tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79037277424764942212024-02-08T06:11:41.058+02:00Away From My Desk: Hiding out in AfricaLet's face it, desk chairs hurt your back, and work stresses you out. So we decided to quit our jobs and travel around southern and eastern Africa until our money runs out. In this economy, what could be smarter? Follow our stories here.Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-58816704421567385862011-12-21T17:11:00.000+02:002011-12-21T17:11:07.371+02:00Back safe and sound<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I guess this could be our last blog post since our trip is officially over. We arrived safely back in Florida last week after a smooth, 25-hour-long assortment of flights. We spent the 12 hours from Cairo to NYC transfixed by our personal movie screens that came complete with dumb computer games. It was complete luxury --we got three seats all to ourselves instead of the typical 1.5. Jeanette's cousin Michael even met us for lunch/dinner at the JFK airport. The past seven days flew by with shopping and hanging out with Jeanette's family and friends. Soon we're off to my family's Christmas in SC.<br />
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Thanks to everyone who's followed our misadventures. Our next plan is to find jobs and move to Anchorage. (Hopefully in that order....) Happy Holidays to everyone and feel free to email us at our real email addresses.</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-62425565872964845412011-12-13T16:03:00.000+02:002011-12-13T16:03:24.792+02:00Top Ten Things I look Forward To The Most<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; text-indent: -36.0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Aside from, of course, seeing family and friends and our cats, this is a list of things that we look forward to the most about going home after traveling around Africa for just under nine months. Anne likes to refer to my list as “I hate east Africa, part 2”. Although there is often a modicum of truth behind many jokes, I don’t actually hate east Africa at all. Quite contrary, I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent in Tanzania, Kenya, and Uganda. They are all spectacular countries with a lot to offer any traveler. I have no doubt that we will be back someday, especially to see Anne’s friends in Tanzania, plus we ran out of time to go to Rwanda , western Tanzania, and the rift valley part of Kenya. And there is exceptional hiking in Uganda when it’s not the rainy season. We will be back. Anne has spent almost four years of her adult life on this continent and while she would jump at the chance to live here again, I simply can’t. I’ve done the best I can to accept eastern African culture and to embrace the differences between here and the Western world, but the best I can offer is that I’d love to come back to visit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">So, without further adieu, this is what we look forward to the most:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Jeanette:</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">My personal space. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span lang="EN-US">I never knew there were so many aspects to my personal space and how much I value each and every one of them until I came to Africa. Our Western culture is so different in terms of personal space, physical contact, and the politeness of staring, and I have to say that I like our way of things better. Here, touching strangers whether in line at the airport or sitting next to them on the bus is just a completely culturally accepted given. In the States if you are on a plane sitting next to a stranger you both naturally avoid unnecessary touching. If one of you is using the armrest and the other puts their elbow up, it’s fine if they don’t touch, but if they do, one or both of you will move away. Here, when someone sits WAAAYYYY too close to me and I try to move over it’s like I am saying to them “here, I will scoot over so you can in turn scoot even closer to me, that way you can still touch me only you will be more comfortable and I will be squished.”</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Another important aspect of my personal space that goes along with unnecessary touching is how many people you crowd onto public transportation. Here, if there are three seats, they will squeeze in four people, plus however many kids are associated with those people. Always. No exceptions. This means that someone’s elbow is always jamming into your hip or their baby is half in your lap or your hips are so tightly packed it hurts. I am looking forward to one person per seat. Period.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">I thought the word “<i>mzungu</i>” was kind of funny at first, then I didn’t mind it too much, then it sort of annoyed me, now I roll my eyes, sigh deeply, give Anne a “really, again?” look, and completely ignore the person who spoke it. I know it is a culturally acceptable thing here to address someone as “<i>mzungu</i> – white person” and I get that, but I feel the word is generally quite abused. It’s not just said in a sentence or as a greeting or way to address me. It’s said simply because I am a white person walking by or standing there. It is one thing when kids do it, but when grown men walk by you and say “<i>mzungu</i>” just because you are white and walking by them, I’m just plain done. Along these same lines, when walking down a street in the States, any street, I look forward to being anonymous and not being approached just because my skin color is different. I can’t wait until I blend.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Staring is also culturally acceptable here and we’ve been stared at our fair share. Ethiopia was the worst. It makes me slightly uneasy, but I suppose I prefer this to the touching or “<i>mzungu</i>” approach. It’s only really unsettling when it goes on for most of a bus ride.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Quiet. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US">I miss quiet so much, largely because I haven’t experienced it in over six months. Nowhere in east Africa is quiet. If there is a TV around it is not just turned on but the volume is turned up as high as possible. If there is a stereo, it is blaring despite the quality of the speakers and whether there is music, a talk show, or just static coming out of them. And the speakers are all blown out. It is often the loudest when you are trapped inside taxis, buses, or restaurants because there is no escaping the noise. If there is someone sitting next to you on the bus, they are on their cell phone talking as loud as possible. If there are people talking to each other, they are right outside your hotel window and they are shouting no matter the time of day. If there is a vehicle going by, it is honking its horn. If that vehicle is some kind of taxi they are hollering at you to take a ride. If I am walking or driving by kids (or sometimes grown men), there is always a chorus of “<i>mzungu</i>” to be heard. Every single guest house or hotel we’ve stayed in has no insulation and every single bit of noise comes through the walls clear as day. I’m a light sleeper and it has become a rare occasion when I do not need to sleep with earplugs.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Reliable network of bathrooms. This is a big one for me. I drink a lot of water, and I have the bladder of a two-year-old, so bathrooms are a vital part of my existence. I love knowing that I will soon be able to walk into a Publix or Target or national park or any public facility and not only will there be a toilet but it will be relatively clean, it will flush, there will likely be toilet paper, and to top things off, there will be soap and water to wash my hands with.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Of all the bus rides we’ve taken in the past nine months, only two have had toilets on them, both in South Africa. Our longest bus ride has been 17 hours (remember that fun day, Jay, Pipa, and Pam????). I’d say most travel days have involved rides of 6 – 12 hours. This means I always stress out about my next bathroom stop. On longer bus rides they seem to pull into some sort of gas station or lunch spot with toilets but you never really know if or when this will happen. Occasionally the bus will just stop on the side of the road and many people will file out and go right there. This is, of course, easier for men. Most African women wear khangas or skirts and will just squat down and go in plain view. For Anne and me it’s been a matter of finding some sort of tree or shrubbery to squat behind, or sometimes there is no way around it other than indecent exposure. The night before any travel day I begin to limit my liquid intake, then in the morning I will have a sip of water and from then on I only take sips of water when necessary. My body has gotten to the point where it can sense a travel day approaching and is prepared to enter a sort of comatose state where it requires very little food and water to survive. I miss toilets.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Straightforward communication. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span lang="EN-US">I look forward to conversations NOT going as follows (and mind you, these are all actual recent conversations with people in Uganda where English is the national language):</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Is it easier to catch a <i>matatu</i> from here to Fort Portal in the morning or afternoon?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Yes.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Or…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“When the <i>matatus</i> come through here in the morning are they usually full or do you think there will be seats for us?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“It comes at 6:30.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Or… (over the phone)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“How much does it cost to go from Masaka to Kalangala?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Are you ready? I will be right there.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“No, how much does it cost to go from Masaka to Kalangala.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Yes, I am going to Kalangala. Are you ready? Where are you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“We are not ready because you did not call us back last night and we are just waking up. How much is it to Kalangala?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Where do I pick you up?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“We are at the Holiday Inn Hotel and there are three of us. Do you have room for three?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Where are you? “</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“I said, we are at the Holiday Inn Hotel on Hobart Street. Do you know it?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Where is that?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Aren’t you the local taxi driver? Shouldn’t you know this town better than I do? How much is it to Kalangala?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Are you ready? I will be there soon.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Do you know where the hotel is?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“No, where are you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“I just said I don’t know. We only just arrived last night and I don’t know this city. Can you ask your friends because I am not from here? How much is it to Kalangala?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Twenty thousand shillings.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“No, that’s too much. The price is 15.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">“Okay 15. Where are you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Another part of straightforward communication that I look forward to is not being told what I want to here. I understand that here in eastern Africa it is part of the culture to basically not tell someone “no”. However, another way of saying that is that it’s culturally acceptable to lie to someone, especially if they are white, and especially to get their business. I’m kind of over that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">The price is the price and it is clearly marked.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US">I’m not so into the bargaining thing. It’s exhausting. Just tell me the price and don’t double it just because I am white. Please.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Food.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Although beans and rice are a wonderful staple and quite delicious, I’m ready for some variety. I miss Mexican food and good pizza and fresh salads that are actual salads and not just coleslaw with tomatoes. I miss real ice cream. I miss good beer. And I miss knowing that when you order something you have a pretty darn good idea what it’s going to be when it arrives. No “Um, we ordered banana fritters and this is fruit salad.” “Yes, that’s what we have.” “Okay then.” Or “oh, <i>that’s</i> the Greek salad” (a plate of coleslaw dripping with Ranch dressing topped with four black olives) or “oh, <i>that’s</i> the pizza” (are you going to add cheese and cook it?). Although there has been a fine selection of similar tasting nondescript lagers in east Africa, I really look forward to good beer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">I will miss all the cheap, delicious, and readily available street food though.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Completely functional, non-quirky showers with plenty of hot water.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Although we have had some pretty darn good hot showers on this trip we have had even more that just were not. Many water heaters take exceptionally long to heat up the water, are broken, or only have enough hot water for one person. It can be surprisingly tricky to figure out how to turn on the water heater and then which faucet to turn on. There is often a thin, nay nonexistent, line between scalding hot water and freezing cold water. I don’t mind bucket baths, they are better than nothing; but I really do prefer a regular shower. I also like shower curtains. It’s a small thing but it’s nice to have a separate space to shower in that doesn’t get the toilet and sink all wet. I will also not miss having to wear shower shoes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Clean and non-funny tasting tap water.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US">I really, really love water and I drink a lot of it. In an attempt to not leave behind our body weights worth of plastic bottles, we have been treating the tap water as often as possible. While I prefer this to the waste, I look forward to turning a faucet or putting a glass underneath one of those refrigerator filters and having cold, refreshing, clean drinking water come out. No adding chlorine or no funny brownish water or no dirt or metallic taste to it. Mmmm, water.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">No more mosquito nets.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Although they are a better alternative than malaria, mosquito nets are kind of a pain to tuck in every night and whenever I get up to use the bathroom. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Miscellaneous aspects of driving.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">I look forward to being in a vehicle where the brake is used more frequently than the horn, to good, maintained tarred roads, to said roads not containing hordes of livestock and people, to controlling the radio station and volume, to fewer fumes emanating from vehicles, and to one person per seat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Anne (in no particular order):</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Jeanette being happy again.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Not living out of a backpack and having a place to put things so that I don’t lose them and Jeanette doesn’t have to spend so much time looking for them.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Having a purpose. Travel is good and all but I’m kinda looking forward to giving back a bit.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Not being a walking freak show. I mean, yes, I’ll still be eccentric, but at least people won’t point and yell at me anymore.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US"> Chocolate chip cookies, fresh salads, good sandwiches, good desserts, good ice cream, etc.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Being in a place where our relationship is legal if not always accepted.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Being able to call whomever I want, whenever I want.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Decent conditioner. This stuff smells rank.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Not having to question if someone is lying to me or cheating me every time I want to buy something or employ someone for a service.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US">Fewer things biting me. Like no more ants crawling up my pants or bugs living in my bed or flies biting through clothing. Maybe I won’t break out in hives as much either at home.</span></div><br />
</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-63065947000255516322011-12-13T15:48:00.001+02:002011-12-13T15:56:57.863+02:00The Shocking Ssese Island<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure if Jeanette has mentioned this before, but traveling by public transport can be exhausting and takes much longer than planned. We decided to break our journey from Queen Elizabeth National Park to the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria into two parts, that way we wouldn’t stress about getting to the ferry on time. We planned on visiting Sitatunga Corner Observatory in Masaka to see the elusive water antelopes and maybe an infamous shoebill stork. As luck would have it, the observatory is closed until next year. Despite this, our stay in Masaka was shocking. And I mean that literally. The way the water heater and the hand-held showerhead were wired, every time we touched the metal knobs or the metal hose or any part other than the small bit of plastic on the nozzle, electricity coursed through us. Jeanette very cautiously held the nozzle above my head while I tried to avoid touching the metal hose. Clean hair is highly overrated. Jeanette decided not to shower that night.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiRE_inf4HH20L3YTuw4qLn2VA2uXW42VoXVNgFrSqZTwLhxy3D27MV3N1EW8yTIKv-p70X-JYrMzS60KhQo4TCcou2wBc7Xxk0vS8N9wOh4rjlRo2NV0CMV_Exnvs3AxgtQjAKysRsT9/s1600/shocking+showerhead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiRE_inf4HH20L3YTuw4qLn2VA2uXW42VoXVNgFrSqZTwLhxy3D27MV3N1EW8yTIKv-p70X-JYrMzS60KhQo4TCcou2wBc7Xxk0vS8N9wOh4rjlRo2NV0CMV_Exnvs3AxgtQjAKysRsT9/s320/shocking+showerhead.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Depiction of the shower incident.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I can’t tell you much about the Ssese Islands other than the view from our beachside bungalow is very nice. My mom, though, has explored everything within walking distance. We’re staying at a very, very relaxing hotel with the best manager we’ve met on this continent. Hopefully we won’t get bilharzias from the water, but I’ve always wanted to swim in Lake Victoria so Jeanette and I are risking it. Mom is not. She found 200 different species of birds in Uganda. And tomorrow, we head home. It’s been a fabulous nine months of travel, but it’s time to go. More on that in the next (and possibly last??) post.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Lake Victoria from our porch.</td></tr>
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</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-13041667184369666822011-12-08T15:39:00.002+02:002011-12-13T15:48:27.317+02:00Queen Elizabeth National Park<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Clearly a visit to East Africa isn’t completely without a game drive. My mother visited me twice in Tanzania and had already seen the big animals, but we decided to spend a day in Queen Elizabeth National Park since it was close by. In a hired car from Fort Portal we tooled about the Kasenyi Plains and didn’t see much other than two new species of ungulate, the Ugandan kob and Defassa waterbuck. As we were pulling out of the plains a car stopped to look at something. We drove up to them and they said a group of lions was hanging out in the bushes. We couldn’t see the lions, so our driver took us around the corner on another road. Standing on top of the car and using Mom’s binoculars he found one lion in the distance—sitting in a tree! Our pathetic game drive was rewarded with a view of a rare tree-climbing lion’s butt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne's mom at the equator.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ugandan kob</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliaSGZjZ4yvBf0mVpzuzlhxzag8ShEGjxdLDRFB5YlmMG5758KFgVjjTAAn6Lrc5n0Qdj7XZMweoGuBxRfZ6aCn9xDRCiQUA7QtrBUznj13inIVZA0pP9FcEHSFe0uAkxtozYT-UvtQVo/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliaSGZjZ4yvBf0mVpzuzlhxzag8ShEGjxdLDRFB5YlmMG5758KFgVjjTAAn6Lrc5n0Qdj7XZMweoGuBxRfZ6aCn9xDRCiQUA7QtrBUznj13inIVZA0pP9FcEHSFe0uAkxtozYT-UvtQVo/s320/IMG_0035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Defassa waterbuck</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCH_tKv59MD0O1k8PaiVuGfAOTgtzhpfocwBCMC9a19oFlyXU2eXuHyGq4zqJVrXpJuQgxDJSo6b4obaG_NTjndmR79BihgV5bMJA0LlSz5z0jTIWN34kEd8jF0dpl4XU483Q_1Ux3kcP/s1600/IMG_0049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCH_tKv59MD0O1k8PaiVuGfAOTgtzhpfocwBCMC9a19oFlyXU2eXuHyGq4zqJVrXpJuQgxDJSo6b4obaG_NTjndmR79BihgV5bMJA0LlSz5z0jTIWN34kEd8jF0dpl4XU483Q_1Ux3kcP/s320/IMG_0049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bird</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTWl3yRTBM0Xi7VzXMz_1I3_tT3xa3eG0d3GNPeZHNessrK4XuVEvsiOmDqjqqjzNNMyJduWnrJTJHrWbeCBfz1wjuUaTMkVtB_zPfqw4lP85fsSjA4ZZJB4B21wEuixAKNvbhnPFxVdj/s1600/IMG_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTWl3yRTBM0Xi7VzXMz_1I3_tT3xa3eG0d3GNPeZHNessrK4XuVEvsiOmDqjqqjzNNMyJduWnrJTJHrWbeCBfz1wjuUaTMkVtB_zPfqw4lP85fsSjA4ZZJB4B21wEuixAKNvbhnPFxVdj/s320/IMG_0057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lion butt in tree (look for the tail).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The main reason we went to the park was to take a boat down the Kazinga Channel that connects two large lakes. As the tour boat chugged along we watched hippos and buffalos in the water and identified new birds. The pouring rain didn’t detract from the scenery and sightings much, and at the end of the journey we were lucky enough to see a few more lions in the distance and a herd of elephants very close up. It wasn’t the most exciting of our park visits, but it was nice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpKBfcP8SHkL8SwMM7pXhyphenhyphenHxqzIl9gXXeZOhXKtIp8X1W2NfYowyPOxGuHq1_sKy1ER8N-oIzOoTKt933NQlCiwin_2Qh-30orahrF5HPOq4F4RM4UC9jrp3vqGqlJUONbTsn-huOVxUN/s1600/IMG_0076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpKBfcP8SHkL8SwMM7pXhyphenhyphenHxqzIl9gXXeZOhXKtIp8X1W2NfYowyPOxGuHq1_sKy1ER8N-oIzOoTKt933NQlCiwin_2Qh-30orahrF5HPOq4F4RM4UC9jrp3vqGqlJUONbTsn-huOVxUN/s320/IMG_0076.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cape buffalo in pouring rain with lots of birds in the background.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22lIYPlTs6l3RDQtCnsCfQzsBqBkLZiQAIaQH_WduKAl2WDqMZgOILOIGHJow1Iate9YCdNcKeCVULmrdo02YCxT8aKW8Xphvx0p9DN8JY4hGeNDLtrdoJEY_BndMaVBt3SYjcesJo4jj/s1600/IMG_0094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22lIYPlTs6l3RDQtCnsCfQzsBqBkLZiQAIaQH_WduKAl2WDqMZgOILOIGHJow1Iate9YCdNcKeCVULmrdo02YCxT8aKW8Xphvx0p9DN8JY4hGeNDLtrdoJEY_BndMaVBt3SYjcesJo4jj/s320/IMG_0094.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elephant bath time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IXTjjt_mESFrCGhpbEe5PTJ4dyIPBYC6e_SycGJsERD_5Ki0sFcSWV0gLgDwNaSHrKFGeNRJBLOTVrQssLJLY5gazpTc7lbbcHAGE6yg7ABUOyzeuMIlMLsciHCSJmyvDFSjdTqDxky4/s1600/IMG_0120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IXTjjt_mESFrCGhpbEe5PTJ4dyIPBYC6e_SycGJsERD_5Ki0sFcSWV0gLgDwNaSHrKFGeNRJBLOTVrQssLJLY5gazpTc7lbbcHAGE6yg7ABUOyzeuMIlMLsciHCSJmyvDFSjdTqDxky4/s320/IMG_0120.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drying out after the storm.</td></tr>
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</span></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-90401397852402724432011-12-06T13:49:00.000+02:002011-12-13T15:59:03.639+02:00Portal to Another World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before you read this, please note that my mother agreed to every form of transport and that she was never in any danger. In fact, every family member who reads this should really be grateful that Mom gets to go on grand adventures and you don’t have to be the one to escort her. What I’m really trying to say is, don’t be mad at me or Jeanette or Mom. Nothing was as bad as that bus we took Stuart on… On to the story. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our first major destination in Uganda was Fort Portal, a town in the southwestern part of the country near many forested national parks. Because Jeanette and I are cursed, the theoretically four-hour-long drive took nine hours, including waiting time at the bus station and being caught in traffic. By the time we arrived we decided it would be best to go a short distance the next day to the crater lakes next to Kibale Forest instead of trekking all the way up to Semliki National Park. Of course, that was the day the minibuses decided to go on strike, so we had to pay too much for a private taxi to get there. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> The crater lakes are exactly as they sound: old volcanic craters that are now filled with water. We stayed at a “resort” on a lake fed by seven different streams and surrounded mostly by farmland with some forest remnants. We took a walk to look for birds, it rained, I swam for a bit, it was nice. Unfortunately our relaxing resort was a bit further away from the start of the chimp walk that we planned on taking the next day than we thought. Hiring a private car would have been very expensive, so the men at the park headquarters helped us arrange motorcycle taxis for the next day. Please note that Mom did agree to this plan. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We hoped to have three different bikes to take us the 12 km to the park in order to safely carry us and our massive bags. Come 7 am when the drivers were to arrive, only two awaited us. We strapped our packs onto the back of a reasonably solid-looking motorbike and I hopped on. Jeanette held onto Mom on the back of the other bike, and we roared off down the dirt road. Okay, so roared is a bit of an overstatement. I honestly could have ridden a bicycle faster than these motorbikes moved. We puttered up and down the hills, and Mom was only vaguely petrified for the first part of the ride. Then their bike got a flat tire. The plan was to take me to the visitor center to meet up with the chimpanzee tracking group, and my driver would turn back for Mom and Jeanette. Problematically, my bike was so slow that I got their 15 minutes late. By the time the bike turned back for Mom and Jeanette they had already walked for 25 minutes then found another motorcycle taxi to take them. They arrived just as the chimp tracking groups were taking off, luckily more than 30 minutes later than scheduled. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our chimp tracking was a success! A short car ride followed by a short hike then a short wait and there they were: lots of chimps hanging out far, far above us in trees. Our first good view was mostly the swollen butt of a female chimp in estros, but soon we saw other chimps lounging in trees and grooming each other. A mother and a medium-sized baby climbed down but they ran away too quickly to see well. A male swung from branch to branch then sat to play with his foot. They calmly ignored us and led their normal lives. Meanwhile, we frantically tried to get the evil, massive biting ants off of our legs and feet. It’s hard to watch chimps when flesh eating insects are literally up your pants. One even got on my neck and when I reached back to pick it off, I pricked my finger on its pinchers and it drew blood. But picking insects off of each other was a fantastic reminder that chimps are our closest relatives. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day we headed to Bigodi Swamp in search of birds and more monkeys. We arrived as soon as they opened to increase Mom’s chances of seeing good birds. We diligently pulled on our borrowed gum boots, headed down the path with our guide, and within two minutes it started to downpour. The guide said it was best to wait until the rain abated. After four hours of hanging out in a craft shop playing the Ugandan version of Uno, we set out into the swamp. Trudging through water up to our ankles we passed papyrus swamps and saw four different types of monkeys and a Great Blue Turaco. The swamp was well worth the wait.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our next destination was Semliki National Park. Our park experience started with a number of miscommunications. When the man from the park said over the phone that there were cabins that cost about $3 per person that were equipped with a kitchen, what he meant was we could ask nicely to cook over the staff fire, maybe, and the cabins that cost $24. After 30 more minutes of painful, round-about conversation we decided not to spend $135 to see some hot springs or to stay in the cabins and would only enter the park for one day for a long forest walk. We then had to find transport to the nearby town with a hotel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We plopped down by the side of the dirt track to wait. And wait and wait. Finally, a lorry came by with dozens of people sitting on large baskets of fish. Mom said she was willing to ride on the back of the truck, and we climbed aboard. Jeanette and I clutched onto some baskets on the edge while Mom was perched precariously on top. It took about 30 seconds of driving for everyone in the vehicle to see this was a horrible idea. The men got the driver to stop, and people quickly readjusted to make Mom enough room on the baskets of fish where she could never fall out or hurt her back. Within a few minutes the man hanging on next to me figured out my Swahili was better than his English, and I chatted with all of the men at the back of the truck. Once I confirmed that yes, white people can in fact have relationships with Africans, Jeanette was instantly proposed to by a man who already had four wives and purportedly 32 children. Though I had to reject the proposal on her behalf, they still bought us all ears of corn. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our hike the next day was slow but rewarding as far as birds were concerned. We even saw a rare monkey species, and I was only bit by two or three ants. Even our forms of transportation were fairly easy, if not comfortable. The next day we headed back to Fort Portal and decided to rent a car for visiting Queen Elizabeth National Park.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake view from near our hotel.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Superhighway of vicious, biting fire ants.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qzoVwnAUoYQZBQAzfJm-d3FIqQKNam8rPtgkrZh8V6BWJyh29VLxoh2b2N5-uSb7NPC6TlB4YAOfSHPHV3xyG9gm4QNVXv3e4uhhFP8-DsU1hP2BUawyh1nLU_9yNhH97INPY5y6vVGG/s1600/IMG_9835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qzoVwnAUoYQZBQAzfJm-d3FIqQKNam8rPtgkrZh8V6BWJyh29VLxoh2b2N5-uSb7NPC6TlB4YAOfSHPHV3xyG9gm4QNVXv3e4uhhFP8-DsU1hP2BUawyh1nLU_9yNhH97INPY5y6vVGG/s320/IMG_9835.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chimp in its natural habitat (i.e. no free lunches).</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAEPGcB72TviuyGcu1PEqXlJtxQjIDONPyjbHJLIhr2QSVSeRLvx4zbVypeFGFc2pYwVj7F-huI5OHlvbT-vpaItuSNDPi6Fvv7yxUhbMN9Z1yCBBVaW90ot5-ihYdm5F0DAUmr20vhcn/s1600/IMG_9839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAEPGcB72TviuyGcu1PEqXlJtxQjIDONPyjbHJLIhr2QSVSeRLvx4zbVypeFGFc2pYwVj7F-huI5OHlvbT-vpaItuSNDPi6Fvv7yxUhbMN9Z1yCBBVaW90ot5-ihYdm5F0DAUmr20vhcn/s320/IMG_9839.JPG" width="240px" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhyphenhyphenw_bTiMfdLDof0AP55cTfpHz4sROm6Myz1-GDNDWUE0GeiSZGeracHEcQoeS6aR_WxPRFVLizU2k2Nm8cn_QgOIPr7BEpb7k8cYkPO6eN3LJQ9a6njnoLIabVgiih-uQuFm1x1OrJMf/s1600/IMG_9863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhyphenhyphenw_bTiMfdLDof0AP55cTfpHz4sROm6Myz1-GDNDWUE0GeiSZGeracHEcQoeS6aR_WxPRFVLizU2k2Nm8cn_QgOIPr7BEpb7k8cYkPO6eN3LJQ9a6njnoLIabVgiih-uQuFm1x1OrJMf/s320/IMG_9863.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two dung beetles rolling a ball of dung.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4ZD0UebA7FuqMy5HM7ptQHA_O7UYmNWUTpC7cB57Dl17AJ0oYPfwpSNATfR47_45TFKPyaL-aMDCVy2TAgOtK3sia8dlNtdEarCkwYp-bfV5gxW5rUlZafKNN-6V9dhKSMiOUA8x8CDC/s1600/IMG_9870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4ZD0UebA7FuqMy5HM7ptQHA_O7UYmNWUTpC7cB57Dl17AJ0oYPfwpSNATfR47_45TFKPyaL-aMDCVy2TAgOtK3sia8dlNtdEarCkwYp-bfV5gxW5rUlZafKNN-6V9dhKSMiOUA8x8CDC/s1600/IMG_9870.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Tailed Monkey</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDed3dg29mnBO1-fwO-4YyGJ4K2ACQYXMOMFHSmp1OBZivI2rJL8TvWkMVoJJ9YFUMyn7MFhgnmQfF5ayjW4mtjksSoqq9bMhoLA349S4R4cDPPHpnS2FLQTRJJoN03JHBXWrGp52x8t42/s1600/IMG_9884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDed3dg29mnBO1-fwO-4YyGJ4K2ACQYXMOMFHSmp1OBZivI2rJL8TvWkMVoJJ9YFUMyn7MFhgnmQfF5ayjW4mtjksSoqq9bMhoLA349S4R4cDPPHpnS2FLQTRJJoN03JHBXWrGp52x8t42/s1600/IMG_9884.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red tailed monkey.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF02906IsRYjQk57N3beKfgEBdDjaX8x138kEDahysin9zVMyaok5dJG8Aq92wLIWiiElmKHqp5E3CXZNigUlHizPicIhgzdtlUgPepS1ol6RzRJJSAJtLlpsMj-2MDmlEuPeOCoMFXRWl/s1600/IMG_9899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF02906IsRYjQk57N3beKfgEBdDjaX8x138kEDahysin9zVMyaok5dJG8Aq92wLIWiiElmKHqp5E3CXZNigUlHizPicIhgzdtlUgPepS1ol6RzRJJSAJtLlpsMj-2MDmlEuPeOCoMFXRWl/s320/IMG_9899.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boardwalk in Bigodi Wetland Sanctuary.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5BcU3Bw7YKeixLUkdGTtMkSIUPeqq-XJ7fB8wK7Cdv9hqQwDNC-YdW4iLJDcqeM_MQALyF0diTmXlQKEdwI0VTnhLDEozCYVqs279Ge62f1X59OS5Jc7VJw9pbftXLgm_91fqRQ0knZm/s1600/IMG_9908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5BcU3Bw7YKeixLUkdGTtMkSIUPeqq-XJ7fB8wK7Cdv9hqQwDNC-YdW4iLJDcqeM_MQALyF0diTmXlQKEdwI0VTnhLDEozCYVqs279Ge62f1X59OS5Jc7VJw9pbftXLgm_91fqRQ0knZm/s320/IMG_9908.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left: the backside of a grey-cheecked mangaby. Right: blue turaco.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dc_Q8PC1OAtJ_h0kuoM580OsYWwJRQW6jXiNaoOCCxeoTsPD_kxmsyinqorB1RIPiHxl-g9P0AJ5v98_SPhlSHYwNc6elVu-c2m2lklXYvWQ22RJvtc9ufcKmRBuEGJjNChauuUe88Aj/s1600/IMG_9922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8dc_Q8PC1OAtJ_h0kuoM580OsYWwJRQW6jXiNaoOCCxeoTsPD_kxmsyinqorB1RIPiHxl-g9P0AJ5v98_SPhlSHYwNc6elVu-c2m2lklXYvWQ22RJvtc9ufcKmRBuEGJjNChauuUe88Aj/s320/IMG_9922.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grey-cheecked Mangaby Monkeys.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTIwDJfpzXiC63vDHiR4mMfQIulJrxwWdICcPSi_gnNhk96ivP6zXXZn6nFlsh4Ni4XINL0hlM3P7fKTcuMLCrQqhLwm6rd9NXP3Z-Dc0-UmDgj1B3dd1lnFub1b7s41htpggs9tivOV3/s1600/IMG_9929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTIwDJfpzXiC63vDHiR4mMfQIulJrxwWdICcPSi_gnNhk96ivP6zXXZn6nFlsh4Ni4XINL0hlM3P7fKTcuMLCrQqhLwm6rd9NXP3Z-Dc0-UmDgj1B3dd1lnFub1b7s41htpggs9tivOV3/s320/IMG_9929.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extreme closeup of a grey-cheeked mangaby.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui9wRjq5CxOtHE1iWZHacLNlcSvKdhqx0aGEi7U7kngQFmx-dBk9esDG4ocHeTCByQqp6xfbP4iWPhb9cMStyvz7iAtsc-N4m9ZmigEO0LkOySTGbiaeCVSCxoqbxRhhC41KjdDuBFx7m/s1600/IMG_9936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgui9wRjq5CxOtHE1iWZHacLNlcSvKdhqx0aGEi7U7kngQFmx-dBk9esDG4ocHeTCByQqp6xfbP4iWPhb9cMStyvz7iAtsc-N4m9ZmigEO0LkOySTGbiaeCVSCxoqbxRhhC41KjdDuBFx7m/s320/IMG_9936.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black and white colobus monkey.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXJY0A9ybkD8fAgQp2uTrHp2NqkR27gmwG_dFuXOI0HRzzVLLZ8w634uTmz38qz2Z976b01pcHuHsut-qGhsBEb3EWf1T0k4H7rg0lcjxD28tQclwEO8y9RiJ6-rrnYT3xUMoHTLE46Sw/s1600/IMG_9963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXJY0A9ybkD8fAgQp2uTrHp2NqkR27gmwG_dFuXOI0HRzzVLLZ8w634uTmz38qz2Z976b01pcHuHsut-qGhsBEb3EWf1T0k4H7rg0lcjxD28tQclwEO8y9RiJ6-rrnYT3xUMoHTLE46Sw/s320/IMG_9963.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butterflies feasting on a cherished delicacy - monkey urine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgukLsqN6n6F-Wge6TEEp5hTeOHfQJlj6tVgB_f_yvIJhqpzPLR1gj-5STT-v9H4LFxVe9DaGDmMgAHmlgG6jblkJvMAnbufFR8ogYpOSbAUqauv-VYMU_D7aJ22oW4Q2A7L2_dSwX-vS9C/s1600/IMG_9949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgukLsqN6n6F-Wge6TEEp5hTeOHfQJlj6tVgB_f_yvIJhqpzPLR1gj-5STT-v9H4LFxVe9DaGDmMgAHmlgG6jblkJvMAnbufFR8ogYpOSbAUqauv-VYMU_D7aJ22oW4Q2A7L2_dSwX-vS9C/s320/IMG_9949.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red colobus monkey.<br />
<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-28206785055361090952011-11-30T19:31:00.000+02:002011-11-30T19:31:04.915+02:00Ode to Internal Flights<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Oh, internal flights of Ethiopia, how I miss you. You were so cheap, largely punctual, relatively fast, surprisingly efficient, and quite comfortable. It has been but a week without you, but to my arse and back and peace of mind, it feels like an eternity. Oh, internal flights of Ethiopia, I wish you were just as cheap in Uganda, but alas, you are not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a profession of my love for you, let me enlighten you with some of my woes since we have been parted. On our last day together we flew from Addis Ababa to Nairobi, an easy two hour flight but it was a late one and by the time we arrived in our hotel room it was 2:30 AM and we were exhausted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day Anne had an interview at 10:00 AM Alaska time but as you know this was 10:00 PM Kenya time so we got to bed past 11. The next morning we awoke at 5:45 AM to be at the bus stand at 6:30, half an hour before our expected departure. Alas, Akamba Bus Lines completely lacks your punctuality, speed, and efficiency. The latest you ever were was one hour, but Akamba had the audacity to depart our station three hours late. Anne and several other customers tried in vain to get our money back or at the very least some information from the employees as to when the bus would actually show up, but their customer service more than pales in comparison to your customer service. You were always friendly and helpful whether it was purchasing flights or giving us free passes to your Sheba Miles Lounge. They just taunted us by saying our bus would be here shortly only for us to all move outside into the rain for an hour and a half. One employee said the bus was still at the shop, another it was on the way, and yet another that it was picking up passengers in a different part of town. They didn’t have a computer to track information, nor did anyone seem willing to give accurate information over the phone. Oh, internal flights, how we missed you this day. We missed you in those three hours we waited for the bus to actually arrive. We missed you when we stopped for some inexplicable road block for an hour and a half. We missed you when each 10 minute break turned into a 45 minute stop. And we really missed you when we arrived in Kampala, Uganda at 2:45 AM, almost eight hours past our original ETA. That was the last time we dared take an Akamba bus, unlike you, who we recommend to everyone.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day without you was even worse. We slept as long as we could but checkout was at 10 AM so we groggily made our way to the Uganda Wildlife Authority to purchase gorilla tracking permits while they were on sale. That part went smoothly, but as the park we were headed to was pretty far south, we thought it best to leave this day to ensure we got there in time. We boarded a bus to Kabale around 1:30 PM and it actually left the bus stand only an hour later. However, it seemed to take 20 minutes to inch our way to the end of the bus stand before finally crawling through the crowded city streets. Within minutes we heard what sounded like a gunshot, but of course it was only our bus blowing a tire, so we headed to a petrol station and 45 minutes later we were on our way. We didn’t get very far. Alas, internal flights of Ethiopia, we had some major engine problems. We sat on the side of the road for an hour and a half while some of the bus employees tinkered for a while, then while they called a mechanic from Kampala, then while we waited for the mechanic to arrive, then while the mechanic tried to fix the bus. We finally piled back in and headed on our way. We only made it about seven more minutes before the bus broke down again. At this point it was 7 PM and we were probably less than 50 kilometers from Kampala. Anne and I lost all faith in the bus actually making it any further this evening so we decided to just eat the cost of this bus ticket and flag down a minibus taxi to take us to the next town where we could try a different bus in the morning. We asked to get our backpacks out of the boot and were promptly ignored. Then some nice Ugandans helped us ask the bus employees and they were also ignored. Then we were told they lost the key to the boot. Seriously. Or that the driver left with it. Then the police arrived and everyone was demanding their money back. At the very least, we just wanted our luggage. We helped search for the key but it was the lowest priority for the bus workers who were intent on banging heavy tools around under the engine. Finally, over an hour later the key to the boot was located. We grabbed our bags and ran. Within minutes we flagged down a minibus, tied our bags to the roof, and were off. We made it two major cities away, to Mbarara around midnight and got dropped off at a guest house near the bus stand. There must have been a Christian revival going on next door because gospel music was blaring into our room and they said they didn’t have any other rooms further away from the noise. Luckily it stopped around 12:30 AM just as we were ready to sleep. Ethiopia Airlines, you never played such music late at night. And you fed us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The following morning we forced ourselves to wake relatively early since we had only made it halfway to our destination. We bought some chapati for breakfast and made our way to the taxi stand. As per usual, we were swarmed upon entry and directed (forcibly pushed) to a minibus. We were lucky enough to snag the front seats but really it wasn’t a very good minibus. While it never broke down, it just kind of puttered its way to Kabale for what seemed like hours beyond what it should have taken. At one point they stuck another person up front with us so there were four people in the front seat. This did not go over well, but luckily the other guy was only up there for 15 or so minutes and they didn’t try it again. Now we had just one more leg of the journey to complete, the ride from here to Kisoro. As we pulled into the station we were accosted with “<i>mzungu, mzungu</i>” and quickly found a ride to Kisoro. It was a station wagon shared taxi. We had to wait a while for it to fill up, then we drove around town slowly for no good reason, then we stopped so the driver could buy an energy drink, and then finally, this seven-seat station wagon left town with 11 adults and 2 children. The engine was not designed for the extra weight so we putt, putt, puttered our way up and down the mountains to Kisoro, eventually arriving at 5:12 PM, a mere 12 minutes past when the Uganda Wildlife Authority office closed. This was disappointing as we needed information on getting to the park the next day. If we didn’t show up on time our permits would be worthless and no money would be refunded. File this away, it will be important later. We asked someone at our hotel if he knew a taxi driver that would take us there and to our (seemingly) good fortune he did. He called a friend who came over to discuss the price. We knew he was grossly overcharging us, but at this point we were exhausted, hungry, and just wanted to not have to think anymore. We showed him the permits and said “do you know where we need to go?” and he responded “Yes”. We said, “how long will it take?” and he said “the roads are bad. It may take 3-4 hours.” “Wow”, we gasped, “the guidebook says it’s only an hour and a half.” “Yes”, he said, “but it’s the rainy season and the roads are bad.” “Okay” we said, “we’ll be ready at 4:30 AM.” And he said, “better make it 4:25.” And we said “okay, see you tomorrow at 4:25 AM”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh, internal flights of Ethiopia, the next morning was by far our worst. We really missed you then. I think more than anything we missed your honesty. If you said you were flying from Gonder to Axum, we trusted that you knew how to get there, even if you went via Lalibela. Sadly, this was not the case with Eric, our taxi driver. When he still hadn’t arrived by 4:35 AM we called him and he said we would be there shortly. When we called back at 4:45 he didn’t pick up the phone and we walked to the main street to see if we could hastily find another taxi, but he showed up just then. There were no cars on the road anyway. We chastised him for being 20 minutes late because our permits were nonrefundable. Then he asked us where exactly we were going. Then he said he needed to get petrol. Needless to say we were furious. While he woke up the guy at the petrol station we lambasted him for not knowing where we were going because we specifically showed him the permit last night and he said he knew. He told us to give the petrol guy 50,000 shillings and we refused to pay until we got to the park. We insisted Eric call people he knew to ask where to go despite the early hour. He starting dialing numbers and driving on the tarred road back to Kabale. He said it was the right way but we didn’t believe him. We were so angry with him and frantic that we would not get there in time and lose our permits. Finally he called two guys, Ernest and Emma, who work for a safari company and they spoke with Anne. They said it was only an hour and a half away, they knew exactly where to go, and if we went back to Kisoro they would draw us a map. And that’s what we did. Ernest and Emma were waiting out front of their guest house for us, reassured us we would get there in time and that the roads weren’t too bad, and they drew us a map. Finally, at 5:40 AM over an hour after we were originally supposed to leave Kisoro we were finally on our way. We spent most of the ride in the back fuming but it actually didn’t take too long, the roads were fine, and we got there early. The gorilla tracking was incredible but we will post a separate blog on that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we got back to our hotel that evening we handed the driver 50,000 shillings less than we agreed on the evening before and told him he didn’t deserve the full amount because he broke our verbal agreement. We did, however, pay him the standard amount. He didn’t say anything, and we walked to our room saying, “wow, he didn’t fight that at all. He must know how much he screwed up.” Of course we were wrong. He just didn’t listen to a word we said as we paid him, and it took him a moment to count the money and then he was in the hotel complaining. His friend who originally recommended him fell into the role of mediator and listened to both arguments. We were firm and unbending in our decision and explained repeatedly that he broke his contract with us by 1) being 20 minutes late when we had an important deadline, 2) lying about knowing how to get there, and 3) lying about the amount of time it would take. Anne and I both felt we were extremely reasonable with how much we paid him as what he got was the amount recommended to us by the UWA office when we bought the permits. He certainly didn’t deserve the overinflated price we agreed on the night before. He finally left in a flurry and that was the end of him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that, dear internal flights of Ethiopia, is why we miss you so much. Your customer service was excellent. You were reliable. The one time you had a mechanical problem with me on board it was quickly remedied and you even apologized for it. You never lost the key to the plane. You were fast. You were comfortable. You are sorely missed.</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-20058805353012937972011-11-30T15:14:00.000+02:002011-12-07T15:18:19.865+02:00Chimp Sanctuary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 105.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The day before Anne’s mom arrived here we met a woman working with the Ngamba Island Chimpanzee Sanctuary and when we got to chatting she said there was a tour going out the next day with space for three people so we planned to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately the boat broke down and the replacement one only had room for one of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a brief discussion we decided that I would go while Anne and her mom went to the Botanical Gardens to do some birding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, of course, worked well for me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 105.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a shame we couldn’t all fit on the boat because it was awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The island is a 45 minute boat ride away on Lake Victoria, and it is only about 1 km<sup>2</sup> in size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chimps roam freely in the forest, but they would destroy it if they didn’t have a supplemental food source, so they get fed four times a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the chimps there were rescued from one bad situation or another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many were orphaned or found in illegal captivity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 105.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to be there for lunch as the chimps came one by one out of the forest and waited for their fruits and veggies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The alpha male came out of the forest with a testosterone laden swagger and ran around charging the other chimps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were all extremely vocal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was up on a platform and aside from a barbed wire fence my view was completely unobstructed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to see them close up, sitting down eating, reaching for more food, walking around on all fours, and twice I got to see them doing some brief bipedal walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With my good vantage point I was able to get a good look at the faces of several individuals and it surprised me how different they all looked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their facial features were just as distinct as ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We share 98.7% of our DNA with chimpanzees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their social structure was obviously very complex and fascinating to watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lunch was over all too fast though, and one by one they headed back to the forest.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZn7ERNMMb9oUeccLHMmOOC1DzZdcQXUWtjMIwqYCLLaSr-soQr6jApUvV1HV5rejgQ6BrmszgxWZEC1GXtelx7cs1diPAToC5q5yPBvMLCe2fLAnsO4xRk7KmwInqn3dABH-O1b1Zv8Ay/s1600/IMG_9688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZn7ERNMMb9oUeccLHMmOOC1DzZdcQXUWtjMIwqYCLLaSr-soQr6jApUvV1HV5rejgQ6BrmszgxWZEC1GXtelx7cs1diPAToC5q5yPBvMLCe2fLAnsO4xRk7KmwInqn3dABH-O1b1Zv8Ay/s320/IMG_9688.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The big, bad alpha male.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1vhP_k-iZYh4Bnsh-h5dIEz8mB-T87E64Efx7XBFcKjxsNWLwyw8a1lFxaSfFCsxctVQFvzL7IaHZGob8_f1HmDAo1mncYmcA_SQSGJWR_vqOVA2kbp6vQvKgEttmtqeH7WeAXVP_EyH/s1600/IMG_9724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1vhP_k-iZYh4Bnsh-h5dIEz8mB-T87E64Efx7XBFcKjxsNWLwyw8a1lFxaSfFCsxctVQFvzL7IaHZGob8_f1HmDAo1mncYmcA_SQSGJWR_vqOVA2kbp6vQvKgEttmtqeH7WeAXVP_EyH/s320/IMG_9724.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those are hordes of bugs in front of the chimp.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgV1PrHvT3OFkrxsyX9G01uWqPddaEQFq3jbqkYbJXm_UPVZVCtnVtbU6xHHLyz7FbEjneli2KfO85ndaarirB-H8F-cJs__PyWzTmGbX6R2hj0mpzKDkLIaEdZ2yArFNZ3_9dZnDN88YC/s1600/IMG_9756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgV1PrHvT3OFkrxsyX9G01uWqPddaEQFq3jbqkYbJXm_UPVZVCtnVtbU6xHHLyz7FbEjneli2KfO85ndaarirB-H8F-cJs__PyWzTmGbX6R2hj0mpzKDkLIaEdZ2yArFNZ3_9dZnDN88YC/s320/IMG_9756.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know it looks like he's laying there reading a book but evolutionarily that's a bit further off.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-11588297282425400852011-11-27T14:21:00.008+02:002011-12-07T14:58:06.013+02:00Bwindi Impenetrable National Forest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Note: Anyone on the email list who got 17 notifications that we updated the blog, it's because the computer was acting funny and would only let me post one photo at a time. This is the final version.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are roughly 700 mountain gorillas in the world, and they only live in two areas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is an ecosystem spanning parts of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other is Bwindi Impentrable National Park where about half of the gorilla population is found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Permits are ridiculously expensive but that’s a good thing because it’s such a valuable source of revenue for the country that it helps ensure protection for the gorillas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, we lucked out with discounted permits for the slow season, so that was nice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After our ordeal with the incompetent taxi driver we were happy to arrive at the park with plenty of time to spare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About 20 tourists showed up for the briefing which included a list of do’s and don’ts when with the gorillas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ranger also said another survey was done this year and while all of the numbers are not in, preliminary thoughts are that the population has increased some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this part of the park there are three different groups of gorillas habituated to humans, so we all split up into our respective tracking groups and headed off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Park rules limit eight permit holders per day to spend one hour with the gorillas if/when they are located.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scouts head out early in the morning to track the gorillas from where they were encountered the previous day, and they communicate via radio with the guides.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our group of seven piled into a safari vehicle for a 20-minute drive to another village then we started to “track”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were warned that there is no guarantee of even seeing the gorillas or that you could hike all day in the mud and rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hiked steeply uphill for about an hour with views of the forest on our right and all other directions consisted of limited forest views with copious amounts of human encroachment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were huts and farms and pastures creeping right up to the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amidst this setting, Anne overhears on the radio in Swahili that the gorillas are just ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then hiked over and down for another half hour before getting our first glimpse of the gorillas. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not sure how many in total we saw because the forest was so thick with vegetation we could usually only see one, maybe two, gorillas at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did get to see one silverback that was pretty phenomenal to encounter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was huge and at one point he gave one heck of an aggressive warning noise to us, at which point all of the tourists gasped and stepped back in surprise and the guide and scouts said “picture, picture, picture”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPwqDhrClf-FxrI5uqZcTnd1Oh3nREVnUn3Na9pVX4GxnkrVPRdrJkAD2vjZuoheRk5tnp_ahsdCV7CIPAf1gSz_zKQJ_xDyLWuQ9XYhLlw0spCOopagFgrP038FtCoAGVQSmdLB3-Po9/s1600/IMG_9579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPwqDhrClf-FxrI5uqZcTnd1Oh3nREVnUn3Na9pVX4GxnkrVPRdrJkAD2vjZuoheRk5tnp_ahsdCV7CIPAf1gSz_zKQJ_xDyLWuQ9XYhLlw0spCOopagFgrP038FtCoAGVQSmdLB3-Po9/s320/IMG_9579.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Silverback.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We saw a few females and blackbacks, a few of whom also gave us a warning sound accompanied by a really intimidating stance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw two baby gorillas, one of whom the guide worried was sick because he was acting more lethargic than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called this in to their veterinarian immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other baby was fairly active at one point and crawled up a tree to check us out briefly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 105.0pt;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunchtime<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hanging out people watching.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUbBQQiZ2ne-TWpqT56DiVusBrS4EEPlecWXDCtMhcXqRFpNrhWuGQ-l9pDJYLhb0gSRz2UHOBRaE71KNeoCeUirCCjfNdHHGPfkJ_F_CpR8sHh90q7bh_-NKlxGO1E7-1tCsAnSeu8LU/s1600/IMG_9626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUbBQQiZ2ne-TWpqT56DiVusBrS4EEPlecWXDCtMhcXqRFpNrhWuGQ-l9pDJYLhb0gSRz2UHOBRaE71KNeoCeUirCCjfNdHHGPfkJ_F_CpR8sHh90q7bh_-NKlxGO1E7-1tCsAnSeu8LU/s320/IMG_9626.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Do you really want to come any closer than that?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6bg0Qu2GFcFuGwmO9tX5IQQ1o7o4XBBhS5bIv1gfRpgVzjsTPqsuex7lmw3KW_xvxpT3tnsTsTDz7Rt9uvNAkghZroEFF4BjapyyXfCMZ8y11ZqbSScZavkpdicZqd9JBaySbEzeBODU/s1600/IMG_9651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6bg0Qu2GFcFuGwmO9tX5IQQ1o7o4XBBhS5bIv1gfRpgVzjsTPqsuex7lmw3KW_xvxpT3tnsTsTDz7Rt9uvNAkghZroEFF4BjapyyXfCMZ8y11ZqbSScZavkpdicZqd9JBaySbEzeBODU/s320/IMG_9651.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby gorilla</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1htb86mggrqvyIhG7mLRzgxI-SYLYa2V5-RImRZAsDI9E8zCBxhRbB-O9uOKbHtMu7tRknbzpluzKEyHqAt0y-VDcMBeApalnmBeez9tfY-B0FNfwtInSymiDewHNg4ubdfbSspdny4f/s1600/IMG_9653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1htb86mggrqvyIhG7mLRzgxI-SYLYa2V5-RImRZAsDI9E8zCBxhRbB-O9uOKbHtMu7tRknbzpluzKEyHqAt0y-VDcMBeApalnmBeez9tfY-B0FNfwtInSymiDewHNg4ubdfbSspdny4f/s320/IMG_9653.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was so cute I included two photos.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Our hour went by quickly and I could have easily spent the entire day following the gorillas around and watching them with awe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no wonder Diane Fossey and Jane Goodall took to the primates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are fun to watch and given our surprisingly similar DNA it makes them that much more interesting.</span></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-5737506282636498952011-11-22T19:28:00.000+02:002011-11-30T19:29:24.828+02:00Sheba Miles!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I understand rich people now. I understand why they seem to have this glow about them. This “something” that’s so desirable and unachievable. It’s because they belong to the airline clubs. In fact, they probably belong to the really high-end ones. That sort of pleasure seems inconceivable, but today, Jeanette and I touched the rim of it. We spent the day in the Addis Ababa airport. Though we could have paid $20 each to get visas and wander around the city again, we chose to save our money and hang out in no man’s land. In return, we got a free lunch coupon. Then, the exceedingly generous airline lady granted our request for a free day pass to the Sheba Miles lounge. The room was nothing compared to the super high-end Cloud Nine lounge, but we figured it was still equipped with comfy chairs. Then we found out it comes with free drinks (of all kinds) and free food. Luxury. We saved $40 on visas and got to live in luxury. I love that Ethiopia is giving back. And now, back to east Africa. Uganda here we come! </div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-88922162059849738982011-11-21T19:15:00.001+02:002011-11-30T19:25:50.586+02:00Djibouti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Djibouti is a tiny little desert country with a giant U.S. military base bordered by Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somaliland, and the Red Sea. It’s bloomin’ expensive but boasts random geological formations and whale sharks. We decided that the likelihood of us returning to the Horn of Africa was fairly low, so if we wanted to see Djibouti, we’d best do it now. Unfortunately the country started out with three strikes against it:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->Lack of communication. We emailed a number of tour companies about visiting the two famous lakes and only two ever responded. Finding out information and booking a trip with one was like pulling a tooth by tying a string to a doorknob.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->When we got into the country they almost didn’t let us in because I was at one point a journalist.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><!--[endif]-->When we got to the hotel, they wouldn’t let us stay because two women, even “cousins,” aren’t allowed to share a bed.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Luckily, the attractions of the country outweighed the negatives. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day One: Whale Sharks</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whale sharks are neither whales nor sharks, but they are big fish. Really, really big fish. We joined an excursion of military folks to go and snorkel with the behemoths. After a two hour cruise on the Red Sea past a stark desert landscape we piled into skiffs to go look for the fish. As soon as we saw one, everyon jumped out of the boats in snorkel gear and swam after them. Jeanette was a super pro at this. She just zipped away with the whale sharks. In fact, if she was about 10 times her current size and covered in brown scales with white dots, she could <i>be</i> a whale shark. I, on the other hand, hopped into the water wearing my oversized lifejacket and saw them from fairly close up only twice. Then I frantically had the skiff driver pull me back into the boat. I do a fantastic impersonation of a walrus.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Two: Lac Assal</div><div class="MsoNormal">All of our dysfunctional communication with the tour company finally paid off and an amiable British guy joined us, and shared the costs, for our expensive excursion to the funky lakes. On our way to Lac Assal we stopped to watch the tectonic plates move apart. It was very slow. Only 2 cm per year. But the gorge was nice, as was the nearby salt pond. Our rather unnecessary guide paced about as our British companion took hundreds of photos. Eventually he muttered, this isn’t Lac Assal, you know, and ushered us back into the car. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Lac Assal is a massive salt lake filled with bright blue water. Jeanette and I slipped into our swimsuits and crunched over the salt pan to float in the lovely liquid. The high salt concentration does wonders for one’s complexion, and it’s pretty funny not being able to sink. The hot sun instantly dried the salt on our skin and we got a good idea of what we’ll look like when our body hair turns white. The salt accumulates so quickly that the area is mined for salt by the Afar. They make tourist trinkets by putting things like goat skulls into the lake until they are densely coated with salt. We washed off in a nearby pool of fresh water, pathetically trying to hide behind a rock to change our clothes as other tourists came to check out the hot springs. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyiitt_NueQ_vSKsTP6lPpfIDVEnqwjGl6-1Z0_sVyX_KVvzQTDXdr0I40aHakIl1bDAXntHT5gYsQ0v7F8TpSXsleCLFV_ekNNAgqWb5KjKdukY7u7mDciRzX0nIaSwOp8bNQBJP9XY2/s1600/IMG_9225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyiitt_NueQ_vSKsTP6lPpfIDVEnqwjGl6-1Z0_sVyX_KVvzQTDXdr0I40aHakIl1bDAXntHT5gYsQ0v7F8TpSXsleCLFV_ekNNAgqWb5KjKdukY7u7mDciRzX0nIaSwOp8bNQBJP9XY2/s320/IMG_9225.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure what kind of baboon this is.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0i8j8lfLe__GmWAC7A7_OixzTnRCC8nO3vvUNFZjEFG2KwDSrVbb8G64NHkojpZKjZ8XCejEfyugPxxbKb9ABVB_qJcyHK63vu0zYzQLlKn6KlbodiG-B1GIKfjWbrRqoR29wanWAAGx/s1600/IMG_9241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0i8j8lfLe__GmWAC7A7_OixzTnRCC8nO3vvUNFZjEFG2KwDSrVbb8G64NHkojpZKjZ8XCejEfyugPxxbKb9ABVB_qJcyHK63vu0zYzQLlKn6KlbodiG-B1GIKfjWbrRqoR29wanWAAGx/s320/IMG_9241.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lac Assal</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It made our skin nice and soft, but left tons of salt on our bodies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Our goal was to get to Lac Abh by sunset but a variety of unexplained delays, including a stop for our driver to buy a local, hugely-popular narcotic leaf, put us there just after the sun went down. As the light died we saw random rocks rising up around us. They remained a mystery as we slept that evening in traditional grass mat covered huts.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Three: Lac Abh</div><div class="MsoNormal">We awoke for sunrise and were driven back to the rocks. It’s still unclear to us what formed the giant, craggy forms. The surface was white and looked like tiny bubbles all melted together and hardened. The guide said it was ancient bacteria… Either way, the sun rising over the chimney and castle-like forms was splendid. Steam vents dotted the landscape making it seem even more unearthly. The herds of sheep only slightly detracted from the effect. After a lingering breakfast we went to see the flocks of flamingos that live in the salt lake then climbed a rock pile for a view of the plains of strangeness. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where they filmed the original Planet of the Apes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were random boiling hot springs in a few areas that added to the place.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">On our way back to Djibouti city we asked our driver and guide to take us to the rock painting that was mentioned in our printed itinerary. They had no idea that we had an itinerary, but eventually the driver figured out what rock painting was mentioned. We drove over dried mud flats to a pile of volcanic rock. On one large flat stone were crude drawings of camels. They did not look prehistoric. Nor did the numbers written by them. When the guide and I climbed up the rock hill we encountered small enclosures made of stacked rocks, much like the Afar currently build for their livestock. The guide said that people were washed ashore and stranded on the hill in ancient times when the mud flats were actually ocean. They carried their camels in their tiny sailboats and when they grounded, they built pens on the hill to make sure the camels didn’t wander off. The small hill was about the size of half a city block…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the tour ended we walked around Djibouti city with our British companion. We both expected the city to be clean and European, given how much things in Djibouti cost and how many expats live there. It was actually fairly disgusting. The sight of the crow picking out the innards of a rat in the bus station was outdone by the sight of the bloated dead cat in a puddle on one of the main streets. The markets offered a great variety of colorful underwear, however, and the restaurants had great juice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three days turned out to be the perfect amount of time in Djibouti, a sweeping, desolate desert with a few little hidden gems.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-39339956065027317102011-11-18T19:25:00.001+02:002011-11-30T19:28:37.643+02:00Happiness Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Our moods and opinions of Ethiopia have vastly improved lately. The country really does boast some of the most beautiful landscapes we’ve seen on the continent and the most interesting historic sites. We’ve also been in places with much less begging and far fewer things expected of us. Being on an organized tour of the Danakil Depression might have helped, too. Everything was out of our hands. Though I would still recommend visiting Ethiopia when you aren’t travel weary and for only a few weeks, I would actually now say it’s worthwhile to come. Just be prepared. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was very surprised at the amount of livestock in Ethiopia. They were everywhere - donkeys, goats, sheep, camels, etc. This unfortunately led to a dramatic increase in the number of flies all over the place. The food was very meat-heavy, and we often ended up getting the same vegetarian dish over and over. It was surprising how different shiro, a spicy pureed lentil dish, tasted in each restaurant. Livestock freely roam all highways, gravel roads, and even downtown streets, and the herders make surprisingly little attempt to move them out of the way for vehicles. This is probably because it is completely the driver’s responsibility to pay for the animal if it is hit, and dead donkeys bring in lots more money than live ones.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There were also a fair number of fleas in Ethiopia. They infested the beds in several hotels and attacked us from the mats we rented when camping. Anne got it the worst on the hike she did in Lalibela. She came back with her entire back covered in bites. I think they get onto your pajamas then into your pack and then all over your other clothes. We haven’t opened our sleeping bags in a while and they will get a proper washing before being allowed in anyone’s house. However, I am writing this a week out of Ethiopia and am happy to report that we are flea-free. (And thus will not infect your houses. At least not with fleas. Other parasites, though…).</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The begging didn’t get a whole lot better and as much as we were grumbling about the situation we had this uncanny moment in Lalibela at dinner one night that was reality slapping us in the face. There we were in a small hotel restaurant that had a giant screen satellite television. It was the two of us and about five local men. That evening the television was tuned to MTV, which as we all know, hasn’t played music videos in about 20 years. Instead the programming included a two-segment episode of Teen Cribs followed by an episode of Super Sweet Sixteen. It is my hope that none of you have ever heard of these programs or at least have never had to suffer through viewing them. They were horrible. Teen Cribs consisted of a teenager walking you through a tour of the super-sized, super-supped up McMansion she lived in and how cool it was and how all her friends loved hanging out there, etc. These houses were worth more than our current federal deficit. In Super Sweet Sixteen a really popular girl at school was using daddy’s money to throw herself the best sweet sixteen ever. Having never been one of those girls, not only could I in no way relate to her, but I can’t even remember my sixteenth birthday. The teenager gifted herself with a $165,000 necklace and earring set because the army-themed party alone didn’t have enough “wow” factor. Given the available programming on life in the States, it’s no wonder Ethiopians think we have diamonds falling out of our pockets.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An example of this can be found in the following story. While in Addis when we first entered Ethiopia I was chatting with one of the docents at a museum. She was a university student doing an internship there, and she invited Anne and me to coffee ceremony when we came back through town. We exchanged phone numbers, and she checked in with us throughout our time in Ethiopia. We were in Lalibela when she texted again to say her mother invited us to her house for the coffee ceremony. While on a tour of the churches I explained this situation to our guide and asked what an appropriate gift for us to bring would be. As he gave me a quizzical look I explained that in the States if someone invited you to dinner you’d likely show up with a bottle of wine or maybe some flowers. He said wine isn’t typically consumed at a coffee ceremony. I said I understood that, it was just an example of what we would do culturally and then I asked again for his opinion on what would be a nice gift for us to bring. The he said “Oh, you can just give her something like an old laptop or camera.” I almost choked on my gasp as I said we don’t just have that kind of thing on us. He then said it would be okay if I got her address and mailed it once I got home. Anne and I just shared a look of astonishment. How to explain that laptops and camera were expensive and that we didn’t actually have a stockpile of them at home? I was off the hook anyway because the coffee ceremony never worked out as we stayed that whole day in the airport to avoid paying visa fees again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually, we just started laughing off instances like these, even the fleas, and overall our moods toward Ethiopia vastly improved.</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-55590732509207449122011-11-17T19:05:00.001+02:002011-11-30T19:14:05.531+02:00The Churches of Lalibela<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Some Ethiopians believe that the 11 rock-hewn churches in Lalibela were created entirely by God, others that King Lalibela was empowered by God to carve them on his own in only 23 years, and then there are the historians who believe that they took close to a century and 40,000 workers to complete. Any way you look at it, the churches are absolutely remarkable. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These churches have many similarities to the ones we saw in Tigray, especially the inside design. All have the typical Axumite arches with supporting pillars, but these churches lacked the paintings on the inside that were very common in Tigray. However, the churches in Lalibela were much more striking to me, as you could stand on a giant granite precipice and look down at a church that was carved where there used to be only mountain. Our guide said the churches were carved from the top down on the outside and then from the bottom up on the insides, which makes sense. The outsides of the churches were smoothed down in most places but on some of the inside walls the marks from hammer and chisel were quite visible and added to how impressive these structures really were.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are two clusters of churches in close proximity to one another and then St. George’s Church stood by itself nearby. There were tunnels and passageways connecting the churches within the clusters, the longest one being 27 m long. We had a guide the first day which was instrumental to finding all of the passageways. He was very informative and gave an enjoyable tour.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtpNE_PwB7nr_TDQnllC12vIe-0759779FX7ln0Twpw6Il8rpECNwhVXyhZfV3pvWSPX_DKRK6xiJYqHJpdkm595e8AyQSJEACHirjr4uQ1QlILmu4ys4yAYwWVjinxFqyp7L5zdcRRKl/s1600/IMG_8933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtpNE_PwB7nr_TDQnllC12vIe-0759779FX7ln0Twpw6Il8rpECNwhVXyhZfV3pvWSPX_DKRK6xiJYqHJpdkm595e8AyQSJEACHirjr4uQ1QlILmu4ys4yAYwWVjinxFqyp7L5zdcRRKl/s320/IMG_8933.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This shows the top of the columns and arches typical of the Axumite style seen in all the churches.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV851fj1qZ6w7cSW-KgEWE_QO1U6PsQYcuKnFupj8jzoxwQpVStRz7HXwh8qv0Y21UMs8TpvoNvs-9g4ICGRS732N-OOu46T2F4yXgn4BbiDHaGdEanGB2pTLulD4Y8gEr67N8P00_tAGa/s1600/IMG_8953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV851fj1qZ6w7cSW-KgEWE_QO1U6PsQYcuKnFupj8jzoxwQpVStRz7HXwh8qv0Y21UMs8TpvoNvs-9g4ICGRS732N-OOu46T2F4yXgn4BbiDHaGdEanGB2pTLulD4Y8gEr67N8P00_tAGa/s320/IMG_8953.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forget the name of this one, but you can see the rock wall on the front left where the church was originally carved out of. The scaffolding on top is from UNESCO to protect the church from erosion.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYWpgMFkbO41zVZvLvMR0bXv3qjJacwvoOzXkA-IbpAsgbqU5AMUHS0Hj5vHeBUiNcCtTbs5QMr8nrnVgC4x7LfrPVld-S9pATmULlc0Q21os0L_VrqFMjo9-GuXUFwTKp6wY2avqIQo63/s1600/IMG_9014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYWpgMFkbO41zVZvLvMR0bXv3qjJacwvoOzXkA-IbpAsgbqU5AMUHS0Hj5vHeBUiNcCtTbs5QMr8nrnVgC4x7LfrPVld-S9pATmULlc0Q21os0L_VrqFMjo9-GuXUFwTKp6wY2avqIQo63/s320/IMG_9014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. George Church. Visually my favorite. It's an eye-catching cross shape and you can clearly see how it was carved out of the mountain.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cq_fF8aolo1mBQ905YSFLi6uGaHWeDkNFe1jn-Jo4cL-7sVP6XbhGdk8E_8akN6LmZmmqnx4uV96QHaFztOGYathi4u_FOxTJ76_-SnV_RMKyZ3OjOoO9IsksWUThAewS76z_Ifv6bCf/s1600/IMG_9019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cq_fF8aolo1mBQ905YSFLi6uGaHWeDkNFe1jn-Jo4cL-7sVP6XbhGdk8E_8akN6LmZmmqnx4uV96QHaFztOGYathi4u_FOxTJ76_-SnV_RMKyZ3OjOoO9IsksWUThAewS76z_Ifv6bCf/s320/IMG_9019.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. George Church</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4NOIORZJsJVftESy-cq8SW_v9n1isjHAeekWPsbxYykS0nex2AB0jehQhN6P8lHAFvqcJs9o1jsX1-ltcIfdq1SXFIvNk_MiY-2d7rc7B5CCMHgTR5fWiwi7Q-gfMi0sYw_c5j3xjaAw/s1600/IMG_9068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4NOIORZJsJVftESy-cq8SW_v9n1isjHAeekWPsbxYykS0nex2AB0jehQhN6P8lHAFvqcJs9o1jsX1-ltcIfdq1SXFIvNk_MiY-2d7rc7B5CCMHgTR5fWiwi7Q-gfMi0sYw_c5j3xjaAw/s320/IMG_9068.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Example of one of the tunnels or carved passageways.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkXOSAB18o6es-eDDXyO9j-1QGO6nQumNvMteUxAFNy0RrjjuwwcPDJuvf5j-Cq6Rly6hKee4u_Q40Uzru2yPXW0a_cV8Tk-_FTdwI7eB0s8-tc5rnjnTCvxZP01qhZdkaaLGMtrWHjk7H/s1600/IMG_9077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkXOSAB18o6es-eDDXyO9j-1QGO6nQumNvMteUxAFNy0RrjjuwwcPDJuvf5j-Cq6Rly6hKee4u_Q40Uzru2yPXW0a_cV8Tk-_FTdwI7eB0s8-tc5rnjnTCvxZP01qhZdkaaLGMtrWHjk7H/s320/IMG_9077.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also forget the name of this one, but it was one of the more visually stunning.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lalibela was a good stop overall. We had heard warnings from other travelers about being followed for blocks by begging kids, but it wasn’t that bad for us. It was actually much easier and had fewer hassles than seeing the churches in Tigray, which was a welcome change.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After spending two days seeing the churches we actually parted company for a few days for the first time on the trip. Anne wanted to go on an overnight hike to the top of the escarpment, but I wasn’t feeling well and wanted some downtime. However, as lovely as Lalibela, was I didn’t want it there. I ended up changing my flight to Addis Ababa and left two days early where I hung out in the city enjoying good food and good company (Marie, the French woman we befriended was also there), and good internet access where I started looking for jobs in earnest. I will let Anne talk about her hike:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Looming above Lalibela is a farm-covered escarpment. And by farm-covered I mean they plowed and harvested areas that could almost be called cliffs. It was insane. The hike up to the lovely round huts of the community camp was easy and straight forward until the very end. The guides think that white folk are crazy and enjoy scrambling up near-vertical rock beds in a crack in the cliff. I’m pleased to report that even though the area fell profoundly into the “steep slippery things” category, I wasn’t scared and just climbed up. The extraneous city boy guide I was required to take was freaked out. The next day we took the easy route down.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KNUMvCvARh3nzW5G3_0PF-l7FWjqeKaSz65gKBBUgZbkzJc5t1714hRY7Wo-9ojeoQDOzQ5_vL44a6whf0R5NkXGlwB9xiXRv2dg-pfIGt43tCAcXAcptGpctPabpVhuEOwwUix18FM9/s1600/IMG_9177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KNUMvCvARh3nzW5G3_0PF-l7FWjqeKaSz65gKBBUgZbkzJc5t1714hRY7Wo-9ojeoQDOzQ5_vL44a6whf0R5NkXGlwB9xiXRv2dg-pfIGt43tCAcXAcptGpctPabpVhuEOwwUix18FM9/s320/IMG_9177.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was nice to be out walking after days in the car. It was nice to sit and enjoy views while just listening to music and reading. And it was nice to try to burst a conceited Ethiopian guy’s bubble about how easy his life will be if he wins the green card lottery for the States. I know, it sounds cruel, but he just had no idea about how good he had it as a wealthy Ethiopian (who looked down on the “peasants” he worked with everyday as a guide) compared to what it would be like as a poor immigrant in the U.S. who would likely be the victim of the same discrimination he tended to dish out. Seriously, the U.S. needs to start an ad campaign that basically says “We aren’t all movie stars.” and shows people being denied medical care or living on the streets.</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I digress. Hike was nice. Lalibela is pretty. Ethiopia definitely grew on me.</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-35922214000307147992011-11-13T18:53:00.002+02:002011-11-30T19:02:34.780+02:00The Danakillers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"> For the umpteenth time that day one of the four-wheel drive cars in our caravan was bogged down in the mud and sand. Our vehicle was forced to stop behind it and was soon stuck as well. Night had fallen and we stayed in our car as it started to rain, bright bolts of lightning piercing the vast openness that surrounded us. Our journey through one of the hottest, driest deserts on Earth was thrown off course by rain storms. Go figure. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In northeastern Ethiopia lies the Danakil Depression, a baking hot desert where temperatures frequently go above 120 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s the home of the aggressive and resourceful Afar people, ancient salt mines, and amazing geological formations. To visit the area you have to join a caravan of cars. Going alone would be suicide. Not only do cars frequently encounter problems on the rough tracks that serve as roads leaving them stranded in the oppressive heat, the area is close to Eritrea. Eritrea won its independence from Ethiopia in 1993 but fighters still sometimes cross the border and four years ago kidnapped a group of tourists. We joined a massive budget tour group of 23 travelers going in seven cars.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The tour company was recommended on the Lonely Planet website so a Belgian couple organized the trip, and we decided to join up with them. We exchanged a few emails and short phone calls with the company before arriving in Mekele but didn’t know much about them. At about 9 pm our first night in the departure town, a skinny young Ethiopian woman knocked on our door. Clad in tight jeans and a sparkling t-shirt, she looked like she had just come from a celebration. Abeba was our company representative. The very friendly woman hung out in our room, told us the itinerary, and then sleepily wandered off. She had returned from a different excursion to the Depression earlier that day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After our brief interactions with Abeba and two ten-minute phone calls with the tour operator we never actually met, they decided they liked us and assigned us to the best car in the caravan. We were joined by Marie, a lovely French woman we met in the Simen Mountains and convinced to join us, and Peter, a biker from Australia. With his deeply tanned, weathered skin and his messy white hair and beard, Peter exuded “traveler.” Within a day of meeting him we had heard his favorite travel stories multiple times, were convinced of the quality of his BMW motorcycle, and knew that after almost three years on the road, he needed to head home. What he kept hidden for at least the first day was his innate ability to lead a group and solve a problem all with good humor and precision.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first day of our excursion went without much trouble. We left almost two hours late, which means “on time” for most of this continent, and arrived at our lunch spot around 4 pm. The road was good quality gravel, and we got to the campsite shortly after dark. It was unclear where our band of 34 people would sleep until villagers started walking up carrying bed frames made of wooden poles and woven mesh. The beds were lined up outside next to the array of dilapidated stick and mat huts that served as the village. Sleeping inside would have been too hot. Only the strong breeze made the temperature bearable. For toilets we were sent to the ditch next to the site. In the wide open desert, privacy was impossible as we contributed to a public health nightmare. No one in the village had pit toilets and piles of excrement dotted the landscape. It’s still unclear to me if we helped the community by paying exorbitant amounts to rent their bed, or led to their ultimate downfall by introducing more diseases to the area.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On our second day we piled into the cars to head to Irta’ale, an active volcano. It was supposed to take about six hours to reach the base of the volcano. An hour into the drive over dried mud and sand we came across some wet patches. Six of the seven cars drove around the mud. The seventh, after watching the others circumvent the area, drove through and was immediately stuck. We waited in the 100 degree heat for half an hour while they pulled him out and were off again. Twenty minutes later we turned around. Communication not being the strong suit of any of our intrepid tour leaders or drivers, we can only assume the way was deemed impassable. As were the next three routes we tried. Finally, about mid-day, the drivers and the local Afar guide decided that driving the normal route on the rain-soaked mudflats wasn’t going to work. Instead, we drove through a sandy plain dotted with shrubs and camels.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We thought we were safely on our way until we reached the first river. In this case I use the term river loosely. It was a thin, shallow trickle of water through mud. Instead of getting out of the car to see the best route through, the first car plunged ahead and was stuck in foot deep mud. The next car drove easily around the beleaguered behemoth and tried to pull it from the mud. It got stuck in the process, as did the third car. Peter, who was used to driving around the Outback of Australia, tried to communicate via our driver, who spoke a bit of English, different ways of getting the vehicle out. He was largely ignored, and it took over two hours to move on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The afternoon was riddled with small incidents. One car was stuck, then the next, then another. It was nearing dark when we decided to drive on a mining company road instead of plowing through the nothingness. It was pitch black when we finally extracted the cars from unexpected sand dunes and dramatically changed course. First we were told that we were lost and had taken the wrong turn. Most of the tourists were flabbergasted by the incompetency. Didn’t we ask for directions an hour before? Didn’t we have a local guide with us to prevent this from happening? Then, the story changed. According to Abeba, the Afar police man we were required to have accompany us had changed his mind. Originally he said we could skip the village where we had to buy another permit to visit the volcano and just return to pay in the morning. Now we had to backtrack to the village.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The caravan plunged ahead into the darkness. As we swerved around clumps of bushes and piles of sand, the wind started picking up. Soon, it was impossible to see around the vehicle and the other cars became vague lights in the distance. We were caught in a sandstorm. In truth, we felt lucky. The air conditioning worked in our car and all of the windows closed. One of the other cars didn’t have such luck. As we attempted to drive through the storm, unable to see out of the car, we envisioned their car filling with dirt. Our pity subsided when the most of the cars were far ahead, we were stuck in the sand behind one of the less competent drivers, and it started to rain. The lightning bolts were so bright and seemed so close, I was certain that our metal car sticking out in the empty desert would be like a lightning rod.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In our exhausted frenzy we started to devise a plan – who would sleep where, what food and water we had available in case the others didn’t come back for us. When the rain started, the wind died down, and we could see a ways into the distance. A single blue light was moving toward us. At this point our driver piped up. “I don’t want to scare you, but the Afar people say that devils appear in the desert at night carrying lights to confuse you. Not that I’m trying to scare you.” Thinking that a devil was better than nothing, we took out a headlamp and tried to flash S.O.S. into the distance. It was unclear if the other light flashed back, but by that point the rain had slowed and we decided to assess the situation on our own, or so we thought. We were quickly reminded of one of the cardinal traits of rural Africa: people materialize out of nothingness. </div><div class="MsoNormal">With the help of random village men and children, we quickly extracted our car only for the other car to be mired in an easily avoidable puddle for about an hour. The “devil” in the distance turned out to be the nice French man coming back to rescue us and to tell us that we had reached our destination for the night. After 14 hours of driving we were to hole up in another tiny village with mats laid out under random structures. One of the cars was now inoperable and our car of five became a cheery car for eight.</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the morning, we tried once more to head to the volcano. We followed a suggested route only to reach another river. As we got out of the cars to consider where to cross, water began surging down the river bed. All of the rain from the night before both in the depression and in the mountains was creating a flash flood. We quickly moved the cars and headed back to the village. Then the arguments began. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some drivers wanted to stop trying to get to the volcano. Word filtered out that we also couldn’t get back to the original camp because of the floods. Our crowd of tourists began to panic. What if we ran out of water? They didn’t pack enough water, one group cried. Some went to count the number of water bottles in each car. Jeanette rolled her eyes. They were panicking about water when we were surrounded by rivers and had plenty of water treatment drops between us. They were worried about food when, if we got to dire straits, we could easily kill one of the innumerable camels. It was all a bit silly, really. People probably wouldn’t have panicked as much, though, if the communication was better. None of us understood the heated conversations in Amharic between Abeba, the guides, and the locals. All we knew was that after about an hour, we decided to try a different route.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This time, it worked. Smooth sailing. Okay, smooth sailing until the typical problem car was stuck in the mud again only an hour from the volcano base camp. After about an hour, we decided to eat lunch. More time passed. The Ethiopians gave up; they had tried nearly everything to pull the car out. Finally, Peter stepped up to the plate again. He directed all of us to start grabbing the innumerable volcanic rocks that littered the landscape. He and a few others started digging the mud out from under the tires and shoving rocks into their place. In twenty minutes we had a mini-rock highway and the car chugged, chugged, and was out. An hour later after a bumpy pumice road, we were there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hike up took about three hours. Even after dark the air was so hot that we all dripped sweat. We arrived at the peak and looked beyond the small, empty rock huts to a red glow in the distance. Under the light of the full moon we descended into a rock crater and within minutes were standing above a roiling, exploding, ever-changing pool of magma. About 60 meters below us was liquid rock – the mantel of the earth exposed. Depending on the wind direction, we were blasted with heat and sulfur, but it was hard to look away. The lava quickly cooled on the surface turning black and shiny. Red cracks cut through the surface exposing the lava below. Slowly, bits would sink under, red pools would form, and the lava would spurt into the air. Some bits would land like rocks on the fluctuating black surface and skitter across, others would ooze over and pull the blackness back down into the red. It constantly changed, constantly kept us interested. On the far side of the rim on which we stood, bits of rock fell into the pool below. We quickly stepped back, conscious of the cracks on our side of the rim as well. It was one of the most exhilarating and spectacular moments of my life. We watched for hours and celebrated the start of 11.11.11 with the small group who remained into the night. </div><div class="MsoNormal">When we finally decided to go to sleep, we walked back to the group of huts on the ridge. We weren’t allowed to put our mats in the huts or even the flattened walled off areas near the huts. The guide said that someone lived there, but, given that the place was deserted, we figure that the company would have had to pay someone if we were seen there. We bedded down on a rocky patch between a small pile of rubbish and an old animal pen. At dawn, we woke up the guide and returned to the pool. The lava had calmed down, but the morning light made it seem like the lava pool was much closer than the night before. We headed down the volcano and had a rather uneventful trip back to the original sleeping spot. It was a nice change. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvw9qB11pNks6NTAed3VUrJYeU3pDjOT8-xCeZPgLKI-i8gORfNKTvlOydN_E2WGwC5_CBWbbxMRUuzP0j4505w2UepHFcg9lBlOR4uDII3hlAWXsAjN0XWFzPbjSSJNp5kW17eBg2o9I/s1600/IMG_8510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvw9qB11pNks6NTAed3VUrJYeU3pDjOT8-xCeZPgLKI-i8gORfNKTvlOydN_E2WGwC5_CBWbbxMRUuzP0j4505w2UepHFcg9lBlOR4uDII3hlAWXsAjN0XWFzPbjSSJNp5kW17eBg2o9I/s320/IMG_8510.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31u2NMrdSa3kLiQK-EHEs4NkP3_SI3uqwlK_2qksqYa7RtLm3iEuHuYg7z7aj8EvN8UMymfihS8jNGiBn982EIUZfdkE-9Rhxdq0RIec_BPMCkjCupYiYY4jVRjkFIS9JaWsegm0NA01p/s1600/IMG_8642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31u2NMrdSa3kLiQK-EHEs4NkP3_SI3uqwlK_2qksqYa7RtLm3iEuHuYg7z7aj8EvN8UMymfihS8jNGiBn982EIUZfdkE-9Rhxdq0RIec_BPMCkjCupYiYY4jVRjkFIS9JaWsegm0NA01p/s320/IMG_8642.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our final day in the Danakil included a visit to Dallol, the second lowest spot on the continent. At first it seemed like nothing more than a flooded salt pan. After a few kilometers of driving we started climbing up a pile of oddly textured brown salt rocks. Then, the salt began transforming. It became strange, round coffee tables that looked like sawed off logs. Then the white tables shrank into toadstools. We were bemused by the formations until we turned a corner and were dazzled. The salt formed fountains of neon yellow sulfur. The surreal formations glowed with the sulfur. Mounds spitting boiling water were yellow, pools were lime green, and plains of bumpy salt were brick red. The small lake felt Martian-like.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFBjDT-l5LaexEU3wMhYLJcVVuTPswPJD6Kksjjj6ZxR9Jml_YWOCpHmhrkGjk8-Rs3992VS3E9qOR4jtIVH5KnKkcE6HMxtij5YqGRkFxpKOEcmjV1PkhkGuzxrNUahphzhRkP52uLhh/s1600/IMG_8756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFBjDT-l5LaexEU3wMhYLJcVVuTPswPJD6Kksjjj6ZxR9Jml_YWOCpHmhrkGjk8-Rs3992VS3E9qOR4jtIVH5KnKkcE6HMxtij5YqGRkFxpKOEcmjV1PkhkGuzxrNUahphzhRkP52uLhh/s320/IMG_8756.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">After visiting the lake we went to see the salt caravans. Dozens of camels waited to be loaded with salt bricks. The Afar men chopped large, flat chunks of salt from the salt plain, just as they had for centuries. Salt formed so quickly on the plain that even camel droppings were quickly covered. Using angled chisels the Afar chopped the salt into perfect rectangular bricks. Each camel carried four stacks of six bricks for six days to Mekele. Each brick sold for 25 birr each, or about $1.50. Rumor has it a company is trying to build a conveyor belt to transport the salt and put it into trucks. It would destroy a way of life that predates most modern cultures. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIplbVTYa5S79377Wu7-3LRkjVd5epOVqlFyIGApmxsAT8KkIO6AAA0BxETEs9vDnjFzNj_OynxvI98juzRWX-rtE3V9oNA9LEYwZqDXFY7ElwpGOhQpfGDYS9nEa2djQt_PIiKy_QGbhv/s1600/IMG_8883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIplbVTYa5S79377Wu7-3LRkjVd5epOVqlFyIGApmxsAT8KkIO6AAA0BxETEs9vDnjFzNj_OynxvI98juzRWX-rtE3V9oNA9LEYwZqDXFY7ElwpGOhQpfGDYS9nEa2djQt_PIiKy_QGbhv/s320/IMG_8883.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdPMpOKg3KSviEMuir3MrEaQJRnUMgiI8kaHxOl-T7cWgQgc-IUV5VeXfXxkteLj54llNQBnefqlyA4AV8b729kOUdSDZbAbJNJLsKTEb2m561rYD_5yPpg6um0uNliBVu5Fd9Nx5UKdI/s1600/IMG_8917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdPMpOKg3KSviEMuir3MrEaQJRnUMgiI8kaHxOl-T7cWgQgc-IUV5VeXfXxkteLj54llNQBnefqlyA4AV8b729kOUdSDZbAbJNJLsKTEb2m561rYD_5yPpg6um0uNliBVu5Fd9Nx5UKdI/s320/IMG_8917.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">At long last, our trip to the Danakil Depression was over. Many different versions of “what went wrong” floated about the group, but in the end it was a success. We saw the volcano, we saw the salt flats, and, in the end, we even had a couple extra bottles of water.<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-22393774626787174932011-11-07T11:52:00.000+02:002011-11-07T11:52:28.380+02:00Ethiopia - The Good Stuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">(Long with lots of photos. Enjoy!)<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">The food: it’s cheap and delicious. Plus there are huge portions so we can usually split a meal and both eat for less than $2. The only downside is that Ethiopian food seems to give me horrendous gas so we have to limit our consumption of injera and lentils or chickpeas to one meal a day. Many menus in tourist areas have a pasta or pizza option and tend to be fairly tasty, thanks to a large Italian influence even though they tried to occupy the country several times in the past.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Coffee: Readily available macchiatos for less than 50 cents that don’t upset Anne’s stomach. I often opt for the 60 cent cappuccinos. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">National Pride: it’s huge. <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:country-region> is the only country in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place> that was not colonized and people are very proud of their unique heritage. There were some rough times and really awful battles against Italian occupation attempts, but Ethiopians prevailed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Internal flights: they’re cheap! Ethiopian Airlines has some fantastically cheap internal flights and some really bad roads so we splurged and have saved ourselves days of travel and countless frustrations. Plus, the guy who worked at the airlines office in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Addis Ababa</st1:place></st1:city> and helped us arrange everything is one of the nicest, most helpful, and patient employees of any company that I have ever encountered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lodging: it’s not bad. Although prices have at least doubled since the printing of our 2009 guidebook, we can still usually find a place for less than $15 a night. We have splurged a few nights and spent around $30, which was nice. I have only woken up twice with flea bites and one of those was from the rented sleeping pads from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Our huge splurge was two nights ago where we spent one night in a rustic, beautiful, and very comfortable Italian lodge at $60 per night PLUS $8 each for dinner. It was quite extravagant but our sanity needed it to get rid of some of our traveling frustrations.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Old stuff: there is lots of it. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Temples</st1:place></st1:city> and rock-hewn churches and castles galore from as early as 6th century BC.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some of the information we have learned from our guides is contradictory to what we’ve learned from other guides or our guidebook, and history here is often deeply infused with legend so it’s hard to know what is real versus what is myth. Plus, we’ve often picked up on times when our guides just sort of make-up answers to our questions rather than admitting that they don’t know, so the history below is a mix of information from our guidebook and what we’ve heard from guides and should be taken with a grain of salt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><st1:placename w:st="on">National</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Museum</st1:placetype> in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Addis Ababa</st1:place></st1:city>: We saw Lucy! Okay, we saw a really good replica of Lucy as the original is currently on display in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New York</st1:place></st1:state>. This infamous <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Australopithecus afarensis</i> skeleton was, at the time of discovery in 1974, the oldest and most complete hominid ever found and showed that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A. afarensis</i> was bipedal as far back as 3.2 million years ago. This floor of the museum had a really good display of tooth fragments, skulls, and bones found all over <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region> showing the evolutionary changes leading up to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Homo sapiens</i>. It was even more impressive when I thought about how all of these bones were found RIGHT HERE in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>, many from the Afar region which we will visit later in this trip. In addition to the excellent display on human evolution, the museum boasted a modest but beautiful collection of modern Ethiopian paintings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gonder: Although this former capital city has many different spellings, it is not actually pronounced “Gone-door” like in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord of the Rings</i>, as I had been saying. Emperor Fasiladas established Gonder as his capital in 1636 and built a huge castle and palace for himself. His son and grandson followed him to power and even Empress Mentewab who married into the royal family ruled for 25 years. They all built more additions inside this Royal Enclosure (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) which includes palaces, castles, a sauna, a library, a banquet hall, horse stables, lion cages (seriously, it proved that they even had domination over the king of the jungle), archives, and a kitchen. Some of the buildings were in pretty good shape although many were damaged by Sudanese Dervishes, invading Muslims, in the 19<sup>th</sup> century, and British bombings from early World War II against the Italian occupation. Considering most of these were built in the 15<sup>th</sup> and 16<sup>th</sup> centuries they were in remarkable shape.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvdBYuF5VRtH6zMnRDiw3Gl9oHUcwExQWpJlxwjNf7z2_JlFJH813c3FpCj_WeBvYq1jXS4Dnd5xK4lIThTqXSdf1VGn-cf0L5I0yN105C2BRdC5fHkA2ARnUuVChN0bX6f_pBNIM-yz1/s1600/IMG_7501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvdBYuF5VRtH6zMnRDiw3Gl9oHUcwExQWpJlxwjNf7z2_JlFJH813c3FpCj_WeBvYq1jXS4Dnd5xK4lIThTqXSdf1VGn-cf0L5I0yN105C2BRdC5fHkA2ARnUuVChN0bX6f_pBNIM-yz1/s320/IMG_7501.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Palace at Gondor</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">presence</span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ceiling in different palace -- each king built one to they'd have an everlasting </td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2U4MK1n9KIGGD6pzkIg8qK3PrpR8ivczXXWoEMCFBHHiYhDYgG5MVJUtGV2um5w9tsi4BRsomRDLjhdGl1pijXnrF2bi0yR_vTVhHjzaLgqoxb8H81TK6ASZeNNtKc5wN0upDGJwhZ-2/s1600/IMG_7551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2U4MK1n9KIGGD6pzkIg8qK3PrpR8ivczXXWoEMCFBHHiYhDYgG5MVJUtGV2um5w9tsi4BRsomRDLjhdGl1pijXnrF2bi0yR_vTVhHjzaLgqoxb8H81TK6ASZeNNtKc5wN0upDGJwhZ-2/s320/IMG_7551.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old chapel in Empress' compound</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paintings in the oldest surviving church in Gondor</td></tr>
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<st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype>: When you talk about steep cliffs, towering views, and undulating plateaus it is hard to rival the Grand Canyon, but I have to admit that views from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype></st1:place> did just this. We did a 4-day hike with a scout who spoke very little English, a mule, and a muleteer who spoke virtually no English. The scout was required and he came armed with a rifle although I’m still unsure as to why. He was good at warding off the begging children and two really, really mean dogs. The office recommended a mule and muleteer due to the elevation and since we were renting gear (tent, sleeping pads, and cooking gear) we thought it wise to get the mule as they did not provide quality, lightweight backpacking equipment. The climax of the hike was out to Imet Gogo, a precarious cliff surrounded by absolutely stunning views at 3926m/12881ft. We had no problems with the elevation, likely due to our recent Kili hike and the fact that a mule was carrying most of our gear. It was cold at night but perfect hiking weather during the day. Our visit here followed a few rainy months so it was incredibly green and lush. One thing that struck us both was how covered the landscape was with farm plots. It was astonishing to see crops growing on plateaus at the tops of vertical cliffs in every direction. Despite the annoying kids on the way here, this view was worth every ounce of frustration.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNjNSVFw4TuyDAyjj7vl3Q5sqkSKxq0xRQfnNyL8DWjV7rEUKU2r3GDuo84F80Mqj7hirTdYCzsaH3LpelOgzbQgIwISWF3eL_N8jjwbC5y10u7i_idrnIKK-wVjkg238vNO44SW-gZO8/s1600/IMG_7599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNjNSVFw4TuyDAyjj7vl3Q5sqkSKxq0xRQfnNyL8DWjV7rEUKU2r3GDuo84F80Mqj7hirTdYCzsaH3LpelOgzbQgIwISWF3eL_N8jjwbC5y10u7i_idrnIKK-wVjkg238vNO44SW-gZO8/s320/IMG_7599.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farmland covered everything</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OhvONGhvZXwyYtS9xB6gAwxRp3R2NTaaZO2HRsKwLaseKMfE1RCpp0olIgfnkawdLpWoR_ZnSAuqRSqdNOCe4_1y9f_uQ4XLwLd1zaoUBAeNC-g8JzCZPZe1swhZHysJEOQy5Cocg_5y/s1600/IMG_7625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OhvONGhvZXwyYtS9xB6gAwxRp3R2NTaaZO2HRsKwLaseKMfE1RCpp0olIgfnkawdLpWoR_ZnSAuqRSqdNOCe4_1y9f_uQ4XLwLd1zaoUBAeNC-g8JzCZPZe1swhZHysJEOQy5Cocg_5y/s320/IMG_7625.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This doesn't come close to capturing it</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVlwNMZDAKL4sBsKE88lJjMSWoS49BZsO-czWKtyhgvDDRrjb7sIbkYklatU6pDcvkmCB_uuh3g73tQND2HE7QFoQomFXCBDr7Wu7bsyzW_5bgd5QTmY3uBs6tbDJGxjpR289_frlpPaC/s1600/IMG_7692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVlwNMZDAKL4sBsKE88lJjMSWoS49BZsO-czWKtyhgvDDRrjb7sIbkYklatU6pDcvkmCB_uuh3g73tQND2HE7QFoQomFXCBDr7Wu7bsyzW_5bgd5QTmY3uBs6tbDJGxjpR289_frlpPaC/s320/IMG_7692.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our rock star scout, Tafil</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJUfsGta2kP3u6xA9ZtAr37p8-oSt0gvhhkD-Fdea7wNfHxgmP4ABaAVdeK3kZbQ3z7QBPcoJGbns_cTn5Ud-LzsWnl5tM0T1aOZEMPBFhHIHvMUf-SPUvNmMe4savZGP_6riiym02qLr/s1600/IMG_7695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJUfsGta2kP3u6xA9ZtAr37p8-oSt0gvhhkD-Fdea7wNfHxgmP4ABaAVdeK3kZbQ3z7QBPcoJGbns_cTn5Ud-LzsWnl5tM0T1aOZEMPBFhHIHvMUf-SPUvNmMe4savZGP_6riiym02qLr/s320/IMG_7695.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gich village</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9hiM7zvr8atKyv5DAOwoxannMERt3OOOiNAkByAwGiqG21TvO1WNiEl51D8kWYMTC_63b_GqUegjYG4BcJfjPAmQ-GvKsd67a-0eUDzfZvfsDb9Tt3NARkvlvT6Ido0BpMtBWOLA_y3K/s1600/IMG_7726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9hiM7zvr8atKyv5DAOwoxannMERt3OOOiNAkByAwGiqG21TvO1WNiEl51D8kWYMTC_63b_GqUegjYG4BcJfjPAmQ-GvKsd67a-0eUDzfZvfsDb9Tt3NARkvlvT6Ido0BpMtBWOLA_y3K/s320/IMG_7726.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barely adequate photo from Imet Gogo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgig36nST4-fLnvRYkWXWVdMkgZM9KLswKsCYWeNZaTVBxx6jBOwXRzArmO5jnSFsxFaJcQCffB2PDs-i-KZqyZK0u0wgPB7TWeYB0R49Fc2IrGBxDwS7tlFjMQvFdUHIl-bQRZIt3uuvm9/s1600/IMG_7792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgig36nST4-fLnvRYkWXWVdMkgZM9KLswKsCYWeNZaTVBxx6jBOwXRzArmO5jnSFsxFaJcQCffB2PDs-i-KZqyZK0u0wgPB7TWeYB0R49Fc2IrGBxDwS7tlFjMQvFdUHIl-bQRZIt3uuvm9/s320/IMG_7792.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool plant</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uKZcEePXtbG0hb9ZkZ-g42fTZS_E194ifdA6F_lJwh077krxVLc9NsgY94z5NyXrKosUO58JoYiVll-1ObNfiG7SUX-ru6ktE2IblLwj2RhlSZOBQwgtLfpiqad_JkK0GyBZa5s6cv9U/s1600/IMG_7834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uKZcEePXtbG0hb9ZkZ-g42fTZS_E194ifdA6F_lJwh077krxVLc9NsgY94z5NyXrKosUO58JoYiVll-1ObNfiG7SUX-ru6ktE2IblLwj2RhlSZOBQwgtLfpiqad_JkK0GyBZa5s6cv9U/s320/IMG_7834.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise -- we had to wake early to hike 23 km to get the bus to Gondor that day. We went super slow because Anne was sick. Icky.</td></tr>
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Along the way we also stopped at a local woman’s house to see how traditional coffee is prepared. Using an old <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region> food aid can she washed unroasted coffee beans then roasted them on a flattened metal plate over the fire. She crushed the beans with a heavy mortar and pestle then brewed the coffee. The subtle flavor lacked the bitter aftertaste of coffee that we’re used to and for once didn’t even need sugar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18LnDcfl4z-cYrKJ6bIHzBDTc2I-6bLXiWj-ynAiwyf6CLuVFBs1pAAzNK9sxNJbAhnxMnt4xyh-znZL7y0Wb_bXPGhv6Hv3woEJ5wI3w7UyGL2ndXep4Otl-XNiWCgadPSpgKxt2BtHV/s1600/IMG_7800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18LnDcfl4z-cYrKJ6bIHzBDTc2I-6bLXiWj-ynAiwyf6CLuVFBs1pAAzNK9sxNJbAhnxMnt4xyh-znZL7y0Wb_bXPGhv6Hv3woEJ5wI3w7UyGL2ndXep4Otl-XNiWCgadPSpgKxt2BtHV/s320/IMG_7800.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fatima pounding coffee</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6gFvqXaf-zZEoXqovF6dcFQ8EFTGcoKLEBB1xFvL2fhoTa6SCA4NgoTLQ5anh-NUBdz3mZk9wTUWDLnO-mgUlvvCGshH1KG7UHh-GxfCQ8kUJVz_2fi3IBmVqWbXtkJzB2XjD33FOD0o/s1600/IMG_7805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6gFvqXaf-zZEoXqovF6dcFQ8EFTGcoKLEBB1xFvL2fhoTa6SCA4NgoTLQ5anh-NUBdz3mZk9wTUWDLnO-mgUlvvCGshH1KG7UHh-GxfCQ8kUJVz_2fi3IBmVqWbXtkJzB2XjD33FOD0o/s320/IMG_7805.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fatima's house where she slept on a loft above the livestock</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfF9pnlfxearxsxcz05XA2U4CA17JuI5uird7wQlQGO96lnlfgoubWNKT18AUDOG9kas28yeupCoMXWS4QtYpzUlvnqDtqEZSWg9vb3zsKXrFg5PrvaaigFj7gblEVJ_k2o6N4pZj2Ufj_/s1600/IMG_7818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfF9pnlfxearxsxcz05XA2U4CA17JuI5uird7wQlQGO96lnlfgoubWNKT18AUDOG9kas28yeupCoMXWS4QtYpzUlvnqDtqEZSWg9vb3zsKXrFg5PrvaaigFj7gblEVJ_k2o6N4pZj2Ufj_/s320/IMG_7818.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gelda Baboon, not actually related to other baboons and much friendlier</td></tr>
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<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Aksum</st1:place></st1:city>: The two biggest tourist attractions here are the giant stelae erected over several tombs and the Ark of the Covenant. A stelae is a massive, narrow rock planted upright in the ground. Some are carved, others are just rock, depending on whose grave they represented. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Aksum</st1:place></st1:city> was a very important center for trade beginning around 1 AD and flourished for four or five centuries and was presumably the home of the Queen of Sheba in the 10<sup>th</sup> century BC.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Northern Stelae Field is right on the outskirts of town. I would have found it more impressive if not for the buildings surrounding it and the giant crane holding one of the stelae up. The modern setting really takes away from the aesthetic appeal of the ancient structures. An enormous 10 room mausoleum is beneath a fallen 33-meter-long stelae. Many other tombs were also accessible, built in a similar style with a room in the middle for the coffin and then surrounding rooms to hold numerous treasures. Most of the tombs were robbed well before archeologists entered them. The stelae are up to 33m high (the largest is lying in pieces as mentioned above) and were likely erected to commemorate the burial of someone important, however, due to the grave robbers, it is unknown who was buried in many of the tombs. The stelae are one giant piece of granite taken from a quarry 5 km away likely with a combination of elephant power, giant wheels , and fierce determination. They were quarried, carried, carved, and erected sometime between the 3<sup>rd</sup> and 5<sup>th</sup> centuries AD.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The largest stelae, which fell hundreds of years ago</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPiZNJaDiDpsXBQXvTJon6B1GLigxNof65A0p9Z63U-E0wgNo61j9ke2mzkx-Q4DVjcE6Eb6iJhj3rMYnOyJmeJVWhUYE-HIsahTBzPqCeFHqM7wZ5Mx7t_5g12CrR5c6YbrctyMTeCqh/s1600/IMG_7891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPiZNJaDiDpsXBQXvTJon6B1GLigxNof65A0p9Z63U-E0wgNo61j9ke2mzkx-Q4DVjcE6Eb6iJhj3rMYnOyJmeJVWhUYE-HIsahTBzPqCeFHqM7wZ5Mx7t_5g12CrR5c6YbrctyMTeCqh/s320/IMG_7891.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tomb underneath the Great Stelae</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7_L1KB6PtptBLk8EgKdawRzuAh1x2YQDyHvz0zJMP6soGVuMmNgxPnVVhy9T1BXipJL7rNK0ggGz5LoqjHkADyKT6fGaPzSVpSzN6qHi8KZBQ4viGlmr-3Fxq0VVrjKyP5rkXwD67uDK/s1600/IMG_7915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7_L1KB6PtptBLk8EgKdawRzuAh1x2YQDyHvz0zJMP6soGVuMmNgxPnVVhy9T1BXipJL7rNK0ggGz5LoqjHkADyKT6fGaPzSVpSzN6qHi8KZBQ4viGlmr-3Fxq0VVrjKyP5rkXwD67uDK/s320/IMG_7915.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rome Stelae, broken in three by the Italians to steal it and move it to Rome. They just got it back recently.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k_bFyFNTKhaeWkwg2U1TCLOd_AlD8vKorfl3tzEraE7RiKO57Or-Kb31XiLcTOL5tyCHYnOi7ighkWXrph2B7fnedfentCn5bRaOWNZEq0cCvJ3eUTm1ZX1nNqkxKfj-DNt89TLgrCSn/s1600/IMG_7926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k_bFyFNTKhaeWkwg2U1TCLOd_AlD8vKorfl3tzEraE7RiKO57Or-Kb31XiLcTOL5tyCHYnOi7ighkWXrph2B7fnedfentCn5bRaOWNZEq0cCvJ3eUTm1ZX1nNqkxKfj-DNt89TLgrCSn/s320/IMG_7926.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The One with the Crane</td></tr>
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Ethiopians firmly believe that the Ark of the Covenant is held within a chapel no tourist can get near in the St. Mary of Zion Churches complex. This chapel is guarded by one man who never leaves the building and is in his year of duty. Our guide said he will pick his successor when he starts getting old, but if he dies suddenly a church council will choose the next guardian monk. Legend has it than Menelik I, son of the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, went to visit his father in <st1:city w:st="on">Jerusalem</st1:city> and absconded with the <st1:state w:st="on">Ark</st1:state> back to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It is rumored to have been housed in several places in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Aksum</st1:place></st1:city>, including the Queen of Sheba’s Palace, before finding its current home in a building where only one man every 20+ years sees it. A skeptic could say this is somewhat dubious but Ethiopians firmly believe it and that is what counts. Besides, the <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Indiana</st1:place></st1:state> Jones-like curiously of this ancient relic was enough for me to pay the steep entry fee to see the building.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPMxNeWdh_Sqan9DteMSy9Mj_rIW4z_AsSMtzq-1Llgnbba6ao5yhXoVGJpM5bkKgPdKeKw89kiLGhjThw3iPLpJ-LS9NRjKjcOIFkG6UZlNSM5HXpOUVZnSLiQ547xzDlkcGqdf9MbuL/s1600/IMG_7943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPMxNeWdh_Sqan9DteMSy9Mj_rIW4z_AsSMtzq-1Llgnbba6ao5yhXoVGJpM5bkKgPdKeKw89kiLGhjThw3iPLpJ-LS9NRjKjcOIFkG6UZlNSM5HXpOUVZnSLiQ547xzDlkcGqdf9MbuL/s320/IMG_7943.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chapel housing the Ark</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjyZPLJdtj7aEjZDW_5oBve6nYoKXKST8ly4g8xnDf38_w-AV-mAPMBNZ5d2mtmFMq2XA5NN2gT2UkXKL8xfsna9-FxNOBugs9_XlL_Micc_oL8f3JRNFzCqdCKGpmTzQ__lJam2t0owx/s1600/IMG_7950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjyZPLJdtj7aEjZDW_5oBve6nYoKXKST8ly4g8xnDf38_w-AV-mAPMBNZ5d2mtmFMq2XA5NN2gT2UkXKL8xfsna9-FxNOBugs9_XlL_Micc_oL8f3JRNFzCqdCKGpmTzQ__lJam2t0owx/s320/IMG_7950.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Illustrated prayer book</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">We also saw the ruins of the Queen of Sheba’s Palace, called Dungur. Most archaeologists actually think the ruins are from 10<sup>th</sup> century AD, well after Queen of Sheba’s reign. Most Ethiopians believe otherwise. A recent excavation showed that another building was built before the top layer of ruins and that could have been the Queen’s true palace. Regardless of the exact history, the ground floor of this massive palace was well preserved and interesting to walk through. A platform was erected just outside the palace that affords visitors a bird’s eye view of the area.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqn-CLAYhz8NtCrJcW3BttA6DbDlTu7Wi1uUKL7s5YWw-Y-o5fe3CE073c207WlmVvFK1b89aOixfKxSfQtbgbEnvkc09XXMNSb8AEvARilzcIYDnrKoBA47r5_JXBg-CW3lrckDv55kfw/s1600/IMG_8015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqn-CLAYhz8NtCrJcW3BttA6DbDlTu7Wi1uUKL7s5YWw-Y-o5fe3CE073c207WlmVvFK1b89aOixfKxSfQtbgbEnvkc09XXMNSb8AEvARilzcIYDnrKoBA47r5_JXBg-CW3lrckDv55kfw/s320/IMG_8015.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little stelae field near the Queen's Palace</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The King of Ezana’s Inscription is a Rosetta stone-like giant monolith containing inscriptions in Greek, Ga’ez (an unspoken language that predates Amharic), and Sabaean from around 350 AD. The inscription speaks of King Ezana’s military conquests and contains a curse upon he who dares to move it. Our guide said this tablet was found by three farmers lying on its side and was re-erected exactly in that same spot.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LUDYST3hVAcGojHHPDeWVNnjvC6yK9LHQ7PCnXukR-9x2jje3gUDxGQH14hdxTS1rYIeqNuNbgT9nGbs0mdvKVotSz8rBW-G0wW9jLO2ghIJTAjU8fYxwpeuCyEpww9mSZO8gUpWJ7io/s1600/IMG_7965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LUDYST3hVAcGojHHPDeWVNnjvC6yK9LHQ7PCnXukR-9x2jje3gUDxGQH14hdxTS1rYIeqNuNbgT9nGbs0mdvKVotSz8rBW-G0wW9jLO2ghIJTAjU8fYxwpeuCyEpww9mSZO8gUpWJ7io/s320/IMG_7965.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yeha: This giant sandstone structure is dated between the 5<sup>th</sup> to 8<sup>th</sup> centuries BC making it the oldest I have ever laid my eyes upon. The masonry was absolutely impressive with giant “bricks” laid together so smoothly and without mortar that you still can’t slide anything between them. Our guide said this was likely a temple built for the God of the Moon, the same god worshipped by the ancient kings of <st1:place w:st="on">Axum</st1:place> before the incursion of Christianity. There were archeologists at work here restoring the structure so unfortunately there was some hideous scaffolding all over the inside but was fascinating to see anyway.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3NPFpM3xFmaBVy0wKunr2BDNYOr9tcCnlqJN6Kf74CF6NWcW0zM0iFiyGkPYcM0DSyJhi3NKhdMl3oJhvI8IG7n7iocXrGIGU8b_7TjeXzkL_-0d0xbXu-e5VH8Fde98MTzo0PutEpSp/s1600/IMG_8054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3NPFpM3xFmaBVy0wKunr2BDNYOr9tcCnlqJN6Kf74CF6NWcW0zM0iFiyGkPYcM0DSyJhi3NKhdMl3oJhvI8IG7n7iocXrGIGU8b_7TjeXzkL_-0d0xbXu-e5VH8Fde98MTzo0PutEpSp/s320/IMG_8054.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient Temple of Yeha</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-W5EdcnuDkHnBMwlSrI-rZ_YoLvCytEu0rDPwgGxdTjI09WormbS2wTbvR0MwM3JmdXlsJJ5c8kMi-kE88E5O-kA6JbxuhLmzfytFhwU1eqSZIcOcMSeoy78rEpwXi39JjudBebNMp8Ve/s1600/IMG_8050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-W5EdcnuDkHnBMwlSrI-rZ_YoLvCytEu0rDPwgGxdTjI09WormbS2wTbvR0MwM3JmdXlsJJ5c8kMi-kE88E5O-kA6JbxuhLmzfytFhwU1eqSZIcOcMSeoy78rEpwXi39JjudBebNMp8Ve/s320/IMG_8050.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adwa Mountains</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rock-Hewn Churches of Tigray: (It’s Anne writing now. Before it was Jeanette.) Tigray looks like a dusty area of land covered in grain fields with massive red cliffs sprouting up out of nowhere. The chunks of primarily sandstone mountains provided spectacular views and inspiring places to carve churches. Once again it’s unclear if the 120 churches were carved by saints and kings during the 4<sup>th</sup> century as all of the guides profess or by others between the 9<sup>th</sup> and 15<sup>th</sup> centuries. Either way, they were impressive. The architects carved away enough stone by hand to create free-standing pillars, geometric designs on the ceilings, and cavernous spaces for prayer and congregation. The churches are still used to this day and have portions curtained off to protect the Holy of Holies, a replica of the Ark of the Covenant. Most of the churches are fitted up with small but ornate chandeliers that come straight out of the 1980s and have wires crisscrossing the ceiling along with other curtains. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Many of the church walls had murals of varying ages and conditions depicting Jesus, Mary, a cadre of Ethiopian saints, and other orthodox imagery. My favorite was a picture of the Holy Trinity depicted as three different colored orbs with faces. Typically the Trinity is drawn as three old white men. Our guide said that many of the original murals were destroyed by an evil Jewish queen who tried to burn down all of the churches. Though the physical evidence doesn’t support this belief, as previously mentioned, legend is fact in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Visiting the churches isn’t exactly straight forward. To get to Maryam Korkor and Daniel Korkor churches we climbed up a steep, rocky crevice in the cliff then over sandstone to the churches carved on the top of the mountain. It wasn’t very strenuous. But to get from those churches to Abuna Yemata Guh, the nicest church we saw, we got off the beaten path, if you will. By which I mean we followed our guide down six foot drops into rock crevices to a river bed. In the process of Jeanette and the guide patiently helping me into areas that I simply shouldn’t be going, my arm rubbed against some random plant and – you guessed it – I got a really itchy rash. Needless to say, despite the spectacular views, I was not in a good mood by the time we got to the base of the hike to the actual church, where most tourists start.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Despite this, I hauled myself up the mountain to the point where we had to take off our shoes and climb the sheer rock face barefoot. For any of you who have ever met me or even followed this blog, you know this falls into my category of Really Stupid Things That Only Crazy People Do So Don’t Make Me. So of course the guides, a contingent of scouts who had decided to join our trek, and Jeanette coaxed me up. The cliff had a series of hand and toeholds worn into it, but they still had to tell me exactly where to put each part of my body. Then, we climbed up not quite so sheer cliffs over massive drops and walked across a ledge over nothingness to the church. Actually, I’m over my fear of ledges, so that wasn’t so bad. Luckily, the church was actually worth it. The paintings were bold, simplified figures and the colors still shone magnificently. Our guide commandeered our camera and took about 100 photos. I made it back down the same route, too, in a slight drizzle. Still think it was stupid, though. </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fPivc8Gd_jLn480SsXo37PQehtazON1tYBUH-Ps0DWiu3V0V6yh4r46qmS1XYX7XC-bUYeeHM5a-dPkAvF0DfGwq06CGrbFMY0HueoiNarg6DPr8qleX177jcym9fRt16YWVpkCl3O4y/s1600/IMG_8091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fPivc8Gd_jLn480SsXo37PQehtazON1tYBUH-Ps0DWiu3V0V6yh4r46qmS1XYX7XC-bUYeeHM5a-dPkAvF0DfGwq06CGrbFMY0HueoiNarg6DPr8qleX177jcym9fRt16YWVpkCl3O4y/s320/IMG_8091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Tigray</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2pqSoj2oWi0KIMZ-cC6171I2ojC6mz44UBy9Rf2mAeG3I6D-gomtW0rGFHjcYL-jIZwJRgiAGtA9ji6ZXXsnBWNgTQi5GAWgZTpLrGv4Piv6ycBw3M0c2mRaE24kEClUB3g9OFykNTmH/s1600/IMG_8105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2pqSoj2oWi0KIMZ-cC6171I2ojC6mz44UBy9Rf2mAeG3I6D-gomtW0rGFHjcYL-jIZwJRgiAGtA9ji6ZXXsnBWNgTQi5GAWgZTpLrGv4Piv6ycBw3M0c2mRaE24kEClUB3g9OFykNTmH/s320/IMG_8105.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock-hewn pillars</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy apostle in hard to get to church</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrsZtAkjOTUBueamud5w0CGjgSgKlOfGhnWnMJy4wzyF5lYs19pJIDLVnOwMdxmbZSgtqfM3_a2hXDP8q5LdXTK7mef5ic4txfHSkSZdinUaviF3UmV4RoCrMMn3htOrY6CgT_MIGOd4e/s1600/IMG_8184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhrsZtAkjOTUBueamud5w0CGjgSgKlOfGhnWnMJy4wzyF5lYs19pJIDLVnOwMdxmbZSgtqfM3_a2hXDP8q5LdXTK7mef5ic4txfHSkSZdinUaviF3UmV4RoCrMMn3htOrY6CgT_MIGOd4e/s320/IMG_8184.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of sort of happy apostles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkKltQk7T9qWZ27UCCxec2qAiWgObnFJLXVkionvnq7D-XbCWF03jcNcU84K2ZRfBRFkxyr3Xs01pOxwgmud0UZXAbytlKEI8i8vb9ulCF3fuvAUh0a4dqH6WIGMc9t6O18igM34CxvZ4/s1600/IMG_8204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkKltQk7T9qWZ27UCCxec2qAiWgObnFJLXVkionvnq7D-XbCWF03jcNcU84K2ZRfBRFkxyr3Xs01pOxwgmud0UZXAbytlKEI8i8vb9ulCF3fuvAUh0a4dqH6WIGMc9t6O18igM34CxvZ4/s320/IMG_8204.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not-so-scary ledge</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieK0CUy94rZTxi7Xsf14Ep4SQqjXXcgLbxXUM_jm1aNTOQgObiSGanZx8V4ddmkD0zo3CarPBUPeZemGHIpMiEkLV8E4iGdSOS5L_A1UZEdYryncSGFaY9VfDeTTnPt2uhGKR9BmBtOXO/s1600/IMG_8207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieK0CUy94rZTxi7Xsf14Ep4SQqjXXcgLbxXUM_jm1aNTOQgObiSGanZx8V4ddmkD0zo3CarPBUPeZemGHIpMiEkLV8E4iGdSOS5L_A1UZEdYryncSGFaY9VfDeTTnPt2uhGKR9BmBtOXO/s320/IMG_8207.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you see why climbing that was so stupid? I mean seriously, who came up with that idea?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLawuWZ5iGZ08CeNgFs5XM9fXYm9n022LyLfqiggef_JL-V_O_AtykBXszvEF3fyEihJgBGi9Q0BOhtb2GeDxEVGHzuBie7IhCiPAPI0WkkHU4CpiLtgV6Ekoqt8qZo4KdOWsqz-tF6X9N/s1600/IMG_8259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLawuWZ5iGZ08CeNgFs5XM9fXYm9n022LyLfqiggef_JL-V_O_AtykBXszvEF3fyEihJgBGi9Q0BOhtb2GeDxEVGHzuBie7IhCiPAPI0WkkHU4CpiLtgV6Ekoqt8qZo4KdOWsqz-tF6X9N/s320/IMG_8259.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geometric designs carved into ceiling</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsxKFp9qgXlyF0FegQiLL68C6KGwBO_hvTCCMINVQsWSlXulR53vQBI1gB_i3uahUUweyEfuxuCp3E7Jy3Yd0th9AB6qkXAGdBVYgw5Z0CSQPGjztf-VGEO-vQwv7yPqjvsQckw5NtQ2b/s1600/IMG_8262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsxKFp9qgXlyF0FegQiLL68C6KGwBO_hvTCCMINVQsWSlXulR53vQBI1gB_i3uahUUweyEfuxuCp3E7Jy3Yd0th9AB6qkXAGdBVYgw5Z0CSQPGjztf-VGEO-vQwv7yPqjvsQckw5NtQ2b/s320/IMG_8262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paintings covered most surfaces of churches</td></tr>
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</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-42020435028829594162011-11-06T10:47:00.000+02:002011-11-07T10:53:08.592+02:00Ethiopia -- You've got to be kidding me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Warning: <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region> has turned out to be much more difficult to travel in as a white person than expected and this blog entry contains a therapeutic release of some of the accumulated bitterness resulting from said difficulties.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Did you know that white people are actually vending machines? Yeah, it’s this magical transformation that happens as soon as you enter <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Suddenly, every child and even some older teens greet you with “Hello, money. Hello, pen. Hello, plastic (bottle).” The begging is constant, and it’s not like you can just say no. They just keep repeating themselves and following you everywhere. Sometimes I think the kids actually think “hello pen” is how you say “hello”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re mobbed by kids who want something from you. Of course, Jeanette and I are broken vending machines. We refuse to dispense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This does not deter the kids from surrounding us and repeating themselves, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we walk anywhere in smaller towns, including our hike in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype></st1:place>, there is a chorus of “hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello,..”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some kids will shout this one word indefinitely from across a valley so eventually you say hello back or wave and then you are returned with another 5 minute chorus of “hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello,…”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is much better than the begging though.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When hiking in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype></st1:place> we encountered kids who were selling little baskets, woven hats, and long ropes that work as slingshots. We debated whether or not buying them would be helpful or just encourage them not to go to school. We were still on the fence about the issue when we walked to a beautiful view point where a group of kids were peddling their trinkets. After saying no and taking a few photos of the mountains the kids shouted “Picture! Picture!” Unsuspectingly I assumed they were like the kids in every other country we’ve been through so far and just wanted to see themselves in the little screen. I shot the photos then showed them. Immediately one of the boys pointed to himself and then the others saying “One. One. One.” I thought he meant they each wanted individual photos, to which I said no, but he quickly clarified saying they wanted one birr each for being in a photo. In a photo I didn’t want. Luckily, the word “delete” is the same in English and Amharic and the scout who was required to accompany us knew that we got rid of the unwanted photos and told the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the kids started throwing rocks at him. Seriously. Later on in the walk, kids started throwing rocks at us, too, with the slingshots we declined to buy. It sucked.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Typically Jeanette is the jaded one out of us and I try to find the positive, so here’s my futile attempt. At least interacting with all of the really, really, REALLY annoying children was like a hammer whacking into each of our biological clocks. Neither of us wants kids and boy did this help make sure that as we each approach the magical age of 35 when every woman starts hankering for a baby, neither of us will. Also, we don’t have the added weight of their small baskets in our packs. (That said, we love all of our family and friends’ children and love watching them grow up.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure if it’s just because we’ve been traveling for so long and our tolerance levels are low or because I’m running a low-grade fever or what, but I’ve never thought I could be so annoyed at an entire population. Because it’s not as if it’s only the kids who want something from us, it’s the adults, too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before heading to the <st1:placename w:st="on">Simen</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountains</st1:placetype> we spent a few days in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Addis Ababa</st1:place></st1:city>, the capital city. On the second day we were walking around looking for the telecommunications office to buy a SIM card for our phone and got horribly lost. We asked a man on the street who greeted us in English. He said it was close by and he would show us. “How nice!” I thought. As I got the SIM card, he chatted with Jeanette. Then he followed us to the airline office where we were sorting out our low-cost internal flights. Jeanette kept saying things like, “We can do all of this on our own, if you have to go somewhere, feel free.” He kept saying, no, no, as if he enjoyed hanging out with us. He showed us to the museum, at which point Jeanette said, very politely, go away. She even offered him 20 birr to help him buy a new phone. He scoffed at her saying that as our guide he was owed much more. Our what??? We never asked him to be our guide; we just wanted directions and thought he just wanted to hang out. We were completely scammed and spent 10 minutes explaining to him that we shouldn’t have to pay for a service we did not ask for or even want and that if he was going to finish his tourism degree and work with Western cultures as he wanted to and claimed to be good at, that he needs to understand Western cultures operate in a very straightforward and upfront manner - no sidling up to people, following them around, and then demanding money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I won’t even get into it about visiting the rock-hewn churches of Tigray. Suffice it to say, everybody and their brother wanted a piece of the pie. We were transformed from vending machines to walking ATMs. We even had to a pay a guy who followed us up the cliff to watch our shoes outside of a church on the top of an isolated mountain so the crazy monks didn’t steal them, or so we were told. Our guide/driver even got angry with us for not buying old church icons for $50 each to support a church’s restoration. How could we not want them? Not only are we white tourists, who always buy these things, but also, the priest at the church showed us a book and said we were good people and predicted we would soon have children. (If only he knew, right? Was he predicting another immaculate conception?) How could we not buy them? Oy vey.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Suffice it to say that while slightly being taken advantage of and seen as a target in the rest of <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place> was a bit tiresome, this blows my mind. I really, really wanted to like <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region> and while it has incredible landscapes and history, I’m so over this. The begging is intense in a way I’ve never experienced before even though the people honestly seem to have more money than in many other places we’ve been. The land is producing plenty of grain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Families have numerous cattle and countless sheep and goats. My old village in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region> was home to maybe ten cows, total. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our tour guide for Tigray says that the country was destroyed by tourists who just hand out things to children. He has a point, but at the same time, parents have the responsibility of teaching children that mobbing white people and begging isn’t a great way to make a living. But it’s a hard thing to teach when you yourself see white people as a walking ATM as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are doing our best to right the wrongs of other travelers by not handing out anything, but I doubt we've made any impression on the kids.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sorry to sound so bitter. Not all of the people here are horrible; some are truly friendly. But for the most part, neither of us is sure we could actually recommend coming here except on a highly organized tour wherein you never have to interact with money and thus only have to deal with begging kids and not being fleeced for everything else. The following post will highlight what we’ve been doing since getting to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. It’s an interesting place, but it sure is exhausting. I can’t wait to get back to east <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>! (Also, since writing this we’ve landed in Mekele, the first town we’ve been to where pretty much everyone ignores us. It’s FABULOUS.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is Jeanette here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take back everything bad I said about the touts and annoyances in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nothing compared to this, nothing at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This</i> is exhausting and frustrating and wearing me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am completely on the defensive now, not like I thought I was in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s awful to not take people at face value but we just can’t or we’ll be taken for every last dime we have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few other travelers have said that it’s much worse in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> so I don’t know how I’m going to survive that some day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it will help going right at the begging of a trip rather than several months in when you’re already somewhat worn down.</div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-17065831381889144212011-10-28T10:46:00.000+02:002011-11-07T10:47:48.021+02:00Eastern and Southern Africa Generalities<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Note: These are some of Jeanette’s observations from her first time traveling around the continent. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One thing about Africa that I’ve noticed, and this is true everywhere we’ve been except maybe parts of Namibia, is just the sheer number of people always milling about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In daylight hours the streets and sidewalks are packed with people, some selling their wares, some walking, and many just kind of standing around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking down a sidewalk is a bit like an obstacle course – you have to dodge people, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, giant holes, fruit stalls, blankets laid out with sunglasses, wallets, used clothing, shoes, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This continent is packed with people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even when we are on buses in what seems like the middle of nowhere, there is always a village tucked in somewhere and people are walking, biking, or herding their livestock up and down the streets everywhere.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everyone and their grandmother now have cell phones in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arrival in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Johannesburg</st1:place></st1:city> we bought the cheapest one we could and it will never be stolen because everyone has a nicer one than we do, even some of Anne’s friends in the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been incredibly convenient having a cell phone and service has been better than you’d expect in most places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no real cell phone etiquette though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People will talk really loudly on their phones at restaurants, on buses, working at kiosks, anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worst is when you have paid for a guide and they spend more time texting or making calls than sharing information with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s become quite a joke with us when we have to wait for our guide to catch up with us because they were on the phone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Skeleton keys are used virtually everywhere we’ve been on this continent except <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have to say I don’t love them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With more keys than not there is a quirk to opening the door and I’ve spent many a minute standing outside one of our doors completely perplexed as to how to make the key work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime we take turns trying until one of us figures out the trick, sometimes there is no trick and it just doesn’t work properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is significantly less frustrating when the room is en suite.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The majority of people we’ve encountered wear used clothing and it has been relatively easy to find; the easiest being <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes you will look through a pile of clothes and see a tag still on them from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Value</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Village</st1:placetype></st1:place> or Salvation Army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how the process works exactly, but somehow used clothing is bought in bulk and then sold on the streets for fairly cheap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always derive great amusement from looking at all the random t-shirts people wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s fun to recognize a sport’s team or city I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My absolute favorite was seeing a 50-something year old man pushing a cart wearing a New Kids on the Block t-shirt that I think I owned 20 years ago.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One thing I have been thoroughly impressed with is how harmonious people of varying religions here live together side by side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In eastern Africa Islam and Christianity are the most common religions and there seems to be no judgment of the other religion from either side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Considering a lot of the anti-Muslim sentiments in the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">U.S.</st1:place></st1:country-region> following 9-11 I find it really refreshing how religion is not a divisive issue here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only exception was some murmurings of a small group that wants to institute <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sharia</i>, or Islamic law, in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dar es Salaam</st1:place></st1:city>. Most disagree, but we didn’t see much evidence of conflict over the issue. Many people, especially in the villages, also mix Christianity or Islam with a modicum of witchcraft involving things such as curses and genies in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Kenya</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region w:st="on">Tanzania</st1:country-region> or warding off the evil eye in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. City streets all over <st1:place w:st="on">East Africa</st1:place> are dotted with posters offering services of local witch doctors that can mix you up a love potion or create something to help you succeed in business. Unlike in the western world, for most people these beliefs aren’t seen as being in conflict with major religions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also been really interesting learning about the spread of Islam from Arab traders on the coast or Christianity from colonial occupation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We get asked all the time where we are from and as soon as we say the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region> I have been surprised by how many people eagerly reply “Obama” or “Obamaland”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seems beloved by this entire continent, and it’s been so nice to have a positive reception as an American as opposed to the rare encounter where we are asked why <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> is systematically trying to attack and destroy all Muslim nations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Tanzania, Malawi, and Kenya there is Obama paraphernalia everywhere – t-shirts, backpacks, shoulder bags, khangas, belts and belt buckles, chewing gum, flashlights, key chains, bottle openers, and even underwear (move over Calvin Kline!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to admit, it’s pretty awesome to see it everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met a traveler recently who said there is a town in western <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kenya</st1:place></st1:country-region> we will pass through where we can meet Obama’s grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m considering it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One thing about <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place> that tends to drive me crazy is how slow everyone walks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a certain kind of slow saunter that most people adopt, and it adds to the obstacle course of sidewalks because there is little fluidity to the pedestrian traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a silly little pet peeve of mine that I need to get over but also a factor in me knowing that I could never live here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking slowly is a just a way of life here and I have to accept that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We made some fairly major changes to our original game plan since the beginning of the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flights to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madagascar</st1:place></st1:country-region> were more expensive than we anticipated so a couple of months ago we decided not to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could have made it work, but it would have meant scrimping on every penny and ultimately we decided to make sure we were able to see what we wanted to see in the places we went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, you can get to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Madagascar</st1:country-region> from Hong Kong or <st1:city w:st="on">Paris</st1:city> for the same price that it was from <st1:city w:st="on">Nairobi</st1:city> so we have it penciled into our itinerary for when we travel through <st1:place w:st="on">Southeast Asia</st1:place> next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also decided against going to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region> due to the political protests going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our original timing would have put us there in late November after <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:country-region> and we would have had to fly between the two as <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sudan</st1:place></st1:country-region> is kind of off limits for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the elections in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Egypt</st1:place></st1:country-region> were moved to late November we didn’t want to buy tickets now and then have problems going there if trouble erupted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, after a month in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:country-region> we fly back to <st1:city w:st="on">Nairobi</st1:city> then head to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Uganda</st1:place></st1:country-region> where we will meets Anne’s mom for our last two weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We already bought tickets back to the States for December 14 in time for the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fly from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Uganda</st1:country-region> via, ironically, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cairo</st1:place></st1:city> where the layover is too short to take a quick peek at the pyramids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next time.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-7442221086678981022011-10-25T15:55:00.000+02:002011-10-25T15:55:21.407+02:00Kenya Coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It finally happened. How could it not? Yes, I finally got sick. Usually it’s Jeanette who is suffering from a range of maladies. I seemed to be born to live in squalor. My mother did always teach me that a few germs and a bit of dirt make you stronger, and she seems to be right. But my body finally gave way on the coast of Kenya when traveling with my brother Stuart. I’ll spare you the disgusting details; just assume that certain things are not supposed to come out of certain orifices, ever. Of course, that said, Jeanette was sick, too, and yet again missed an opportunity to go diving. Maybe she’s really not meant to? I mean, it’s just not natural… But I digress.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Due to our unexpected illnesses we spent a day just hanging out in Malindi, a not very exciting Italian resort town on the coast of Kenya. The beach was wonderful, but the town was this weird amalgamation of the typical slightly dirty, slightly chaotic east African town with a rich European resort. My brother noted that it was not nearly as weird as Watamu, a similar town a bit further south. Neither of these towns were destinations unto themselves. They were just stopovers between exciting locations like the Gede Ruins and the Marafa Depression. So here’s a quick summary of the coast of Kenya:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mombasa: The birthplace of Swahili offers really, really good street food. On the top of the list was fruit. For 30 cents you get a large glass of blended avocado, mixed chopped fruit, and mango-passion juice. It’s amazing. It’s possibly the best street food ever offered. Add to that the super sweet, gooey halwa, and the fried pizza-pocket-like things and one couldn’t ask for more. The town also boasts Fort Jesus, a large coral fort built by the Portuguese to protect the island once they stole it from the local Swahili people back in the 17<sup>th</sup> century. Then the Omanis took it from them. Go figure. Cool fort, though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK74k1j3ROOphV6ZNdjXj4irGvGf2iO7rEh5KN5vgFr1eB6s1yB_vCUP98SoUfWFbUbKnsaeITuZpG1CBpmaCnnoSPKmEV-_KzP5GuQ8xgZ7LMx5EG-jWpUKNIazhn811PLUgwY-FuAML/s1600/IMG_7337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK74k1j3ROOphV6ZNdjXj4irGvGf2iO7rEh5KN5vgFr1eB6s1yB_vCUP98SoUfWFbUbKnsaeITuZpG1CBpmaCnnoSPKmEV-_KzP5GuQ8xgZ7LMx5EG-jWpUKNIazhn811PLUgwY-FuAML/s320/IMG_7337.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5F3LnR9Z6IlcVbJEha5GWNRN52JGsD0JwZk69KCXE2j52GaZFeDkpCEOSctz7PkdQE5t2rFVzNgIcLeAI5NKsBuvrZwRBuzxMG4NBGPds02zlDFfdwRH92_TcYk2SWhIk3BPM5Eymt6s/s1600/IMG_7339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5F3LnR9Z6IlcVbJEha5GWNRN52JGsD0JwZk69KCXE2j52GaZFeDkpCEOSctz7PkdQE5t2rFVzNgIcLeAI5NKsBuvrZwRBuzxMG4NBGPds02zlDFfdwRH92_TcYk2SWhIk3BPM5Eymt6s/s320/IMG_7339.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCbEMDzueveUw3xMd9oFsAhbc05yO6KUPQsPVUqIBvIcubfIv64oYQNSIAjsiiWOLQ-p5UzUcUouXVxEEnnilQ_bbU_pNO0MU84XgrfYO_n9La_7qNUHczWsarlhbiUBrPN6zT6ozF2X4/s1600/IMG_7344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCbEMDzueveUw3xMd9oFsAhbc05yO6KUPQsPVUqIBvIcubfIv64oYQNSIAjsiiWOLQ-p5UzUcUouXVxEEnnilQ_bbU_pNO0MU84XgrfYO_n9La_7qNUHczWsarlhbiUBrPN6zT6ozF2X4/s320/IMG_7344.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5tf1m3104AJx_5EFjNMlNIOo5NYc-UPAt6MJxapzlp7wEeoGIvBfjaqIu14_oUxPdy-tUc-g4JrfzZcUmQf7UU-6isc2_t6bOG_t79p6ENMG0g0nTQqt7tXsP_W-m1N5w0WD-I8oar56/s1600/IMG_7350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5tf1m3104AJx_5EFjNMlNIOo5NYc-UPAt6MJxapzlp7wEeoGIvBfjaqIu14_oUxPdy-tUc-g4JrfzZcUmQf7UU-6isc2_t6bOG_t79p6ENMG0g0nTQqt7tXsP_W-m1N5w0WD-I8oar56/s320/IMG_7350.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zanzibar-style door</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kilifi: We went to the tiny town of Kilifi with the hopes of visiting a Kaya, or a sacred forest. In the end, that ended up being too complicated. Instead, we popped into the Mnarani ruins and snake park. The ruins focused mostly on two 14<sup>th</sup> century Swahili mosques, but the guide didn’t seem to care much about them. Though he told us their history, he also emphatically told us how a group of Americans tried to pick a fight with a group of Arabs who still use the site for prayers sometimes. He followed his obligations and pointed out the tunnel through which slaves used to be transported to the port on the creek, then he showed us his true baby: the snakes. Apparently his family members are snake people. All of his siblings work with snakes, and two died from snake bites. He says his mother is upset whenever he visits because she assumes he’s bringing deadly snakes in his bag. The nerve! He let us hold small pythons and other snakes that he rescued from homes around the area. We weren’t allowed to play with the black mamba though…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXLBbkehtOO3wnq4gXrlcaWHL_U-_KtJFiGpsaZepc7PaQYHNRMhnYGkOS8vSueeZU2k3tI7fWSNzvYtAAhKOABW0tJ_5RJZ7JQ7vPasjCPLXzlhw-yryrfMibDBauQs2dfIq6WPLUZyP/s1600/IMG_7356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXLBbkehtOO3wnq4gXrlcaWHL_U-_KtJFiGpsaZepc7PaQYHNRMhnYGkOS8vSueeZU2k3tI7fWSNzvYtAAhKOABW0tJ_5RJZ7JQ7vPasjCPLXzlhw-yryrfMibDBauQs2dfIq6WPLUZyP/s320/IMG_7356.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7fyhinDG-Ol0sV4g-YSfgGqmebRhngVjb2e_D51IibmB4C3D3FHUqjQQoMLmE-uuT-VUX9QDxdA7Ro3H7-4DpHkh1HcE6t2CZTBZB8vH3nA42g_BdZQC8Iqutta2_uNjXdulGOtRVbSa/s1600/IMG_7364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7fyhinDG-Ol0sV4g-YSfgGqmebRhngVjb2e_D51IibmB4C3D3FHUqjQQoMLmE-uuT-VUX9QDxdA7Ro3H7-4DpHkh1HcE6t2CZTBZB8vH3nA42g_BdZQC8Iqutta2_uNjXdulGOtRVbSa/s320/IMG_7364.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsBqUSGH5FAJ-fKRUOLB3JERFCecVwjSzYRlcPU35b8mGCcQOX9oI411SPYgOxZGPcPpY3PS88D05gGS9GOa6FEtQDR356s7-rAzrx8azkK7pHJy8nusHjN2u2xMoV4Q9O9BIczVoWYLY/s1600/IMG_7377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsBqUSGH5FAJ-fKRUOLB3JERFCecVwjSzYRlcPU35b8mGCcQOX9oI411SPYgOxZGPcPpY3PS88D05gGS9GOa6FEtQDR356s7-rAzrx8azkK7pHJy8nusHjN2u2xMoV4Q9O9BIczVoWYLY/s320/IMG_7377.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1O3Sqwo0diPjItrzADptqo8aVVOkpbRhpZOtrN2vX0xNoCRHbEFDr2VOSnwF5VL8CsGURqyViBz2sBppXGm5d1_Fdh00fZzym2m7Gl8kZLCqBWRiISZYX_iEA2m5AmhcD9cPoUemmeRw/s1600/IMG_7383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1O3Sqwo0diPjItrzADptqo8aVVOkpbRhpZOtrN2vX0xNoCRHbEFDr2VOSnwF5VL8CsGURqyViBz2sBppXGm5d1_Fdh00fZzym2m7Gl8kZLCqBWRiISZYX_iEA2m5AmhcD9cPoUemmeRw/s320/IMG_7383.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our guide with his true love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy8HtepAaOUn1DbDrXsNmW5AYuHa8jvotekA6DMsuz3crbYUJmgF59sT5CfuW-hS-yedlfxsYXKzLulcUmeBGJJ0gMwW_TJhkqjpNgt7XiRlARB-M8R1la1UVp9LTV3O9YZzMIZSnZlot/s1600/IMG_7386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy8HtepAaOUn1DbDrXsNmW5AYuHa8jvotekA6DMsuz3crbYUJmgF59sT5CfuW-hS-yedlfxsYXKzLulcUmeBGJJ0gMwW_TJhkqjpNgt7XiRlARB-M8R1la1UVp9LTV3O9YZzMIZSnZlot/s320/IMG_7386.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gede Ruins: Stuart brought the rains to the coast. Apparently he brings the rains everywhere. It poured the day we toured the ancient city of Gede. It’s unclear who built the ancient city that thrived in the area from the 13th to the 18<sup>th</sup> century. It’s not mentioned in any historical documents of the time. The remaining walled city contains a number of mosques and a beautiful palace with well-preserved arches and latrines. The houses of the rich people packed the area in the inner wall and left only narrow alleys between them, similar to the living Swahili cities of Lamu and Zanzibar. In some of the houses were bits of Chinese pottery, oil lamps, scissors, and other pieces that helped archaeologists determine some of the cities trading partners. They think the town died because the sea moved further away and hindered trading and the water table lowered reducing access to fresh water. I personally think they left because giant biting ants took over the area. When the downpour lessened we tried walking through the forest around the ruins but were chased off by the ants that literally crawled up our pants, biting the entire way.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue monkey</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Marafa Depression, or Hell’s Kitchen: Many, many years ago a rich village developed near the coast of Kenya. The people had so much money and so many cows that they bathed in milk and refused to share with those in need. As punishment, the gods destroyed their town and left a gapping red and white pit in its place. Alternatively, millions of years ago a complicated erosion process of wind and water wore the sandstone down to create what it is today. I might have to go with the second explanation. We had proof of it because as we walked through the unearthly, striped landscape, it started to pour. Rivers of red silt covered our feet, and the mud squished beneath us to reveal thin layers of red, pink, orange and white. To get out of the canyon, our guide had to lead each of us over a very slippery ridge to the top. I did part of the trek on my butt, because let’s face it, I’m a pansy. Also I like mud. It was one of the best days of the trip, despite being the beginning of the aforementioned illness.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the depression we spent the laidback day in Malindi before heading to Lamu. As we waited for the bus the next morning, Jeanette finally got to learn firsthand why I carry Benadryl antihistamines, steroids, and EpiPens whenever I travel. I decided to buy a newspaper to read more about the Kenyan invasion of Somalia. A terrorist group from Somalia has been raiding Kenya and abducting foreigners, two from Lamu and most recently two aid workers. They used this as an excuse to enter Somalia, something many suspect the government has been planning for a while. I sat in the small wooden booth used by the bus line as an office. My eyes started itching shortly before the bus arrived and within minutes my eyelids were swelling shut. This could have been caused by multiple things:</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ink from the newspaper – I had never read the Sunday Nation before…</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something in the air in the little office or on the old car seat that served as the bench</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Witchcraft</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I know that some of you doubt the last possible cause, but I would say you never know. One of the stories in the paper was about a person who was hit by a car and as he was taken to the hospital, some schmuck stole his phone. He posted a sign saying that if it wasn’t returned by Sunday, that person would be cursed. Since another community member was recently cursed and started eating grass, the phone was quickly returned. It all goes to show that what you believe is just as much reality as anything else. It’s not much different than people believing that Jesus can heal illnesses or that picking up hitchhikers in one place will increase your karma and help you get a lift later on. (Let me tell you, hitching karma is definitely real.) So maybe I was cursed, but the Benadryl quickly knocked down the swelling and completely knocked me out. I think I enjoyed the dusty, bumpy five hour bus ride much more than Jeanette and Stuart. Finally, we arrived in Lamu, Kenya’s version of Zanzibar.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Due to the somewhat recent abductions, Lamu was a tourist ghost town. It was a fun game to count the white folks. We had our ocean view, super budget but with great roof top terrace hotel completely to ourselves. Firstly, Lamu is hot. Hot like sweat dripping from your knee caps hot. It’s another super laidback town with narrow, maze-like alleys between tall buildings with carved wooden doors. Due to the lack of tourists everybody and their brother was seeking us out to offer dhow rides or other excursions. Unlike Zanzibar, though, they took the refusal quite well. We were content to wander the streets and explore the town on our own. Between random walks, chitchatting with kids who thought it was funny I actually spoke Swahili, and excessively long but tasty meals, we didn’t have time for silly boat trips. We spent most of a morning in the best museum in Kenya which highlighted Swahili culture and was chockfull of interesting bits from old houses, jewelry, and Muslim ceremonies.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our most touristy excursion was to the long white sand beach about 30 minutes away. Though we managed to not get abducted by Somali pirates while on the isolated stretch, we did get had. As we headed toward the road to Shela beach a very convincing, thin, toothless man fervently informed us that we couldn’t walk to the beach because it was high tide. He insisted that we would walk into water up to our neck. We believed him and hopped into the boat for two dollars each. The infuriating man lied through his teeth. Walking there would have been a piece of cake. When we arrived we told him how angry we were that he lied. I mean, yes, he was trying to make a buck in slow times, but bold face lies just aren’t ethically okay in my book at any time. Once again, we were walking money bags. I wish I knew how to curse him… We gave him half the amount and proceeded to the beach. Swimming and walking on the sand was wonderful, and I burned my shoulders to a crisp, despite many applications of 70+ sweat-proof sunscreen. We walked back to Lamu with no troubles whatsoever. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which leads me to a point we promised we would share: Lamu is safe. Go there. It’s nice and relaxing. Then fly back to Nairobi because it’s much shorter and prettier and your traveling companions will like it more as will you.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our rooftop terrace.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cache for sacred items in typical Swahili house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donkey - the only form of transportation on the island.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EZTA3qX_0XTIhaOEeTTvzfFFHN9RVoRiNindzQs_nBPgrm9chijcOSpG5DxEHlOLTcix_MiGzZQ7JhZeexwRgBpVReho_T1s2T8f89-WroWQBJcvlkYrGmxMxEzpJgbP5DSIjWJRiW24/s1600/IMG_4867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EZTA3qX_0XTIhaOEeTTvzfFFHN9RVoRiNindzQs_nBPgrm9chijcOSpG5DxEHlOLTcix_MiGzZQ7JhZeexwRgBpVReho_T1s2T8f89-WroWQBJcvlkYrGmxMxEzpJgbP5DSIjWJRiW24/s320/IMG_4867.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City view on our way out of town.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the coast Stuart returned to New York, and we are now safely in Ethiopia where we splurged on multiple in-country flights and are excited about the journeys ahead. Seven months down, almost two to go! </span></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-61589872658353174222011-10-25T10:43:00.000+02:002011-11-07T10:45:57.072+02:00Reflections on Tanzania and East Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">We ended up spending over a month and a half in Anne’s beloved Tanzania, a country I have been hearing stories about for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traveling here was made significantly easier for me having Anne as a personal translator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has been dubbed the ‘communications director’ for this trip (not just in TZ but everywhere) largely because she speaks so much more clearly than my mumbling, non-annunciating, fast talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course this role was much more pronounced in Tanzania, and it was fun for me to watch people’s reactions to this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mzungu</i> speaking Swahili.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few people were largely indifferent to hearing her but most were noticeably excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a long-ish series of greetings in Swahili and as these would escalate you could see people getting more and more excited that Anne knew the proper response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we would walk past a person older than us and Anne would properly greet them with “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shikamoo</i>” it really was fun to watch pure delight overtake some faces as they greeted Anne back. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although knowing the language was a huge help for us, sometimes it was more of a burden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many Tanzanians rely heavily on tourism as a source of income, and there are touts everywhere (the more numerous and annoying culprits were in Zanzibar and Moshi).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed at times like every other guy on the street would either approach us or greet us (“Jambo”) and Anne would naturally reply in Swahili which made them follow her with more fervor than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was easier for me to ignore them since it’s all Greek to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The touts and children were especially persistent in wanting our attention even when it was obvious we were ignoring them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One “Jambo” ignored would turn into “Jambo, Jambo, Jambo, Jambo,” “hello, how are you?,” or my least favorite a noise like “hsst, hsst” and men would follow us for entire city blocks trying to get us to buy their wares or book a tour through them or go look in their souvenir shop (“looking is free” – if I hear that one more time I think my head might explode).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I thought traveling as a white person here would get me some looks but not a lot more, instead as Anne wrote in a previous entry, many people see us as nothing more than a walking bag of money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am definitely exhausted from being constantly approached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me feel like I’m always on guard and often unnecessarily so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people are super friendly and helpful; it’s just the bad ones that always try to nickel and dime you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aside from the constant stream of beggars, people are always trying to squeeze some money out of us (our hotel staff asking for Tsh 500 because she brought us up our laundry, someone insisting on being our tour guide even though we either know exactly where we are going or don’t want a guide).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m tired of being on the defensive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The touts are the worst but also many random men will greet or approach us I assume just because we are white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s impossible to just walk down a street here and be anonymous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a tout or random stranger is chatting us up they always want to shake our hands and while I don’t want to be rude, picking your nose is socially acceptable in this country so I just don’t want to touch people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really, really miss my personal space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until this trip I have never really been conscious of how Western cultures, while being friendly and polite, also really respect one another’s personal space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While every country has its distinct differences, there is a similar feel to Malawi, northern Mozambique, and Tanzania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may largely have to do with how developed these countries are (or seemed to me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were rarely any supermarkets or large stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are kiosks everywhere selling things, and there will be 15 kiosks in a row all selling the exact same things – rice, water, fake butter, toiletries, some candy, sodas, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mixed in with these will be kiosks selling kangas or other fabrics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside of South Africa, Namibia, and large cities, women all over the continent wear kangas, basically a thin colorful fabric with varying designs and a quote in Swahili at the bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They come in a set of two so one can be wrapped around your waist as a skirt and the other around your shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have infinite uses (we use ours as towels) and can be made into anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually had one made into a shoulder bag and another into a pair of pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tailor wasn’t very good though so one leg is extremely narrow, the other extremely wide, and the crotch of the pants sits somewhere on my left thigh, so I will have a friend try to fix this for me in FL (hint, hint Lynn).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of these kiosks, or anything in any store, has a price tag on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You always have to ask, and in tourist areas there is a regular price and a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wazung</i>u price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All tourist items are highly negotiable in price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny sometimes when a salesperson is really taken with Anne’s ability to speak Swahili as the price they quoted at the beginning will be dropped significantly after a few minutes of conversation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most people in Tanzania tend to abide by daylight hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is especially true in the villages where there is no electricity and no excess money for fuel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in cities though the electricity cuts out frequently, and we’ve heard numerous complaints from people about the corrupt government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are angry and frustrated, and I will be curious to follow the politics here to see if the uprisings in the Middle East and northern Africa make their way here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Along with personal space, in Tanzania no regard whatsoever is paid to the level of noise one makes and its proximity to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are loud. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the break of dawn someone will talk at full volume just outside of your hotel window or door, or play a radio really loudly, or work on a construction project, or drive down the street honking their horn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have definitely gotten on an early to bed, early to rise schedule, but I sleep with earplugs most nights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Religious buildings tend to be some of the worst noisemakers with mosques leading the pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The call to prayer goes at about 4 AM every morning via loudspeakers and this sucks when your hotel is right across the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve also had the misfortune of staying near Christian revivals where music will start blaring out of really bad speakers as early as 6 AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there was a Hindu Temple in Moshi that rocked out until well past 11 PM.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we left Malawi the roads everywhere have pretty much gone to hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a few main roads that are paved, but often not going in the direction we want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Northern Mozambique was probably the worst with parts of Tanzania giving them a run for their money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, in Tanzania we’ve been able to use large buses for our long distance travel and that has made things easier and more comfortable, with the exception of a 17-hour bus ride from Anne’s old village to Arusha to catch our safari when Pipa, Pam, and Jay were here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had the very back seats on a long, bumpy ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dalla dalla’s in Dar es Saalam were bigger than most other minibus style ones we’ve taken, and Anne wasn’t kidding about them being crowded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are about 20 seats on them with a narrow aisle, and that aisle is packed like sardines with people to the point that I didn’t even notice I was being pick-pocketed until I got off to pay and my wallet was gone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">You can buy just about anything you want out of a bus window and many things that you don’t want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time a bus makes a stop, which is frequent despite the word “Express” in many company names, hordes of people will swarm the bus windows selling water, soda, fruits, vegetable, sunglasses, peanuts, snacks, and random things made in China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Mozambique you could easily but a chicken out of a bus window, sometimes a goat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I would say more towns than not that we’ve gone through have a major garbage collection problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some streets are lined with trash and fields littered with trash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be a large “dump” in many towns that looks like an abandoned lot where everyone just decided to throw their trash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s pretty bad how often people litter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever you have a window seat someone will inevitably ask you to open it so they can throw out their soda can, banana peel, water bottle, etc.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tanzanian food is generally rather bland consisting of rice, ugali (corn mush), beans, greens, chicken, and chips (French fries).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, you can get chips virtually anywhere and is probably the most popular food item for sale on the streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tanzanian food is surprisingly full of copious amounts of oil – chips, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mandazi</i> (balls of deep fried dough), chapati (tortilla-like fried bread), and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chipsi mayayi</i> (fried eggs with French fries—per chance one of the best foods ever created, especially covered in cheap tomato sauce/ketchup (can you tell this is Anne jumping in?)).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tanzania was really good for our budget in that street food and guest houses were really cheap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ditched our tent and sleeping pads in Dar es Saalam so our packs are much lighter and roomier. We pay $10-20 a night for a double room, usually en suite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The toilet is sometimes of the squatting variety and the shower is just in the same room as the toilet with no separate walls, so you have to move the toilet paper before you shower or it will get soaked.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kenya seemed similar to Tanzania in some ways, however the parts we’ve been to are more developed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nairobi is one of those cities you always hear about following the words “crime”, “theft”, “pick-pockets”, “street boys”, but we were pleasantly surprised by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed in the city center area and had no trouble walking around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roads to Masai Mara National Park and Mombasa were mostly paved and in good shape, and Nairobi even had a small mall culture going on, a la Johannesburg. (You could get everything from good shampoo to quality chocolate for not that much. It was awesome. A totally different world from Dar, though Dar’s choices are quickly expanding. This is Anne again.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tanzania was very scenic which helped on many of the long bus rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are friendly and really enjoyed chatting with Anne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever we took a taxi anywhere the driver would talk nonstop with her whether she wanted to or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately we didn’t get to the west side of the country at all mostly due to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tanzania had some major highlights of the whole trip for me - going to Anne’s village, seeing the Serengeti, and climbing Kilimanjaro.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, this is Anne writing now. I loved going back to Tanzania. It was so easy for me to slip right back in. I had never really spent time in Moshi before so I didn’t know how annoying the touts were, but overall I wasn’t terribly bothered. I think it helps significantly that when some random man shouts “I love you,” I can respond in Swahili with “I don’t care.” Everyone just cracks up, diffusing the annoyance of the situation. East Africa was much, much easier for me than for Jeanette for the obvious reason—I called the region home for three years. My Swahili came back very quickly and I feel like I could even have deeper conversations with my friends in the village than I could before. Sometimes age and experience are wonderful things. Of course, even with age and experience, I was still massively over charged on occasions. I don’t know if I could live in Tanzania again, though probably, but I loved going back. I am kind of over the long bus rides, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-33846862398458036382011-10-22T16:08:00.000+02:002011-10-22T16:08:13.774+02:00Ethiopia Bound<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Just a quick note to say that we fly to Ethiopia tonight and will be there for roughly one month. We have a Kenya blog to write and post but that will take some time. Our guidebooks warn that internet access in Ethiopia is painfully slow to non-existant so we may not post anything for a few weeks until we return to Kenya.</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-11239225807465551592011-10-18T12:08:00.000+02:002011-10-18T12:08:50.133+02:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.48737784856717903" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Warning: This blog entry contains some graphic photos of the circle of life, so if that sort of thing bothers you please skip the photos directly following the part where I talk about the lion eating the hartebeest.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Anne’s brother Stuart flew to Kenya to visit for two weeks and since he’s never been to Africa we graciously agreed to go on a safari with him. We headed to Masai Mara National Park which is basically the northern extension of the Serengeti in Kenya. The famous wildebeest migration takes place annually between these two parks. Unfortunately for us, when we were in the Serengeti the wildebeest were in the Masai Mara and then when we got up to the Masai Mara they had already gone back to the Serengeti. It would have been spectacular to see the migration but I guess it just gives us another reason to come back.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The park was absolutely beautiful, and much greener than expected. The clouds were also surprisingly eye catching. For whatever reason, I didn’t have high expectations about seeing the big cats, and I was happily wrong. We got very close to lions, two cheetahs, and a leopard, along with the normal lot of elephants, giraffes, zebras, hippos, and several antelopes.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Here are some photo highlights:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ddy4YaN7MX1RiYGjnIH8DSdoQty8bbA_DUM9WhIR9Tdvo6iZNfdQdfB2Yy1mn6dvK9mZ30wmuht73OL09esYKEC5d2E5x_1pZpC4sLd6nHl3faPaAern1sfk9DfVE1Q4uTKxqX7bsrah/s1600/IMG_7314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ddy4YaN7MX1RiYGjnIH8DSdoQty8bbA_DUM9WhIR9Tdvo6iZNfdQdfB2Yy1mn6dvK9mZ30wmuht73OL09esYKEC5d2E5x_1pZpC4sLd6nHl3faPaAern1sfk9DfVE1Q4uTKxqX7bsrah/s320/IMG_7314.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Topi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholJjtNUCgUAu-GHPoyvojB-dGCGqY8r2sFAyLBY9nbIPilTmq3JaBjqI4982DGv3LYpr8SbDI9nIFawpIzgcnYbhuDep2Gf7xoYrfBnWPkq1TtFBcZz9XAFnEoooNJhewCoEu2D38VyTl/s1600/IMG_7157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholJjtNUCgUAu-GHPoyvojB-dGCGqY8r2sFAyLBY9nbIPilTmq3JaBjqI4982DGv3LYpr8SbDI9nIFawpIzgcnYbhuDep2Gf7xoYrfBnWPkq1TtFBcZz9XAFnEoooNJhewCoEu2D38VyTl/s320/IMG_7157.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheetah</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsj7vNukephZMiXE-ewX7103Soq1e2y-UiCvTBrPvB0HnYqqZ-8wM-P0SMUfk74t9JvXW9AsDTJcgGLBDPGRmlkTJMm0HKqUNGzhHgRfWwqHXdhSBsF6mAVcvWg8qXINvoykmCppkLOxtf/s1600/IMG_7221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsj7vNukephZMiXE-ewX7103Soq1e2y-UiCvTBrPvB0HnYqqZ-8wM-P0SMUfk74t9JvXW9AsDTJcgGLBDPGRmlkTJMm0HKqUNGzhHgRfWwqHXdhSBsF6mAVcvWg8qXINvoykmCppkLOxtf/s320/IMG_7221.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every blog entry needs an elephant photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBagpuaAHdrZdiPUSsAr7_2rOa0_oEn9-rXySMeO5TtLuxhNpFs2bpoFDeR4pKjm7i5XmLnXiiYiIEWBAT-bZmHKZ6HOmd3FYX_s3-FxpyYNCM-_8cUZkXMjx3WlvJKFTCPkV4XEnqJVZH/s1600/IMG_7233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBagpuaAHdrZdiPUSsAr7_2rOa0_oEn9-rXySMeO5TtLuxhNpFs2bpoFDeR4pKjm7i5XmLnXiiYiIEWBAT-bZmHKZ6HOmd3FYX_s3-FxpyYNCM-_8cUZkXMjx3WlvJKFTCPkV4XEnqJVZH/s320/IMG_7233.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nap time for this leopard.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI2lhXyw2bkqPwArOLzZ-Ljjer6xCg-f1SbSNkp8xSfCQVCXh-rCB2sGRd7bZwTt0QV2QjmqJZ33XXWVRtO-alO4Mp0ud2y0HTvu4-5eHVw7a-fbK-GDx4srVZwrpUQGpcCKSMlcmBgws/s1600/IMG_7265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI2lhXyw2bkqPwArOLzZ-Ljjer6xCg-f1SbSNkp8xSfCQVCXh-rCB2sGRd7bZwTt0QV2QjmqJZ33XXWVRtO-alO4Mp0ud2y0HTvu4-5eHVw7a-fbK-GDx4srVZwrpUQGpcCKSMlcmBgws/s320/IMG_7265.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhems6tqfX-Ope8GNua01eycJ7eouUVwZqY0bclAwtUPCgZ1FaA-u80H37b94Rih_cedMmPEB9y92_tX0OhoL6ECBwDQPrNPcQIYcHDch9EuMVzK8jRTIC3R0OMJUuKe1H5fgbB1x3y_c9P/s1600/IMG_7271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhems6tqfX-Ope8GNua01eycJ7eouUVwZqY0bclAwtUPCgZ1FaA-u80H37b94Rih_cedMmPEB9y92_tX0OhoL6ECBwDQPrNPcQIYcHDch9EuMVzK8jRTIC3R0OMJUuKe1H5fgbB1x3y_c9P/s320/IMG_7271.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it just me or is the one on the left smiling?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoa6Wv5fsRdUs4WYNHk_YXsxjUiyI1CeZu_EeUbilwIqpKSDwiwENN_X-PJ7kBJ6gTIOj5XU9jAy6AC4I8EIdVV-Dd-sg5iKO_tOUGJ2wAGoXYeGuyaabrVLq16Ffab43b1i5ZYdoxZFEi/s1600/IMG_7276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoa6Wv5fsRdUs4WYNHk_YXsxjUiyI1CeZu_EeUbilwIqpKSDwiwENN_X-PJ7kBJ6gTIOj5XU9jAy6AC4I8EIdVV-Dd-sg5iKO_tOUGJ2wAGoXYeGuyaabrVLq16Ffab43b1i5ZYdoxZFEi/s320/IMG_7276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ewww, look what you got on your tail!"</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJDYqZAKdbr2onEzl30qimTt-65fetXjyz3X6GyaQAIwyTrV1WQ1N90q38tlwbJj116w6Sdr4qpGGJXGEVoncq7qjxKUkDa7IGukZFmuvDdFaZNK20cYkoJcRDifebRDWs92GEcJQAPhyphenhyphen/s1600/IMG_7285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJDYqZAKdbr2onEzl30qimTt-65fetXjyz3X6GyaQAIwyTrV1WQ1N90q38tlwbJj116w6Sdr4qpGGJXGEVoncq7qjxKUkDa7IGukZFmuvDdFaZNK20cYkoJcRDifebRDWs92GEcJQAPhyphenhyphen/s320/IMG_7285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjOwo6GWKVQ0iFeass4s_HXuy5J8M70gQzYTaU38_XUu9egxy2Ugxi-joZJbzPI43sPzBOmUI1Fr74XOdgzjwGskbDhZAwix_n2WukKggE9EIXb0K-fs-S89RAH4aQy1UdjgDXdWpC4dX/s1600/IMG_7301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjOwo6GWKVQ0iFeass4s_HXuy5J8M70gQzYTaU38_XUu9egxy2Ugxi-joZJbzPI43sPzBOmUI1Fr74XOdgzjwGskbDhZAwix_n2WukKggE9EIXb0K-fs-S89RAH4aQy1UdjgDXdWpC4dX/s320/IMG_7301.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You talkin' to me?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPugtjE_HZE9ujaggNGvVo8IXZDzlq5AnkrE3_L-z-boQ-KKmYroQT4ossBKxFmGAmJ4y9hSXBlx1t_t1ODPsIhZadybHHGdndK3lp4wP8VA8JDMGWv0DnFw9x1Zb1Vwc9mIvVtvi6qU1A/s1600/IMG_6976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPugtjE_HZE9ujaggNGvVo8IXZDzlq5AnkrE3_L-z-boQ-KKmYroQT4ossBKxFmGAmJ4y9hSXBlx1t_t1ODPsIhZadybHHGdndK3lp4wP8VA8JDMGWv0DnFw9x1Zb1Vwc9mIvVtvi6qU1A/s320/IMG_6976.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome sunset.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2wUnJXv8ni0_SiT-6ErZCT9iyn8GYl3bRDvZpFiZYtKG6VonDJWtSpRS2KumqzHUo5OblDeOd4zjDDS5koRhtQDCHHEldGHTZgDdG9-YZ6B3UxkWS5fQx6YuJcaqJJvc7IU9w6-1P_47/s1600/IMG_6952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2wUnJXv8ni0_SiT-6ErZCT9iyn8GYl3bRDvZpFiZYtKG6VonDJWtSpRS2KumqzHUo5OblDeOd4zjDDS5koRhtQDCHHEldGHTZgDdG9-YZ6B3UxkWS5fQx6YuJcaqJJvc7IU9w6-1P_47/s320/IMG_6952.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yeah, I'm a really big male lion, just sitting here while the ladies are out hunting."</td></tr>
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<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.48737784856717903" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At one point our driver got wind of a fresh lion kill, so we quickly headed that direction to find a lioness still panting over a dead hartebeest (type of antelope). Its belly was already torn open and we stayed for probably half an hour watching her eat. Despite the obvious gross factor it was really remarkable to watch mother nature in the raw. There was even something comical in the way she stuck her whole head inside the body/rib cage and came out with the wildebeest’s heart. This is where the weak-stomached readers should not look beyond. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMXg8EA5xecy3kiUS_7PlmrtbXIBRnvp_IjcckULkB320nEcGwVStByTWzC2q2-fj94Wqmljv4lDk0vTDvI8j7O1vNongrDGAjsmTZ_7NXG4b8UEB0kszTbcaePPGSnQVgPzvFAHsmDHr/s1600/IMG_7060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMXg8EA5xecy3kiUS_7PlmrtbXIBRnvp_IjcckULkB320nEcGwVStByTWzC2q2-fj94Wqmljv4lDk0vTDvI8j7O1vNongrDGAjsmTZ_7NXG4b8UEB0kszTbcaePPGSnQVgPzvFAHsmDHr/s320/IMG_7060.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lion popsicle.</td></tr>
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</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-76813312670550280492011-10-10T18:01:00.003+02:002011-10-13T16:08:18.907+02:00Mount Kilimanjaro (the super long version)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Warning: This post is ridiculously long. Feel free to just check out the photos.<br />
<br />
All photos are now posted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Prologue</div><div class="MsoNormal">The last post told you the punch line, so here’s the back story. A long, long time ago Jeanette decided that if we were going to Africa, we were going to climb Kilimanjaro. I went along with it. We sort of haphazardly looked up information and tour companies as we traveled around the continent, but as of Sept. 19, we hadn’t actually booked anything. Most people book months in advance. However, as luck would have it, we met up with an old Peace Corps acquaintance of mine in Dar, and she suggested a guy. Within 24 hours we had a hike booked for about $300 less each than we’d seen on any website. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We arrived in Moshi on September 28 and proceeded to do exactly what you aren’t supposed to do four days before hiking the tallest peak in Africa: I bought new shoes. For $30 I got a pair of used men’s Soloman trail shoes which were fairly similar to Jeanette’s. Hiking in the Usambaras taught me that two months of sandals made my feet entirely too big for my old boots. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To test out my boots and get us going steeply uphill, Pasian, our hike arranger, set up a short day hike to a waterfall nearby Moshi. The hike took us briefly into the rainforest in search of Colobus monkeys. After about 15 minutes, our guide for that day said we had to turn around because he thought he heard rangers. Turns out it was highly illegal for us to be there, and we’re pretty darn sure the guy pocketed the “village conservation fee” we had to pay to go. In situations like this I like to try to change perspectives. I think of it as the dude pocketed about $7, not the dude pocketed 10,000 shillings that could have paid for half a semester of secondary school for a kid I know. Stuff like that really puts a sour edge on things. The waterfall we saw was nice, though, and it was good to stretch our legs. Also, my new shoes fit wonderfully.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next two days we spent mostly bumming around Moshi. Pasian also had us accompany three of his other clients to the Marangu gate, another part of the park we wouldn’t normally see. He thought it would be good to get to a higher altitude. Near as I can tell, these guys prepared even less than we did. They didn’t even know how warm their sleeping bags were and they planned to summit in just four days instead of the typical five on that route. Well, who knows…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We also rented some gear from a nearby shop – one -30°C sleeping bag for Jeanette, one pair of gaiters, two balaclavas, two warm, puffy down jackets, and two thick pairs of socks to sleep in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, October 2<sup>nd</sup> rolled around and it was time for our hike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day One - Park Entrance 1800m/5900ft to Machame Hut 3000m/9850ft</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: I didn’t start the day out with a tremendous amount of confidence. Other than Lushoto I hadn’t done much hiking in the past few months and know that I tend to wear out quickly when hiking uphill. For some inexplicable reason I still really wanted to hike Kili. Maybe just because it’s there, maybe because I like grand challenges, maybe I wanted to see the glaciers before they are all gone, maybe the idea got in my head years and years ago and I couldn’t let go of it. Either way, it was suddenly 8:45 AM and we were climbing into a van and meeting our porters and guides. There were paperwork and park fees to take care of, and then we were off. Once we got out of the van we didn’t see our porters again until camp. Our guide, Tino, and assistant guide, Frederick, had a few small tasks to take care of and told us to just start hiking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pole pole</i> (pronounced po-lay po-lay and is Swahili for “slowly”, advice we would hear and heed about a gazillion times in the next five days). We followed a dirt road (for rescue vehicles) the first 45 minutes before it turned into an exceptionally well built and maintained wide trail. We were passed continuously by porters carrying really large loads on their heads. It seems that most have a small backpack on and then a large duffel bag or basket propped up on the backpack or on their heads.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tino and Frederick caught up to us within an hour and we were immediately given a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pole pole</i> warning by Tino before he stepped in front of us to set our pace. An hour later we had a lunch break near some pit toilets. I was surprised to see toilets here but they are a necessity given the sheer number of people on this trail (I will complain, err, talk more about this later).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The trail remained an easy, gentle grade the entire way to Machame Hut, and that evening in our tent Anne and I talked about how surprised we were how well today went. My confidence rose considerably after Day 1. Hiking uphill isn’t so bad when you are constantly instructed to slow down.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: When we arrived at the gate it was pretty hilarious to listen to other groups of hikers talk about their high-quality new gear while we putzed about in mismatched used clothing. The first chunk of the trail was through cloud forest – exceptionally green, lush, tall trees with hanging moss and hidden monkeys. It was a fairly easy hike and we were met at the camp by fresh popcorn, hot drinks, and a huge tent just for us. Talk about luxury hiking. (Though other groups also had mess tents and even portable toilets so they didn’t have to use the group squat ones. Sucked for the guys who had to empty the portable toilets every day then carry them on their heads.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCIQZnbIjak-G-cX02eGdAiXvfXkclE1EYJi9Oj7YeOaW2LTwuwRqaeC77vGiczNual3o_qYNuep82pwh1oGijsNqQfLZlvFcwCICzugtdpVk-HU8IgEs2KOMI8JS2wFMeObY6saxnxIV/s1600/IMG_6649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCIQZnbIjak-G-cX02eGdAiXvfXkclE1EYJi9Oj7YeOaW2LTwuwRqaeC77vGiczNual3o_qYNuep82pwh1oGijsNqQfLZlvFcwCICzugtdpVk-HU8IgEs2KOMI8JS2wFMeObY6saxnxIV/s320/IMG_6649.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the starting gate...</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Two – Machame Hut 3000m/9850ft to Shira One 3600m/11800ft</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: The second day of hiking took us through alpine moorland. The trees were much smaller and the landscape was dotted with large volcanic rocks. During our hike we first encountered “Grandpa,” an 84-year-old man who was hiking the mountain with his two grandchildren. Later we learned that he won the hike in an auction and hoped his wife would hike it with him. When she said no, because she had hiked it 30 years earlier, he had others join him. If he were to summit, he would make a world record.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> After four hours or so on the trail we arrived at Shira One, a large camp on the Shira Plateau. The area was open enough for us to finally see the sheer numbers of people who were hiking with us. Fredrick said that one group of 30 people brought 70 porters with them. That wasn’t too surprising. For just the two of us, we had four porters, one cook, and two guides. All in all, including the groups camped at Shira Two, there were about 300 people on that section of the mountain that day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After resting at camp for a bit, Fredrick took us on a short walk to the Shira Two campsite which is on a different route up. On the way he showed us some small caves and overhangs. He said that until 1989, all of the guides and porters were required to sleep in the caves and cook with firewood. They weren’t allowed to set up tents and mingle with the guests. Though now everyone camps together, the porters and staff still keep to themselves. Mario, our “waiter,” always set up a dinner spot for us separately from everyone else, often in the vestibule of our tent. Even when we took breaks along the trail, our guide would tell us to sit one place then he and the assistant would sit elsewhere. It felt odd to be served, but it was also nice to have a bit of privacy. Overall it felt a bit awkward. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the end of day two we were both feeling pretty good. We had started taking Diamox, a drug that helps relieve altitude sickness. It makes you pee a lot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: Anything that makes me pee more than I already do is kind of tough on me. I mean seriously, I already have the bladder of a two year old. Diamox also has some other interesting side effects like making my hands tingle/sting similar to the feeling of when they are waking up from being numb, and it makes my face occasionally feel like it is vibrating. Very weird. These symptoms usually seem to last for a few minutes at a time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We awoke this morning to blue skies above and a sea of clouds below us with Mt. Meru poking out in the distance. It was so beautiful. Even though we still had a heck of a long way to go, just having all of the clouds below us somehow made me feel like we were on top of the world.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hike this day was much steeper than the previous day. As we were hiking in forest moorland today (shorter stubbier trees, significantly less vegetation that the rainforest) the views were much more accessible. What shocked me was the literal parade of people (hikers, guides, porters) going uphill. You could watch the line of people ahead or behind you and I was in awe of my lack of solitude. One of the reasons we chose this route was because it’s 1) not the one dubbed the “Coca-Cola Route”, 2) you don’t sleep in huts, 3) it’s more scenic, and 4) one guidebook or website I read said that even though this route is gaining in popularity the mountain is so big you still feel like you have it to yourself. This was complete and utter crap. The Machame Route was packed with people. We were constantly leap-frogging with porters and other hikers. Plus, the larger groups, of which there were many, hiked at a significantly slower pace than we did. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It turns out that Anne and I were able to keep up a pretty decent pace despite the steeper climb. At camp we were both feeling well but were surprised at how chilly it was. We camped on a completely exposed plateau and the wind whipped right through us. While I first I utterly scoffed at the idea of a mess tent (I mean it’s already weird enough that someone else is carrying my pack for me), it was here that I kind of got it. It was very cold and windy and I really didn’t want to sit outside and freeze while I ate. So yes, Mario set up our dinner in the vestibule of our tent and we sat with down jackets on and sleeping bags over our legs and ate a meal with real silverware and napkins. Far classier than any of my previous backpacking experiences, but I guess I wasn’t backpacking here. I was only responsible for my day pack.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Meru</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the rocks near the campsite</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Three – Shira One 3600m/11800ft to Barranco Hut 3950m/13000ft</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: This was the first day that took us up to an altitude of over 4,000 meters then back down again. The change was meant to help us adjust to the lack of oxygen. A steady incline led us up to a lava tower, a protruding mass of rock. Then we lollygagged our way back down through alpine desert to our fourth camp. (Yup, that’s all I got for you.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: Shortly after today’s climb began we quickly left the forest moorland habitat and entered an alpine desert. Vegetation became sparse and the earth was various shades of brown.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The hike to the Lava Tower at 4600m was up an extremely gentle grade. The ridge we hiked up was very wide and open with expansive views. You could clearly see where you were going and where you were coming from. We seemed to be able to keep up a good, steady pace with no problems. As per usual we passed the larger groups with ease as they tend to plod uphill in a losing race to a snail. With no vegetation to block our views, the sheer number of people seen hiking on our same footpath was staggering – porters by the hundreds, some racing ahead of you at impressive speeds, some taking long breaks. There were hikers galore and by today we definitely recognized certain groups as we passed them (the Really Large Group, the German Group, Grandpa, etc.). Grandpa was of great intrigue to us and we both wanted the opportunity to chat with him and his grandkids but the timing wasn’t right.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
After the Lava Tower we did a short down and an up, and then a long down to Barranco Hut. As we began our descent we headed into a valley and the views became more limited. As we approached the camp the views really opened up to a lovely plateau and we could see all the way down to the town of Moshi. To our left was the Barranco Wall, a giant wall of granite that we had to make it up and over the next morning. We had a little bit of hail on the descent which turned to a drizzle the lower we got. The exposed hiking gave the wind free reign to chill me through and through, but nothing too bad. Yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CdfDUuMSDl4K3-kKjw09Jh6P0nz2WRyhfoNC0J5dltR-rO6mzibtW4UE1UdKpNo_FrNnT5AfqJpdYowGFOZmFq8ImvedYA3RDNlFG9cMXrLFqRwUG1ZjALGuhm9ELnAelSVVHwmWgjw2/s1600/IMG_6770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CdfDUuMSDl4K3-kKjw09Jh6P0nz2WRyhfoNC0J5dltR-rO6mzibtW4UE1UdKpNo_FrNnT5AfqJpdYowGFOZmFq8ImvedYA3RDNlFG9cMXrLFqRwUG1ZjALGuhm9ELnAelSVVHwmWgjw2/s320/IMG_6770.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Four – Barranco Hut 3950m/13000ft to Barafu Hut 4600m/15092ft</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: The trail from Barranco to Barafu was the only section of the hike that included actually slightly difficult terrain. For a small portion of the steep ascent on the Barranco Wall we had to climb up small sections of rock with footholds and our hands and then walk along short, narrow ledges. This is the sort of stuff I hate, but it really wasn’t that bad. In fact, in comparison to a lot of the hiking we did in South Africa and even in random places in Unalaska, it was nothing. I didn’t even get scared. As we were walking down to a river after the Wall, I casually greeted a hiker as we passed, saying something banal like “nice trail today, huh?” He responded with “Nice? Sure, but scary at points.” It made me feel like I’m much less of a pansy than I usually think. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Halfway between Barranco and Barafu is Karanga Camp. If we had done the mountain in seven days instead of six we would have stopped there. Instead, we stopped for a hot lunch served to us inside of our tent and listened to it hail then rain. Our last two hours of hiking were in rain and hail. We were freezing by the time we reached the campsite, where our tent had already been re-erected. We crawled inside and tried to rest as much as possible before our 11 pm wake-up call and final mountain ascent. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: The hike today was very scenic when it was not obscured by clouds. A common phrase in Unalaska/Dutch Harbor was “don’t like the weather – wait 5 minutes!” and that could certainly be applied to Mount Kilimanjaro. Clear skies in the early morning seem typical but by mid-morning the clouds start billowing up and blowing in, and then some quickly pass while others linger. Most of our far-reaching views today were largely blocked by clouds but it was still a very pretty hike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I enjoyed the varied terrain today although I was surprised at how much my knees hurt by the downhill stretches. I still blame the Appalachian Trail for wrecking them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Anne mentioned earlier, once in camp or on a break the porters and guides seem to go to one side and us to another. This was never more pronounced than during our hot lunch break at Karanga. As we arrived I thought it was overkill to see our tent erected but then the light hail quickly worsened before turning into pouring rain. At least it sounded like pouring rain from inside the warmer, dry confines of our tent. The tent was huge, easily a 3-person tent with two large vestibules. As Mario brought our lunch over we asked him to tell everyone to sit with us inside the tent so they would stay dry but he was aghast at this suggestion so we sat in our tent, fully appreciating the cover while eating a fantastic meal, all the while feeling like chumps because there were seven guys sitting out in the rain just waiting for us to finish. I kept wanting to explain that there doesn’t need to be this division, we’re just not like that, but whatever small efforts we made seemed futile attempts.</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we arrived at Barafu Hut our confidence was high. We had done really well today despite the harder terrain. I distinctly remember getting out of the tent at 7 AM this morning and already seeing the Really Large Group halfway up the Barranco Wall, and then when we passed that group before lunch I felt really good.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was very cold at 4600m/15092ft and the rain/hail had chilled me to the bone, so we holed up in our sleeping bags waiting for dinner just trying to get warm. One unfortunate side effect of the altitude (at least she is blaming it on the altitude) is that it gave Anne horrendous, and I mean horrendous, gas. In the tent. That we were sharing. After our meal we knew we had to get some rest. The plan was to wake up at 11 PM, have tea and biscuits at 11:30 PM, then start hiking by midnight to reach the peak at sunrise.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While brushing our teeth before bed we ran into Annie, the granddaughter of Grandpa and it was chatting with her tonight that we got the full story about them. Annie explained that both he and his wife are avid hikers and skiers so this wasn’t entirely a wild hair for him. However, should he reach the summit, it would be a record-breaking ascent.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8H-c3gTeJcG_NZjk5koIY_2LUarNTSPBn0eKIg05HH4sfBR-YQY6a08FMYNrcftkKGf5PbP8Ph1WW4bNA-6c90vvs6Uq1_q9fVLMzsfXg3luzT8lytYwKrF0U3YuMVNLYZHpcj1kQ37Ck/s1600/IMG_4764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8H-c3gTeJcG_NZjk5koIY_2LUarNTSPBn0eKIg05HH4sfBR-YQY6a08FMYNrcftkKGf5PbP8Ph1WW4bNA-6c90vvs6Uq1_q9fVLMzsfXg3luzT8lytYwKrF0U3YuMVNLYZHpcj1kQ37Ck/s320/IMG_4764.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Five – Barafu Hut 4600m/15092ft to Uhuru Peak 5895m/19340ft to Mweka Hut 3100m/10170ft</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: I am shocked that I don’t have frostbite on any of my digits. Seriously. When hiking up the mountain in theoretically Gore-Tex gloves and two pairs of socks, I pondered whether I was better off losing fingers or toes. (I decided fingers, since I can always use a voice typing system, but I can’t hike well without real toes.) Long and short, it was cold, it was so exhausting I honestly thought I would fall asleep while walking, and ultimately we made it in awesome time. Jeanette will tell you the rest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: The roughly three hours of broken sleep that I got between 8 – 11 PM last night hardly prepared me for the day’s events, yet I still awoke with an air of excitement. It was bloody cold so we quickly dressed, ate some biscuits, and were off. I was dressed, head to toe, in my wool cap, long johns, a long sleeve hiking shirt, a down jacket, down mitten gloves, a pair of pants, rain pants, two pairs of socks, gaiters, and my boots. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Within about 45 minutes the exercise had finally done the trick and for the first time since arriving at Barafu Hut I was genuinely not cold. The hike began up a steep, rocky incline followed by a short, flat plateau. As we were leaving camp we could see headlamps dotting the darkness above us, once again we got a later start than many.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While the summit hike began on a good note, within two hours the cold and fatigue I was feeling caused my confidence to drop and with every subsequent hour my confidence plummeted even more. We had been force fed food nonstop this whole trip, yet before the summit hike we were given a pile of biscuits. Anne and I each ate a Luna Bar, but whatever energy this provided was quickly sucked up by the exertion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I haven’t heard the snow crunching under my footsteps since leaving Alaska, and I always enjoy that sound. Within an hour of setting off that morning we were already in snow but it felt colder here than ever before. My feet and toes were freezing and with each step I would wiggle the toes of whatever foot I lifted just to keep the circulation going. As the altitude increased I couldn’t tell whether I was hungry or nauseous. We stopped to eat half of another Luna Bar and it helped momentarily. I had to add my balaclava and rain jacket for protection against the wind. The previous four days of the hike came so easily that I guess it surprised me to feel so exhausted on this day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All this time though, despite my weakening condition, we were still passing people right and left. Although the quicker pace was tiring, I needed it for warmth. Every time we stopped to eat or add a layer I had to take my gloves off and it felt like my fingers were going numb before I even got the gloves all the way off. My energy was zapped and I was extremely light-headed. I remember thinking several times “I wonder if Tino will make me turn around if I pass out?” As I was seriously considering whether summiting was worth it or not, Frederick said that we were only 5 to 7 minutes from Stella Point, the rim of the crater, and it wasn’t until this moment that I realized I could make it, that I would make it.</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a short break at Stella Point we continued on slowly. We were completely exposed to the wind at the top and it stung my face but the trail flattened out as we followed the crater rim around and then gradually up another 100m or so. During this section two guides and three hikers passed us on their way down. We came around a final bend and in the break of dawn just ahead was the sign firmly planted on Uhuru Peak at 5895m/19340ft confirming that we had made it. In fact, we were the fourth and fifth hikers there that day (at least from the Machame Route) and we arrived at 5:52 AM.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We had a brief few minutes to ourselves at the top before a large group arrived during which time we frantically tried to take photos. There was one mishap after another when the batteries in BOTH of our cameras died. We had spare AAs for the point and shoot, and after we fumbled through that with our cold hands, we had three different people take a photo of the two of us at the top but somehow every single one of these came out blurry. The ones we took of each other are perfectly clear, however. At least we’ll always have the memories. And, of course, this incredibly long account.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I often feel that when a place touts its “sunrise views” they are often overrated. I know that may sound pessimistic but I can’t help it. However, I am happy to say that this morning was the best sunrise of my life. The sun came up golden and red on the horizon and lit up the glaciers to perfection. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just as we started the return journey we saw Grandpa and his entourage on their way to break a world record. It was a wonderful moment.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So here we were 1300m/4265ft above our camp, elated and freezing, ready to head down. We had gorgeous scenery to inspire us but it didn’t take long for the euphoria to wear off and an exhaustion headache and aching knees to set in. It was a long slog down, but we were in camp at 9:30 AM that morning, a mere 9.25 hours after setting off. We had a brief nap and then wolfed down soup and bread before packing up and continuing down another 1500m/4921ft.</div><div class="MsoNormal">At camp I barely stayed awake until dinner, then went to bed at 7:35 PM and I had 11 ½ of the soundest hours of sleep in my life.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne at the spot when we knew we were home free.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just wanted to post this again for good measure.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We really are proud of ourselves.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Sunrise Ever.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glacier whose name I don't remember with Mt. Meru poking up in the background.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Day Six – Mweka 3100m/10170ft to Park Entrance 1800m/5900ft to Moshi</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanette: I could have kept sleeping for hours, but the alarm clock beckoned me awake. After breakfast it was a short 2 ½ hour walk through the rainforest where we saw several black and white Colobus monkeys in the trees above.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At the park entrance we were given really nice certificates for our accomplishment. We had one last meal here before heading to Moshi in the car where a lukewarm to cold shower awaited me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anne: Walk down was awesome. Trees are great. Monkeys are great. Chipsi mayai (french fries fried with eggs) are great. Also it was nice to be warm again. And, I finished the hike in new-to-me boots without even a blister. It rocked.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It took these seven men to get us to the top.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNcmNUznq_AVmPKrZyz73L0Iu6pru22z8fTZ9ihxkaf8VC9hX3XK4Da3_BoxakpdYG7SB-z4TKZbZzgRY76aVAf4xY3Y5qjep0bVZGow-SZ9YCOYoXXJznKsP1YRxeORsoAsXbfNOycVi/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNcmNUznq_AVmPKrZyz73L0Iu6pru22z8fTZ9ihxkaf8VC9hX3XK4Da3_BoxakpdYG7SB-z4TKZbZzgRY76aVAf4xY3Y5qjep0bVZGow-SZ9YCOYoXXJznKsP1YRxeORsoAsXbfNOycVi/s320/IMG_4830.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainforest views (sans monkeys because the lighting was horrible).</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was funny at the end. We had our last lunch in a small bar-like-place not far from the gate. A massive group of porters was there changing the money they got from tips from US cash to shillings from some random money changers. The well dressed men and women were giving the porters a decent but not fabulous rate, but it’s way easier for them to change money there than to try at a bank. It’s a side of the whole business most tourists don’t get to see. Tourism is such a weird thing…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And with that, the hike was over and less than two days later we were out of Tanzania and onto Kenya. </div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-47275835410841348492011-10-07T15:17:00.000+02:002011-10-07T15:17:52.696+02:00Mount Kilimanjaro, the short version<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZR8Dh0MGtLIKFnQnmbEN0QircQhUahrPH9RPnmJLluwzxQ0_stUdA0pIvoeHnvlMxPnUapBQ5_hkGMiwSdRQtygL6WWYHRSedhIVQeLrNJXtntGIzSlDplDv0YmdI2tm7-zud7kj9Ef4/s1600/Kili+small+camera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZR8Dh0MGtLIKFnQnmbEN0QircQhUahrPH9RPnmJLluwzxQ0_stUdA0pIvoeHnvlMxPnUapBQ5_hkGMiwSdRQtygL6WWYHRSedhIVQeLrNJXtntGIzSlDplDv0YmdI2tm7-zud7kj9Ef4/s320/Kili+small+camera.jpg" width="187" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Enough said.<br />
</div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-46950296406973287282011-09-26T16:49:00.004+02:002011-09-26T16:53:05.243+02:00Useful Proposals<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Let me just tell you, Jeanette may look younger and prettier than me, but I am worth about 400 cows. At 600,000 Tanzanian shillings per cow, that means about $150,000 for a bride price. I hope my parents don’t mind that I turned down the marriage offer from the lovely Maasai man who sat next to me in the pick-up truck on the way back to Lushoto from our hike. The tall, chubby man didn’t seem to be exaggerating when he said he had 10,000 cows. His girth was proof enough. As he said, it takes a lot of milk and meat from his herd to make him that fat. And though his four wives sounded like a companionable group of sisters – he married sisters to prevent in-fighting – I don’t think I would enjoy bearing six children. Jeanette didn’t seem to like the idea either. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Despite that, he did teach me a valuable lesson about Tanzanian culture in general. During the ride, the conductor ask him for his fare by saying in Swahili, “Hey, Maasai man, give me the money.” To which he answered, “Swahili man, take this.” There was no shyness on either side about just referring to the other by their tribe. Though the Maasai are Tanzanian, they are often considered to be different from “normal” Tanzanians. The Maasai man referred to all non-Maasai Tanzanians as Swahili people, no matter what their tribe. It was the equivalent of all white people being called “<i>Wazungu</i>.” I asked my seat companion if he minded being called “Mmaasai,” and he said no. He seemed surprised that I would even ask. He said when his kids see a “Swahili man” when out taking care of the cows, they yell “Mswahili” to him just as they would “Mzungu” to a white person. (The “m” or “wa” prefix on a word means it refers to a person or people.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">As you might have noticed, children and even adults in this country have no aversion whatsoever to yelling “white person” at you or to referring to you as a white person in a conversation. Though blatantly identifying someone by their race or ethnic group in the States is considered exceptionally rude, here it’s just normal. I always thought it was specific to white people because we are rich, strange looking creatures who might give out money. Apparently not. Apparently racial or ethnic difference just is, so why make it taboo to mention it?<br />
Knowing that makes it somehow less annoying when I hear a chorus of “<i>wazung</i>u” from children who are so far away that I can’t even see them. Not completely okay because sometimes it would be nice not to be a walking circus attraction, but in truth, maybe sometimes I just need to lighten up. Of course, maybe I also need to go get my 400 cows before all my hair falls out, and I look even older… (So long as Jeanette is okay with that.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Note: Jeanette is not okay with that. </i></div></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-4255485894197801652011-09-26T16:47:00.000+02:002011-09-26T16:47:11.824+02:00What a Difference the Rain Makes: Iringa vs. Lushoto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Traveling through the Usambaras has taught me a remarkable number of things about life in Tanzania. Most importantly, villages here vary greatly. In Lushoto, where it rains at least once a week even during the dry season, everything is lush and green. That means people can grow large crops of tomatoes, cabbages, and other marketable crops year round. As a result, people have considerably more money than in Iringa region. You can see it in the quality of the village houses – almost all of them have tin roofs instead of grass or leaves and are built of nice bricks or cement. Electricity reaches further into the region as well. People also have money to spend on the variety of goods sold during the twice-weekly markets that travel through the villages. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> In Iringa region, villagers usually have to travel to much larger towns to buy things like used clothes, dishes, and other goods. I guess it’s because they don’t have enough money to support a consistent market.<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Religion also seems to play out differently here. One of our guides mentioned that Muslims can marry more than one wife. I said so can Christians, and he looked horrified. Apparently men here are not polygamous. In Iringa region, many, many men have multiple wives. Contrastingly, almost everyone in Iringa region goes to church on Sunday or at least takes the day off from going to the fields. In Lushoto, people even farm on Sunday. I guess there’s more work to be done. That could also explain why people here walk more than twice as fast as people in my old village. Seriously. People in Itimbo saunter and make fun of my “American” walking speed. Here, they pass me on the trails. They have somewhere they need to be (and no blisters on their pinky toes.) It’s been a good set of lessons on how different things are in different parts of the country.<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7903727742476494221.post-16989862957781231482011-09-26T16:45:00.003+02:002011-09-27T17:21:53.391+02:00Usambara Mountains<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }
</style><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i>Note: Once again technology won and I (Jeanette) incorrectly saved the photos to the thumb drive. Will try to post tomorrow or later this week. </i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">On our last day in Dar es Salaam we booked a Kilimanjaro hike. Problem was, we have barely been hiking since our days in South Africa, so we headed to the Usambara Mountains for a crash session of getting into better hiking shape.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
After a fairly comfortable 7-hour bus ride from Dar we arrived in the gorgeous town of Lushoto, a lovely haven tucked into even more lovely mountains. As we stepped off the bus we were, as usual, met by a swarm of men wanting our business in one fashion or another. (Not in THAT fashion! Get your head out of the gutter!) Lucky for us there were also five other wazungus on the bus who greatly helped to divert<br />
the attention away from us. Our guidebook recommended booking hikes through the Friends of Usambara as they are very involved in community projects, so we headed there. A plethora of different hiking options<br />
were on the menu and we chose the 4-day hike to the Mazumbai Rainforest largely because there had been a great lack of trees in our lives while living in Unalaska and because of the chance to see black<br />
and white Colobus monkeys.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
The next morning we met our guides, Issa and Abu, at 9 AM. Although Issa is a more experienced guide, Abu is from the area where we were headed so they were both going on the hike in order for Abu to help<br />
Issa familiarize himself with the area. After a short taxi ride to the village of Soni we began our 22+ km hike for that day. It was sunny and hot, and after just a few hours it became apparent that we hadn’t put on our boots in well over six weeks (Tevas being the shoe of choice). Our feet were so delighted with the extra room provided by our Tevas that they seem to have sprawled out a surprising distance<br />
and now very snugly fit into our boots. This means blisters, more so for Anne than me. She’s always said how shoe shopping is a pain for her because of her wide feet but I guess I never really looked at them<br />
closely nor compared them to mine. She wasn’t kidding. They really do look like duck feet without the webbing. This explains why she typically gets blisters on the sides of her feet. Towards the end of<br />
the first day we both decided to take off the boots and finish the last few kilometers in our beloved Tevas. Our foot-spreading has put a kink in the Kili plans though; it’s a hard enough hike as it is with comfortable boots. Before this trip and even in South Africa where we were hiking a lot, we took such pains to make sure our boots were comfortable and suitable for Kili – so much for advance planning! We have decided to rearrange our plans a bit and head to Moshi early to either look for new (used) boots on the street or to rent them from one of the companies and wear them around town for a few days before the hike.<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Our first day of hiking led us up, up, and up a road to the town of Bumbuli. Despite months of hiking inactivity, Anne hasn’t lost her ability to make dust out of me while going uphill. We passed through two villages and saw tons of chameleons along the way. Issa and Abu were so good at noticing them and pointing them out to us. Anne and I would search the bushes along the side of the road and never did find one, until the last day when Anne spotted one crossing the street.<br />
</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-1IhVNZaL8Y7BaFYF30FDBO_qTyazlup4_91plncQDlQp9JMy0fVl1gS3FlwWXJoIH2x4DDnxV_6Hi1KNxfFnUgBFHVGRmxslJ8gNqtolT2q86RFwZJuFELsXi44aCTZ2IgFwE8BCmtJ/s1600/IMG_6546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-1IhVNZaL8Y7BaFYF30FDBO_qTyazlup4_91plncQDlQp9JMy0fVl1gS3FlwWXJoIH2x4DDnxV_6Hi1KNxfFnUgBFHVGRmxslJ8gNqtolT2q86RFwZJuFELsXi44aCTZ2IgFwE8BCmtJ/s320/IMG_6546.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome views.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-RdXtxo7_TdUPHbuBR4DH_I3z01WVvGBSkLAoFTi-7Za9VmxDyCj_TTFqe9OJ_rDaTnWAY_6LpE6IF4MvYThTrHJCw562moEcYW4wINyJ4OghYZmKnK5UKYHhxTH1UBzar_78JJvjG-g/s1600/IMG_6528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-RdXtxo7_TdUPHbuBR4DH_I3z01WVvGBSkLAoFTi-7Za9VmxDyCj_TTFqe9OJ_rDaTnWAY_6LpE6IF4MvYThTrHJCw562moEcYW4wINyJ4OghYZmKnK5UKYHhxTH1UBzar_78JJvjG-g/s320/IMG_6528.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Male Usambara Two Horned Chameleon doing downward dog.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-UbMhGGd5dwQ_2mbvuBWj_J0_1o8c0-wa5c2LjgvLZbUEaXIPlVY7UmZ_5nGatoKSM7RwF8Ric6w7RqxKPXkoH8Z7Vuwvd_o5kq8cr5HErY8ycyv70xWp6PJbHEqzdZjiLR2o6EmJowc/s1600/IMG_6600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-UbMhGGd5dwQ_2mbvuBWj_J0_1o8c0-wa5c2LjgvLZbUEaXIPlVY7UmZ_5nGatoKSM7RwF8Ric6w7RqxKPXkoH8Z7Vuwvd_o5kq8cr5HErY8ycyv70xWp6PJbHEqzdZjiLR2o6EmJowc/s320/IMG_6600.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what yoga position this is, but I bet I can't do it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Every little kid we passed that day shouted <i>wazung</i>u at the tops of their lungs. Sometimes we couldn’t even tell which direction it was coming from. Although this makes me feel like I’m a circus act, the kids definitely had a friendly tone to their voices and the braver ones dared to say “good morning” or “how are you” in English quickly before running away and hiding in embarrassment.<br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">The second day pretty much rained all day, a sure sign that we were near the rainforest. The forest was beautiful but since we were drenched and cold we didn’t have time to linger and take photos. There was a little hamlet next to the rainforest that would be our home for the next two nights and given its lack of proximity to anything, we had very low expectations. However, we were pleasantly surprised to walk up to a gorgeous house built by the Germans in the early 1900s. When the Germans colonized Tanzania, they constructed a ton of buildings and destroyed much of the rainforest for timber and farmland. Then the British came in and turned many of the buildings into houses and schools. Within minutes of arriving we had on dry<br />
clothes, a cup of tea in our hands, and were warming ourselves by the fire. The grounds were beautiful complete with an amazingly colorful garden.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPkJtOYIyWIzbpfuemyA_C-_spGTFLXfsR8i_Jueph0ZW7sksXJLNP-OVkagZFkgWVJXIMJWbJTwDV5vmFZJY-roxTRuOaVlYFRRZ89pgECDRS1OgEenrYdSAaeimv0vdaDGFVvbbBTnT/s1600/IMG_6563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPkJtOYIyWIzbpfuemyA_C-_spGTFLXfsR8i_Jueph0ZW7sksXJLNP-OVkagZFkgWVJXIMJWbJTwDV5vmFZJY-roxTRuOaVlYFRRZ89pgECDRS1OgEenrYdSAaeimv0vdaDGFVvbbBTnT/s320/IMG_6563.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea what this is but it was pretty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6uFzhyphenhyphenOTcx7QVWjenJ0XpuF1NtRtyeKMSH1Fj870RinMkhE5deEEZ1VJGsUyhxf40eZqQUctWPkg5aEoFswv7IlmrGX5UMzaSt9QMKFxG8Lidu2QjQI0GzTmFYjmrVxJR6FoHMs8E4AJ/s1600/IMG_6570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6uFzhyphenhyphenOTcx7QVWjenJ0XpuF1NtRtyeKMSH1Fj870RinMkhE5deEEZ1VJGsUyhxf40eZqQUctWPkg5aEoFswv7IlmrGX5UMzaSt9QMKFxG8Lidu2QjQI0GzTmFYjmrVxJR6FoHMs8E4AJ/s320/IMG_6570.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the flower on passion fruit vines.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrz2-KWq6nQL3V_oO8cC9VJAeJIFCpLPleGOQSZFVXjcEGuBBMBBf9o-SOuB2771MfGk7Ya0xpV28eZXFxHPMCBWFKgANCzC2MoEjJHZfOeNKSIFuoQ1ocjiugc71gBbKoy87VkX0tOH2/s1600/IMG_6566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrz2-KWq6nQL3V_oO8cC9VJAeJIFCpLPleGOQSZFVXjcEGuBBMBBf9o-SOuB2771MfGk7Ya0xpV28eZXFxHPMCBWFKgANCzC2MoEjJHZfOeNKSIFuoQ1ocjiugc71gBbKoy87VkX0tOH2/s320/IMG_6566.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our lovely home for two nights.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
Issa and Abu were delighted with Anne’s ability to speak Swahili and many of the locals we encountered along the way were as well. Although our two guides could both speak decent English they habitually lapsed into Swahili, so Anne acted as my interpreter. Her 31st birthday was our last day of the hike. I had asked Issa and Abu to bring a candle out with breakfast that morning so we could all sing “Happy Birthday” to her, but they went above and beyond by picking her a bouquet of beautiful flowers, lighting a candelabrum, and buying her a kanga. It was really sweet and obvious how excited they were to celebrate with her. (We didn’t tell them, though, that we also celebrated our six month traveling mark!) They were really good guides<br />
and enjoyable to be around.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGSJye4Vrq7ATRvdez407LQ1J8R6gHvGi3pWZa61YKVYLzp-IvVceFHBGv0BcEBgBEyK2BJUAcvuOVkBVgqKA7Jb9dN9AekKTFcSA3YTEi0zCgubZXGh7NCHt5Ykgl2if1T2JTCqEBBw_/s1600/IMG_6615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGSJye4Vrq7ATRvdez407LQ1J8R6gHvGi3pWZa61YKVYLzp-IvVceFHBGv0BcEBgBEyK2BJUAcvuOVkBVgqKA7Jb9dN9AekKTFcSA3YTEi0zCgubZXGh7NCHt5Ykgl2if1T2JTCqEBBw_/s320/IMG_6615.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abu, Anne, and Issa with their flowers and kanga gifts for her 31st birthday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3423F6Ghun0Zpk8IrbT7djMURUg8c4vWPdjTgbEhow4jE0fvVC8Pq7TA62Y7NgCNQ4IdP-B-YdP1gMN59sCAtSpz7GEvmdEBYdiDByf2xL2HPnzS5VQJ3A9btwPke5OcMn6nPCIYaQgn/s1600/IMG_6584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3423F6Ghun0Zpk8IrbT7djMURUg8c4vWPdjTgbEhow4jE0fvVC8Pq7TA62Y7NgCNQ4IdP-B-YdP1gMN59sCAtSpz7GEvmdEBYdiDByf2xL2HPnzS5VQJ3A9btwPke5OcMn6nPCIYaQgn/s320/IMG_6584.JPG" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boca Boca Tree with enormous roots for stability.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-mMhty8fH7w5-Mop7gBS3EEvr6IudMuUG2gXNZFiTiaG3-RfdM9DuQJanBN4waRZ5BDwOecPqfHgXhzAH3BiyZViEphiG2Lyy-3pIKLveELCGAbKVRwGsf5eJjMMsaf1ZHXRmnrn5OBh/s1600/IMG_6614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-mMhty8fH7w5-Mop7gBS3EEvr6IudMuUG2gXNZFiTiaG3-RfdM9DuQJanBN4waRZ5BDwOecPqfHgXhzAH3BiyZViEphiG2Lyy-3pIKLveELCGAbKVRwGsf5eJjMMsaf1ZHXRmnrn5OBh/s320/IMG_6614.JPG" width="238px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black and White Colobus Monkey!</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">Alas, all good things must come to an end, and we had to head back. It was sad to leave the rainforest, but we were comforted by the gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains and villages. It was a great hike and so good to be outside. Now, if we could just square away this boot situation for Kili….</span></div>Anne & Jeanettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16176086703276055549noreply@blogger.com1