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.:
Monday, June 13, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
March-April 2011: Three Weeks in Northeast India
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Quick Trip to London: 8-14 March 2011
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!)
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!)
Friday, February 4, 2011
In the Sudan with Michael Asher: January 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Five Ladies of a Certain Age - Traveling in Oman December 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
GARP 2010 : 24 Oct-7 Nov
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.
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.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Buchercon 2010 or Travels to SF
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.
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.
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