Suriname – the Smallest Nation in South America

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The immigration process in Balate, Suriname was quick but the line that led to the counter was long.  We were the last to go through.

The van driver in Guyana said his brother would be waiting for us on the other side along with the same passengers.  Well that ship sailed and we were ushered into a small rickety non-van.  The only seats available – one in the second row and one in the pull down 3rd row next to the luggage.  I was snug as a bug and comfortable.  My view was hindered by the crusty filth on the windows, which bottled water and toilet paper couldn’t clean.  At least I had the luggage to lean on.

*click on photos to enlarge

** my dirty window is below

Filthy window

This part of the drive lasted 3.5 hours.  The young father of two sitting next to Bill started talking to us near the end of the trip.  He is an entrepreneur making and selling natural soaps, and edible food enhancement oils.  He spoke Dutch, English, and Creole. He’d been to the USA with a  UN learning program a few years back for 5 months.  Quite remarkable.

90% of Suriname is covered in rainforest.  The highest proportion of any country in the world per Wikipedia.

As early as the 4th millennium BC Suriname was inhabited by the indigenous.  The British arrived in the 16th century and then the Dutch took control in the late 17th century.  At this time the sugar industry was huge and plantation owners imported and used African slaves until it was abolished in 1863 – then indentured servants were brought over from Asia – the Dutch East Indies and British India.  In 1954 the Netherlands took control and finally, in 1975 Suriname gained its independence.

It is the only country outside of Europe that speaks Dutch.

Dutch

Our destination- Paramaribo – the capital.  Located on the banks of the Suriname River and a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Suriname is one of the more diverse nations globally with no one ethnic group forming a majority.  Maroon, Amerindian, Chinese, Hindus, Javanese, Creole, Dutch live and worship side by side.  Add to that a mosque adjacent to a synagogue in Parbo (the local name for Paramaribo, as well as the popular local beer).

On Sunday Chinese and Javanese markets open up selling fruits, vegis and their national food dishes.

Downtown, the colonial Dutch architecture is stunning.  If I squint I glimpse Charleston.  Block after block of tall and proud homes line the streets.

 Crews were setting up for a huge Hindu celebration called Phagwah which was to take place the afternoon we were leaving.  A German singing sensation named The Gentleman (reggae music) and his entourage checked in our hotel with quiet fanfare – one of the headliners for the celebration.

Due to hotel availability, Easter, immigration office hours, etc we decided to head east to French Guiana allowing us to return to Suriname without interruption.

The process for getting to French Guiana was much like the last border crossing.  Land – river -land.  It took 2.5 hours by van to Albina which rests on the Maroni River that separates Suriname and French Guiana.

The ride was stunning.  There was a single lane in each direction with no traffic and not many buildings – it was mostly jungle. Goats and cows grazed in the side of the road.  Where there wasn’t jungle wide canals lined the road separating farmland from the beach on one side and jungle on the other.

As we neared French Guiana the iron rich ground gave way to sandy white soil.

A new high school has been built closer to Albina and children who once took a 2 hour bus ride to Paramaribo for a 7:00 am start time now get to sleep in.

It looks as though, in these three countries, that there is one road, north and south, two lane and paved.  Virtually any other road is dirt, except for the one to the gold mines.

They all seem to have some agriculture and industry between the shore and the jungle/mountains. There are livestock and cowboys on horses, but they don’t look like South American Gauchos.  The sky was gray from burning the jungle.

This immigration process took a whole minute – fastest one ever!

It was a short walk to the river where we boarded a long skinny wooden boat which delivered us to Saint Laurent du Maroni, French Guiana in 15 minutes and our next adventure begins….

Guyana – Land of Many Waters

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I wondered who would be on our flight from Miami to Guyana since Guyana is not a big tourist destination.

Lined up, one after another were millennial aged guys sporting beards, baseball caps and wearing either a polo shirt or a checkered button up.  The lack of women  was noticeable.

Over the past decade, Guyana has found huge amounts of oil and gas under its coastal waters.  We assume the guys are part of the workforce or there’s an international log rolling competition in the country.

We landed at the Cheddi Jagan International Airport about 10:15 pm.  Research showed that the closest hotels to the airport were in the capital city of Georgetown an hour’s drive away (for a point of reference later on, we paid $50.00 for the taxi ride to our hotel).

I made up in my mind that since there were no hotels along the way it had to be jungle. Not at all. The main road was lined with commercial buildings, restaurants and homes.

Compared to our home town it was bustling.  Major businesses were closed but mom and pops were open and active.

The line of traffic heading towards the airport was steady and our lane was clogged with construction vehicles.  The taxi driver said two more flights were due in.

*click on photos to enlarge

View from our hotel
View from our hotel
Hotel

The capital of Georgetown sits at the mouth of the Demerara River and the Atlantic Ocean with approximately 235,000 inhabitants.   Named the Garden City of the Caribbean.

A British colony was established in 1781 and named for King George.  In subsequent years it was renamed and ruled by the French and Dutch.  Reverting back to Georgetown after it was recaptured by the British in 1812.

It’s the 3rd smallest and one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, and the only English speaking country in South America.

Per Britannica – Georgetown is the chief commercial and manufacturing centre of Guyana. It exports sugar, rice, and tropical fruits, as well as timber, balata, bauxite, gold, and diamonds from the Guyanese hinterland. Large sugar refineries are located in the city.

Per Paige – open, stagnant, garbage filled and extremely smelly canals/drainage ditches sadly line all the streets.

The town is full of beautiful, wooden colonial houses suffering from benign neglect.   

The area closet to our hotel (the receptionist’s name was Nevada) was industrial with lots of commercial and government buildings, as well as the U.S. and Canadian embassies.

Why are churches often locked up?

Our personal favorite was exploring the Stabroek Market  which sits on the river’s edge and opened in 1792,  bustling with the sounds of Creole rising above the hum of money exchange.

As we ventured away from the main downtown corridor fenced-in eclectic homes popped up like bunnies on viagra.  Most are made of wood and some raised off the ground with stilts.

It’s visually obvious that Georgetown and beyond rest below sea level.  Now – the dry season water fills the ditches and canals.  I’m afraid to think of what the rainy season brings.

It averaged 87 degrees and according to our weather app felt like 97 with humidity hanging around 70 percent.

For the same cost as an hour taxi ride from the airport we hired a driver to take us out of the country and deliver us to our hotel in Paramaribo, Suriname.  A mere 12 1/2 hour journey…..

It could have been an hour and a half flight but we would have missed the journey.

It began at 4:00 am in a mini van with 5 other people for a 3 hour ride to the ferry which took us to the border of Suriname.

The Guyana countryside was fascinating.  The main road was lined with homes (all fenced) with a wide canal in their front yards.  Wooden walking bridges allowed access.

*These photos were taken from the car (except for the first two).  The driver made us keep the window closed because the A/C was on.

Every so often a portion of a canal was full of the most beautiful, large lilies.  Horses and burros pulled long carts with construction goods.  Palm trees swayed tall on the horizon and every half a mile or so a new sign popped up announcing the town’s name.  On both sides of the border there was farming, felt like Iowa with large harvesting equipment, but it was primarily rice.

The ferry immigration process was rather quick and a two hour wait for the ferry allowed time to curl up on a bench and catch some zzzz’s.

It took 45 minutes as an old makeshift tug boat pushed us across the Corentyne River to the border of Suriname.

We’ve added Guyana to our future travel plans where we’ll hop on a small plane and travel inland to the jungle – one of the last untouched and pristine in the world.

Catch you on the other side of the river…

The Start of a Big Travel Year 2024

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And we’re off…… flying toward the sunrise.

It’s been a quick 9 months (say those words to a pregnant woman) since we returned from our last international voyage as we made our best effort to follow the Silk Road – ending with a Spanish decompression where tapas/pinchos y copas de vino ruled the day.

A South American journey was scheduled last year before heading to the Central

Asia when covid knocked on our flimsy door and forced us to cancel.

Since then we’ve bebopped the USA visiting kids/grandbabies while somehow filling every moment in between. I don’t know if it’s keeping us younger or wearing us out! Either way, it’s etched a long road maps on my face. Tee hee.

For the next few days we’ll fuel up on grandbaby hugs before heading to Guyana.

Stay tuned….

 

Suriname to French Guiana

The wooden long boat ride from the Suriname border to French Guiana across the Maroni River lasted 15 minutes.

We had read that we needed to be sure to go to the immigration office at the police station on the French Guiana side because most boats cross further down the river and bypass this process.  The assumption was that there would be waiting taxis to take us to the capital, Cayenne.

Yeah, well, not so much…  Thank goodness the female, French  immigration officer spoke English and she guided us in a specific direction where we might find one.

Note to self…. don’t ever pack your Tumi suitcase for an international trip again – never, ever!  I don’t even like my Tumi.  It was a backup for Charleston and used very little.  It was the smallest suitcase, which was important.  The wheels are tiny and the pull handle is flimsy.

I had to pull that stupid suitcase down the bumpy, gravelly, pothole filled road.  We couldn’t use the safer earthen walking path that paralleled the street because I had my Tumi! Bill brought our old work horse Eagle Creek roller that has 28 years and several trips around the globe on it. You can’t ruin that one and it even turns into a backpack.

The area started out quasi industrial then turned residential /commercial.  There was a group of guys hanging out at an apartment complex.  One popped up and asked if we needed a ride.  Of course we did but Safety 101 says “heck no, we’re just out for a stroll”.  Bill and I looked at each other trying to telepathically decide how to answer.  Yes. We need a ride.  Follow me.

We walked towards the shore (good sign) where he introduced us to Kinglal – Bob Marley with 30 years on him – wearing a long knitted cap with his beard tucked behind his t-shirt and sporting a yellow, green and red polo.

We followed him to the shore where the “non-immigration” boats arrive.  What a racket.  He showed us his van and asked us to wait as he had two more passengers arriving.

Kinglal was a man in charge – completely engrossed in the busy situation unfolding – passengers getting on and off the boats, suitcases and bags of goods going to and fro, at the same time he’s checking for his passengers and people are trying to visit with him.

One passenger finally showed and the other should arrive anytime.  Wait – just wait.  An hour and a half later and thoroughly ticked off – stood up by a client – he loaded us up, drove 30 feet, stopped and told us get out and get in another van.  He grumbled about how much time he had wasted – blah, blah, blah….

Off we went.  Rolling hills and jungle for three bouncy (van’s shocks were shot) hours before we showed up at a grungy apartment complex where we’d be staying. There were no hotels available (a downside to traveling without specific plans) and this was Plan B.

We had no local money,  no one spoke English and the neighborhood looked sketchy.  Bill said he didn’t want to be out in the dark and the sun was beginning to set.  Down the street were the Golden Arches.  Assuming they’d take a credit card we headed that way and yeah – we ate there.

A Chinese market (that would be a tiny market owned by the Chinese – between French Guiana and Suriname they’ve got a monopoly) was next to the apartment.  We ventured in to see if we use our credit card to purchase food.  The gal agreed to let us to use our debit card.  Score!  We were able to get water, snacks, and wine.

Since we weren’t overly thrilled with our accommodations, we decided to catch a ride to the border town of Oiapoque in Brazil the next day. Just a day trip. It looked like it would be a great way to fill the day until we could change our sleeping situation.

Guyana, Suriname, French Guiana and Brazil are contiguous.  We’re moving East and we’ll have to backtrack later on.

We spend the evening researching the process, found a driver and headed to Brazil.

Heading West and By the Numbers

A four hour train ride took us from Pamplona to Madrid.  We got lost in the mesmerizing landscape grinning every time a small village with white stone buildings entered the scene.  Lush were the hillsides and fields of agriculture.

We walked by the Atocha Station a couple of times while in Madrid but discovered a lush garden inside after departing the train.It was an easy listless day – train and then a taxi to the hotel near the airport for our flight back to the USA the following morning.

It was an eight and a half hour flight to Newark where we were to have a quick layover and be one our way to Charlotte.  Upon landing lightening crashed in around us and the plane stood still on the tarmac as the airport closed.  An omen.  A half hour later the plane was cleared to head to the gate.

Unbeknownst to us the airline industry and particularly United was in melt down mode.  It was utter chaos. Cancelled flights and stranded people.  Our connecting flight to Charlotte a victim.

It was 5:00 pm.  A United agent told us it would be days before any  seats would be available. “Check online.” The internet confirmed the worst.

We had places to be!  The following day was our grandson’s first birthday and our son had taken time off of work – we didn’t have days…. who has days???

Quick change of plans – we rented a car and headed to Charlotte driving until dark.  It was 1:30 am Madrid time by the time we stopped for the night somewhere in Maryland.

We arrived at our destination 21 hours late but in time to celebrate.

We visited family, broke bread, raced cars and played with our grand babies. 

United continued its melt down and we feared we’d not make it home to Nevada as scheduled.  It all worked out – both flights harmoniously were delayed and we made it home.Now we shift through months of mail, dust off the house and get ready for summer.  We head out again in 8 days.

Our trip by the numbers:

13 flights, 1 cruise ship, a few boat rides, multiple trains, lots of car rides,  one tram – 34 beds and 18 Countries: South Africa, Eswatini, Lesotho, Mozambique, Madagascar, Comoros, French Comoros, Seychelles, Omán, EAU, Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Spain.

I wore everything that I packed, left one shirt (on purpose) and threw out 2 that I ruined.  I way overpacked even though we just had carry on.  Another lesson learned (again).  Way less is even more!

Thanks for following along!

 

Pamplona, Spain

The five kilometer walled “old city” of Pamplona (Spanish) and/or Iruña (Basque) is well preserved. Founded in 74 BC by Roman military and political leader, Pompey.  Due to its strategic location it was fortified right way.

* Click to enlarge photos

The Camino de Santiago Frances meanders through town.  It was on our third day of the Camino that took us through town 10 years ago. Through being the key word.  No time to explore – we had miles ahead of us.

Bill partied here one night 50 years ago and was determined to find the bar so we booked a week’s stay at an Airbnb to allow us the time to investigate.  He didn’t remember the name or the location so we drank or way through town trying to figure out which one held Bill’s barstool.

Our apartment was on Estafeta Street right above a popular restaurant/bar. The street is renowned for its 300 meter path where six bulls and thousands of crazy masochists converge for the running of the bulls during the San Fermín festival.

In 11 days, our balcony and all the ones up and down the street, now quiet and unoccupied, will be full of onlookers peering down to the mayhem below. More than 1.5 million people will fill the town.

Preparations are under way.  Stores advertise white and red in honor of the celebration – some empty store fronts are shored up with painted murals and fencing has been installed to keep people out of areas. It’s hard to fathom the masses for the festival.

We spent three days on portions of the Camino.  The first day we followed the arrows to Cizur Menór and it only took 20 minutes to get lost.  I had to pull out the GPS to get oriented. The next time we hiked in the opposite direction.  It was like Where’s Waldo trying to find the trail makers.  We taxied to Alto del Perdón and walked back – backwards on the trail again!  Yes, we got lost but not for long.

Searching for arrows that guide the Way and not knowing where they lead was thrilling.  We talked about a reunion walk in the future.  We’ll see how that pans out.  One thing we learned is that we’re not as strong as we used to be.  Super light packs and a few extra days to walk would be essential.

Pamplona pays homage to Ernest Hemingway. A city that he loved and wrote about in his 1926 book The Sun Also Rises.  Some of his favorite haunts still stand today attracting tourists and local alike.

San Fermín

We gobbled up as many pinchos as possible and tried to soak in every ounce of Spain as possible.

Hemingway’s book is downloaded on my Kindle to read as we head west – going to let Pamplona linger a bit longer…

 

La Próxima Ciudad – San Sebastián, Spain

We got up early to catch a 6:30 taxi.  The previous night we tried to hire one for the morning and the driver assured us there would be lots of them waiting.  No pasa nada. Don’t worry.

All there were was a bunch of drunk and tired party goers.  We had allowed ourselves 35 minutes for a 10 minute drive and one guy told us he had been waiting an hour.  Panic!  There are no ride share companies in town.  A taxi was it.

The guy was exhausted after going to three parties in three different barrios where he drank and danced the night away.  He said he had a great time as he tried to keep his eyelids open.

I expressed my concern that we’d miss our train and he kindly offered to share his taxi.  Twenty minutes later our chariot arrived.  The remaining people who got there long before us freaked out that we were getting in a cab out of turn.  It was explained and all was well with the world.

Bill tried to give our cabbie friend money and it was turned down with a – it’s for Spain and from Salamanca! ¡Buen viaje!  He certainly saved the day.

The 1.5 hour train took us to Valladolid where we switched trains for a 4 hour journey to San Sebastián – also known as Donostia/San Sebastián (Basque and Spanish).

Famous for their pintxos/pinchos (Basque/Spanish). The Spanish dictionary defines a pincho like ‘a portion of food served, sometimes with a cocktail stick, as an aperitif’. The word “pincho” comes from the verb “to pinchar” which means “to pierce”. The pincho is normally served on a piece of bread or other, served usually with a cocktail stick which you can eat in one or two bites.

* Reality is that it takes multiple bites to finish off a pincho! The person who wrote the definition must have been famished and unless you’re a glutton two of them are a meal!

The train ride was stunning.  A reminder of all the things we absolutely love about Spain.  Lush, forested mountains, quaint villages, rolling farm land and fields of vegetables inter-dispersed with thousand poppies.  Often it feels like we’ve stepped into a fairy tale.

We had been to San Sebastián many years ago for just a few hours when Carlos and Isabel took us on a field trip from their hometown about a half hour away for pinchos and a beautiful afternoon lunch.

San Sebastián is on the coast of the Bay of Biscay and 12 miles from the French border.  The Basque Country.  Where the Urumea River runs along side the town and spills into the bay.

*click photos to enlarge

“We could live here.” rolled off our tongues. The old architecture, the beaches, the long La Concha beach walkway, the forested lush hills, pinchos and bars.  I thought I heard Bill said that but upon reflection I think I imagined it.

Our VRBO was in a much quieter area than Salamanca. The bars across the street closed at 9:00 pm.  Yes!

Everything was new to us so it was enjoyable exploring.  A historical city on the beach was a new kind of perfect.  A best kind of yin and yang.

Much to my surprise at Playa de Zurriola in Gros (across the river) nudity was a thing.  This isn’t a hidden beach.  It’s right there!  Wide open for all eyes to see.  Yes, they were kinda on the corner but you had to walk past that area to get where you’re going.

Yup! I’m a prude. But the kids, do what you want away from kids…

Of course we stopped to soak it all in.  One old dude stripped off his clothing, ran to the water jumped in and frolicked in his nakedness.  I was particularly surprised by his willingness to swim in the cold water!  Just saying.  About 10% of the women sunbathed topless and G-string bottoms were worn by most.

It was kinda funny but this American who sun bathed next to us must have felt some new sense of freedom and was topless.  It had to be her first time since she had tan marks from her bathing suit top.  We watched her swim in the bay and she actually did frolick.  She raised her arms to the sky and spun circles.

It reminded us of three burners we saw on their last day of Burning Man stark naked with super white short tans lines – smiling ear to ear with their new found freedom.  Perhaps we’re missing something.

Onwards….

We refrain from shopping when traveling but this time while exploring we stumbled upon a walking shopping district where sirens sang me into a rocky oblivion!

San Sebastián is certainly an international destination and for good reason.  We enjoyed every minute of it.

Protest
Slot machine at the train station restaurant

 

 

 

 

On to Salamanca, Spain

We fell in love with Salamanca ten years ago when I went to extensive Spanish school for three months after walking the Camino de Santiago.  Bill said he would learn more Spanish in the bars while I was in school. Game on.  I’m sure you could figure out who the winner was in that challenge.

Actually what happened was Bill learned every square inch of the old part of town and beyond – walking while I traumatized my brain.  On weekends he would take me on field trips to show me what he had discovered.

*click photos to enlarge

Outside the old city…

What’s scary is how much our memories have deteriorated in 10 years.  We eventually found almost all of our favorite spots but it took an effort.  Sadly a lot of businesses have closed – perhaps victims of COVID lockdowns.

This time we rented an apartment on Plaza Mayor with a balcony that allowed front row seats to people watching and three concerts.

We took this time to wind down after hotel stays and a whirlwind tour the past couple plus months.  Now shifting to the Spaniard clock – sleeping in and staying up late.  Tapas and a caña (beer)/wine for lunch, snack time, dinner…. any time, all the time.

Point of clarification – We got on the old person’s clock.  The young stay up partying all night long.  There is never an hour period of time throughout the night and early morning where you don’t hear them.  When we left at 6:30 am to catch a cab to the train the taxi stand was full of drunk party goers waiting for a ride home.

Mid-week we were awakened by super loud partiers in our building. The building is 4 stories with one unit on each floor – ours the 3rd. Their voices reverberated off the walls in the narrow stairwell.  It sounded like they were right outside our door until they were inside our apartment!  They used a key to enter.  Our bedroom was near the door.  Bill popped up and grabbed a pillow to hide his private parts and exited our door and met them in the hallway where he said in his best English “leave”.  They hightailed it out of there without a rebuttal.  They partied for another half or so and then settled down.

I messaged our landlord who tried to convince me that it was impossible since they didn’t have a key and the only way to access is with one!  Can you imagine?  Later he confessed they must have had a master key.

Salamanca is stunning with old, towering and ornate sandstone buildings.  It drips history, with Roman, Muslim and royal periods.  The majority of historic buildings were created by the Catholic Church.

The “old city” is a UNESCO World Heritage site and the oldest university in Spain sits smack dab in the middle of it.  Columbus studied celestial navigation here prior to sailing for the New World.

In the afternoon some group is celebrating something almost every day with parades, artistic displays or some sort of organized party.  It makes me smile to see people living life with a happy purpose.

Storks must be the Salamanca’s mascot.  They sit proudly in their huge nests at the tops of churches.  The largest gathering was eight.  They have a strange clucking call and their vast wingspan shadows the sun when they circle.  It appears that they deliver lots of babies.

The central market has many stalls selling fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, cheese, eggs, piglets, chicken, etc.  You can shop daily. So wish we had something like this in the USA.

The week went by quickly and with a bit of sadness we left for the next town…

Oh – by the way – Bill is now snapping a photo here and there!

Hola Madrid, Spain

It’s hard to believe it’s been 15 years since we last spent time here.

Madrid is fabulous!  The old buildings are eye candy.  Food fantastic. First class museums and lush parks.  And this time of the year – tons of people.  It’s all remarkable.

*click photos to enlarge

In keeping with our routine we walked and walked and walked everywhere.  No metros to explore – only one to a train station outside the city to buy tickets which we could have purchased online, and no busses.

We hit the tops of the waves. A repeat of all the things we did 15 years ago.

Stunning is Patrick Blanca’s vertical garden wall – 78 feet tall containing 250 varieties of 15,000 plants.

It felt good to practice our Spanish and eat food different from Central Asia.

Fun story:  Bill occasionally puts one of his hearing aides in his pocket when it starts to bug him.  This time when we returned to our hotel the aid was missing.  It was assumed that he dropped it while taking his money out of his pocket but with it would be impossible to retrace our steps.

Days later we went to back to a bar, after viewing Picasso’s Guernica, where we had eaten on the day that Bill lost his hearing aid ONLY because every other restaurant in the area was full.

I decided to ask our waitress if they found a hearing aid.  She looked at us strangely and said I don’t think so – no.  The bartender heard the exchange and said Yes!  They found it on the sidewalk a few days ago.  What are the odds?  A crazy miracle for sure.

We found it interesting watching these street sellers walk up with a tarp full of knock off purses, bags, scarves, etc..  They cautiously open their bag, displaying wares and at a moments notice (police) can pull the cord which wraps up their contraband for a quick get away.  They looked right and left, constantly accessing of their situation while trying to make a buck.  The stress was apparent.

All in all it was fantastic being back.  We love Spain.  Preston met the love of his life here and it holds special meaning to all of us.  There’s more of Spain to come….

 

Ultimate Uzbekistan – Khviva

We got up at 3:00 am to catch the Bukhara-Urgench express.  Paige bought the 4 berth cabin so we had railroad sheets and pillows with privacy for the 6 hour trip across the Kyzylkum Desert.

The conductor’s room.

Urgench is actually 2 towns, the ancient in Turkmenistan and the modern one across the border in Uzbekistan.  They also include the ancient settlement of Khiva.

New Urgench is a vast fertile valley served by the Darya River which originates in Tajikistan.  The area has been irrigating for more than 2,000 years, growing cotton and rice for export on the Silk Road.  It also has exported alfalfa and other seeds for hundreds of years.  Since the advent of electricity and pumping power it has really expanded irrigation as it looks like some city along Highway 99 in California.

Walking away from the train station we stopped for breakfast and Paige spotted a restaurant with 2 tandoor type ovens.  It became obvious that they were very popular as people bought them one after another.

We’ll take two!  A samosa of some sort with a spicy meat filling and a sauce on the side.  It took a couple tries to eat them correctly without silverware. When in Rome….

We spent the night in Urgench as it’s the gateway to Khiva but didn’t nothing other than walk around.

Khiva – a crown jewel and great summation to our Central Asia Silk Road adventure.

Per Lonely Planet – The historic heart of Khiva (Xiva) has been so well preserved that it’s sometimes criticised as lifeless – a ‘museum city’. But walk through the city gates and wander the fabled Ichon-Qala (inner walled city) in all its monotone, mud-walled glory and it’s hard not to feel like you are stepping into another era.

Well said!

Within a hour of our arrival, while having lunch, the same Road Scholar tour group we saw Kazakhstan and Tajikistan walked past us!

Our hotel was within the town walls so it was super convenient to walk, eat, explore and take photos. Rinse and repeat for 3 days.  Palaces, madrasas, caravansaries/markets filled the town.  The night time was stunningly peaceful as the whole town was magically lit.

We celebrated Bill’s birthday at a roof top restaurant with a sunset dinner.  Below a woman baked fresh bread Tandoor style.

My camera finally kicked the bucket! No more limping along. Now just dead weight in my pack.

Back to Urgench for our last night and a morning flight to……. It’s time for a different selection of food.

Uzbekistan – Bukhara

It was a two hour high speed train that took us from Samarkand to Bukhara – the historic city center is another UNESCO World Heritage site.

*click on photos to enlarge

Early morning bread delivery to the train station

Different from Samarkand Bukhara hasn’t changed much since it’s inception. No big shiny, new buildings and restorations haven’t changed much from its original form.

The Bukhara Fortress, the Ark, is an intact magnificent walled (up to 66’ tall) city full of madrassas, mosques and markets.  It was occupied without interruption from 4 BC to 1920 when the last Emir was removed by the Bolsheviks. 

Through out our time in Central Asia people asked if would pose with them in a photo.  In a sea of dark hair my white hair stood out like Rudolph’s red nose.  Bill often is referred to as 007.

Cotton is a major resource exporting to Eastern Europe.  Handwoven rugs and embroidered items hang from railings hawked to persons apparently traveling with trunks and not carry-on luggage.

Outside Bukhara is the summer palace of the Emirs – Sitora-I Mokhi Khosa.

Back streets encounters find children kicking soccer balls, bikes, markets and doors with treasures.

We stumbled upon a group of men playing cards and backgammon.  After asking if I could take a photo they kindly invited us in to share chai tea. Again, we did not share the same language but sat like old friends.

Three generations – grandma, mom and grandson were picking apples in their front yard.  They flagged us down and insisted upon sharing a handful of tart and tasty, small green apples.  I think they would have given us a box full had we not insisted that a handful was enough.

Evening roof top dinners, cocktails and sunsets were the icing on the top of each day.

 

 

Uzbekistan- Tashkent to Samarkand

Venturing into a train station to buy tickets where no one speaks English can be a bit tricky.  Lucky for us a kind gentleman offered to assist in translating.  The Uzbek people have to be the kindest that we’ve encountered on this trip.

Men put their right hand across their heart and bow ever so slightly to greet or thank one another.  This is especially true toward women since men do not shake a woman’s hand.  It feels so kind.

The same kindness is granted on the road.  In either direction no matter how many lanes one car pulls over slightly so another may pass.  The same is true with oncoming traffic – cars move slightly aside to allow passage.  It gets a little tenuous when 4 cars share 2 lanes but somehow it works. No road rage!  

Back to the train station.  Our new friend walked us to the counter and asked for two tickets to Samarkand.  The ticket lady told him there were only upper seats available and perhaps we could ask for a lower one once we got on the train.  Ok – that seems simple.

After helping us John (his English name) gave us his name, phone number and email address offering to help us in any way while we’re in his country.  Wow.

It’s a four plus hour train ride to Samarkand. Founded in the 7th century BC.  Hugely popular on the Silk Road trail making it the most crowded tourist spot so far.  The Registan (UNESCO), Gur-e-Amir, Bibi-Khanym Mosque and Shah-i-Zinda were so full of people that it took away from its peacefulness but not its majestic beauty.

*click on photos to enlarge

Samarkand, the navel of the vast empire held by Timur aka Tamerlane (1300’s) one of history’s greatest and cruelest conquers.  It was built by architects, artists and craftsmen abducted by Tamerlane and his his descendants from away conquered territories for 2,000 year it was one of the most important stops on the Silk Road, it’s bazaars thronged with merchants and shoppers.

Controversial and frowned upon by some it is believed that the government has “over-restored” these once falling down sites making them appear more like “Disneyland”. However to stand the test of time one must restore – right?

Back to the train – I had pictured a double decker train since our seats were upstairs.  HA!  Talk about lost in translation.  Upstairs is a small bunk.  Bill and I discovered we both had these and also were in separate parts of the compartment.  Our carry-on luggage now seemed huge as there was virtually no place to store them.  The lack of air circulation had me in melting.  I must have looked a wreck.

Two sweet women noted the confusion on our faces and the sweat on my brow while we tried to figure out our seats, luggage, etc.  Moments later one of the women came up to me and motioned for me to follow.  She pointed to the top bunk and the seat below.  Don’t know how she arranged that but it worked out perfect.  Bill would have never fit in the bunk.  The seat offered no room for his legs since his suitcase filled that space but he was extremely grateful for the seat. Bill sat like a yogi pretzel and I was able to recline and nap.  Fortunately there was a tiny window above the bunk that allowed fresh air during the journey.  It worked out perfect.

Across the way a beautiful young woman snapped a photo of me in the bunk and then motioned for me to hand her my phone where she opened my Instagram account, shared the photo and the followed my account.  From her account I learned she’s a doctor finishing her medical degree and gymnast coach.  She was traveling with three young gymnasts for a competition.

The history and the architecture in each location are stunning but it’s these little life events with others with whom we can not conversant but still manage to communicate that make exploring new cultures so worthwhile.

We saw this stunning white building with its door ajar. An invitation to sneak in – right?  We stumbled upon this ornate room that was set up for a wedding.  Wowza.  The worker was sitting on the floor in the corner on his phone.  He had no idea we were there.

An open door in another alleyway showcased a collection of old treasures for sale.  While I snapped some photos Bill visited with the owner.

Now having been to several cities in Uzbekistan we’ve learned that kiddie parks are part of the landscape.

My camera has been giving me grief.  The shutter button at times stops working.  I can reset it by removing the battery and reinserting it only to have it happen after a few shots.  UGH!  Thank goodness I’m not photographing a wedding.

Japanese tourist was wearing these!
Shoe repair
These punching machines are scattered around the town.

 

 

Uzbekistan continued…

On our adventure to follow the Silk Road Uzbekistan might be the crown jewel.

The land of storks, white Chevrolets (were told Chevy has a factory here) and 3,000 mosques in Tashkent alone, ping pong and two Russian cosmonauts (one-upping Kazakhstan from where Sputnik was launched).

*click photos to enlarge

We walked our legs off in the capital and largest city –  Tashkent – which means city of stone or stone city.  Founded over 2,218 years ago.  Part old beautiful Soviet buildings (yes – they do exist), part mud houses and then the shiny new which are popping up like freshly planted seeds.  Like Beijing, the hutongs are being razed and replaced with square high rises.

Hideous, run down and beautiful was the Uzbekistan Hotel.  Built in 1974 and had to have been the cat’s meow. Now a beacon on the horizon, photo op and a place where Bill got a hair cut.

The are large flood irrigated parks and open irrigation ditches and drains.  A kiddie sized carnival embedded in the heart of the city park where mini-me sized rides and games entertain all year round.

Kyrgyzstan to Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan with a detour to Tajikistan

From Bishkek we followed the Silk Road to Tashkent, Uzbekistan via Shymkent, Kazakhstan.  Another crossroad conquered and destroyed by all the great invaders.  It lies in the foothills above a great valley.  Noteworthy because Timurlane the Great died here, and the city’s forges produced millions of lead bullets for Russia’s WWII fight against Germany.

*click on photos to enlarge

The train left the station at 11:22 pm and lasted 14 hours.  We paid for all 4 berths in one compartment assuring us some privacy (approx. $32.00 total).  Unfortunately that compartment was only a door away from the WC (water closet/toilet).   Thick pads and down pillows were rolled up on the top berth and to my horror there were no linens.

The ticket collector showed up and plopped down next to Bill and we tried to communicate while he looked to make sure our paperwork was in order.  Russian is the “common” language amongst the Caucuses and we can’t speak a word of it. He spoke no English.  Overall it worked out well and we had a jolly time.  Bill offered him a tip and he walked away happy.

About 10 minutes later he returned with two sealed bag of clean sheets.  Yes!

Bill and I snacked on red wine and potato chips and quickly fell asleep.

Near the Kyrgyzstan border the steward woke us up and told us to wait….. a half hour later young military men showed up at our door speed talking.  We said something in English to which they asked back “Do you speak Russian?”  Yeah right.

Passport. Check.  Then the young man pointed to my suitcase and grunted.  I opened my suitcase and he was satisfied after a portion of it was emptied.  He motioned to close it, did an about face and left.

Off to sleep again…

At the Kazakhstan border it was a repeat of the whole language barrier, passport scenario…….  It’s now 3:20 am and this time the young military man, holding a small 3”x 3” video camera, demanded that we empty our entire backpacks on the bed and then demanded we open our suitcases and empty them.  The backpack contents were mounded next to us and left no room for the suitcase contents.  So like good passive aggressive people we moved things around and didn’t unload.  He dug into Bill’s suitcase – grunting.  He didn’t put his hands in my bag and gave up after I moved a few things around. Next the immigration man stepped in and did the passport ritual of photos and stamping our books while the first showed back up with the drug sniffing dog.  Geez.

Bill thought he’d be exempt from being hassled at borders because he’s an old guy.  Apparently that was just another case of MSU.

By 4 am we were fast asleep again.  The fumes from the bathroom had thoroughly permeated our cabin.  Nothing like the smell of urine in the morning to make you hop out of bed.

We stood in the hallway in front of the small open window waiting to pull into Shymkent.

We hired their equivalent to Uber to take us to the border so we could do the easy peasy walk through and then grabbed another in Uzbekistan to take us the the capital city of Tashkent.

Uzbekistan is another landlocked country surround by 5 landlocked countries – Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan and Turkmenistan.

By luck of the draw we ended up in a hotel with a great location.  Surrounded by tasty restaurants and walking distance (albeit long) to the happening places.

We left Uzbekistan for a day trip to Tajikistan.  Brand new cities were being built outside Tashkent much like China.

We ran into the same Road Scholar group from Kazakhstan in the immigration line at the Tajikistan border! Crazy.

Tajikistan – has a slight different feel of remoteness and less homogeneity, having 2 lengthy borders with China and Afghanistan and serious mountain ranges. This remoteness seems to have slowed its movement toward the west, but not the desire.

Many residents migrate to Russia and work summers harvesting crops.  The local swimming pool is open for men only 6 days a week and women!  About 50% of the city dwellers own car.

Khujand is another 2500 year old city founded by Alexander the Great and built on an 8th century BC fortress and is the eastern most point of his empire.  During the Russian era it was known as Leninbad.  The army of Genghis Khan later destroyed the town and razed it to the ground.  The revival of the city was aided by its geographical position on the Silk Road. 

Portion of the original wall built by Alexander the Great

It has a fabulous Alexander the Great fortress,  museum and caravanserai.

On a side note –  the capital of Dushanbe is home of the famous Buddha in Nirvana or Sleeping Buddha statue founded in 1959 and dating back to the 5th or 6th century.  It is the largest clay Buddha statue in the world.  America contributed $30,000 toward its restoration.

p.s. The blog is pretty much caught up.  As of May 26th we’re still in Uzbekistan. Tomorrow is Bill’s birthday!

Kyrgyzstan

We contacted a company (all done by What’sApp) to arrange a driver from Almaty, Kazakhstan to the border of Kyrgyzstan and then another driver on the Kyrgyzstan side to take us to the capital city of Bishkek.

Our first non-English speaking driver had a black Camry that was huge (unlike American Camrys) with leather seats and more bells and whistles than typical – the back seats had electronic reclining adjustments.  Very unusual and especially for the price we paid.  His mission was to get us there in half the time it should take. Time is money!  Poor Bill had to ask him  to slow down to help curb my fear of crashing.

The two driver system is genius because the line of cars at the border was insanely long.  We just walked on through easy peasy.

The driver on the other side surprisingly spoke English.  He had taken it in school 20 years ago and said he was rusty for lack of using it.  It was the first time in many, many countries that a driver/cabbie could communicate with us.

Kyrgyzstan is another landlocked country in Central Asia.  It borders Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and China.

Bishkek is another spread-out city with virtually no beautiful historical buildings.  It looked and felt like a throwback to Soviet times.  The one thing it did have was a long walking park with tall trees and gorgeous roses in full bloom. It included a vast carnival and kiddie park, selling cotton candy at 10 am.

Groups of old men gather in the squares around the old soviet buildings – squatting on their heels ala Viet Nam.

Adorable are the older women with colorful scarves wrapped around their hair.  Usually contrasting the colors of their dress  to make it visually interesting and beautiful.

Zhang Qian crossed near here and documented his travels in 138 B.C.

Numerous Buddhist and Muslim rock inscriptions surround mosques, temples and Christian churches from the 800s through the 1600s.

The natural light hit this painting perfectly

In town a vast and bustling market remains. Outside the city nomadic tribes live in their yurts and move, livestock among the foothills and steppes.

 

We’re wearing out the treads on our shoes as we explore.

 

 

Kazakhstan

Officially known as the Republic of Kazakhstan.  It borders Russia, China, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and the Caspian Sea – phew that’s a lot of borders.  It’s the world’s largest landlocked country.

We fly into Almaty, the former capital.  Expansive and not so easy to navigate all the highlights on foot unless you’re masochists like us. Most people travel to Kazakhstan to play in the mountains.

Almaty is not a picturesque architecture wise but the stunning snow filled Alatau mountains that nearly surround the city are breathtaking.

Our mission was to follow as much of the Silk Road as possible so we headed east toward China.

The Silk Road spread to fundamental products – commerce and religion.

We have followed the road in China to Xi’an and Chengdu, but we are missing the vast west of China which we hope to fill in next year.  The missing portion is replete with ancient Buddhist art.

But lo and behold near the Chinese border we saw a Buddhist temple which is a Mosque.  It was strange to behold.  As we wondered around seeing obvious physical evidence to each religion.  It also included a small museum of Silk Road artifacts.

As we left the border the sky darkened and near the Big Tree called Ulken Agash we were inundated by a beautiful thunder storm with rain and hail rendering us soaked to the bone. This tree was frequented by Silk Road businessmen who believed that walking around it seven times would bring them luck.

Aisan and Iden. Aisan worked at the reception desk and joined us. Iden was the brother of a friend who drove.

We returned west across the Altyn Emel National Park which scenery was spectacular, with wide  lush valleys dotted with Silk Road cemeteries, cattle, horses, sheep, goats, donkeys and red poppies.  It reminded us of Northwestern Elko County.

Gas lines are run above ground.

Our walking journey in Almaty took us to the Russian Othrodox Ascension Cathedral where we ran into a Road Scholar tour.  The first Americans we’ve seen since leaving Dubai.

Bill continues to whoop me playing rummy 500.  We’re having a blast exploring with the best of the Silk Road yet to come…

 

Azerbaijan

Azerbaijan is in the South Caucasus region and is surrounded by Russia, Georgia, Türkiye, Iran and the Caspian Sea.   

After being warned in Armenia and subsequently reading online, we were prepared to be hassled upon arrival since we have an Armenian stamp in our passports.  You’re either with us or against us in our continuing border war. Immigration was supposed to grill us, inventory our medicine with prescriptions, count our money, prove our hotel AND flight out of the country and perhaps deny us entry.

Fake news – I say!  Immigration and customs was a breeze.  No questions asked.  Welcome to Azerbaijan!

As we flew over the capital city of Baku it looked parched and dry but the city couldn’t have been more different on the ground.

Not sure if it had anything to do with it being a week after the Formula 1 race but the city is stunning!  Baku rests 92 feet below sea level.  The lowest national city in the world and the largest city below sea level.

Lonely Planets describes it as “the architectural love child of Paris and Dubai”,  and  one of the fastest changing cities in the world. It’s a great combination of old and new architecture.

We stayed within the ancient walled city – an UNESCO World Heritage site.  A wonderful place to get lost in its narrowing winding alleyways. Sandstone buildings and cobblestone roads make for warm, nostalgic feelings.

Just outside the wall are parks with huge fountains and stunning landscaping.  Metropolitan with a few suburban qualities.

On the shore of the Caspian Sea, which I learned is a huge lake and historically may have been connected to the Black Sea, is a long and wide promenade with views of modern glass buildings and the old town.

In Bill’s adventure to follow the Silk Road we drove to the Caucasus mountain town of Sheki – an important city that welcomed merchants and travellers from all over the world, founded in the 1st century BC.  We walked the grounds of another caravanserai which now functions as a museum and hotel and the UNESCO site of Sheki Kahn Palace. The Way came from Tabriz and passed on to Sinhnaghi in Georgia.  Up the road is the village of Kish.  Here, built over a pagan temple, sits the oldest Albanian Orthodox Church, built perhaps in 50-60 A.D. .  The convent, walled grounds and access road are built of river rock, and all still used and well-maintained.  This church, begun by disciple Elishe, is probably the oldest Christian church in Central Asia, a vast area under Albanian control (no relation to Eastern European Albania) before Turkic, Macedonian and Mongol (then Russia) took turns invading and destroying much of the ancient civilization.

The balance of the valleys and foothills are verdant with grapes, apples and wheat growing over hill and dale.

Similar to Armenia and Georgia sheep and cows are watched by shepherds as there are no fences.

Natural gas burning in the desert sand was mystical to early inhabitants.  A massive gas field discovery in recent years is fueling the flame of progress.  The Flame Towers symbolize the country’s close relationship with fire.

On a side note:  the airport is beautiful.  They have these sleeping pods available for free and these “Cocoons” are filled with stores and restaurants.

The Country of Georgia

Back to Armenia for a second (Bill is chiming in).  We flew over Iran nearly the entire trip from Dubai to Armenia.  I don’t think U.S. carriers do.  Along the way we had a magnificent view of Mt. Ararat.  If you see that speck in Paige’s photo it might be Noah’s Ark.

Now to Georgia – at the intersection of Eastern Europe and Western Asia (Caucasus region) bordering the Black Sea, Russia, Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan.

The capital of Tbilisi is yet again a city reminiscent of Europe, conceivably a bit fancier than Yerevan.

*click on photos to enlarge

The city’s name is derived from the Georgian word “tbili,” meaning warm, perhaps a nod to their famous sulfur baths founded in the 5th century.

On the banks of the Kura River which divides the city, cliffs and hills overlook the tall sycamore trees that line the streets. Tiny alleyways are filled with quaint al fresco restaurants uniquely decorated.

Old books are displayed on any flat surface waiting to be purchased by the non-digital reader.

Underground passageways allow people to cross the street safely, avoid inclement weather and shop at the same time.  They’re brilliant!

The food might be our favorite so far – rich, creamy, spicy, garlicky and delicious.  Like French bread is to France – Shoti bread is to Georgia.   Tasty and soft in the middle with crispy edges, moon shaped and made in tandoor ovens.

The dinner crowd steps out late like in Spain but unlike Spain dining is available all day.

Our guide said it’s the world’s oldest makers of wine but the internet and maybe the discovery of the winery in the Armenian cave might challenge that.  However, UNESCO added their ancient and traditional winemaking method, using the Kvevri clay pots (stored in the ground) to their Intangible Cultural Heritage List in 2013.

Left-over grapes are used to make cha-cha, a clear grappa type drink that tastes like gasoline.  Wine and cha-cha are sold everywhere from fancy stores to tiny homemade kiosks.

The under 30 crowd looked like a throw back from Berlin some 30 years ago wearing funky black clothes and Doc Marten’s.

Smoking must be a National pastime as everyone seemed  to have a cigarette dangling off the edge of their lips or pressed between their fingers.

Feral dogs are tagged to show they have been sterilized.  Seems a humane way to address the dog problem.

The tiny walled city of Sighnaghi is a must see.  Reminiscent of Italy with stone terra-cotta roofed buildings dating back to the 17th century lining narrow windy streets.  The Alazani valley and Caucasus mountain views are stunning.  This is a Silk Road stop, with the 4th century Bodbe  Convent (church), walled city and caravansarie overlooking the valley below, the Caucasus mountains and Russia in the distance.

The country’s sweet – churchkhela

Miscellaneous from Tbilisi and beyond…

Armenia

Armenia – a landlocked country in Western Asia (Caucasus region), sharing its borders with Turkey, Georgia, Iran and Azerbaijan.

Azerbaijan and Armenia are bitter rivals disputing their territory since the 1980’s.  Their current war is in the Nagorno-Karabakh border area.  All of Azerbaijan’s borders are closed to land travel.

We had been using a tourist map that showed areas of Armenia denoting treasured historical and fascinating places to see.

Compare maps:

Tourist map we got from the hotel
Internet version showing it’s Azerbaijan

On our drive to Goris our non-English speaking driver pointed out large amounts of dirt bunkers and with his hands mimicked holding a rifle and made a shooting sound and said Azerbaijan.  Upon searching the internet we realized that we were 100 miles from the conflict area.  Click here to read about it.

*click on photos to enlarge

 We’ve since learned that our passage to Azerbaijan is going to be tenuous once they see Armenian stamps in our passports.  It is understood that we’ll get in but will have to prove we weren’t in this disputed region.

Back to the fun stuff – wowza. The capital city of Yerevan is like a European city with stunning architecture, walking friendly, fabulous sidewalk cafes, parks and decorative fountains galore (most of which were being turned on the day before we left).  It felt very family oriented with parks offering rides and games for children.  Don’t get me wrong old USSR is present but the European charm shines beyond it.

The small Russian Lada cars are commonplace and reminded me of an old times.  Like the old American cars in Havana.

On a clear day you can see Mt. Ararat and said to be the resting place of Noah’s Ark.

It was fascinating to learn that it was here in 301 AD when Gregory the Illuminator converted paganism into Christianity making it the first state to adopt Christianity as their religion.  It was a beautiful but tragic story leading to Gregory being thrown into a pit at Khor Virap for 13 years (I climbed down a long narrow ladder 197’ deep, inside the church, to witness this deep dungeon) only to be removed to save the king from utter madness and change the course of history.  The story reads better than fiction and I encourage you to click on this link  to read about it.

There are stories after stories about Jesus, martyrs, Saints, war, genocide.  The churches (Monasteries) are plentiful, grand and magnificent.

Geghard Monastery (the Monastery of the Spear) is a UNESCO World Heritage site.  Carved out of the rocks and allegedly where Jude (Thaddeus) brought and stored the spear that wounded Jesus.

The countryside is stunning.  We’re so lucky to be here when’s it’s green.

Yes! We drove on this road.

Some tid-bits:

  • In the country gas lines are run in pipes above ground.
  • Pulpulka drinking fountains bubble fresh drinking water 24/7 (Armenia is known to have the freshest, clean and natural  drinking water).
  • The soil is rocky and lacking trees.
  • They having a thriving wine industry.  In 2008 wine pots were discovered in a cave dating back some 6,100 years making this the oldest known winery.
  • Small cow herds roam the country and are watched by shepherds.
  • Women (mostly younger) worn oversized blazer.  Perhaps it’s back in season?
  • They believe they escaped COVID by drinking vodka!
    Fruit juice contains fruit

 

Lavash made the old traditional way in the countryside and newer more automated way elsewhere.

It was all enchanting and captivating!  Highly recommended.

Dubai, UAE

Dubai is the city of superlatives.

The – best, largest, biggest, tallest, luxurious, richest,, iconic, uniquest, fastest, cleanest, most-est…

We stayed at the Marina Sheraton (filled with Russian guests), nine stories tall.  Ten years ago we stayed at the Ritz Carlton, four stories tall.  These hotels are now absolutely dwarfed by dozens and dozens of 30 -100 story neighbors but they both have vast private lawns and beaches; and are reminiscent of the Raffles in Singapore and the Metropole in Hanoi, symbols of a bygone era in travel.

On Dubai Creek – a U-shaped nine mile long inlet – is the old quarters. Amongst everything you’ll find gypsum and coral buildings, gold and spice souks, textiles and wooden dhow boats delivering goods and merchandise to the Middle East and North Africa.  The lack of everything tall and big is a contrast to the new Dubai.  Contrary to the balance of the Emirates, only 1% of Dubai’s annual revenues come from oil and gas.  It is sustaining and succeeding on returns from shipping, logistics, finance and tourism.

Dubai’s population is just over 3,000,000 with approximately 15% being UAE nationals, the rest are expats. Islam is the state religion.

Nationals wear traditional clothing – women, the Abaya (long cloak – mostly in black) with a hijab and men, the Kandura (long cloak with long sleeves – white in the summer and darker colors in the winter) and the ghutrah (head-dress). 

On the contrary women were wearing clothing so revealing that it left nothing to the imagination – g-string bathing suits were the rage on the beach – worn by young women to old ladies!

With the cruise in the rear mirror we now have the time and freedom to explore at our pace.