The women were clear that no headscarves were needed and all were most hospitable. I suspect we were the tour of the year!

We went to Qurnah, the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates and where nearby is Adam’s Tree, where supposedly was the Garden of Eden, Another Ali mosque, memorials to Indian and Gurka soldiers and a boat ride on the Shatt Al Arab, where trash and fish met along with upended boats and ships left from various conflicts.

However, one of the most memorable experiences was getting stamps for postcards at the Basra post office. In front of the building were at least 100 people, mostly men,waiting with an equal number inside. It took the Army to get us inside and up the stairs where postal employees went to find the person who sold stamps. This was all complicated by the interpreter's misunderstanding that we wanted souvenir stamps. Help came from a young woman who spoke quite good English, whose brother was a graduate of Portland State University, Oregon, where he now lived and worked. Apparently, people were waiting at the Post Office for remittances; the Army was there to provide for their security.

Back to Baghdad with a stop at the Tomb of Ezekiel (assuming he’s not buried in Israel) and a brief photo op for me at Kut, historically interesting as the place the Brits surrendered to the Turks during the First World War. Upon arrival at the Baghdad ex-Sheraton, we were set upon by press and television: good publicity for Geoff who will be leading future tours into Iraq and fascinating for me, an ex-journalism student, having my fifteen minutes of Andy Warhol fame.

Security on the Baghdad Airport road is tight. For a time, this was the most dangerous road around. Getting there, you take your vehicle to a large parking area where you switch into an approved auto. Dogs check b oth vehicle and luggage. Then to the airport where again, dogs check luggage before you put them into the airport x-ray machines. No chances are taken and the road is secured with cement barriers and walls.

With a late start and all the security checks, we missed the flight to Damascus. The Ministry representative, a Mr. Ali (I had a fantastic guide in Sikkem, also named Mr. Ali) chased around and got us on later Sham Air flight, so we got to Damascus in time to check in a very comfortable hotel I’d recommend to anyone, the Alfami near the old train station, used by Explore and Imaginative Traveler. Several of us wandered off to the souk and then to dinner.

Later, we went around to the old Railway Station, where a French group were having a reception, with juices, wine and petit-fours. We were invited to crash the party. It was an elegent ending to the several week excursion.

The next morning was the flight to Heathrow, where I spent the night in Terminal 1, being too cheap to get a hotel room. Caught up on Emails.. Security moved all the overnighters - about twelve of us - to Gate 36. where they came with cocoa and coffee at 4 AM. I met an very interesting Irish woman, an editor from Cairo, who had been married to an American. We chatted and had breakfast before her flight.

United flight was about one-third full so I could stretch out in Economy Plus. So not too bad a flight back.

Impressions: On the whole I think the Iraqi Ministry of Tourism likes the idea of tour groups but really isn’t prepared to deal with them. They had poster and cards prepared, but were at times, less than helpful when it came to implementing the itinerary.

I did have much more freedom in getting about than I expected. In the morning in Basra, I was able to get out and pick up breakfast: bread at the bakery, and cheese and yogurt at the corner store. Utilities were more reliable than expected - electricity went off occasionally for a short time. Bottled water was always available: Iraqis drank it as much as we did. Towels, toilet paper and soap were not always provided at hotels which often featured creative plumbing and strange electrical writing.

Food was plentiful: Usual Middle Eastern breakfast: bread, cheese, yogurt and the occasional egg. Main meals included soup, a selection of starters and then either chicken or lamb with rice. I shared with one of the other women throughout and had more than enough. I discovered Rani which was a nice fruit drink, much, much better than Fanta, CocaCola’s contribution to Middle Eastern soft drinks.

Despite security glitches, I never felt frightened. I was cautious and aware throughout but not scared. I should also mention that my experience with our Armed Forces was excellent: these people went out of their way, both at Ur and in Baghdad, to help us get where ever we wanted. That’s my team, good guys/gals all. I feel better about paying my taxes this month.

The people we ran into were friendly though I didn’t have much opportunity to talk with local Iraqis. Kids, as always, were great and I had them hi-fiving from Baghdad to Basra. We had shy smiles from the women, friendly smiles from the younger men and looks of curiosity from the older people. The security people always gave us a wave when we finally passed through.

I did talk with several contract workers: two with NBC News (Pilgrim Security and ex-SAS) and several at the Damascus Airport. They seemed to be stable, right-on guys; several were ex-cops working with the police.

Overall, a good trip but one I would recommend with qualifications: one should be more of a traveler than a tourist. Be prepared to rough it; have a sense of humor and don’t expect an itinerary to be anything but an expression of intent. Everything is subject to change. And take responsibility for your own security.

Cost: including airfare, about $6000, give or take, for the trip. Add on another $720 for the cat’s care. But for me, this was a window of opportunity I couldn’t resist. So well worth it!

Thoughts before March 2009 Mesopotamian trip

2009-02-28T15:01:00.000-08:00

I’ve really given a lot of consideration to this trip. I suspect more than I gave to the Kabul tour, but then I felt Global Exchange wouldn’t be sending us over to Afghanistan without precautions. This Mesopotamian tour is run by a guy who is into archaeological expeditions, is very familiar with the area - also, Afghanistan and environs -and is co author of Bradt’s Iraqi travel guide. So, I trust.

But this trip partly motivated my enrollment in Centurion's five-day Hostile Environment and First Aid training course. And that turned out to be everything I hoped for: upgraded my long outdated First Aid practices and prepared me for unfriendly territory. Well worth the $3000 cost.

Most interesting has been the reactions of two experienced travelers. One spent four years orbiting the globe and another has worked in Iraq and trekked in Afghanistan. Both were amazed/appalled. The first one bought me lunch as he tried to figure out what made me tick while the second gave me his Emil address and cell phone numbers to contact if I got into trouble.

Then there was the tattooed Marine vet at the surplus store: he had been in Iraq along the Syrian border during the 1990s and also in Afghanistan during the time the US was aiding the Taliban in their resistance to the Russians. While he was proud to have been a Marine, he would never re enlist. He was embittered by the politics involved and certainly, was bewildered why I would go into these countries voluntarily.

The only explanation I can give: I go because it’s there, I am curious and it is accessible. I can wait, sure, but then I’m not convinced it will became any safer a year or two from now. If I wait until it’s safe, I wouldn’t have wandered into Afghanistan, Yemen, Lebanon, Mali, Ethiopia - all places where outsiders have been at risk.

One of the travelers asked me where I would not go - my response: where there was active conflict and I would be endangered or get in the way, e.g.: at the moment, I am not planning to go to the southern part of Afghanistan or into Pakistan’s Northwest Territories.

At this time of my life, I can afford to take some chances. High on my list are Algeria, Libya (assuming acquisition of a visa), Palestine, North Korea. Kashmir, Kosovo. Serbia and the Baltic states. I’m thinking of taking off for nine weeks, from October-December this Fall, spending time in North Africa and the Middle East. I would do several tours, participate in a dig and rumble some on my own.

I tend to travel on the cheap though short of sleeping “rough”. And as a gray-haired female who speaks only English, I am limited. So, for some trips, I do British/Australian budget tours though at times, I’m on my own. I’ve gotten braver as I’ve become more familiar with the areas. But there are still places where I want the structure of a group, especially the first time around.

And Mesopotamia is certainly one. Though it seems to be getting a bit crowded. A current Email from the leader reports our Security contingent is being increased from two, upwards. Soon, more Security than participants (nine have signed on). Which increases the cost to us and the income to the Iraqis. And the advice of my HEFAT people to become a “gray person” goes down the tubes.

In both Ethiopia, Bangladesh and Yemen, there were Security people. The Ethiopian guy didn’t know how to manage his weapon safely; the Bangladesh bunch seemed ok as they followed us around but the Yemeni soldiers didn’t appear too reliable as they chewed khat while checking out the AK-47 mounted on the Toyota pickup.

Oh well, it will be a trip, any way you look at it!

HEFAT to Haydn

2009-02-07T09:55:00.000-08:00

In the August 2008 issue of National Geographic Adventure magazine, there was a squib about Centurion Safety’s five day HEFAT (Hostile Environments and Emergency First Aid Training) course. Given weekly in the UK and monthly in the US, it made some sense to me. I manage to travel in areas where weapons are prevalent and occasionally, people have been taken hostage. Additionally, what First Aid training I had was in my college days - and we won’t talk about how far back that is. They’ve developed three or four various CPR techniques in the meantime. And a whole different way to deal with snake bites.

So investing time and money in this kind of training: not only the First Aid but becoming aware of potentially dangerous situations and, dealing with simulated scenarios devised by staff, all ex-Royal Marine commandos, seemed a good investment to me. Most of the students are media people and NGO workers and our January 2009 group of thirteen was no exception. Many were BBC people with an AP reporter thrown in for good measure, with the rest NGO representatives. One correspondent was a Sandhurst graduate with four years in the Grenadiers; another a Russian with dual Russian-UK passports.

The classes were held on a farm in Woodstock, Va, half an hour from Strasburg’s Ramada Inn where we were housed. The weather was wintry cold - snowy and icy at times. Classes alternated between indoors and outside. There is nothing like “hitting the deck” on wet slushy ground. And we did learn to immediately dive down upon hearing gunfire.

The five instructors dealt with different topics from First Aid to Map Reading to Weaponry to Personal Security to Disturbances and all the places in between. Teaching was both didactic and realistic . At times, I felt I wasn’t ding anything right but eventually got the hang of checking out wounds and getting bandages on tight enough. Two of the instructors made marvelous howling victims - they would have passed any audition at the Royal School of Dramatic Art.

The NG Adventure article said Centurion had been doing their US course for seven years; they certainly knew what they were doing. I came out of it not only with practical knowledge but convinced awareness was the key to survival; that I had to be proactive and take responsibility for my own safety, whether I traveled alone or in a group.

In fact, much of their material would have been useful in my prior life in Probation.

From there, I hitched a ride into Washington DC with one of my fellow students, who was soon to go into Gaza. Stayed at The Tabard Inn, where I had been with my husband some ten? fifteen? years before. It’s a charming forty room establishment located in two old townhouses with a somewhat upscale restaurant. I was on the third floor of a rabbit warren of rooms, a single with facilities down the hall.

I had booked a Gray line Spy tour for Saturday, a trip around town with a guide pointing out significant places in DC’s espionage history. Afterward I went to the Spy Museum, which had a rather glitzy presentation of the covert world from then to now, then being pre-Elizabethan times. I walked back to the Inn near DuPont Circle and then down to Kennedy Center where I had a ticket for André Previn conducting the National Symphony with Anna Sophie Mutter soloing. A Haydn, a Mozart, one of Previn’s own pieces and concluding with a Richard Strauss.

Previn is a contemporary and I remember him yeas back, bright eyed and busy tailed, as a wonderful jazz pianist. However, seeing him at the Kennedy, he seemed so very frail, hardly able to get on the podium and needing help to get off. Both the usher, also a bit long in the tooth, and I thought he could benefit from a yoga class.

As I arrived to the Kennedy early, I was able to sit in for over an hours worth of Broadway composers’ and performers’ presentations in the Kennedy’s Millennium Stage series'. Thus supper was a sad chicken salad sandwich from the food cart which I ate during the symphony’s intermission.

Spent Sunday checking out The White House, the Lincoln Memorial, the Vietnam Wall, and
Washington Monument, and the Mall. The Vietnam Wall was just as moving as I had been told - you couldn’t help but be teary eyed. Also added to that area since I was last here, was a large WW2 memorial which didn’t impress me particularly. A fair number of sightseers were around, particularly at he Wall.

I also walked up to the Crime and Punishment Museum which was quite extensive and well done. A entire wall was devoted to Patty Hearst, who I last remember housed in the San Mateo country jail during her trial in SF’s federal court. There was stuff from the old G- man and prohibition days to present day bits and pieces. Coming out, I had to escape the crowd lined up for a Chinatown parade as I went back to the Inn.

Monday and Tuesday were spent looking into visas - got my Syria visa and sent in material requesting an Iraqi visa. Monday, I had a leisurely lunch with an old friend, my husband’s former boss, who had just retired from the VA. Tuesday, I wandered out to Georgetown and explored around. I really like Washington though suspect I could not afford to live there.

Surprising sighting: Also staying at The Tabard Inn was the author, diplomat, and BBC presenter, Rory Stewart, who I had missed in Kabul but caught up with in Jordan. We chatted briefly; he was amazed/appalled at my March Iraqi venture though he himself was headed back there - he had been involved with the Coalitions efforts at governance. Charming and very bright guy!

Timbuktu for Christmas 2008

2009-01-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

Actually, Christmas 2008 was spent wandering around Dogon villages with Christmas dinner at Sévaré, where I cleaned up after three nights camping. For I was on a fifteen day Exodus tour of Mali over the holidays, just before people poured in for January’s Festival of the Desert celebration north of Timbuktu.

There were three stages up to Timbuktu: bus to Dogon county, trekking in the Dogon country, boat to Korioumé (port for Timbuktu); on the return, we drove but the first part of that was on an unbelievably unimproved dirt road that took most of a day’s drive - we were in a M-B vehicle that was a cross between a Safari truck and a Hummer. (There are twice weekly flights that will likely increase as the new Sofitel hotel is completed.)

The trip started in the capital, Bamako; with thirteen others, mostly Brits but with a couple of Canadians, a Japanese and myself, we traveled north via Segou (where the Festival of the Niger is help in February) and Djenne to Mopti, where we veered off to Dogon country.

Djenne has this magnificent mud brick mosque, the largest mud brick building in the world. I was able to get inside and it was extraordinary. Monday market was packed with people and it was difficult to move around. The next night was at Sévaré, the bedroom community for Mopti, a busy port on the Niger. Before tackling the Dogon, we spent a morning checking out the very active market and port, with motorbike, people and goat washing occurring next to docked boats.

While we had camped atop a roof in Djenne, serious camping began in the Dogon country where the trekking began. Now all, that is all but me, had signed on for this trip because of the camping and trekking. They were serious campers and trekkers. Me? I signed on despite the camping and trekking - and wondered how I would survive both. All fourteen of us managed nicely, thank you very much.

The Dogons had moved off into their own territory to avoid the Muslin majority where they remained isolated until the thirties. They are now Muslim, Christian and animalist - all living together peacefully. Lonely Planet lists the Dogon country as one of the top-10-places-to-see-before-you-die.

The Dogons’ villages are above and below the 150 meter Falaise de Bandiagara, which is a serious climb both up and down. But the views are exceptional and for some of the villages, the only way you can visit them. Paths link the villages with occasional primitive ladders often the only way to cross chasms. We spent several days, less the noonday sun, traipsing from one to another. The villagers were friendly, eager to sell their craft work. The children were almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Camping was at campmonts, organized camp grounds, with our crew including cook, traveling in the 4+4 meeting us at specified times with food and tents. Campmonts were basic, some more than others. One had facilities of a sort; others simply provided a semi-private hole in the ground along with a large oil can jerry-rigged for a shower.

We came back to Sévaré for a respite before more basic camping in conjunction with the three day river trip via traditional pinassee - engine powered wood long boat with fixed seats in front and thatched roof covering the mid boat placed “thunder box”, a square red metal container, which contained the toilet, which was set up several steps and left you observing yourself suitably enthroned for there was a fair sized mirror opposite. (Thunder box was name given the somewhat portable toilets used by the Brits stationed in India during Kipling’s time - it seemed to fit our facility.)

During the day, we would stop at villages for a break and to check out the markets. At night, we would stop at a clear area and pitch our tents. We continued to travel with the cook who could put together a meal on the boat and bring it to the camp site. Both nights, we built a fire but no marshmallows! The last village visited seemed the most authentic: less Western garb and no gasoline powered machines. Just donkey and man power pushing/pulling the carts.

Then for two nights at Timbuktu. The Old City is, while dusty, picturesque. Mud bricks which have to be restored at the end of the rainy season were still used though some buildings were of sandstone. There were three magnificent mosques, several museums and the residences of several of the explorers who made it to Timbuktu. Outside the old city, it is the usual basic African town, with a series of ramshackle shops and mostly unasphalted streets.

Three of us spent an afternoon with a young Tuareg tribesmen (they wear blue scarves covering their faces and have a history of past conflict with the authorities - Algerian, Malian, Nigerian, whoever!)) who was a leather worker and familiar with the local Museum of Ancient Manuscripts. He took us to his family’s place for tea and then out to the dunes so we could see the sun set over the Sahara desert. The Tuareg still camel caravan salt across the Sahara to Timbuktu, where it is placed on a boat to go down the Niger to Mopti, where it moves onto a truck for further distribution.

We worked our way back down to Bamako via Sévaré and Segou. This time, we explored Segou a bit:, walked abut the old French Colonial mansions, now used by the government for offices and/or residences, .sauntered along the river bank and saw where the Festival of the Niger would be held. Segou seemed to have some charm. Sévaré did have a bar where New Year’s Eve could be celebrated. But we almost didn’t get there: bus broke down - fuel line blockage - but after an hour of activity, it got fixed. Ah Africa!

It was at Sévaré I ran into Kate and The Mog. Kate is a Brit, in her 30s? 40s? who had traveled from Scotland, through the Ukraine, into Southern France, then Morocco and on into Mali. She and a companion operate the Mog, a camper on steroids. The cab and chassis are M-B, made for the German Army while the trailer is custom done - a self enclosed unit with all facilities There is a tent packed in on top and a motor bike attached to the back. Check it - and her - out at www.mogonthemove.com. I gave her my card and told her to call if she wanted another companion.

General Impressions: Mali is a poor country, mostly Muslim. Infrastructure is very basic, more so than Ethiopia . Exports are cotton, gold and the music. And with the music comes tourism. I did see several other tour groups, one Asian, in the Dogon country and ran into some Americans on their way to the Festival of the Desert.

Now is the Mali tourist season: they make it in during these few months and then, there’s nothing. Our guide who spoke four languages, trained as a teacher but could not find work as an educator for there was no money to pay him. He told me doctors, who are in sore need, work as tour guides as there is not the money to hire them.

French naturally, since Mali was part of French West Africa, is the official language but there are half a dozen tribal languages. As an English speaker only, I had some difficulty and was bailed out by the kindness of others in the group.

Food was ok. For the most part, I ate vegetarian with some excellent white fish on two occasions. Otherwise, vegetable sauce and pasta, cous-cous or rice. Breakfast, as you would expect in a French influenced country, was roll, butter and jam with sometimes, cheese, and always, Nescafe. In self defense, I carry my own herbal tea.

Exodus says in their trip notes that hotels are simple but clean but showers may be cold, the roads can be particularly bumpy and dusty and the heat makes the trekking tiring even though it is not difficult. These are fair statements. But I found it all worth while to see a rather unique country and to earn my T-shirt: I have Been to Timbuktu and Back!

Details: Flew over via Air France: SFO to Paris, then Bameko. Return, Bameko to Paris to Seattle to SFO - the Paris-SFO flight was overbooked. Airfare was $2622.77. The tour cost $2656 which included about half of the meals. Adventure Center handled all the bookings with their usual competence.

Dig! Sift! Enjoy!

2008-12-02T16:47:00.000-08:00

This was billed as a Working Holiday - a chance to participate in an archaeological dig. My interest is more in the historical aspect than in a chance to practice any archaeological skills. I had been a student of Middle Eastern history beginning with a fascination with T. E. Lawrence some fifty years ago.

So I grabbed at the opportunity to participate in the Great Arab Revolt Project’s third fieldwork session where I could be in the area so identified with Lawrence, the Arabs and the Ottomans. I had been in Jordan before, but only as a traveler passing through; this would be two weeks of exploration.

There were ten staff and eighteen volunteers; Among the volunteers, seven were returnees, five were Americans, one Australian and the rest, Brits. Ages ranged from 18 to 79. Three were metal detecterists It was a compatible crew with the experienced ones showing good humor and patience with those of us struggling along with our improper techniques of troweling and brushing and sifting.

For the most part, I scraped and sifted . I did less well at measuring for I was still stuck in the world of inches and feet rather than metres. My friend, who I had encouraged to sign on for this experience and is a scientifically trained person, did well with metres.

We spent several days investigating tent rings at Batn Al-Ghoul before we moved up to the fort at Fassu’ah Ridge. There our team of three checked out a possible trench - that turned out to be where water drained down. Then to a outward curve in the rock wall where we did find a couple of expended cartridges; the curve was measured and drawn, both en face and from above.

Then we spent several days out beyond the Fort a kilometre or so to a possible trough and mule lines. That kept us busy. One afternoon was spent bagging aged mule excrement found in our sieves. All recording had be exact: precise measurements and photographed.

There seemed to be little evidence of a any serious Ottoman battles but there was an abundance of finds,. Which made me feel my efforts, as basic as they were, were helpful even though I found little seemingly of significance. But no finds can be as significant as finds.

The several evening talks by the Project Director, the Field Director, the Cultural Anthropologist and the Landscape Archaeologist were excellent, most helpful to me in providing a context for the work. In many ways, they were the high points of the experience.

There were two days off: one I spent at Petra - we stayed in nearby Wadi Musa - retracing some of my steps of several years ago, and the other, we went to the old Fort at Aqaba, scene of one of Lawrence’s great triumphs, and then careened around in 4+4s at Wadi Rum, that absolutely gorgeous piece of Jordanian real estate.

Excitement was provided by BBC who spent two days filming as they were doing a program on Lawrence with Rory Stewart as the commentator. I finally had the chance to talk with him - missed out in Kabul where he heads up the Turquoise Foundation. Ended up being filmed while interviewed by him - suspect it may be cut for my responses weren’t that great.

How did I feel as a novice? Overwhelmed and out of my element, as I do with any new task. Not comprehending many of the whys and wherefores. But it slowly came together; I was with a great group of colleagues. The scenery was inspiring;. I could visualize Lawrence galloping by on his favorite camel, romantic that I am.

So likely, I’ll return next year, a bit more knowledgeable. Though history is still my overriding interest , what is archaeology but confirmation of the past.

For those interested in the nitty-gritty, accommodations were fair to good. Fair was the original hotel, with it’s lack of hot water and equally lukewarm food. Due to an overbooking, we were moved to another hotel for the last few days, one used by Explore when I had been there before. It was good: hot water and hot food. Morale went up - though that was never a problem.

Food was the usual Middle Eastern fare: an orangy juice, pita bread, hummus, hard cooked eggs, cucumbers, tomatoes and cheese for breakfast; pita bread, hummus, cheese, spam and dates for lunch, with rice, a cooked meat, a chicken dish, vegetables, salads and a dessert for dinner. Drank a lot of tea.

And let me tell you, it was a long miserable ride home. Had something like a twenty hour layover in a cold air conditioned Termnal 1 at Heathrow before an eleven hour flight to SF.

Getting Gone!

2008-11-09T14:57:00.000-08:00

The hardest thing about travel is leaving the cat. Now, I do have an outstanding cat care person, a woman who works at my vet’s, but it doesn’t make it easier. Once I start to pack up, Tiffany sits on the duffel and howls. She knows! The care person assures me Tiff is very good with their routine when I’m gone. But until I walk out the door - when Tiff is lying on her chair with one eye open - I get a bad time.

Also, when I return: I am ignored, totally ignored, until Tiff gets hungry enough to ask for food. Which has some advantages, for I can empty the duffel‘s contents into the wash, look at the mail and brush my teeth before I have to deal with her. She should be used to all this for in the three places she’s lived with me, travel has been the constant.

Packing is the other chore. Since I take only a carry on sized duffel, choices are limited. After two bummers with checked luggage some years back, I’ve used carry ons only, even before airlines started charging for checked luggage. Toiletries I replenish after each trip, so they are not a problem. Copies of my passport and driver’s license reside in the duffel along with travel clock, extra batteries and the like.

So it’s roll up several pairs of pants, throw in the t-shirts, figure out the quick dry underwear, and add a pair of sandals. Some times, I have to think about which items to pack but mostly it’s the same things - or whatever old stuff I can leave. And wear the walking shoes, sweater, jacket, hoodie and/or rain gear I’ll need. I seem to take about the same amount of stuff, whether I’m going to city or countryside, gone for a week or a month.

I have traveled in the States, Canada and overseas for over twenty-five years. No longer hampered with a Day Job, I’m now gone about a third of the time. From two to six weeks. For the cat’s sake, I try to stick to three weeks but I’m not always successful. And I tend to travel on the cheap, often with small, budget priced British or Australian groups. Many American groups charge more than I’m prepared to pay, use upscale accommodations beyond what I need and/or stay close to conventional itineraries. The Brits and the Aussies tend to wing it, much as I do when on my own.

Choosing destinations isn’t a problem. I have a long list but, fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t always get to new places. I keep returning for further exploration. This year I returned to the UK - probably my 20th trip there - and Ethiopia - I had been in the North, to the so called Historical Circuit, but wanted to get into the tribal lands of the South; I will be back in Jordan in a couple of days for an archeological dig related to TE Lawrence and WW1’s Arab Revolt.

But Yemen and Afghanistan were new to me. And come December, a hike into Mali, where the Turang and Timbuktu should be eye openers. So three new and three old add to six extraordinary trips for 2008.

2008-10-31T16:32:00.000-07:00

Fourteen crashes later!

Last year, at birthday time, I was in Namibia and celebrated with a sky dive. This year, I am home in Northern California. As birthday time approached, I received a notice about twelve hours of simulator flight training at the Hiller Museum at San Carlos Airport. At the same time, I got a discount coupon for a flying lesson at the Palo Alto Airport. Aha! Possibilities!

You must understand that in my salad days, my goal had been to fly, travel and write. During my freshman year in college, I blew tuition money on several flying lessons, stopping when I realized I couldn’t afford both flying and college. For better or worse, my father’s common won out and I went on to collect the Bachelor’s degree.

(And then became interested in sports cars, but that’s another story!)

So I signed up for both the simulator classes and the flying lesson. The simulator classes were three hours over a four week period. Besides me, there was a mother-son and a father-son combination. I have the feeling that the kids - and likely the parents - were brought up on computers, computer games and simulators. They got the picture from ground-zero. They were taking off and landing the virtual Cessna during the first session.

Me? I was busy over compensating. My niece, herself a pilot, warmed me that there was lag time with the simulator which could throw you off. and even knowing that, I was stalling and spinning - great air show tricks maybe, except I kept crashing. The only thing I really learned from the session was how to get the simulator back in position. Between JFK and SFO, I managed some thirteen crashes in my attempts to land.

My niece now started calling me “Crash”!

The second session wasn’t much better. The other four took off nicely from SFO and San Carlos. Not me! First, I couldn’t reach the rudder pedals, much less the brakes. Skidded out on the floor in my secretarial chair. I don’t know how one kid did it for he was considerably shorter than me, but he did. In fact, he came over and looked at what I was (or wasn’t) doing and shook his head in disgust. There is nothing like pre teen disgust! At best, I was swirling all about the airport runways. Crashed on takeoff. So I decided to just fly around. The rest were working on instrument flying and planning trips from one airport to another. I was certainly far from that and after two hours, picked up my toys and went home.

The third session was a total wipe out: I forgot my reading glasses so was unable to focus on anything. - nada - nothing. Without glasses, I am desperately near sighted. With my regular glasses, I am comfortably far sighted. Since I have avoided bifocals, I was S.O.L. I left!

I did attend the fourth and last simulator session, well behind the herd. They were planning cross country flights. My cross country flight was from San Carlos to Santa Rosa, which I managed, but just barely. Then someone got the bright idea to put me in Piper Cub, which was the airplane I had flown sixty years ago. Viola! No complications. I was able to stay reasonably steady, fly out of the Kabul airport, head out to Bagram Air Field, check out the Panjsher Valley and ease over to the Salang Pass. Had I realized it, I could have cut a flight plan to Teheran. A fitting conclusion. And I was issued a certificate, for whatever that’s worth.

Next, Halloween and the realtime flight lesson - back in a Cessna, but older with a less complicated dashboard than the simulated one. Walked around and checked out the aircraft before the interior check. Climbed up on the wings to make sure we were sufficiently gassed. And then took off from the Palo Alto airport. Cloudy day with some active air pockets, which made it interesting. Got to fly some, bank and yaw, battle the currents and fight the sun in my eyes. Flew about the southern Bay area and certainly did better than on the simulator’s Cessna. Like, I didn’t crash or stall or spin. All together, two hours well spent. And I now have a Pilot’s flight log book.

I may do this again, the flying that is. Not the simulator - think I got everything I could from that. But I will have to get bifocals.

Weekend at Oxford - Sep 2008

2008-10-08T14:56:00.001-07:00

It was to be 10 days: a weekend for the TE Lawrence symposium and five days survival training at Heckfield. Only Heckfield was canceled - long story - and is now rescheduled for a session in Virginia late January; so more on that next year.

But the long weekend at Oxford was well worth the long trip over. I stayed in rooms at St. John’s College where AE Housman and Robert Graves had been, saw the West End musical Seven brides for Seven Brothers (good, though I did miss Howard Keel), traveled to Dorset to TE Lawrence haunts, and then had two days of talks about TE Lawrence, then and now. About one hundred fifty attended, a surprisingly number from the US and Canada. Interesting bunch.

Got into Heathrow early afternoon Thursday September 24 and promptly caught the airport bus for Oxford which took little over an hour. The bus station was close to the campus, so walked over and registered. Then picked up a ticket for the evening performance and had supper. Performance was good and the audience was an enthusiastic bunch of the gray haired set. Nice choreography though not up to Michael Kidd’s - since seeing this, I checked out some of his work in the film on You-tube.

My room was large, really large, but with a small single bed tucked in one corner. I had a sink and counter, small portable refrigerator, chairs, desk and book cases. Facilities? The toilet was across the hall and the shower upstairs. With the room went access to the computer lab and the bar - yes, St. John’s has it own pub. Lovely old college with magnificent spires.

Friday was spent with forty others, traveling to Dorset. First, to the Bovington Tank Museum. TE had spent two years there as a ranker before getting back into the RAF, all following his Lawrence of Arabia exploits. There were some memorabilia but I was impressed with the tanks: WW1 and WW2 vintage with various armed cars including the WW1 Rolls used in the desert. Tanks are big suckers!

From there, it was a short journey to Clouds Hill TE’s garden cottage: small, basic and charming. Two Broughs (the motor bike used by TE) were parked there; one may have been an old one of Lawrence’s. The bikers in our group - and there were some - were impressed. I had my picture taken astride one. It was a moving experience, the thought of walking about where TE had been.

From there to Moreton to the local church and TE’s grave and finally, to Wareham where the Kennington Effigy is housed in the ancient Saxon Church of St. Martin-on-the-Walls. It was a full day and a great prologue to the two days of talks.

There were eight presentations, some outstanding. I had been enticed to this gathering by two speakers: Neil Faulkner who was the co-director of the November archaeological dig I had volunteered for, and James Barr, author of a recent book on TEL and the Brits during WW1. They both lived up to expectations and I had a chance to talk with them during the weekend, at length with Dr. Faulkner at the college pub.

Faulkner talked about Lawrence’s precepts of guerrilla warfare and the impact the Arab Revolt had on the desert campaigns during WW1. The Great Arab Revolt Project is an archaeological effort that, so far, supports the military importance of the Arab efforts. Barr talked about TEL and his influence/relationship with the French and its impact on Middle Eastern history.

The other presentations ranged from Lawrence’s relationships with various friends, publishers and writers; his love of the Brough bikes with a hypothesis about the final fatal crash; the Metcalf collection, and a discussion of the Imperial Camel Corps - the later was one of the more interesting reports.

People in attendance were varied: several had been at the Huntington Library gathering last year - I had attended and. surprisingly, was recognized by several. One man was from Georgia, had been a Chief Probation Officer and was into motor bikes, really into them owning six and restoring others that he sold at swap meets. Another rather dapper man, small boned and an inch or so taller than me, dressed in shirt, tie, brown suit and vest, shave d head and with Kaiser Wilhelm waxed mustache, was in the Security business, spending most of his time in the Emirates.

There were two retired servicemen: one with twenty years in the Engineers, twenty with a private firm and now considering his third life - he was also a diver who had a home near the Red Sea in Egypt and gave me good information about arranging a trip to St. Catherine’s. The other had just retired after 26 years as a Warrant Office in the Navy and was interested in museum work. Then there were the two men in their late seventies, one living in Seattle and the other still in the UK, who met sixty years ago in Germany while in the service; they have continued their friendship and meet yearly.

Coming home was a delight! I was upgraded from mid-middle back of the aircraft to business class! All because I had asked to be switched to an aisle seat. Turned out it was easier to switch me up front.

Glad I went, even for just the weekend. Next time, will add on a couple of days to bum about Oxford and take the Morse tour.

Ethiopia trip #2: August 2008 in Rifts & Omo Valleys

2008-09-01T16:34:00.000-07:00

I just read my report on last year’s February trip to Northern Ethiopia, which concluded with my intent to return, to travel in the Afar-Dankalia region down to the ancient Muslim town of Harar and to explore the Rift and Omo Valleys.   This was the Rift and Omo Valleys trip, two weeks into Southern Ethiopia..

And like the first trip it was a substitution, this time for a camel trek into Kenya’s Rift Valley, canceled for lack of attendance. This tour was available and fairly high up on my list of future travels. So I packed up the duffel and away I went, yet again!

It started, as everything does in Ethiopia, in Addis Ababa, a sprawling combination of old and new. I joined the group a bit late in the first day, following their exploration of the city which featured the Ethnological Museum - been there, done that, on my first trip, so didn’t feel deprived.

Now the North is a rather organized third world area, with towns and hotels and churches. Oh yes, churches for it is very Orthodox Christian what with the Ark of the Covenant and the Queen of Sheba.   The South is rural, tribal country with few amenities for Westerners. While the Cross was worn and replicas were sold at market, Muslims and animists prevail in much of the area. The South is totally different from the North, distinctly different , a very African place.

From Addis, we drove, the nine of us plus tour leader and drivers, in three well used Land Cruisers - as I’ve commented before, I’d love to have the Toyota agency for Africa and/or the Middle East; I’d never want in this or any other life again!   We traveled near lakes, through National parks, into Mountains and valleys on roads ranging from passable to impossible. And good or bad, everyone and everything used the roads. Trucks to donkey carts; motorcycles to pedestrians, cows to goats.

The landscape varied: there was lush tropical greenery, dry dusty flat land, mountain and lake. Per Lonely Planet, the southwest Omo region has been called “Africa's last great wilderness”. We saw hippos and crocs, zebras and kudu, monkeys and baboons. We went to tribal compounds of the Mursi, Hammer and Konsos. We wandered in three various markets, including one where police and army patrolled because of ongoing tribal differences. And when there are tribal differences, contemporary weapons have entered the cultures. Guns were evident along with spears and colorful tribal clothing - or lack of it.

We were welcomed, either as a curiosity or a source of income - two birr per photo required by the tourist savvy. Kids would immediately run to take your hand, sometimes to ask for a pen and most often, just to grin happily at you. I often felt overwhelmed by the tribal people and would back off while others in our group managed more gracefully. One Brit, a primary grade teacher, knew a few basic magic tricks which made him the pied piper of our bunch.

I talked with two teen-aged boys, who attended school in Jinka, the door to the Omo Valley. They boarded there and were awaiting results of their preparatory school exam. One hoped to be a teacher while the other, a doctor. Both wanted to return to their tribe.    One boy pointed out his younger sister to me but though he wanted to help her, admitted there would be little he could do for when he returned from his schooling, she would be married and with a family.   Girls simply had little educational opportunities:

Early on, we stopped at the Black Lion Museum, the Rastafarian community’s headquarters at Shashemene. The current leader (they rotate), a rather imposing Jamaican, gave us chapter and verse about the Rastas - he was a good looking mature man with patience for our questions and a nice sense of humor.

We camped four of our fourteen nights. The first night was near a river, quite basic isolated place though there was a pump for water and a rudimentary toilet of sorts. The other three nights was at a somewhat more organized campground, with several oil can jerry rigged showers and basic squat toilets; there was also a water pump used by campers and locals as well. When we arrived there were nearly two dozen land cruisers about with the campground quite full. After the first night, the population lessened considerably.

Covered space was also available for cooking: we had picked up a cook to accompany us throughout the camping experience and he was superb. Missed him dearly when we returned to local restaurant meals. The Ethiopians may have politically expelled the Italians, but the culinary presence remains for all menus, everywhere, offered pasta as an option.

It was from the campgrounds, we could travel to some of the less accessible sites. We had some contact with about half a dozen different tribes., most grazing cattle, goats and/sheep. Body and hair decorations differed from tribe to tribe. Some wore bits and pieces of Western clothing, some did not.   We lost what few tourists that had been about; Italian and French seem to predominate.

As we came out of the tribal lands, we drove and walked to the stelae, ancient rock carvings, at Tututi, Not as spectacular as at Aksum, but still impressive. There were two areas with columns of differing lengths lying about. Likely, there were double that still buried. On the last day on the road, time was spent at Lake Awassa and the lakeside fish market enroute Addis Ababa.

Hotels were, with one or two exceptions, rather basic. In fact, one, St Mary’s at Konso, was god awful; I suspect it hadn’t been cleaned since the Italians had been expelled. Below basic! The resort hotel at Wondo Genet, had allegedly been a stopping place for Haile Selassie in the old days - the grounds were extensive with blue balled monkeys running rampant. I, and others in the group, did a several hour climb about the area. Rooms and food were mediocre, however.

The Addis Ababa accommodation was certainly an upgrade from last year’s accommodation.   The Ghion Hotel had been 5* in its day and was the premier local hotel. The grounds were extensive and meticulously maintained. Rooms showed evidence of years of use but were clean - and there was hot water! I was there three nights: the first night and then two nights at the end of the tour. I spent that time just wandering around, picking up some gifts for friends and clearing off hundreds of Emails once I found an Internet place.

Interestingly, the flights and hotels were jam packed full with a combination of students, NGO workers, and adoptive and would-be adoptive parents. It appears Ethiopia is a mecca for would be adoptive parents, both US and European.

The last night of the tour was at the Crown(?) Hotel’s restaurant which had both band and dancers. They were quite good and did various ethnic music and dances. while we had the Ethiopian nation dish: injra. Simply put, this is a large pancake with food place atop it.; you tear off pieces to use in picking up the food. No knives, no forks!   By the time the night ended, our leader, several of our drivers and others in our group got up to move to the music - including moi!

There were nine in our group: seven Brits, an Irish woman who had been a month in Rwanda prior to this tour, and myself.   Only one came through the trip unscathed: I badly sprained my wrist the second day, missing a foothold while climbing up an embankment and the rest had intestinal problems of one kind or another. Our tour leader was excellent; though from the North, he was familiar with animals, birds, fauna and tribes in the south.

This was an Exodus tour booked through Adventure Center in Emeryville (www.adventurecenter.com). Like most of the others I’ve taken, it is a eco-conscious, budget priced, small group British tour. Cost for the tour was $2420 (twin share - I paid an additional $30 to have a tent of my own!), which included all meals. Airfare, via United to Dulles and Ethiopian to Addis, was $2388. Extra hotel cost was $34.

Incidentally, I paid 8 birr for the taxi ride from the airport into Addis in a bad, sad cab reeking of gasoline fumes; booked through the hotel, I paid 6 birr for the return ride in a Benz - not the newest but running perfectly.   Go figure!

Comment: Storks and Vultures are some ot the world's the ugliest creatures, more so than crocs!

Still have the the Afar-Dankalia region and Harar to go! May combine that with Djibouti and Eritrea, if the Eritrea-Ethiopia border ever opens.

(NB: roughly, a birr is a buck!)

Ashland and Points North - 2008

2008-07-13T12:35:00.000-07:00

It was June and time to get back to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival at Ashland, Oregon. I finally figured out that I first went in l952 - I used to think it was l954 but looking at old programs: it was l952. We, my husband and I, went with Jack Jacobus, who became our housemate. We all worked at the Oregon State Penitentiary at the time. I remember seeing the Tempest in the outdoor theatre; I remember the lovely Lithia Park.

We didn’t get back for maybe, ten years but then started a regular yearly drive - later, to be a flight - to Ashland, missing only a year when I was recovering from surgery and the year before Robin’s death.    So I continue the tradition, flying to Medford and shuttling into Ashland and the Columbia Hotel, an old establishment on the main street, a second story store front place with a Victorian motif and facilities down the hall. Reasonably priced and more than centrally located. I’ve stayed there since I’ve been a single. Have breakfast outside overlooking the creek at the Greenleaf Cafe. Walk around in the mornings, f rom town up into the Park, check my E-mails at the library, look into shops for a guest-gift for my niece and sister in law who I will visit afterwards.

And go to the plays - four at OSF and one at the Cabaret theatre. I also sign on for all the lectures and discussions, whether they apply to plays I’m seeing or not. Archie and Mehitabel was at the Cabaret Theatre this year and, along with a fruit and ice cream dessert, was fun. I saw most unique Indian musical of sorts Clay Cart, a wild Midsummer Night’s Dream that did justice to Gay Pride Weekend, a moving Our Town that had me in tearing up at the end and the out of the box Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler. Hedda Gabler made the least impression on me, for I keep forgetting it.

Now,, instead of the one outdoor theatre, they are three working theatres and small ex-theatre used as a lecture/discussion area. I suspect OSF is Ashland’s biggest draw , even with the University and Rogue River rafting runs.   Bay area people, like me, dream of moving there. In fact, enough have so that real estate is comparable with the Bay area. Expensive! Still, for several days a year, it remains a place out of time and, when I was a worker bee, a neededrespite from my stressed world.

From there, I did the family bit: to the Seattle area to visit with my in-laws. My sister in law and her husband are still managing quite well: they’re in their eighties; in fact, he may be ninety but still volunteers at the Air Museum. She is a crafter: does marvelous quilts. Their younger daughter is my executor so we spent time reviewing trusts and the like. Others in the family were over the Fourth weekend and then I headed home. We enjoy each other for the several day stay which seems just right. It’s on the list for next year.

Along with Mesopotamia, a return to Afghanistan, Palestine/Israel, and Libya if they’ll give me a visa. The Rift Valley camel trek is off for both this year and next but I’m signing on to a week long course for survival in hostile environments - looks like I’ll do that in September, consecutive to the TE Lawrence symposium at Oxford.   Expensive but necessary if I’m continuing to go to places with a plethora of old Russian AK-47s lying about.

Two - No, Three Stops Up the Track!

2008-06-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

It was impulsive. Walking home from the library, I got talking to a workman who was taking a break in the shade of the park trees. All enthused, he told me about the Vertical Air Show at the San Carlos Airport the following day, Saturday. Take the train up and you can walk over from there! Why not, I thought as I continued my way home; haven’t been to an air show since early salad days and I’ve always meant to stop by the Hiller Air Museum, next to the airport, all located along Freeway 101. Why not?

I checked the train schedule and figured I could do my Pilates workout, get the groceries, buy my round trip ticket and make the noon train out of Menlo Park. Two stops and I’m there - oh, there would be one at Atherton, which only has weekend stops these days. All went according to schedule, at least my schedule. Got to the depot on time but per the notice, the train not only was running ten minutes late but all trains were running on the northbound track. Working on the southbound track at Atherton.

Eventually the train arrived, more like twenty minutes late. However, it whizzed past Atherton and all the construction work, stopping about half way before Redwood City. Whoops, the engineer forgot he was on the weekend schedule and after some thought and calling in with the powers-that-be, the train backed up and picked up the Atherton would-be passengers. From there we were ok and I got off as planned at San Carlos. Did my several miles walk over the freeway to the Airport.

My experience with previous air show had been in the Forties when I lived in South Dakota and was determined to be a flyer and was a serious cadet with the Civil Air Patrol. As I remember, the runway was dirt and there was a daily Western Airlines flight in from Cheyenne, Wyoming (It’s about the same now except the runway is asphalt and the Northwest Airlines flight is in from Minneapolis). There were all sorts of old aircraft, some from WW1, open seaters, Fokkers with the locals awe stricken at the wing walking and parachuting.

This time, it was helicopters - all shapes and sizes. Craft from the military, police, air-evac, TV stations, private - you name it. I was able to wander about, get inside some of the copters, look at the museum exhibitions, talk with various flyers. Alarge number of families were there with excited yelling kids. During the show, there were demonstrations of helicopters’ abilities including stunt flying and sky diving. Despite the 100 degree heat, The entire scene was exhilarating and left me trying to figure out how Flying lessons could fit into my life.

Back in the forties, when I was a single college student, all my extra money went into flying lessons. An old Piper Cub, as basic and simple as you could get. The I met a guy, student, a Navy vet, and learning to fly flew right out of my life. We ended up into sports cars - and I must admit, the atmosphere at sports car races is similar to the air shows. But at the moment, I am single, the owner of a Mini (after several Jags, a MGA, and three Alfas) and I’m gone, traveling at consistently at least twice a week -- ain’t going to happen unless I give up exploring the universe. And I’m not.

I barely manage to squeeze in a weekly afternoon volunteering at the Library and a monthly morning for the League - and they all understand my erratic schedule. So it looks doubtful I’ll fulfill my dream of a Private Pilot’s license, though I may see about volunteering at the Air Museum, if I can work something out. It’s second best, but then I am doing the traveling and writing that were also part of that dream package.

Anyway, walked back to the train station where I found I could have taken a shuttle to the airport! Got back to Menlo Park, with required Atherton stop, in time to pick up a sandwich at Barrone’s cafe and then home.

(For what it’s worth, I ‘m still trying for the Kenya Camel trek for February. I did send in deposits for a Mesopotamia trip in March-April 2009 and another Afghanistan trip in August 2009, this one in the mountains and including Herat and the Minaret of Jam.)

James Bond, Ian Fleming and the Spy scene!

2008-06-09T18:04:00.000-07:00

I don't really fit into the Elderhostel scene though there are some interesting people who travel with them. This was my fourth experience with Elderhostel: two daytime workshops and a trip to Sedona and the Grand Canyon predated this excursion. Plus this was about my 20th trip to London and my second to Cambridge. Love London!

It was the topic that brought me: the 100th birthday of James Bond/Ian Fleming plus the Cambridge spies. Eight days in London (staying at a most elegant hotel near the old Tate Museum) and three days in Cambridge (another 4* hotel), this time focusing on the Cambridge spies and the SIS.

I flew in four days early and booked a room at my affordable 2* establishment in Bayswater with facilities down the hall. I had tickets for the Royal Ballet (Robbins' Dances at a Gathering and Ashton's The Dream) and one of their New Works series, sux short ballets done by young choreographers. These were the high points of the trip. I also had a ticket for Jeremy Iron's portrayal of Harold MacMillan in Never So Good, a real tour d'force.

Saw a couple of other plays: 39 Steps, a comedy based on John Buchan's adventure story, Brief Encounter, a muti media version of Noel Coward's play. and Tim Piggot-Smith in Shaw's Pygmalian. A night at Royal Festival Hall with the London Philharmonic and a Sunday noon concert with a chamber orchestra at the Wigmore completed my cultural journey. Did it on the cheap by eating at take-aways and the theatre cafes. Happily walked all, except when it came to moving from Paddington to the Westminister hotel - that was done via tube.

I was odd woman out! I was an "enforced single"; had the room to myself though I had paid to share. The oldest in the group was a 86 woman, most attendees were retired, almost all had been professionals - doctor, lawyer, educator ,plus a couple of former NSA types. Several were seriously into Bond and could recite chapter and verse from the movies and films. Then there was me who hadn't seen any of the films but had. in my salad days, read all the books - and remembered little from them. I was much more interested in the Intelligence history.

The leader of our motley band of fifty was Nigel West, author of several dozen books on espionage (of which I had half a dozen plus another dozen by other authors). He was knowledgeable, articulate and could talk indefinitely sans any notes. His supporting cast included Andrew Lycett, a Fleming biographer (had that book), Boris Volodarsky, a Russian defector, Corelli Barnett, a rather pessimistic British historian, Andres Lownie, a John Buchan biographer (had that book too; love Buchan!), and Kate Westbrook who talked of her experience in putting together the MoneyPenny series. There were several others who talked about the Bond films and the Bond books. We also spent time at the Imperial War Museum, where the big boys' toys are on display. The Bond exhibition was okay but I really enjoyed The Secret War section which had bits and pieces of things from MI5, MI6, SOE and the Special Forces (SAS being another of my interests). Lording over all was one of T E Lawrence's beloved Broughs. I passed through the Fleming Collection of the Book Covers and attended the Reception and Gala dinner at Gladstone's Library. It was enough: I was well Bonded.

While in London, I had tea with the son of a good friend, who had just had his Master's thesis accepted, met with my roommate from the Jordanian portion of an earlier Middle Eastern trek and saw the tail end of a bike race that had gone from the UK to the battlegrounds of France to raise funds for a charity for veterans - it seems as if hundreds had gone, civilians to military riders. Bagpipes were playing which always bring tears to my eyes. I did make my obligatory visit to the British Museum and got up to the National Geographic Society and British Library with its Ramayana Exhibit.

By the time we reached Cambridge, ten partipants had dropped out and I acquired a very compatible roommate. West was the lecturer the entire time: talked about the Cambridge bunch and how they interlinked as well as spent some time discussing the NKVD Illegals. We wandered about Cambridge, one time on organized tour and the rest disorganized. West spend an evening reviewing Cold War films and then showed Tinker Tailor - four of us hung on through all seven segments, to the bitter end, trudging to our rooms at 2 AM. I remember seeing this on PBS, trying to recall the plot line from week to week. Great to see it in one fell swoop. particularly as I remembered who the Bad Guy was. And Guinness was such a magnificant actor; who else could be "Smiley"?

The final piece d'resistance was the aftenoon at Chicksands Museum. Chicksands was a USAF base and is now an active Military Intelligence School. Included was a collection from Brixmis, cold war intelligence gathering (I had just finished Tony Geraghty's book about it) and all sorts of photographic and radio equipment - Fascinating displays.

This was a more expensive trip than usual: With airfare and all, I estimate $6000 for two weeks. I suspect I'm the only one, who in the evaluation, suggested they could down grade the accommodations. I mean, I did not need my own individual computer in the room - I'd settled for a shared freebie at the hotel. A 2*/3* hotel would have been fine. But considering my interest in Intelligence services and Special Forces operations and my need to return to London, it was worth it.

The July Kenya camel trek is off; I'm returning to Ethiopia instead, this time south into the Omo Valley.

Reading while crossing the Atlantic - or Pacific?

2008-05-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

I've discovered some really interesting authors at various airport shops, ones whose writing I've tracked down, even after the flight. Through flying to the three corners of the earth, I've found Ian Rankin, Vikram Seth, Clive Cussler, Lee Child, James Patterson, Tom Clancey, Harlan Coben and Robert Ludlum among others. Some are adventure fiction, stuff I read and leave on a bench in some far airport, but then, there are the keepers.

Seth and Rankin are keepers: I remember buying Seth's A Suitable Boy in Singapore as it was thick and looked as if it would last on a long flight to SFO. Marvelous, wandering story of Indian family life. Rankin, all of whose books I've now read, is the creator of a disillusioned detective, Rebus, who worked the streets of Edinburgh; writes well and with love of the character and city.

Cussler does imaginative adventure stuff, with two pals working in a government maritime agency. A diver himself , Cussler is at ease when it comes to nautical themes. On occasion he gets to places I've been and that's really fun.

Clancey and Ludlum do the thriller-spy bit that have you big into all possible conspiracy theories. Clancy has Jack Ryan and Ludlum has Jason Bourne. Movies have been done based on books from both authors - I like the books better than the films.

Coben is another matter: a literate juicey mystery writer with really well drawn characters and a cut above most.; for the airplane reader, an added bonus that the books are long. Now, Patterson's lead character is usually a African-American psychologist-detective though he also has a series based on a female San Francisco dectective that has become a series on TV - again, books are better than the series.

Lee Child's hero is Reacher, an outsized loner, ex MP, who goes around solving unbelievable screw-ups in a rather direct manner.

I'm off again, to the UK this time, so it won't be an unbelievably long flight. I picked up at the Library's free and resale bins, a paperback Coben and Ludhum, which should get me to LHR and maybe, return. And always carry the pocket edition of 7 Pillars, my bible.

In Kabul and Environs: Afghanistan March 2008

2008-03-25T09:33:00.000-07:00

In more than twenty five yeas of traveling, this was the most inclusive tour I’ve ever experienced. The country was Afghanistan. severely ravaged by strife for as long as I’ve traveled; the agent was Global Exchange, a non profit international human rights organization. So it wasn’t just a sightseeing trip - though I did that - but there was a series of interviews with the would-be movers and shakers struggling to rebuild the country. Much of this focused on women as Women Making Change was the theme of the tour - very appropriate for Afghanistan. The tour was ten days and I stayed an additional four days.

As I write this, I am remembering a statement from an expat Kiwi, a library coordinator: don’t believe anything you read about Afghanistan and only half of what you see! Keep that in mind; and it probably applies to more than just Afghanistan

Actually, I was in Kabul more than into Afghanistan though I did get into the northern area a bit - the village of Istalif, the Paghman summer retreat, into the Panjshir Valley. and up to Salang Pass.   I had hoped to get to Herat, one time capital of the Timurid Empire and out to see the Minaret of Jam - but another time!

The first thing you notice is the security in and about Kabul. Private security, local police, Afghan Army and ISAF (International Armed Response Forces) . The Army and ISAF drive around in tandem armoured vehicles At either end of the street where we stayed in West Kabul were barriers and security guards. Across from our guesthouse was an international school, as well as private homes. The Afghans 4 Tomorrow, who ran the guesthouse, had just moved there because of security concerns.   An Afghan worker I talked with, crosses Flower Street enroute to his job, which worries him for it it is downtown , the target area for kidnapers and bombers.

Almost every place I entered had security staff checking you in and out, even the Kabul Coffee shop with two metal gates at least six feet tall. The Serena Hotel, recently bombed, not only had two really tall (10 feet?) metal security gates with guards at each sector - it was like going through a prison sally port - and a thorough individual inspection - as good as at any any airport.    Security is on everyone’s minds. If you are uncomfortable with guns around, don’t go to Kabul. The one positive thing was that, unlike Yemen, the guns I saw were all in the hands of the uniformed guys, not the tribesmen.

Interestingly, the streets, while full of Afghans, all shapes, colors, sexes, and sizes, were devoid of Westerners. I saw some at the Hotel Serena where some mercenaries stay (the food is lousy I was told by an Aussie ex-ranker) and a British TV couple doing a story on Afghan cricket, very popular, at The Landmark Arcade (where the local ATM is - that would be a good target for the Taliban!). In two instances, I observed other visitors being taken around, certainly more officially than our bunch. They were in the ever present Land Rovers wrapped in Kelvar vests with their “minders” carrying sidearms. I did see Westerners on the loose at the Kabul Cafe and at several upscale shops. At the Golf course, they were with minders but no Kelvar.   The same for the runners along Lake Kagha.   On the other hand, we (there were five of us on the tour: a activist, an academic, a pharmaceutical consultant, a Red Cross worker and me) went about with our leader/guide/minder Armed with his mobile, and a driver with his rather unreliable van - ok in town but broke down twice coming back from Istalif.   And our only personal protection were headscarves.

Kabul is a gray sprawling city divided by the polluted appearing Kabul river, in a valley surrounded by the   Hindu Kush mountains. Population is now estimated as approaching four million.   The city was wasted in l982 by the mujaheddin and it went bad to worse after the American bombardment of the Taliban in 2001. It seems that half the buildings are shot up; mortar and bullet holes are throughout. The edge of the airport runway is littered with smashed fuselages and airport buses. In the midst of the city’s rubble are a few newer buildings of glass, concrete and steel, somewhat incongruous with the old mud and brick architecture, but with small shops peering out from the first level. Most of the roads match the buildings: pretty dismal though there are some asphalted streets running through town.

But trash is cleaned up. The Afghans are tidy. They stack it all around the corner in hopes someone, someday, will stop by and haul it away.

All about is the bustle of human activity: men in various head coverings with safari vests or suit jackets over their shalwar keemiz.    And women in birkas. My guess is that one third of the city women wear the blue birkas while maybe 2/3s of the country women wear them. (interestedly the most militant of our ladies wanted to buy a birka at the store the local women purchased them - she had to settle for one picked up by our guide! Another member wanted a Kevlar vest. Go figure!I I settled for a ball cap!)

I visited most of the Lonely Planet suggested sights: Darulamen Palace which was a shell of the old Royal Palace, across the street from the Kabul Museum. The Museum collections had been decimated by both mujaheddin and Taliban. But there was a magnificent 1970s photographic exhibit of Tashqurghan, an ancient caravansari destroyed by the Soviets in a 1981 retaliatory air raid.; the showing was sponsored by the Dutch. I would love to find a collection of these photos published.

Our group shopped on Chicken Street one morning, the magnet for Afghanistan’s tourists, except there were only us five and the shopkeepers. It features all kinds of handicrafts, including the thimble I was looking to get for my sister in law. We also wandered about Babur’s Gardens, a 16th century formal park created by the first Mughal Emperor with a small restored white marble Mosque. There we saw the beginnings of spring.

The OMAR Land Mine Museum had were sixty - count 'em, sixty - kinds of land mines found in the country, including the Russian butterfly mines so damaging to children. (Later, we visited the ICRC Orthopedic Center where not only mine victims were treated and outfitted with prosthesis but also those handicapped from other difficulties. I watched a two year old, helped by what I assumed was her father, slowly forge ahead with her tiny braces.)

We went to several schools, three for girls and one for street kids. The buildings are basic, the children crowded into small and badly in need of paint rooms. But there is great enthusiasm by both students and teachers. Two of the girls school were run by Afghans 4 Tomorrow, the plan being to try toget the girls up to grade, for some second graders were nearly as tall as I am. Their education had been sadly/badly neglected during the Taliban era. The supplies were limited: you may be able to vamp a bit for the social sciences, but you need lab equipment for the sciences. The other girls’ school was a Madrassa, run by a blind cleric from his own funds. The Street Children’s Training Center boasted a swinging band made up of indigenous instruments and several variations of the accordion.

There were urchins at large on the street, selling and/or begging, along with a fair number of blue birka clad women. and pathetic old men. There is not much of a support system here if you are down and out. Except the charity of the good Muslim, which our tour leader certainly was.

One of the unique places we saw was the Fatema Women Carpentry Workshop, a training/production company working with sixty widows of Hazara descent. The factory itself was a large canvas tent where the women made sofas, desks and cupboards. We met with a number of Women’s activists, some of whom left the area during the unrest and others, who had stayed albeit with a low profile. There were also a couple of people into micro financing which allowed women to open small businesses or help with their husband’s endeavors. We interviewed a dynamic Afghan-American committed to working on a Masters of Education program for the University who also arranged for us to spend an evening in a relative's home,talking with them abut life in Kabul today. The daughter- in-law made clear that stable electricity was high on her list of priorities, along with security and education.

We met with several women doctors: one Member of Parliament and the other, Director of a hospital. There was the feisty   psychiatrist, a former member of Parliament who has her own foundation, working behalf of women and children. We went to the National Achives and the Research and Evaluation library.   We spent time with CARE, Save the Children and the Red Crescent, which rents space to another organization, Parsa. All are working with the disenfranchised; all are working toward human rights; all are trying to provide education and vocational services. An American couple were affiliated with one organization - they were born in Afghanistan and met early on as their families had been working there with a NGO; later on, they reunited and have returned in retirement to render service.

One of the high points for me, was the contact with Turquoise Mountain Foundation, started by Rory Stewart, author of The Places In Between and Prince of the Marshes. He, along with Michael Asher, has been one of my heroes and, unfortunately, he was in the States when we were there. But I did get to see the work he’s spearheaded in restoration of the buildings in the traditional style. I first became interested in restoration within the perimeters of the existing culture when I became acquainted with Dwarka’s in Kathmandu. This is in the same mode, including training of a work force in the old way, which is likely more earthquake resistant than today's slapdash approach. The Foundation is also working with the potters in Istalif - I saw the shops and show room there - and reconstruction in the Old City - which I also saw. I was most impressed.

Women's Day, which really hasn’t been a big thing in my life, is a Big Thing there with several different celebrations. We went to the Mother of them all, in a local high school auditorium with exceeding tight security for President Karzai was speaking. The auditorium was packed full of local women, all appearing to be from the upper tiers of Kabul society with some men interspersed throughout the audience. Two women Generals were in the first row, in uniforms that must have dated from the Russian era. We were just behind the American Embassy bunch, all fitted out with our translating ear pieces. Secret Service types, ours and theirs, prowled the aisles, before, during and after, Karsai’s talk. In brief, he emphasized the need for women’s education - for the good of the men and the nation. He’s an attractive man who certainly knows how to meet and greet.

As we interviewed, we would first have tea, then receive a rather prepared presentation of the organization’s program and goals. It was then in the informal discussion that we would hear a more candid view of the country’s problems.     Overall, I understood waste and corruption to be the greatest problems with education and security to be the greatest needs. People felt morepositive toward European countries. There didn’t seem to be a lot of good will toward the US government; we didn’t seem to have been very tactful.

For example: Money would be allotted for a project that might or might not be needed. US firms would get the bid. US workmen would be imported to the work. The money did not go into the Afghan economy but right back to the donor. The estimate was about 20% went into the Afghan economy. Specifically:    the US sponsored a new University. Laura Bush came out to dedicate it. Tuition will be $5000. Instructors will be from overseas. First, what Afghan short of the warlords’ children, can afford it? Second, how does this help the Afghan economy?

Another one: A monster dorm for women was built but very few use it. Again, the plan didn’t meet a need.      The corruption is tied in with the warlords who have ben invited into the government and cabinet and ministries.   The question seems to be whether Karzai is corrupt or just weak. part of it On a lower level the police are considered corrupt, but then they are paid a pittance.

The four days on my own were with with our tour leader and a driver. I was able to wander in the Old City a bit, get to but not inside Bala Hissar, the old British Fort, see the Ghzi Stadium where soccer was being played and into the British Cemetery, where Aurel Steins, a Central Asian archaeologist, was buried.    At the cemetery, I found memorial plaques for Americans, Germans and Brits recently killed in Afghanistan. The caretaker, who has been maintaining the cemetery for a pittance for 26 years, was delighted to show me around.   (Online, I found both the NY Times and the Toronto Star had articles published about the cemetery and custodian - I hope to use those to support efforts to get him a raise!)

I spent one day with one of my companions from the tour who was forced to stay over with
passport and visa problems, e.g.: she lost them. So I made my first trip to an US Embassy. Through several sets of cheerful security personnel, we advanced to the glassed consular window where we were courteously treated by our US representative who sent us off to get photos and fill out the requisite form. We took what must have been the oldest and gassiest cab in Kabul to Flower street for her photos - fortunately she got an extra pair for those were needed the next day when we went through a similar routine with the Afghans. Anyway, within several hours, she had a one year passport.   And it took several hours the next day and the help of our long suffering guide, for her to come out with an appropriate visa, including a stop at the street scribe’s chair outside the Ministry for all her information to be translated into Dari.

We - the leader and myself - went through a smilier routine to obtain permission for me to leave the confines of Kabul: I wanted to travel into the Panjshir Valley and up to the Salang Pass, which required special permission for a foreigner to leave the city. In fact, at one point, they were talking of sending an Army guy with me! Turned out unnecessary for the Minister had been there the day before and felt it was safe.

So in a more reliable sedan than our van, we - the guide, his 11 year old son, driver and myself took off. Countryside was lovely, just starting to blossom into spring. We drove through several small villages and ended at Ahmed Shah Moussoud’s grave, which I suspect will eventually become a shrine. He was the Tajik head of the Northern Alliance who as assassinated by by Al-Qaeda. At the grave is a memorial with words by his son and a Colonel Pike, USMC, extolling him and his life.

From here we turned back to head out to the Salang Pass., stopping for lunch at a road side restaurant along the way. Again., wonderful snowy mountain country, the kind of country trekkers die for. The Himalayas I keep coming back to. Got into the snow and exchanged snow balls with my young traveling companion; we then turned around, homeward bound.

The next morning saw me in jail! In view of my past life, I had indicated an interest in visiting the jail and/or the courts. Apparently, there had been trouble in the main facility: several Taliban had escaped and heads were rolling. Not a time for a foreigner to wander in. But I was able to convince the head of the women’s organization providing services to the women’s initial detention facility of my legitimate interest, so came in with her assistant and three other workers. Between us and the four women employees (ladies in long black dresses with shawls covering their heads are hard to term “guards”), we almost outnumbered the twelve rather sad ladies in custody. It was a small, well used facility, with about five cots per room and a small asphalted enclosed area for a yard. The women sat in chairs with their faces to the wall and backs to the sun. Cooking pans were drying the the middle of the yard.
With the help of the accompanying women, I talked a bit with them. They were there from 3 days to, in an extreme case, four months while their cases made an initial appearance before before the Court. Apparently no one was released pending Court. One very depressed looking youngster was there for running away from home, have done this in response to a forced marriage - she faces five, count them, five years incarceration. Two others had been arrested for what sounded like embezzlement. Several were charged with prostitution. One woman, looking more middle class than the rest, kept the bottom half of her fact covered throughout though she was quite articulate.    No personal items are provided, bed and food only (literally, three hots and a cot!); the women’s organization does provides any “extras”. All have attorneys though most ae court appointed, some attorney s are women, some judges are women and few trust their attorneys.

As I left, I noticed no visitors for these women while there was a long long of men waiting to visit at the main jail.

No one I talked with would predict the country’s future. They would shrug when I asked about next month (the Taliban have announced an Spring offensive for April) or next year.    They were too busy trying to do today. It was the old AA adage, A Day at a Time. So much energy; so much effort, so much to do! You could cry!

Leaving Kabul, I stopped at the Kabul Cafe which was on the way to the airport, where earlier I had a mango smoothie - a hangout for Westerners with a nice garden where you could enjoy Kabul’s answer to Starbucks.. And earlier, I did get to The Bookseller of Kabul, though bought nothing there. But I plan to return next year and volunteer, maybe doing conversational English at Turquoise Mountain Foundation, and then travel,at least to Herat and Mazer-e Sharif. For the country is beautiful and the people most gracious. I’ve never felt more welcome. And I’ve never drank as much tea for tea is part and parcel of any welcoming.

Costs: Roundtrip airfare British Air SFO-LHR-Dubai: $1267 plus Kam Air Dubai-Kabul: $410. Reality Tour charge: $1700 (including two meals/daily). Additional cost for 4 days: $760 including two meals daily). Tips: $120. Overnight Dubai: $100.

The guesthouse was quite comfortable: two to a room excepting our fifth woman out. Electricity was unpredictable - we had solar backup but that didn’t help with our heater or the hot water. Food was basic: rice, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, kabobs, flat bread, beef, potatoes, tangerines. Lunch was at small restaurants used by the locals, not foreigners. We ate at the Rose Restaurant several times as it had chicken kabobs.

It was a well organized schedule which kept us moving and ready to return to our quarters by supper time. Our leader/guide/minder was outstanding and very patient with us. One of the group described his job as “herding a bunch of cats” for we would invariably head off in different directions, according to our interests.

Besides Rory Stewart’s books, I suggest Greg Mortenson’s and David Relin’s Three Cups of Tea, Sarah Chayes The Punishment of Virtue and Greg Mills’ Africa to Afghanistan all giving a different perspectives on the area. Besides the invaluable Lonely Planet, I found Bijan Omani’s and Matthew Leeming’s Afghanistan, a Companion and Guide helpful.

Yemen - Oman Dec 2007-Jan 2008

2008-01-21T18:51:00.000-08:00

Two weeks in Yemen and six days in Oman, that was the schedule. Starting in Sana’a and actually, ending in Dubai. The travel in Yemen was part of an Imaginative Traveler tour, one of the first they’d sponsored since 1999 when some Explore tourists had been killed in a shoot out with their abductors   and the Army. This hadn’t stopped some Italian and French groups from continuing to tour about, but did put a brake on the Brits until this past year.

I signed up for Christmas and New Years in Yemen the minute I saw the announcement. And no regrets!

(I should note that less than a week following my return, the SFChronicle had a news piece about suspected al Qaeda militants shootingat a convoy of tourists in Wadi Hadramuwt, killing two Belgians and aYemeni driver. Three weeks before, I was there! I suspect it was lessal Qaeda and more a tribal issue with the tourists in the way)

Yemen is the poor man of the Middle East. It reminded me of Albania: the people were welcoming and full of spirit (and qat - a leafy stimulant chewed by the men) but the infrastructure was kaput. It impressed me as still a tribal society despite 21st Century television, computers and weapons.

And as in Albania, they hadn’t figured out what to do about the trash. Villages were overwhelmed with plastic sacks and wrappings atop plastic sacks and wrappings. But you could overlook this, what with scenery of unparalleled beauty with some areas comparable to the Grand Canyon.

We were a group of twelve: two Americans, a Swiss, a Norwegian, a Welshman, three Aussies and the rest Brits. We had a magnificent Egyptian tour leader who kept things going, necessary as we had bad luck in local guides. We started and ended in the capital city, Sana’a which boasted an active old town medina with art and crafts museums housed in a traditional tower houses.

Women were all covered, mainly in in black including most of the face, relieved with a few multicolored abas, left over from an old tradition. The men were either in a long dress or a wrap around skirt, with an elaborate belt holding a curved knife topped with a standard suit jacket. Scarves or turbans, often red and white checkered Bedouin ones completed the dress. Few were in Western dress, most often younger males.

From Sana’a, we flew into Wadi Hadramawt, a 200 km valley in Eastern Yemen. We stayed in Sayun for three nights, while driving around to the UNESCO protected city of Shibam and the palaces and mosques of Tarim. I was fascinated with Tarim’s manuscript library used by Arabic scholars both then and now; we also snuck into the Aynot Cemetery where visitors were quite unwelcome. In Sayun itself was a the old Sultan’s Palace which had been converted to a museum. While it contained the usual archaeological items, it also had a marvelous collections of photos including some by Freya Stark. Christmas Day was in Seyun, celebrated with roasted goat (tough and stringy) followed by local music and dance. Accommodations was really excellent in what was reputed to be the best place in town.

Drove down the Wadi, finally ending up at the port city of Al Mukalla, where we acquired an Army escort to Aden. Great discussion whether to road from Bir Ali, a beach area, to Aden was safe what with local disturbances. Finally, off we went, four Land Rovers led by a Toyota pickup with a Kalishnakov mounted in the rear carrying seven young qat chewing soldiers. A wild ride. Reportedly the disturbers of the peace liked to a) take a pop at each other, b) shoot a couple of soldiers and c) capture a few tourists for ransom. We were two of the three; I figured we might do better on our own but, not my decision. Aside: if I had the Toyota franchise for Yemen, I’d be a wealthy woman - often old and beat up, they were ubiquitous.

We did get to Aden safely, the city where Noah’s ark may have been built and launched and the US Cole was attacked.   We wandered about a series cisterns/reservoirs which could date from the First Century,   spent a bit of time in one of the museums, the Arabian Sea Promenade and finally, a restaurant around the corner from the hotel with the best bread I’ve ever eaten. Flat bread cooked along the side of a hot, hot kettle. Ahh!

In the evening, one of the guys from the group and I ended up at a wedding celebration, held in a secluded part of the public sidewalk. Musicians with PA system: drums, sitar and other unknown tome instruments with two rather athletic dancers performed before a all male (except for me and a three year who was with her father - or at least, I think/hope it was her father) gathering. Surprisingly, I was welcomed and eventually was in one of the front rows of sitters as opposed to the standees. Wonderful seemingly impromptu performance - though everyone appeared familiar with the music and ritualistic hand clapping.

Ta’izz was our next stop, after exploring the old cities of Ibb - a city with buildings of 550-1000 years old still in use - and Jubla - famous for its qat souk. . As we walked about, we were accompanied by a cadre of urchins, eager to give information and to ask for money or pens; tourists had obviously passed this way before. I did get to stick my head into a girls’ school, a bit unique for women play such a minute role in public life.

New Year’s Eve was in Al Mokha, a seaside resort of sorts. Some hardy souls stayed up through midnight, dancing to someone’s wind instrument and drum in an ocean side cabana. Here we acquired our last local guide; the two previous ones had been totally inept and had been returned to sender.

From here it was two nights in an 11th Century mountain top village, Al-Hajjarah, staying with several other tour groups (French and Italian) in the local funduq (guesthouse). Communal sleeping arrangements (six of us in our room) on mats with six shared toilet-shower combinations for some thirty of us. Two Western toilets and two showers with hot water.

After the evening meal, there was music and dancing - both of a higher caliber that we’d previously experienced. And it was a participatory experience. During this time in the mountains, we walked around villages clinging to the mountain sides, climbed up to a hilltop mosque, saw the terraced mountain sides but continuing to step over and around the plastic sacks and trash left over recent years. Great hiking country.

Coming off a rather hairy detour - and there seemed more detours than roads in the mountains - we were blocked by a gathering: two young Muslim bridegrooms with decorated turbans and magnificently carved silver scabbards over their swords, a honor guard of two Uzi toting friends with another dozen buddies dancing to the best of drummers seated in the back of a Toyota pickup. Naturally, our drivers stopped and joined the dancing. Periodically, there were bursts of fire from the Uzis, friendly celebratory fire.

We finally did get to Kawkaban, an old fortified mountain top village, The hotel was an original with few modifications from the old days. More charm than convenience. The next morning, some of us hiked down a steep path to Shibam (another Shibam, not related to the Wadi Hadramawt Shibam) and Friday Market. From there to the old Inman’s palace at Wadi Dhar, now a museum of sorts. And another lovely view. And then Sana’a. And home - or the next destination on one’s agenda.

Normally, accommodations were pretty basic. Most times we had hot water, most times we had a Western toilet: But not always. You vamped. But other than the funduq, there were beds. Food was soup, rice, veggies (mostly potatoes), salad (tomatoes and cucumbers), bread with chicken, fish, camel, or goat. Toward the end, we were also offered spaghetti - the Italian influence I guess.

My next stop was Muscat, Oman via Dubai. On the Sana’a-Dubai flight, I was seated next to a German, forty years in the US. He was aa academic who consulted on planning and economic issues for the UN and various NGOs. We talked non stop the entire trip for he had been all over the world in one capacity or another. Fascinating man!

Originally I was to be on a eight day sea trek but that didn’t come about as not enough signed on. So I went on my own to Muscat. I contacted a travel agent there for hotel and day tours. And Oman is another world from Yemen even though they are next door to each other: neat , modern and tidy. My hotel was a righteous 3* facility with swimming pool, conference rooms, several restaurants and a work out room. Clean sheets, a bath tub and hot water. A distinct change from a mat on the floor and squat toilets. And after intense relationships in a group of twelve, being alone was a relief. And no head scarf was required.

I did a half day city tour and then two day long tours: one to the Jebels Shams (mountain area) and the other to the Sands (desert area).   I had hope to take sunset dhow cruise, but that wasn’t to be. I did take the local bus from Muscat to Dubai (where I wouldcatch my flight home) so I could see more of the countryside - wasn’t sure about the bus ticket for the agent’s ability in English was only exceeded by my ability in Arabic. But it worked out.

Touring about Muscat, I found it reminiscent of Singapore.   Well maintained streets, landscaped with art objects decorating the roundabouts. Buildings were white. Most autos were white. Everything clean and maintained. Cabs had orange trim, owned by the drivers who took meticulous care of them and all dressed in long gown (no belt and knife) with a pill box hat. Coming in from the airport, I felt I had limo service rather than a simple taxi.

Muscat is sprawled out. I was staying in Ruwi, an rather commercial area labeled “Little India” by Lonely Planet. I did get to the Grand Mosque, the Walled City, the Sultan’s Palace, the fish market and the souq. My driver took me to several resort hotels and the row of embassies (no photos or else!)    Development obviously has been thoughtfully planned; there are no out of character high rises and I saw no poverty.

The next day, I took off for Nizwa - impressed with the Fort which sported an old cannon donated by the City of Boston - never figured out which old cannon though. Then we took off for the Jebel Shams, Oman’s highest mountain. ( I didn’t get to Jebel Akhdar where the British SAS fought rebels on behalf of the government in the 1950s and where they are great walking paths. Another time.) Jebel Shams were quite spectactular however; with dirt roads that barely clung to the mountain sides. There was a section that was compared to the Grand Canyon; where had I heard that before. But it was breath taking.

My other day out was to the Wahiba Sands, home to Bedouins and their racing camels - got several photos of the camels and did see the racing rack. Then to the tell dunes. Drive almost straight up and then a vertical down, At times I suspect the driver was testing me; he kept asking how I was doing. Or testing his Land Rover. He didn’t know he had the Sky Diving Kid! At the end, drove into a secluded Oasis - don’t know the name of it - but it was peaceful and lovely with water and greenery all about. A distinct change from the sandy desert.

My last day,unfortunately, was a religious holiday, Muslin New Year, which meant   museums were closed,. I did get into the the Sultan’s Armed Forces Museum which was a delight. An old royal summer home used as the headquarters for the armed forces,, it is one of the most interesting buildings I’ve seen. They have a marvelous collection of well cared for weapons, from days of yore to the present Fortunately, I was able to wander about on my own though LP indicates there is a mandatory military escort. I must have looked harmless.

The lower floor has artifacts and information from Oman’s early days while the second floor starts with the current Sultan, a Sandhurst graduate who served with the British Army before inheriting Oman from his father (with the help of the Brits whose involvement is not mentioned in any of the write ups at the museum),

In the 30-odd years Sultan Qaboos been in power, he has - from all I saw - done an excellent job of bringing Oman into the 21st Century without sacrificing the cultural foundation of the country. While there are expat workers, eg Indians and Paki, he is determined to Omanize the work force. Certainly Oman impressed me as the opposite of the tribal and poor and chaotic society of Yemen.

From there I had lunch with an Australian woman I had met in Yemen, who is on a two year contact, teaching core subjects to girls in a local Muslim school. Hope to keep in touch with her. Then walked about a bit before packing up for the 7 AM bus to Dubai.

So off to Dubai on the early morning bus with no other Westerners, five other woman and half a bus load of guys, mostly Indian.   I got a good look at local towns as we went past; a pit stop was made at a new fast food place with immaculate facilities; it took a bit to get through United Arab Emirates customs. But in about five hours, we were in Dubai.

The stop (not a depot as in Muscat) was walking distance to my hotel but! Construction was going on and the path to the hotel was blocked. I had to go up and over two metal barriers; I was helped by a gentleman holding my carry on as I and a conservatively dressed Muslin woman crawled across. Then to the hotel, selected as a reasonably priced and located 2* on the Internet. Wasn’t sure what to expect.    The Regent Hotel turned out to be charming, with a delightful cafe , much more a 3* place. I made arrangements for a $55 half day tour of Dubai the following day since I would be there two nights. The hotel was in the al Riggia area, which had high rises and hotels galore.

In fact, all of Dubai would do well in Las Vegas. Lots of high rises and no class. Something like 25 shopping malls, including one with skiing and ice skating in an enclosed area. In the half day tour, I saw little of charm and lots of glitz.   Workers, mainly expat Philipinos, Indians and Pakistanis, are crowded in high rise flats, similar to Hong Kong. Dubai is not my kind of place - but then, neither is Las Vegas.

What I did enjoy were the five five simultaneous cricket matches occurring on a vacant parking lot near my hotel. I never understood cricket but was interested in watching the players. And there was an authentic old residence hidden amidst the high rises - it was the only one I saw.

Details:

The Yemen tour was arranged through Adventure Center (800-227-8747) which with a discount, cost me $2377 and often included several meals daily. Local charges were $440 with a $65 tips kitty. Also tipped the tour guide, who was absolutely superb, $100 and spent about $200 on meals and sundries. Airfare was $2013.83.

Oman costs: Arrangements for tours and hotel were made with Balwan Travel Agency in Muscat and the total cost was $1400. Half went for the tours and the other half for the hotel. I know I spent about $150 cash and would estimate bus fare back to Dubai at $25.

The Dubai hotel room was $226 for the two nights; what with breakfast and shuttle to airport, quite reasonable.

Now to enjoy my break at home before setting off again.

FYI: International Living magazine just issued its 2008 Quality of Life Index: France was tops with an 85 score with the US third rated at 83. UAE (Dubai) was rated at 45, Oman at 43 and Yemen at 31, fourth from last placed Iraq at 29.

To Tour or Not to Tour

2007-11-22T17:57:00.000-08:00

First off, I’ve not used a travel agent; I’ve had bad luck with them. They have trouble understanding I don’t want the local Hilton but something a bit lower on the food chain. They are so used to suggesting the better things of travel. When I did the first Indian trip, I was told by several agents that Americans couldn't manage the average Indian hotel; we must have a four star hotel. Not true! We, my husband and I, did local hotels, several where we were the only Westerners. We used a local Indian agent to help us with our itinerary, which had a small relationship to standard itineraries. It worked.

I do book tours, particularly since I’m now on my own. I look for tours that are as untourlike as possible, that use local lodgings, feature unique experiences and give me time to wander on my own. I want small groups.   Though I have and still do travel some independently, there are areas where I feel more comfortable with the support of a group, even if it’s only three or four of us, as has occurred.

Obviously, I consider price, professional affiliations,   and recommendations.   I collect brochures, read travel books , search newspapers and the net. I have run into tour groups housed at hotels where I’ve been. and, then, subsequently booked with them.   As a single, I look for tours that do not charge extra for accommodation but allow for a room share.

Two American firms I have used were General Tours hosted tour program and Rick Steves’ Bed-and-Breakfast tour (now called Bus-Plus, I believe). But for the most part, I have traveled with British Budget companies: Explore, Imaginative Traveler and Exodus. I also used an Australian firm: Peregrine.   All of these have been booked through Adventure Company in Emeryville (www.adventurecompany.com) whose representatives have been superb.

It was the General Tours’ Thailand trip that included an hour’s conversation with a Buddhist monk; it was Rick Steves’ tour that introduced me to Fado; it was Imaginative Traveler that had me biking around the Yangshu China countryside; it was Explore that had me traipsing down an Albanian river to reach a barbeque site; it was Peregrine that had me searching all over Peshawar to find the garage where trucks were decorated - some of this I could have done on my own perhaps, but it could have been more complicated.

Another approach I’ve taken is contacting a local travel representative.   I did this for travels in   China, Egypt, Nepal, Tibet and India. Some were recommended through International Travel News, some through the internet and some via Lets Go, Lonely Planet and Rough Guide. I’ve had no problems, except for a financial misunderstanding with the Indian firm which resulted in duplicate payment for a Nepalese guide.   Apparently, the right hand didn’t talk with the left. If I use them again - which I would - I have a credit outstanding.

Overall, whether it is tour or independent travel depends on you, the country and the tour. You have to decide for yourself. For me, there are times the idea of some socialization and structure seems great; at other times, I’d rather do it by myself, thank you. I admit, when there were two of us,I did more independent travel than now, when I am one.   But it was early on and we were just beginning our overseas travels and going to less challenging places. Now, I keep pushing the envelope. But the main thing: keep traveling!

October in Southwest Africa

2007-11-03T16:21:00.000-07:00

For several years a trip to some of the game reserves of Africa has been high on my list. So last year I signed on for a trip starting in Capetown, South Africa, but then going into Namibia, and Botswana before ending at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. Chobe and Etosha parks were on the itinerary as was the Okavango Delta which insured I would see many species of birds and beasts. The dunes at Namib Naukluff and the Waterberg Plateau were icing on the cake. Victoria Falls was the splendid finale.

And it was all as cracked up to be, plus.   Most unexpectedly, I ran into two fellow members of a Yahoo travel group who were with a Canadian tour running one day ahead of me. I happily celebrated my birthday with a sky dive in Swakopmund - greatest experience I’ve ever had. Add a lengthy (and none too sober, on their part, at least) conversation with several local tour guides, originally from South Africa and the Congo gave me a picture of their Africa. I finished up with the surprise that a German attorney in our group was also a Clive Cussler fan, a Cusslerman!

From the top: During the day in Capetown, I walked most of the way to Table Mountain, overlooking the city, taking the cable to the top. Then headed back down to the Victoria and Alfred (who was Alfred?) Waterfront. Between was the business district and government buildings. Beautiful city but - about every residence was walled, of ten barbed wire atop the wall, one had to be buzzed into stores, restaurants and even, the hotel. Posted throughout were notices of Aware Armed Response. I saw them not only in Capetown but also in   communities throughout.   Security guards were all over southwest Africa. Crime is a big issue. Nighttime explorations not recommended.

Heading up the coast, we stayed overnight at Lamberts Bay, an working fishing town with the Bird Island Nature Preserve. Lots and birds; smelly with their leavings. Moving on, we spent a night at Fish River Canyon, sometimes compared to the Grand Canyon. While it was enormous, it didn’t have the complexity and color of the Grand Canyon. But I enjoyed walking along the edge.

The following day, enroute to Namib Naukluft, was our Great Adventure with the springbok and the busted radiator. The springbok came onto the highway, hitting the truck. It was a0-0 score for the springbok was dead (prompty hauled away by several bystanders) and the cab’s radiator was punctured. An effort was made to repair it so we could proceed to the nearest stop, the Seekeem Hotel where, after some six hours all told, arrangements were made for the group to proceed on a mini bus, while the driver waited for a new radiator to arrive from Capetown. It was a wild night time ride by a driver who didn’t know the road. But we got there before midnight and then, started playing catch-up with our planned schedule.

I did some hiking though it was a hot day and then signed onto a evening four wheel drive through bushman grass and dunes with a magnificent sunset as reward. Up the next morning for a Hot Air Balloon ride and breakfast, another extra, over the unique red dunes which extended one and on and on. Then onto Swakopmund, where I did my walkabout the town - very Dutch appearing - and my Birthday Sky Dive. Up 10000 feet, free fall for 5000 and use the chute the rest of the way. I must admit it was a tandem ride with a knowledgeable Brit who had been jumping for fourteen years but still a landmark experience for me.    Another jumper who went up with me was a 67 year old Brit, a technical writer, who had film and photos taken of his jump so his wife would believe he’d done it.

Then on for two days at Etosha, one of the premier reserves. Seeing all sorts of animals at the watering holes was awesome. Along one side of the road, there were several lions, resting after a good lunch, the remains of which we had seen a bit earlier on. Fantastic array of Elephants, warthogs, jackals, zebras, springboks and giraffes. You name it and it was hanging out at the Park. Only problem, was we stayed about an hour from the Park which meant a long commute.

Next was Waterburg Plateau, which reminded me of Sedona, Arizona. Red rimed and rocky. Climbed to the top with the plan of a longer, but easier path down. We couldn’t find it so clambering down the same rocky trail. Some of us went on down to the German Cemetery with the graves of soldiers killed in the l904 native uprising. One of these days, I’m going to have to take rock climbing classes, considering how often I get stuck on these treacherous climbs.

Somewhere along the way, we had a flat tire, but that was nothing compared to the Springbok-radiator incident. While the driver worked on the tire, we piled out of the vehicle and fixed lunch.

In a small Cessna, we flew into the Okavango Delta where we camped for two days at a safari lodge. It was there I ran into the Canadians who were staying in proper Safari tents, not the camp tents we were in, albeit attached to a platform. We both boated into the Delta as well as walked some. Sitting on the deck of the lodge and watching the animals parade by at sunset/sunrise , even though it was at a distance, was memorable. I did get to a local village where some of the lodge workers stayed: very basic with running water and no electricity. And it was here I met and talked to the local guides, who were passing through from a fishing trip.

Yeah, we had wild life: three lady warthogs happily occupied one of the bathrooms at night, happily curled about the toilet while the gentlemen warthogs slept under the tent platforms. The local baboons ransacked safari tents.   An elephant checked out the dump site.    And a thunder and lightning storm - the tents held firm with minimal seepage - completed the stay. Had a rock ‘n roll flight back - I suspect the pilot was no more than a foot from the ground part of the time - and then onto Chobe Park.

Chobe was tops on my list. I did both a boat tour and the early morning Park drive. The place was resplendent with wildlife. Alligators, lions, elephants, water buffalo, vultures - you name it and it was there. Parts are wet and green; parts are dry with shrub grass and small bushes.     Animals living free as they should. At one point we were midst of a thirty elephant herd. Magnificent!

We finished up at Victoria Falls. I did the helicopter ride above the Falls before walking in the Park, where you were just across from them. . Either way you appreciated their majesty and vigor even as a hot dry summer had diminished them. Never ridden in a Helicopter and the ride itself was great! A Dutch woman in our group had lived near the Falls some forty years before so the pilot flew over her former home. And it was on the last night there, I discovered my fellow Cusselman.

Things are tough in Zimbabwe: there is a shortage of about everything. It take several hours to several days to cross the Zimbabwe-Zambia border. The gas station hasn’t had gas in five years. Stores are deserted as vendors have moved to Livingston, Zambia, to ply their trade.   But still we ate well, buses and cars took us into town and at the airport. I had no personal inconvenience.

The actual traveling was in a safari truck. The cab had an attached trailer built high up with wide windows so all could see wherever they sat. The guide and drive communicated via intercom. And both were outstanding and worked well together. Most lunches were picnic style, prepared by all with foodstuffs and equipment provided in the trailer below the seating area. It was a participatory tour.

There were sixteen to eighteen of us - several joined in Botswana. Six Dutch, three Scots, two Brits, two Germans, two Aussies, two Slovakians and me, the lone American. We had a doctor, two nurses, a pharmacist and three attorneys. It was a surpassingly compatible bunch. I roomed with the same woman for the entire trip and would travel with her again; Scots, now living and working in England, and quite knowledgeable about Africa.

The accommodation was fine. Other than the tents, the most basic was in Zimbabwe. Food ranged from picnic-style to excellent. Game meats were the usual fare at the lodges though I found chicken.   I did spend on optionals: sunset land rover drive, hot air balloon trip, the Sky Dive, Chobe game ride, and the helicopter. But then, I shall pass this way but once!

Cost:    The basic tour was $2021.75 (shared accommodation) plus $495 local costs. Airfare SFO to Capetown and Victoria Falls to SFO was $1894 via United and South African Air. It was an Imaginative Traveler listing though the actual tour was from Wildlife Adventures out of Capetown. I booked through Adventure Center in Emeryville (800-227-8747).

Because of the optionals ($800), I suspect this was one of the more expensive trips I’ve undertaken. Meals ran no more than a couple of hundred as breakfasts, most lunches and a dinner or two were included. And for once, I spent little on souvenirs and curios; no rugs!

Likely, I will return to Southern Africa; it’s on the list, but next time will be Tanzania and Kenya.

Down South to the Lawrence Symposium

2007-10-08T16:53:00.000-07:00

I hadn’t been to any conferences since I left my day job some twenty years ago. It was one of the benefits of retirement. However, a symposium devoted to T E Lawrence, held at the Huntington Library in Southern California tempted me, despite the fact it was only two days before I was to take off for three weeks in Africa. I am really a Lawrence “nut” - have read several dozen books by/about him and, for years, lugged a paperback edition of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom when traveling. (Recently, I gave it to a Kyrgyzstani guide who wanted to improve her English - figured she could do no better. )

The symposium was fine: two speakers were exceptional while with several others, the topics were much more interesting than the speakers. I had just finished Frank Sterling’s autobiography, Safety Last - he had served with Lawrence - and found it fascinating. So it was rewarding to talk with people who appreciated my enthusiasm.

It was an Interesting bunch of people: academics, Huntington Museum members, collectors, retirees and travelers. Most were local though one man, a retired actuary, was from Colorado (he travels to all sorts of conferences be it Churchill or , Sherlock Holmes both in the States and in the UK. Another was a retired curator from Texas. The woman sitting in front of me had just returned from six years in Abu Dabai. I did introduce myself to Jeremy Wilson, The Official Biographer of TE Lawrence (he and my favorite biographer, Michael Asher, have an online feud. Probably, Wilson is more correct but Asher is a better writer - and actually retraced Lawrence’s desert journeys.)

Topics ranged from a discussion of the Lawrence of Arabia screen play to contrasting TE and DH Lawrence to the comics treatment of Lawrence to a comparison of Lawrence and Churchill. with several bits and pieces inbtween. Best talk was a presentation of Lawrence’s precepts as they applied to present/future conflicts, e.g.: Iraq and China. Seems General Praetorius is a Lawrence fan and has a copy of SPW nearby, which gives me some hope.

The included lunches were excellent with a wine and cheese selection at the end of the first day. I stayed at a rather inexpensive but comfortable motel some two miles away. Wasn’t too sure at first for as I was registering, a street person came in to book a room. Dark with a rather squashed face that looked like he had been someone’s sparring partner - and lost! His belonging were in half a dozen small plastic bags, his clothing was well worn and he obviously needed a bath. I was curious how the young Asian girl at the motel desk would handle it. She didn’t for a bit: told him the price, hoping he couldn't’ afford it. He nodded and began digging various bills out of his pocket . She retreated from the desk, calling out for backup but no one came. Finally, she plead no vacancies, which he accepted, put his money back in his pocket,picked up his various sacks and trundled off. As it turned out, the motel was in the auto row section of Pasadena where there were several other street people . In my walk to and from the Museum, I became familiar with them.

At the other end of the spectrum was the setting for the sessions: the Huntington Library, Museum and Gardens are most spectacular. Over a hundred acres. II walked around the Gardens - a Zen garden, a bonsai garden, a desert garden, a rose garden and much, much more. Magnificent. I didn’t get into either the library or museum but that will be on the list when/if I return.

The conference and Garden: a worthwhile two days in Southern California.

Now off to Africa.

Where Next?

2007-09-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

Ah, what next? Where do I want to go, what do I want to do, in the next few years. During the past twenty, I’ve manage to take a look at over sixty countries, some of them more than once: the UK, France, China, India, Nepal, Turkey, Croatia - then there’s Canada -   Is that a Foreign Country? I guess so, for many Americans. For me, it seems more an extension of the US (excepting a few idiosyncratic pronunciations). But I’ll count it.

But back to the future: Just before I’m to spend three weeks in Africa, I’ll take off for several days in Los Angeles area for a two day symposium on TE Lawrence, that most interesting and enigmatic man.

Then, I’m off to   Capetown, on through Botswana and Namibia to Victoria Falls. Reserves and preserves - a chance to see forests and animals native to the area. I don’t go to zoos for penned and tied up animals, human and otherwise, shrivels my soul.    I worked in a prison and was in and out of jails in a past life; no more!   To share in the freedom of two and four legged creatures will be a delight. My roommate on this trip has spent time with baboons in the wild so I’m looking forward to learning from her experience. Anyway, that is October, the month of my birthday, no longer a particularly festive event. Just the march of time imprinting itself on my being!

Moving on, I will be in Yemen for Christmas and maybe   Oman. Not enough signed on for a tour with dhow cruise so I am considering doing it independently. Hate to waste the reading on Oman, which had the SAS charging around in the fifities and seventies and James/Jan Morris accompaning the Sultan on an inland tour in the fifties.

March 2008 is planned, if all goes well, for Afghanistan. I will be part of a Global Express people-to-people group, focusing on Women Making Change. I plan to stay over an additional few days and   work something out with a local travel firm; find out how much of the countryside I can safely see.    Having finally finished Hopkirk’s The Great Game, I’m ready to take a look around this country that has been the center of political activity for all so many years. I even   bought my BA tickets to Dubai - they were having a sale - so all I need do is purchase fare onto Kabul, which I will do when I return from Africa.

Then onto the UK for a couple of weeks in May-June 2008 with Elderhostel, a group I usually avoid. It’s expensive and the participants are pretty much a While Bread bunch, at least at the few things I’ve attended. But the topic drew me in:: The Man Behind James Bond; celebrating Ian Fleming’s 100th to be followed by an extension: The Cambridge Spies. The first gathering in London and the second in Cambridge. I’m fascinated by this bunch of upper crust guys who signed on to the Soviet Union’s cause. I’ve read the books of Rebecca West, Nigel West and Philip Knightley on the topic. I’ve also read a bio of St John Philby, Kim Philby’s father, which may explain something of Kim Philby’s personality. What sold me, despite the expense, were that the speakers include not only Nigel West but Andrew Lownie, who wrote a bio of John Buchan, another of my heroes. And interestingly, I’ve been reading books by and about Fitzroy Maclean, said to be one of the models for James Bond.   And I plan to get away to see some performances.

No other commitments but plans:    tentative for October is to volunteer for a archeological dig around the Hejaz RR in Jordan, the area covered by TE Lawrence during WW1. Brits are sponsoring this and there was an article about last year’s results in   History Today. Since It’s a twenty year project, I’m hoping to sign on in 2008 as the Africa trip interferedwith this year’s trip..

And nothing definite for December, my other travel month. Never home for the holidays is my mantra.

I have a list, god knows I have a list: Mali, Libya (whenever visas are available), Sudan (also no visas - unless you’re Madonna or Jolene adopting), Algeria, Eastern Europe (Serbia, Montenegro, Kosovo, Poland, Romania), the Baltic countries. Laos, Kurdish part of Iraq, Dubouti, Eritrea and then back into Ethiopia. And somewhere along the way, either an Arctic or Antarctic cruise.

At the moment, I’m not interested in Central or South America, at least not until I work through the rest of the list. There is a desert trek in Egypt close to the Sudan-Libya border that could tempt me; I think it’s by truck rather than camel. Camel may be the cool way to go but I don’t appreciate the camel’s spit - and I can’t project a good response!

To Visa or not to Visa

2007-09-24T17:10:00.000-07:00

Visas

Until three years ago, I did my own visas. Got the forms, filled them out, and FedExed them with the passport to the appropriate consultant or embassy. I always had my fingers crossed as I sent the packet off, but the system worked. Until Bangladesh!

I had already obtained the necessary Indian visa and, per usual, I downloaded the Bangladesh forms, completed them and sent them with passport and payment to the address I found on the internet. Time passed. I finally telephoned and E-mailed the Bangladesh people. No one, nada, had any knowledge of my application and passport despite FedEx showing delivery.   Which lead to my having to frantically hassle and get a new passport and visa forms which I FedExed, but not back to the Bangladesh embassy in Washington DC but, for a Sixty Dollar service fee, to an agency handling visas. Who. also for a price, processed my new request for Indian visas.

While the agency was handling all the visa requests, I received a E-mail from the Bangladesh people - they had found my now invalid passport with application forms and what did I want them to do with it. My   unspoken response was pretty vile. My spoken response was for them to simply return everything.

Since, I have debated about going back to handling visas myself.   It’s certainly easier to mange what with everything being computerized.   And it is cheaper! But I have memories of Bangladesh. So I have surrendered to paying a goodly sum for a private   agency to handle it for me. Which probably paid off on this trip. For without them, I would have gotten two visas I don’t need.

For recently, not only did I need a visa for Zimbabwe, but I needed pages added to my passport. I was afraid of sending the passport in to SF for pages what with all the overflow and delays at the US Passport Agency. So I sent everything in for the private agents to handle. In the meantime, I got a notice from the tour people: they required I have three other visas, South Africa, Namibia and Botswana, in advance of my trip. When I talked with both the passport agency and my travel advisor, I got a mixed message until the passport person E-mailed me info from US government posting on the countries concerned.

US citizens did not need visas for South Africa and Botswana and one could pick up the visa for Namibia at entry.   Which saved me close to Two Hundred Bucks, as using the Passport agency isn’t cheap. However they really earned their money in researching requirements for me.

So, I will continue to use them. At least, I’m assured of getting the passport returned with a visa, even at a cost. Or not getting a visa as conditions require!

Trip to the Past

2007-09-14T16:23:00.000-07:00

I tend not to focus on the past - it’s over and done with. It’s not my style to return to the scene of the crime, e.g.: reunions. I’ve managed to stay hidden from both Universities that I attended, but somehow, have been found out by my midwestern high school who had a sixth reunion scheduled for September. And you must realize, I left for the West Coast upon graduation. never returned and didn’t keep in contact with anyone. I did not have particularly fond memories of my adolescence. I felt I didn’t quite fit in, which is difficult for a young person. (It turns out I still don’t fit in the conventional mold, but I have come to terms with it.)

So I probably would have ignored the reunion notice if it wasn’t that my seventy-two year old nephew, living in Minnesota, was scheduled for a kidney transplant in August. We had not been in close contact. I hadn’t seen him or his younger brother in fifteen years and before that, maybe half a dozen times at most, dating from diaper days. There was some E-mail contact and Christmas cards. I decided we should get together before one or the other of us bit the dust.

So, combine nephew in Minnesota and reunion in South Dakota. Why not?    Seeing Jack was high on my agenda; attending the reunion was low on the totem pole.

So courtesy of Northwest Airlines, I flew back, in more ways than one.   The Minnesota visit   was beyond any expectation: the younger nephew showed up from Wisconsin with his wife so we had a leisurely four days to get (re)acquainted. The older brother, a retired computer type,   lives on a lake, a resort area though many people work in the nearby town, amidst trees, wildlife and 42” circumference mushrooms. It’s an area where his mother and father had had a cabin; he and his wife built a place nearby and then purchased some sixty acres across the way, so effectively, he has his own park.

He is a keeper; doesn’t throw stuff away: has snowmobiles, boats and a Triumph Spitfire among other keepsakes. But then, he has places to store stuff: attics, barns and sheds. (I could have snuck off with the Spitfire!)

Though poles apart politically, it turned out my younger nephew, an attorney and former judge, and I were familiar with the same books and music. All of us had the same weird sense of humor.   We shared much of our lives, contributing family information one or the other was unfamiliar with. Both wives were a wonderful asset and    We may not have had much of a “past” but we certainly now have a “present”.

And the great thing was that the transplant was successful.

When I left, I really didn’t care how the rest of the trip turned out: this had been a great experience. And as I had no real expectations for the reunion, it couldn’t be a disappointment.

There were three gatherings, one at a classmates home atop a ridge on the edge of town. About twenty of the eighty in our class of l947, appeared. . Another twenty or so had died, leaving twenty left floating about in space. Name tags saved me, an   unknown at these affairs. A number had remained in the area and another bunch seemed to be regular attendees. Several I recognized by sight but the rest - nada! There were a few who went out of their way to greet me, but generally I felt there was little change in the pecking order; I was still identified as the “Superintedent’s Daughter”! Which was one of the reasons I escaped with no intent to return. I was (and am) determined to be my own person!

The other reason I left, was the lack of privacy in a small town.. Still true. I walked the several miles to the classmate’s home for a lunch. That night and the next day, I was now identified as the unique individual who did the walkabout. (Since I didn’t have a car and didn’t see a bus, I don’t know how else I was to get there; I did hitch a ride back.)

That afternoon, I went to the home of a woman, who had been my close friend in High School and who didn’t attend the reunion. We talked for an hour or so; life hadn’t treated her well or vice versa, but I was glad to see her. The next morning I was asked what I was doing on that particular street!

I did enjoy wandering about, seeing the changes but also amazed at the remaining homes and buildings I remembered. The businesses had changed; I could find almost none from the high school days. The old library had been torn down and a well designed new one built, named for my father; I did get there and talked with the head librarian. The football field was the same but both my home and the neighboring Episcopal Church had been torn down.

It was a trip to the past. I don’t regret going, but been there, done that!

(interestingly, the day after I returned, I had dinner with a former coworker from at least forty years ago; he and his wife were visiting the Bay area from Pennsylvania where he retired from college teaching. Again, we were dredging up memories from the past. Loved seeing him, but enough already!)

In Central Asia or I Finally Got There!

2007-08-26T11:57:00.000-07:00

I’ve called this the trip of a lifetime: nearly a month, traveling from Delhi to Amristar to Lahore and Islamabad to Peshawar, to the Hunza Valley to Kashgar to Tashkent to Samarkand and Bukhara. and finishing at Khiva! Five countries, all involved with The Great Game of Kipling’s time. For several years, I had been trying to book a tour, anyone’s tour, to Pakistan: the Karakoram Highway (one of the most scenic in the world!) and the Hunza Valley, a claimant to being the original for James Hilton’s Shangri-La. I would sign up and then it would crash shortly before takeoff: security problems and/or not enough participants.

So, to find an itinerary that also included the Sikhs’ Golden Temple and main part of the Silk Road (which I had considered as a separate tour) and was too good to be true, though it was touch and go for there was the minimum number in our group. Four women of a Certain Age, e.g., over 60: two Aussies, one Canadian and myself. The Tour Leader was an experienced, affable, knowledgeable and enthusiastic guy who did well in meeting the needs of our disparate group. He also spoke passable Russian which helped in Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, both former Soviet Republics where Russian continues as a second language.

The tour was called Mogul Caravan (“Follow in the footsteps of Babur, great grandson of Tamerlane, last of the Timurid Dynasty of Central Asia and founder of the Mogul Empire”) and was put together by Sundowners, an Australian bunch that specializes in journeys to Central Asia, Mongolia, Siberia and Russia. I booked, as usual, through Adventure Center in Emeryville, California (1-800-227-8747; www.adventurecenter.com). I opted to omit the first seven days, the so-called Golden Triangle (Delhi-Jaipur-Agra-Delhi), for I had been there before.. So I met my group May 7, at Delhi, India, and returned home June 4, 2007 from Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

India continues to be a fascinating, dusty and unkempt country. I love it.   This was my third experience and I still believe they haven’t cleaned up since the Partition. (Pakistan, on the other hand, was quite tidy. Maybe it’s the difference between a democratic and a more authoritarian approach to government. After all, Mussolini did make the trains run on time!) Amristar’s Golden Temple is in the center of a reflecting pond and is absolutely spectacular. There was a continuing flow of Sikh pilgrims into and out of the temple with ongoing chanting. The other moving sight was Jallianwala Ragh, the park honoring the 2000 unarmed Indians killed or wounded by the British in 1919 during an antigovernment demonstration; bullet holes are still visible.

Just over the border was the Pakistan city of Lahore. Throughout the stay in Pakistan, I was impressed by the beauty of the country and the friendliness of the people. Though there were several outbursts while we were there, we were totally unaffected. We spent one evening at the Pakistan-India border crossing closing ceremony in which the border guards tried to outdo each other in their execution of military steps - all seemed very choreographed. I asked one of the Pakistani guards   if they rehearsed; he admitted the Indians and Pakis would work on it during the day. There were grandstands on either side of the border, filled with partisan supporters. On the Pakistan side, we had a middle aged cheerleader who voluntarily came out each day to whip up the support for his troops. And chastised those women who were uncovered, women being seated in a sparate grandstand. I talked with   a couple of Americans, schoolteachers, who were at the International School in Lahore, but thinking of moving on to Africa once their present contract was completed.

In Lahore, Rawalpindi and Islamabad, we visited forts, mosques and bazaars, We ate Italian after I convinced my fellow tour member they should purchase The Kite Runner at the nearby mall bookstore; it had just been filmed near Peshawar.     Large posters of General Musharraf, Pakistan’s de facto ruler     , were up along clean expressways for he was scheduled to speak the following day, part of his ongoing dispute with the Chief Justice, who was to participate in a rally on the same day in Karachi - that developed into a riot! but did not affect us as we had moved on to Peshawar, near the Khyber Pass one of the historic entrances to Afghanistan.   I had hoped to get to the Pass but was not to be; I needed a special permit plus an armed guard, none of which could be arranged in the two days we were at Peshawar. Another time!

Peshawar is a frontier town; while I didn’t see armed Pathans, soldiers and police were evident. We did spent time in in the Old City, at the Fort and the Cantonment when we weren’t looking for truck body shops: all of us had been fascinated by the multi colored trucks in both India and Pakistan. They were works of art, all so individual.   We searched out shops where the painting was being done, along with the intricate carving on the cab’s doors. Several days after we’d left, a True Believer blew himself up at an Afghan hotel/restaurant in the Old City, killing and maiming locals!

From Peshawar, we headed off to the Swat Valley. Enroute we spent time at the old Buddhist ruins at Takht-i-Bahi and the Lotus City ruins at Charsadda. Swat Valley is one of the loveliest areas in northern Pakistan. From there, we headed off to the KKH via a road-not-yet-in-progress. But the scenery was spectacular and since we were driving at a very slow pace, we had time to enjoy it. It was a long drive but worth it.    Eventually we ended at Gilgit, with the British Cemetery with its graves of trekkers and explorers and the Uprising Memorial, in honor of those who rose against the Maharaja in l947.

KKH is an engineering marvel for it snakes its way along the sides of mountains, into areas that had been isolated from the mainstream for centuries and through high narrow passes.   On the Pakistan side, the road can be a bit rough but the Chinese portion is beautifully asphalted. We spent two nights in the Hunza Valley at Karinabad.   Enroute, we picked up a couple of British backpackers: one on his way to Kashgar where he taught English and the other, a photographer traveling about until his money runs out.   I did a two hour hike up to the Eagle’s Nest, a promontory, with a magnificent view of the entire Valley - overwhelming. As our tour leader had spent time in the area with a NGO, we had entry at the small local health clinic, arriving soon after a baby had been delivered, and had tea with several of the staff.    We also were able to meet and talk with local students.

From Pakistan then, to China, with chances to photograph the Ibex and marmots along side the KKH as we drove through the Khunjerab Pass to Tashkurgan. It was a basic border town, which boasted an old Fort, an internet cafe, a hotel and a restaurant which I remember little about. I do remember that loudspeakers were on continually, full of good advice for the locals who could understand what was being said. I couldn’t - and didn’t regret it.

Driving onto fabled Kashgar, heart of China’s Moslem Uyghur population., we shared KKH with camels as well as trucks and stopped to talk with nomad peoples camped along the Kara Kul lake. The Chinese have tried to modernize Kashgar but theold time spirit seems to live on. Sunday livestock market found allsorts of tribal people there with mules, cows, horses,camels. chickens- you name it and it was for sale. A side enterprise was going on withhalf a dozen street barbers plying their trade. The Chinese had razedthe old downtown bazaar but there were small bazaars who had found homes elsewhere onold city streets. We stayed in the old Russian consulate now a hotel;I stopped by to see the former British Consulate, also a hotel.

Leaving China to enter Kyrgyzstan via the Irkeshtam Pass was either the high point or the low point of the trip: First, you need to know there is 7 km of no-man’s land between the Chinese and the Kyrgyzstan border stations, an area where buses, either from China or Kyrgyzstan were not allowed. You cleared customs at the Chinese station and then hoped to hitch a ride with a truck traveling through. We were lucky: for $5 a head, we latched onto a Kashgar to Osh shuttle. We packed in with a full load of locals, our luggage tied on with the Sunday market Kashgar purchases atop the bus. It seemed the bus was as tall as it was long. And at a check point part way through, the driver picked up another passenger who semi-stood/squatted as there was no absolutely no room. Our Kyrgyzstan bus with driver and guide, bless them, was waiting for us once we cleared the Kyrgyzstan border.

By now, we had moved from hot to cold weather. Snow and a high wind chill factor. I had layered up with socks, pants, tops and jackets. The roads were abysmal, similar to the Swat Valley-KKH road. So slowly, we headed off to the village of Sary Tash, barely mentioned in Lonely Planet., where we had a “home stay”! We ate at the “home” and then bedded down, all four of us, on mats and quilts on the floor of a rather cold room with our Tour Leader in the adjoining room - the one with a wood stove. Facilities were an outhouse (squat toilet) and a gerry-rigged sink. People were nice and the livestock was friendly. From there we moved via a truck-gutted road to Osh, Kyrgyzstan’s second largest city, where we stayed at a “guesthouse” aka bed-and-breakfast. Osh is still Russian influenced and boasts a large Lenin status in front of its administration building. However, per Lonely, Planet ”Osh is older than Rome”, with King Solomon to Alexander The Great credited with its founding.   We lost our cold weather; it was comfortably warm for the rest of the trip.

Next into Uzbekistan and the Ferghana Valley, where the Daewoo automobile factory was located and where there had been some Moslem unrest. Daewoo was certainly the auto of choice throughout Uzbekistan. The Yadgorlik Silk factory and the ceramic artist Rustam Usmanov were in the area. We visited these two - where lovely creative work was being done - in additional to a palace, mosque, museum and the ever present Bazaar. Then onto Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan.

In Uzbekistan, probably half the population are ethnic Russians along with the Uzbeks, Koreans, Caucasians and Tartars. It’s a mix though seems a very Russian city. The City tour which took us all about including handicraft shops operating from former medressas as well as active medressas (Moslem religious schools). We rode the metro and hitched a ride from a local (put your hand out and anyone interested in giving you a lift stops; you then negotiate price and destination) and attended both Ballet (Fountain of Bakchisaray) and Opera (Madame Butterfly). The orchestra was good and both ballet and opera company had several excellent performers, but - there was no audience! There was ten to twenty percent attendance, more for opera than ballet. And this was on a weekend! The government pays the costs so so no one worries. Several of us enjoyed evenings at the Cafe Caravan, near our hotel; good jazz and great ice cream!

Then off to the three cities whose names ring in any mention of The Silk Road: Samarkland, Bukhara and Khiva. The Registran was Samarkland’s medieval commercial center. There are magnificant mosques, medressas and mausoleums. In another area is the avenue of tombs (Shahr-I-Zindah and the Guri Amir Mausoleum. These building, as the ones in Bukhara and Khiva, are elaborately tiled, with blue domes. So elegant it’s impossible to describe. We did go to Shakhrisabz (Tamerlane’s home town) for a day trip, with its palace and mausoleum complex.

In addition to the mosques, medressas and mausoleums, Bukhara has domed bazaars, a Jewish quarter (I went into a synagogue where there was a sparse group of men, women and children studying. Lonely Planet estimates the Jewish population has dwindled to 7%.), the Kalon Minaret (which two of us climbed the 105 steps to the top),and UNESCO carpet weaving shop (I bought a rug, still in process). Then there was the Bug Pit: :a dungeon cell where inhabitants were both human and creepy-crawlies. It in the 1800s, it held two Britsish officers, eventually executed. Kipling’s Man Who Would be King and the Huston film with Sean Connery and Michael Caine likely are related to the true event.    One evening, several of us attended a dance-fashion show which included a full dinner for $10. There is simply a lot of stuff to explore and see in this absolutely fascinating historical place.

Closing out the tour was a day at Khiva, a walled city, also packed with exquisite mosques, medressas, mausoleums, and palaces, many used for making/selling of handicrafts or as museums. Easy to get lost. The old caravansari is now a bazaar, Wal Mart style!    Part of the Old City is still provides housing for local residents, so the ancient mixes with the present, though not much of anything is new.    We leisurely lunched on the roof of a bed & breakfast, recommended by an American I met in Bukhara. A leisurely sunny afternoon simply observing the activity below.

From Khiva, it was a short flight back to Tashkent and then flew home the next night.

We traveled mostly in mini buses, though took the Shatabdi express train from Delhi to Amristar, a two car drive across the mountains from the Ferghama Valley to Tashkent (no buses allowed: fear of a invasion! By mini bus?) and the concluding flight from Khiva to Tashkent. All of the drivers were outstanding at navigating some rather impossible roads with a mix of transportation choices including donkey carts and camels.     The local guides were patient and knowledgeable.

We ran into several other tour groups in China and Uzbekistan: Australian, French, Japanese. Also some independent travelers: a couple from the Bay area, a guy enroute to Italy, mother-daughter backpackers, and another guy who wandering around after completing an Explore tour.   Western tourists were not evident in Pakistan.

Food was fine. Breakfast was usually flat bread, cucumbers, hard cooked egg, cheese and coffee/tea. Occasionally there were apricots and cherries. Most meals were $5 at the local restaurants; salads, soups, vegetables, stews and skewered cooked meats were usual. Meals were also served in private homes; we took advantage of that several times.

Generally, accommodations were excellent. In two instances, I was sharing a suite of rooms in a rather upscale hotel, which made up for the night on the floor and the outdoor squat. Usually, we wereπ were in mid-range hotels, as listed in Lonely Planet. The Carleton Tower Hotel (www.carltontowerhotel.com) in Lahore, Hotel Margala (www.hotelmargala.com) in Islamabad and Hotel Serena (LP lists it as “the best hotel in town” in Gilgit were exceptional; we were booked at two of the three   Hotel Malikas (www.malikahotels.com), one in Samarkland and the other in Khiva - both excellent. I also should mention the Asia Hotel (www.asiaferghana.marcopolo.uz) in Ferghana.

Did more shopping on this trip than ever before; bazaars abound! I often buy rugs when I travel but this was a two rug trip (as I write this, one is still being woven at the UNESCO center in Bukhara).

Cost of tour was $3772 including breakfasts, fees. local guides and a flight from Khiva to Tashkent; additionally there was a $400 local payment and a $100 tipping kitty. Airfare from San Francisco to Delhi and then Tashkent back to San Francisco, courtesy Turkish Air and British Air, totaled $1737.

                                                           .

Keeping up

2007-08-21T15:52:00.000-07:00

Keeping up with the Herd!

I once swore I’d never be last . I don’t need to be first but I’d be damned if I’d be the last one: I would never hold up the group. Well I don’t think I’ve held up any group, but I have sure slowed it down on occasion. Twice I can drum up valid excuses but there have times I simply ran out of steam.

First, the excuses: Altitude in Tibet. Several years ago I, along with two Tibetan guides, were climbing up to visit various monasteries and temples - often, I was out of breath despite my use of altitude meds. While the guides went up like a couple of mountain goats; I was taking as long a stride as I could, monitoring my breath and was still way behind. All the climbs were well worth the effort, but one was exceptional: on a path far above one of the monasteries I was taken to meet a nun, living alone in a cave   with a kitten and a photo of the Dalai Lama placed on a make shift altar.    While I was chatting with her, via my guides-interpreters, several people came by, to bow and make “namaste” before the photo. It was one of those truly memorable occasions.

The other excuse: Helping another. A year or so ago I was in Bhutan.   Several in our group volunteered not to climb up to Taktsang or Tiger’s Nest, the mountainside monastery that is often featured on travel brochures. I was game to go but another woman, who wanted to go, was sure she couldn’t manage to the hike. I offered to stay with her the entire way and make sure she succeeded in the climb. We were more than last; we were compound low. She did have trouble with the climb and I did have to guide and encourage her on up to a tea shop, just below the monastery. Several others had given up at that point., including our leader.    The rest had scampered on up but I was leery of going the rest of the way without someone to spot me. My friend and I were also among the last down (which I never am!). At the end both guide and leader helped her navigate.

But there is no excuse on the others: At Kasbegi In the Georgia High Caucasus, half of the group chose to take a jeep to the Church of the Holy Trinity, which was on a hill’s crest, overlooking snowy peaks; the rest,including me, elected to do the three hour “walk” through the village and then on up the muddy dirt and rock road (I would call it a two track trail) to the top. I was behind during the steep incline through the village but did manage to keep up on the zigzagging road up. It was advertised as a three hour walk; we did it in two hours up and a hour going down. Really, I did respectably well.

There was another time, maybe in Georgia, when three of us decided to climb up some old trail to reach a church we had noticed via field glasses from the roadside. What I didn’t know, the two other women were experienced trekkers. But off I went. I was soon in the rear even with regular pit stops so I could catch up. We all got made it to the church, which was deserted - I guess the locals didn’t want to climb that path regularly for services. But the view was splendid.

I did have trouble last Christmas time in Turkey, going up Mt. Nemrut to see the gigantic fallen statues as well as enjoy the magnificent view. Because of the weather - wind and snow and ice - there some question whether our transport could get us to the place where we would start walking. It did and we did. And I was certainly the caboose. Periodically,   the group would take a break; I would chug up just as they were ready to move on.    A no win situation. But everyone was cautious given the weather conditions and we all rejoiced at achieving the top; it was all worth it.

Otherwise, I manage to keep up pretty well and haven’t opted out of any hikes-walks-climbs. Granted, I haven’t signed on for an Mt Everest trek (or even going to base camp as my neighbor is doing). I’ve done OK and held my own climbing up steps to temples along the Yangtse and hikes in the Simien Mountains, around Albanian farms, through Macedonian hills and all that good stuff.

I try to stay in shape.    When I travel, I usually do a couple of slow Sun Salutations and then, several Warrior poses each morning. At home, I work out with Pilates equipment twice a week and I am in ballet class twice a week. Ballet is a forty year passion of mine; I once did daily classes but there was little improvement in technique. At least, once a week,Ido a 90 minute aerobic hike back of Stanford at a fetching place called The Dish which is essentially a large outdoor track. In fact, today I tried adding some dogtrotting to my routine. When a friend is available, we go hiking at a lovely park near her home, choosing the steepest paths we can find. Come winter, I’ll add some   Modern Dance classes. If I ever put air in the tires, I could do some biking. However, until then, I walk to where ever I can.

If worse comes to worse, it’s off to Boot camp: run up and down the bleachers at Stanford for a couple of hours and the Air Force Physical training routine. I plan to stave off that one by all means possible.