Tag Archives: Adventure

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.

 

 

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.

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.

 

 

Oh Man! Oman

Forming the N/E portion of the Arabian peninsula, we are across the Gulf of Oman from Iran, and our stop at Salalah is approximately 30 miles up the coast from Yemen, neither one of which are current feel good spots for Americans. The mountains, arroyos and blue water remind us of southern Baja – I guess it’s called a desert.

Oman is also our first contact with Marco Polo country, since he stopped here, returning to Venice by sea from one of his trips to China.

Salalah is the world’s historic source of frankincense, brought to the birth of Jesus by the three kings and delivered to Zanzibar and India by early sailor/traders.

Our cabbie for the day, Noah, just became a father the previous day, adding to his children, who are 25, 24, 14 and 12.

We drove into the mountains to see Job’s tomb, crowded because it was a post Ramadan holiday.

Along the way, we passed literally hundreds of acres of a festival site, which occur annually over a month or two. By its size it must dwarf Coachella or Burning Man.

Hotel sized homes dotted the road.  The size accommodates a wealthy man, his multiple wives and children.

The desert and foothills were scattered with camels, domestic and wild. They control the roads, since there are no fences.

The capital, Muscat, is a dead ringer for Indian Wells, California. Date palms, and bougainvillea, Mount Eisenhower and the Living Desert, no high-rises, just white-washed villas and green lawns – tiled palaces and mosques, with the Sultan’s two yachts bobbing in the harbor.

The current Sultan deposed his father in the 1970s and has used his oil and gas dollars to create a clean attractive capital, which has half the population of Oman.

With the exception of a few old stone forts, the development is all post 1970.

Large roads, cut through the coastal range to allow expansion of the city inland, keeping the port village, small and quaint. Inland the row of car dealerships line up, like Los Angeles, including all the exotic manufacturers.

A planned community with a planned economy, and with total iron fisted control, which results in this kind of eye candy, is almost tempting to endorse.

Seychelles

Seychelles – a place I have longed to visit but it was so far away from anywhere (the closet airport is 7 hours from the east coast of Africa) that I figured it wasn’t in the cards.

Lo and behold it appeared on an African cruise itinerary.

Comprising of 115 islands.  The flora and fauna, the humidity and the turtle doves reminded us of Hawaii.

Mahé is the largest island in the Seychelles  – 60.7 square miles – population is approximately 95,000. and 86% of the country lives on  this island.

The town of Victoria was walking distance from the port.  We soaked in the local life as we sweated like an icy glass of water in the hot sun.

*click on photos to enlarge

The beaches are the draw.  My mission was to get us to Beau Vallon Beach on the other side of the island.

I’m the one with the cheap gene in the family – passed down for generations.  Uncharacteristically Bill decided that a $25 taxi fare to the beach was absurd for the sign said it was only 4K away.

After asking multiple taxi drivers the cost he exclaimed to the last one that we would walk.  The man pointed to the mountain in front of us and said no you won’t.

As Confucius says “Roads were made for journeys not destinations.”

Second option was taking the local bus to the beach.  We managed to jump on a full bus ready to depart the station. Being the last passengers on board the only option was a standing position by the driver.

Bill said “We can stand – it’s only 4 clicks”.

Oh but wait – it was rush hour.  Bumper to bumper traffic that moved slower than a snail. Forget the 4 clicks which was way wrong – the amount of time spent standing with my backpack weighing me down and packed in like sardines had sweat dripping down my face hindering my sight.  Pools of water seeped from every pore.  The fellow passengers wouldn’t make eye contact.  They had to assume I was sick with some disease.

After finally breaking free from the traffic jam our driver went peddle to the metal and climbed the tight mountain curves (with no shoulder) throwing the two of us around like a sack of potatoes.  We white knuckled the bars to keep ourselves upright at the same time giggling like school kids. The rest of the bus remained silent.

Unbelievably, the driver stopped three more times and allowed more passengers to board.  How the bus absorbed them was a mystery.  It just added to the heat.  The open windows offered no relief.

What goes up must come down.  I don’t know if it has harder hanging on going up or down.

All the people at the front of the bus must have known which beach we were heading to because when the driver stopped we were told it was our time to get off.

Phew.  All that excitement for a $1.50!!!

The beach was lovely.  White sand and clear warm water.

Our cruise wasn’t leaving until 4 am and this allowed us to have a beautiful beach-front sunset dinner with cocktails.

By the time dinner was over the busses had stopped operating so we paid $20 for a taxi ride back to the port! HA!

The next day we arrived at La Digue – the 4th largest island – population 2,800 and 3.89 square miles.

Now this is what I saw in photos.  An oasis – where tall mountains are blanketed in tropical green.  Huge rock formations are scattered on the white sand beaches and the Indian Ocean is crystal clear. Coral reefs make beautiful designs below the water’s surface.

It is home to one of the most photographed beaches in the world – Anse Source d’Argent.

Bicycles are the popular form of transportation and personal vehicles are scarce.

Poor Bill had to pedal in the heat of the day so I too could photograph the most popular beach.

Popular = people.  Too many for any special photos.

We peddled to a quiet beach where we could leave the camera, phones, etc and do what was really most important – wading in the Indian Ocean until our fingers became pruney.

Nosy Be, Madagascar

Nosy Be (means big island in Malagasy) is located an half mile off the Northwest coast of Madagascar – it’s 123.56 square miles and is the number one beach destination for the country.  Malagasy and French are spoken here.

The cruise boat offered a shuttle to the commercial district. The main street is lined with restaurants and larger stores where as the side streets are filled with small booths, one next to another as far as the eye scan see selling every type of goods (mostly from China) and food that you can imagine.  Tuk tuks swarm like bees.

Some shopkeepers squatted in their stores engulfed by their products while others sat out in front chit chatting with friends and family and enticing consumers to buy.

Along with a fellow cruiser (from Thailand by way of Santa Barbara) we hired a tuk-tuk for the ride to the “best “ beach.

The road was riddled with large pot holes. The tuk-tuks bobbed and weaved in a perfectly corrugated dance to avoid the volcano sized holes, occasionally being confronted by a massive truck approaching in the opposite direction. All this around a huge road construction project. Utter chaos.

The countryside is lush and tropical. Small wooden stick homes reveal poverty where most people live on the equivalent of $1 USD per day.

Suddenly hotels, restaurants and PADI dive shops started popping up a sign that we were getting closer to the beach.

The water is getting bluer as we head north but we’ve yet to see the turquoise water advertised on the internet.  Supposedly Nosy Be has offers that as well but traveling there required a drive longer than our time allowed. 

It was all exciting and colorful.

Police busting the hawkers

Mayotte, Comoros

A French territory located in northern part of the Mozambique Channel in the Indian Ocean. Most people are Muslim, but interestingly…..when independence was offered, the Mayotte trio of the Comoros Islands opted to remain a French possession. Thus French is spoken, the euro is the currency and baguettes are the National starch. Somewhat like the Falklands and Britain.

*click on photos to enlarge

We docked in Grande-Terre (large island) and walked around the main part of town. It is an endless market of mostly homemade, new items from China or used “stuff”.

Close up
Spider by the taxi sign

It’s getting hotter and the humidity is high. Dressing conservatively – knees and elbows covered – make for a sweaty day. I can’t imagine wearing a hijab in this climate.  The good news is that it is lush with green goodness.

After exploring Grande-Terre we hopped on a car ferry to Petite-Terre. We used sign language to purchase our tickets (hoping we were in the correct boat) as English is not spoken.

The mass of beautiful woman dressed in a rainbow of bright colors was eye candy for my camera lens.

On Petite-Terre we walked to a beach area to cool down, relax and sip Pernod and beer.

We hopped on a cruise…

We were “COVID-ed out” of a large portion of our African itinerary 18 months ago. Remarkably, Paige hooked us up with a three week stint on an Oceania world cruise (600 passengers) which got us most of what we had been denied in addition to some island countries and a surprise, ending in Dubai, a perfect gateway to Central Asia.

First stop – Mossel Bay, South Africa. According to Lonely Planet it’s the ugly sister of the Garden Route.

The Garden Route is on South Africa’s “must see” list for its natural beauty – from Mossel Bay to Port Elizabeth – offering lagoons, lakes, mountains, forests and beaches.

*** click on photos to enlarge

Since cruise excursions are not our style we ventured off on our own hoofing it uphill to Marsh Street – the main thoroughfare. Our mending calves still remind us of our downhill hike. We stopped for a brief time to listen to the Stations of the Cross being recited at the Anglican church then off to look for a lunch spot. Most places were closed because it was Good Friday. Thank goodness because the one restaurant that was open served the most delicious chicken and leek quiche.

Continuing on to the lighthouse we stumbled upon hundreds of campers in tarp covered tents and RVs smooshed in like sardines on Easter holiday. A treasure trove of ocean tide pools had children and adults scouring for a golden nugget.

Durban – South Africa’s third largest city and claims the largest concentration of Indians living outside of India.

Archaeologists have evidence that Durban has been inhabited by hunter gatherers since 100,000 BC.

We stuck to the beach area walking along the shore and the rambling promenade known as the Golden Mile that stretches for over two miles. It was lengthened leading up to the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Perhaps they should rename it the Golden Miles…

The faintest coastal haze painted the horizon but that didn’t stop the sun from beating down. It was the warmest temperature we’ve experienced since last October in Charleston. The breeze off the Indian Ocean made it tolerable.

Lifeguards cordon off areas to indicate safe swimming zones keeping people away from the strong riptides. Beyond the break a net protects the area from the great white shark population.

Our last stop was Richard’s Bay – the busiest port in South Africa. We have nothing interesting to report other than we bought toothpaste and toothbrushes!

Upon recommendation from a gentleman that we met in Lesotho I took time to read Invictus: Nelson Mandela and the Game That Made a Nation. A fabulous read!

We say goodbye to South Africa after three weeks.

More Photos of Lesotho

Photos were taken through the window, out the window, me sitting in the window – legs in body out (the police had a grin when they drove by), through the sunroof and pulled over and out of the car.

Boys go through an initiation to become a man and they paint their animals and face as part of the process.
Oh, their hats…


We visited a yarn manufacturing store.  The owner teaches disabled people (all women but one man) how to make item yarn so that they have a skill.

School

Lesotho – The Kingdom in the Sky

Our new driver arrived as the sun started to kiss the morning with a stunning display of pink, yellow and baby blue. It was 6:00 am. The sweet receptionist made us a road trip bag with an egg, cheese and tomato sandwich, fruit drink and an apple.

Today we head to the country of Lesotho (sounds like Lay-sue-to) surrounded by South Africa. They too have a king but unlike Eswatini he is a hood ornament and the Prime Minister is the head of government. The country gained its full independence from British rule in 1966.

The first King Moshoeshoe from the early 1800’s had 144 wives! The cuenta king has one.

Lesotho has the highest mountains in Southern Africa and it’s lowest elevation of 4,593’ is the highest low point of any country in the world. Say what?

Normally I am very unsettled when riding on roads with steep drop-offs but having seen photos of the Sani Pass I was all about it! Bill was shocked!

Per Wikipedia: The route up Sani Pass starts at 1,544 metres (5,066 ft), and climbs 1,332 m (4,370 ft) to an altitude of 2,876 m (9,436 ft).

*click on photos to enlarge 

It requires a 4×4 as the road is unpaved, rocky and full of switchbacks. The South African border is near the bottom of the pass then a 5 mile drive through no-mans-land got us to the Lesotho border at the top. It took us an hour. The mountains look like velvet blanketed by the morning sun. Jaw dropping and stunning.

We were so lucky to have navigated the whole pass without coming in contact with another vehicle.

Top of the pass:

We passed a winter ski area and the beginnings of a large dam (a 3 Gorges scale) and literally hundreds of shepherds with their small flocks of cattle, Marino sheep or Angora goats.

We continued on another four plus hours to the Maliba Lodge in the Tsehlanyane National Park where we got to lounge for two nights. A welcome break from all the drive time.

View from our room.

A new driver and his apprentice picked us up in the morning and we headed out to explore the countryside. It’s incredible. The green undulating mountains are endless.

Rural life is tough. Homes are small and made of stone or cement mostly with no running water and power. They are lucky to own a donkey or horse for transportation otherwise they get around on foot or by taxi or small van busses.

This is not true of the whole country. Suburban areas have better access to utilities and perhaps 20% own cars.

Tiny buildings (shacks) have tall poles with colored plastic bags waving in the wind displaying what they have for sale that day. White means beer (locally made and super strong) and bread, green means vegetables and red means meat.

School children can walk upwards of two plus hours to get to school. Whizzing down the road is more frightening than the Sani Pass. We come within inches of school children, walkers or head boys (Shepards) with flocks of sheep or herds of cattle who all casually take up their fair share of the road space.

The mountains ooze water making them glisten like diamonds. Speaking of diamonds. Lesotho is a leading producer of diamonds in the world and sets a record for having the highest diamond mine in the world.

We took a small hike down to see the Kome Caves. Built in 1824. There are 6 separate single room caves in the side of the mountain insulated with mud and cow dung. We were told that the original families used these to hide from the cannibals. One descendent still lives in one of the caves. We met her on her way back from a long steep hike to buy paraffin wax so that she could heat her dinner. There is no power and water dripping off of the overhanging cliff is collected in a barrel. Lucky outdoor bathrooms were recently installed since this has become a tourist destination.

We stayed one night in the capital city of Maseru arriving in time for dinner where we were the only people at the hotel restaurant.

Workers leaving the city create bumper to bumper traffic lasting for hours. It was crazy watching the madness as the cars and walkers managed intersections. Chaos!

The road to Semonkong was like driving a rollercoaster with a slow click, click, click to reach the high peaks and the thrill of dropping and turning as we made our way to the Maletsunyane Falls. The 670 feet drop next to the falls has a spot in the Guinness World Record book for having the longest commercially operated single-drop rappel in the world.

Lesotho is not on the world’s tourism radar and they are taking baby steps to change that. It’s so low that can go through immigration at the border faster than getting a hamburger at McDonalds.

I highly recommend to anyone going to see South Africa that you take a few days to explore this magnificent country. The scenery is like no other.

 

The Kingdom of Eswatini

I ate some humble pie this morning as I face planted it in the hotel lobby. On the phone, and walking with my heavy pack on, I twisted my ankle (which I’m famous for doing ) and was unable to stop the slow motion fall. I heard the workers in the reception area gasp and then come running. There was no hiding.

Since we’ve never driven on the right hand side of the road we hired a driver to take us to Eswatini.  

It was a zigzaggy climb out of Johannesburg. Condos became homes – smaller than the ones upon entry but equally guarded by razor or electrical fencing.

The first stop was to get gas. Everyone left their cars running as the attendant pumped the gas. Fumes filled our lungs and I prayed we wouldn’t explode.

The hills became rich farmland with corn fields as far as the eye could see. It remained constant for a couple hours until we exited the N1 highway for a smaller 2 lane country road. Farmland gave way to man made eucalyptus and pine tree forests for miles on end. 

*click on photos to enlarge (many are life outside the car’s window)

Swaziland was renamed Eswatini (which t he locals have not embraced) in 2018 when the king celebrated the country’s 50th year of independence and his 50th birthday. We’re told he currently has 13 wives and 35 children. He rules the country with ultimate power unlike the British monarchy.

Our driver also told us that in Eswatini a man can not buy farm land (acreage) unless he has a wife. Marinate on that for awhile…

Mbabane is the condensed capital city which rests in the bottom of an old mine. Thankfully we stayed in Lobamba in the Ezulwini Valley where the area is dense with greenery reminiscent of Asia.  Per the hotel’s write up we were tucked beneath Sheba’s Breast Mountain. 

The central and most inhabited areas of Eswatini are surrounded by 360 degrees of mountains and farm land in the Valley.

The next day we toured the high points of Eswatini and visited a homestead where Bill helped Grandma get the chicken ready to become lunch. Fetching water for their home from the tap up the hill tested our strength after being sedentary for the past month.  I was encouraged to carry a pail full of water on my head which is customary.  I barely could lift it with my hands and could only imagine my neck bones crushing under the weight.  If only he had made the suggestion when it was empty!

Upon exiting the country and going back into South Africa the border guard, with a big smile on his face, asked if we smoked ganja. He was serious and then greatly disappointed when we said no. Although illegal in Swaziland it is known to grow the best marijuana in all the region.

It was until 2:00 pm that we started our 9 hour drive to Underberg, South Africa. The roads are riddled with potholes and make driving tenuous. We were in the car 14 hours – arriving in Underberg at 11:00 pm. Our next driver would pick us up in 7 hours…

Sawubona from Johannesburg

It was a balmy 83 degrees when we landed. Paradise.

The evening brought a stunning show of thunder, lightning and heavy rains.

Delta Airlines out of Atlanta got us to Johannesburg in 15 hours. It was our first lengthy international flight on a domestic carrier. We were pleased.

The drive from the airport to the hotel was lined with big beautiful homes behind tall concrete fences with 18” of electrical wiring at the top.

Unbeknownst to us our hotel was located in Melrose Arch – a new walkable urban development that has hotels, shops, restaurants/bars and condo living. It’s all completely fenced with lots of security guards wandering about. It didn’t feel like the “real” Johannesburg but allowed us to walk around feeling safer.  We ventured out to explore during the day.

Unfortunately my camera stayed in the hotel room as we explored the city. I got disciplined twice by a hotel worker in Rosebank for having my cellphone out. The second warning came with his head turning tisk tisk for being so careless. Clearly he didn’t understand that I needed to use Uber.

Like all big cities around the world Johannesburg aka Joburg, Jozi and the City of Gold is bustling. Sidewalks are lined with people on the move and gridlock traffic is a nuisance.

It’s a new city – started only a 137 years ago by the discovery of gold. Once the top gold producer in the world and currently it holds the honor of having the deepest gold mine extending 2.5 miles underground. Some sister love to our home state of Nevada which produces 78% of all gold mined in the United States.

Joburg also has the honor of having the largest “urban” man made forest in the world with over 10 million trees! It’s remarkable.

Strange are the number of abandoned buildings. We were told that redevelopment plans were halted by covid but it looks like any hope of anything stopped long ago.

Mostly abandoned buildings.

Nelson Mandela is revered by the world but his presence here was palpable. We toured his home in Soweto. Bullet holes pock mark the siding and the remants of an interior wall built by Winnie to shield their children speak of the dangerous time.

There is so much to learn and absorb in this place so terribly victimized by apartheid, poverty and crime. It is all very heart wrenching.

Exploring lends to curiosity, which lends to investigating, which lends to learning, which broadens my knowledge.

The privilege of meeting locals makes it all so worthwhile.

And we’re off…..

We were all set to leave on March 4th and got sick. Canceling Montana, Guyana and Columbia allowed us time to recover.

This is a new one. Our flight from Guyana to Medellin, Columbia was on Copa Airlines. Their cancelation policy says that our tickets are good until January 2024 but we must fly out of the same airport in which we were originally scheduled. Hmm…

We can do that! This time around we’ll have more time to explore and perhaps check out French Guiana, Suriname, Paraguay, Uruguay and Brazil. No sense staying in cold Nevada another winter.

As we leave, the Sierras are blanketed in snow. Much less today than a few days ago after the rains came. The grass has been hidden for months and now the robins are gathering and happily looking for worms….

Flying over Houston

What’s in my bag

I’m often asked, “How do you pack for a four-month trip?”

Carefully!  It’s impossible to pack enough clothes to last 4 months.  

The only thing we check is our ego.  We never check our luggage. All of our possessions have to fit in a wheelie carry-on suitcase and a medium-sized backpack.

Remember the mix-and-match children’s clothing line Geranimals?  Created for kids!  An approach to which I subscribe.  Mix-and-match items where every top can be worn with every bottom create a more diverse wardrobe.

Temperatures on this adventure will range from the low-40s to the mid-90s.  I might look like a fool carrying around a down jacket when it’s 90 degrees but my coat also makes for my DIY down pillow.  I pop my jacket into my homemade pillowcase secured by Velcro at one end and voilà. My comfort item which I will use more than anything.

Shoes – what grief!  They take up so much space.  Fashion takes a backseat  (hence checking the ego) to what’s practical.  On this trip, I’m taking my Altra Running Shoes (stuffed with pills and electronic items), Dansko Beatrice clogs, and flip-flops.  I cringe.  

Inside my suitcase:

Inside my pack:

  • Black poncho – serves as a makeshift blanket as well
  • Lightweight Altheta Uptown Hooded Puffer down jacket (bought used on Poshmark) – the inners for my pillow
  • Super lightweight pullover windbreaker
  • Under Armor lightweight zipper-up jacket
  • Camera and gear
  • iPad and Kindle

I’ve been packed and ready to go for two weeks.

Then two weeks became three when we both got super sick and had to postpone our trip……

 

 

 

 

Catching Up on Our Way to the Silk Road

It’s been 15 plus months since I last posted. International travel compels me to keep in touch. Otherwise, I get lost in the daily hum of life. 

It’s ironic because in the hum of things a lot has happened.  In March of 2022 ,we bought and remodeled a hundred year old craftsman style home in Nevada and eventually moved into it.  It’s a mansion compared to our “tiny” home but on the spectrum it’s still tiny. Keeping things simple.

(click on photos to enlarge)

In June we were blessed with our first grandson – joining a gaggle of girls.  The boys and their families moved on to greener pastures to pursue new jobs and new adventures.  One moved west and the other north. This precipitated the sale of our home in Downtown Charleston.  There was no sense being there without kids and grandbabies. We had a fabulous run discovering the Southern way of life, making wonderful friends and exploring every inch of the city, closing this chapter at the end of October.

Once more we drove across the USA sending a POD back to Nevada with our art and our infamous butcher block cart which perhaps by now thinks it’s a Marco Polo apprentice roaming the continent – Nevada to South Carolina to California to South Carolina to Nevada. Home again, home again jiggity jig….

Between our remodel, moving two houses and traversing the country we only ventured out of the country to Baja Sur for a week to swathe in our old stomping grounds. 

For the first time in more than 20 years we have just one home. It was settling and a good time to lay low after returning from our road trip.  Everyone had plans for the holidays so hunkered down,  unpacked and decompressed.

Bill spent his free time laying out the final path of our next adventure.  It’s been a few years in the making and fast approaching. 

While making plans life tragically happened and for the lack of having the strength to say any more… God called an Angel home. 

And then it snowed – buckets of white, serene, soft and miraculous snow…

I feel wet snow
on my cold, dry skin
As the darkness falls
to settle in.
The stars shine bright
to lead my way
Through tall, snow covered trees
which bend and sway.
I know not where I came from
or where I will go,
while strange noises crunch
the new fallen snow.
I have no fears
of this strange, dark place
where sounds surround me
without a face.
The night goes on peacefully
dark and slow,
with all beauty shining
as a glistening glow.
I have been here before
though I know not when.
As sure as I know
I will be here again.
A place that is quiet,
safe comforting me,
while the icy brook flows
’round a sweet smelling tree.
I feel wet snow
on my warm, soft skin.
It is this dark place
that I want to be in.
Then I open my eyes
and it all floats away,
As bright warm sun shines
on a brand new day.
Window panes covered
in sparkling frost,
reminds me of a beautiful thing
I have lost.
My heart tells me in hours
this day will be past,
when the nighttime comes
to me slowly at last.
I am back in the snow
so pristine and clean.

Ellen Pond

Zanzibar – Stone Town

Doesn’t that sound so sexy and exciting? Zanzibar.

After a two hour ferry ride across the Indian Ocean heading due East we docked in another UNESCO World Heritage site called Stone Town.

From the UNESCO website: The buildings of the Stone Town, executed principally in coralline ragstone and mangrove timber, set in a thick lime mortar and then plastered and lime-washed, reflect a complex fusion of Swahili, Indian, Arab and European influences in building traditions and town planning. The two storey houses with long narrow rooms disposed round an open courtyard, reached through a narrow corridor, are distinguished externally by elaborately carved double ‘Zanzibar’ doors, and some by wide vernadahs, and by richly decorated interiors. Together with, the simple ground floor Swahili houses and the narrow façade Indian shops along “bazaar” streets constructed around a commercial space “duka”.

The old carved doors in Lamu and Shella originated in Zanzibar. They are truly a work of art and the focal point of most facades.

Click to enlarge photos…

We stayed in an old converted mansion. Much like a Mexican hacienda but probably Portuguese. The decor is old, stylish and ornate. It felt like we had stepped back in time.

Still sick and dragging. We managed to explore everything Old Town had to offer. We’d walk and walk and then I’d collapse in bed.

The streets in the old portion of town were narrow and filled with cars and motorcycles making passage on foot quite dangerous.

Every 15 seconds we were asked if we wanted a taxi ride or to visit a shop. Zanzibar is still reeling from the shutdown – there are 30 parked taxis for every person visiting. 

Once off the beaten path we were able to avoid being on alert and were able to experience the quiet more “normal” non-tourist life.

Strolling through markets can be enlightening. The colors and activity are invigorating. It’s mind-blogging to see how meat and fish sit out unrefrigerated. It’s always an opportunity for me to explain (haha – often with hand signals) that our son does the same job in America (albeit wayyy different). This precipitates smiles and invitations for me to take photos.

A dark side to Zanzibar was the slave trade market that started in 1811. The world’s last open slave market. Over the course of 60 years one million enslaved were traded here. Taken from Central and East Africa and brought across the Indian Ocean to Stone Town.  Some slaves remained in Zanzibar to work in the plantations and the remaining were sent overseas to the Persian Gulf and Asia.  David Livingston in 1857 made an appeal to Cambridge and Oxford Universities to end the slave trade in Africa. By decree of the Sultan of Zanzibar slave trade ended in 1873.  In 1874 the Cathedral Church of Christ was built in its place. The haunting Slave Market Memorial was created in 1998 by Clara Sornas of Scandinavia.  This day a class of high schoolers were learning about this site.

Side note:  Tanzania has two presidents.  One for mainland Tanzania and one for Zanzibar.  When we entered Zanzibar we went through customs even though technically it is Tanzania.  They went from a Covid denying President (on the mainland who died during the pandemic) to new one (five months in office) who is trying to change the perception and response to Covid.  The only people with masks on are hotel workers.  As I am writing this and doing research online the first (not the “first” but that’s his title) VP of Zanzibar died today of Covid.  The USA State Department issued warning for its citizens not travel to Tanzania because they have not reported their Covid cases.  I should also add that no one on the island of Lamu in Kenya wore face masks.  It was strange, a bit unnerving but in the same breath fun to see people being normal.

Off to the beach…

 

 

 

 

Next stop Lamu Island, Kenya


We drove out of Tsavo East and headed to the town of Malindi on the Indian Ocean where everyone but us got a Covid test for their return flights home. Afterwards we hopped on a plane and 25 minutes later landed at the Manda Airport on the Island of Manda.There is something magical and primitive about landing at a tiny remote airport. It’s informal – no jetways or sidewalks just earthen paths. Everything is dulled by a layer of red dirt. Our luggage was loaded into a old wooden pull cart and rolled to the nearby boat ramp.

We boarded a boat taxi and headed across the channel to Lamu Island. A UNESCO World Heritage site and Kenya’s oldest and best preserved Swahili settlement on Africa’s East Coast.Our reward for finishing the walk was to stay at the renowned family run Peponi Hotel in the adjoining community of Shella.

Lamu and the Peponi are listed in the book 1,000 Places to See Before You Die and rightfully so.

Carol and her daughter Elke run the hotel. I’m sure they don’t like the reference but I had visions of Mama Mia. Elke is stunningly beautiful, make up free and bare footed. Her mum is clearly a spitting image of the same girl just years later. They are hands on and make sure your every need it met.

Previously warned by Tropical Ice that we should extend our (included in the safari) one night stay and enjoy the pole pole (Swahili for slow, slow) lifestyle. We had booked two nights. A perfect end to a perfect walking safari.

Our original plan grew into five nights. Covid was starting to affect our trip. The flight to Zanzibar had been cancelled and the Islands of Comoros and Madagascar closed their borders to tourism. Coupled by civil unrest in others countries – we needed time to hatch a new plan.

First things first. We girls headed out just behind the hotel to explore the narrow streets and pathways that wind through the village of Shella. There are no cars and donkeys are used to transport goods and people. We set out with a map highlighting the “best of” and no sooner than we made the first turn and we were lost.

What a place to be lost. It was a maze with a muted palette of dusty paths and creamy buildings with stunning carved door, offset by bright bougainvillea, drying laundry and women in colorful hijabs and dresses.

It’s a certainty that every country has its one percent. This was evident at the Hemmingways and Peponi. Lots of lethargic people wearing $1,000. sunglasses and designer clothing. Safari clothes – not appropriate.

Shela and Lamu Island are Muslim communities. 50 mosques for 50,000 people. My shorts and skirts from the safari wouldn’t suffice so I was on a mission to purchase a modest dress. Shoulders and knees need to be covered. It was a request but not enforced. Light and airy dresses were what most woman wear. Scarves worn for coverage work as well. There was one boutique shop in town where all of us found a treasure. One dress worn over and over will suffice.

A lot of the homes and fenced walls are built with coral. They’re rough, porous and plentiful. 350 members of the Luo tribe live on a nearby island and spend their days harvesting the dead coral from under trees and transporting them by boat to Lamu Island. Beamed ceilings are made with Mangrove poles and therefore rooms are narrow since the trees do not grow tall. Floors and walls are mostly rough dead coral and the coated with coral limestone for smoothness. Many homes have a “daka” entry porch where men gather to visit.  Inside are are small niches carved into the walls of stone structure.   Inside elaborate “vidaka” walls – small niches carved into the walls of stone structures – are a stunning focal point.  Decorative but also used to reduce echoing in the home.

Iain’s wife, Lou, flew in to join everyone. Our first evening, the last that we were all together, we had a Swahili feast. The setting was stunning. We sat in a lush area near the pool on ground height couches surrounded by vibrant fluffy pillows. The men were not quite sure what to do with their legs which prompted us to become silly children once again. The food was spicy, flavorful and bountiful.

After a luxurious night’s sleep six of us took a dhow (ancient Arab sailing boat) to the old town of Lamu. It’s within walking distance to Shella Village at low tide but the dhow was a more traditional means of entering this famous town. The bustling streets where “pole pole” meets the fast pace of commerce, donkeys are the beast of burden and hawkers try to lure you into their shops.

Lamu is bursting at the seams with cats, cats and more cats.  Unique cats.  The only place in the world to have the same physiques as the cats depicted in Egyptian hieroglyphics. 

The evening commenced with a sunset dhow cruise sipping wine and drifting by patches of mangroves. When the sun began to set we turned course and met up with masses of dhow boats where we all raced towards the sunset. It was stunning.

I’ll have you know it took me three days to shake having to look for predators while traversing the garden lawn from our room to the restaurant!

We said goodbye to everyone on day three and it once again became the Bill and Paige show. Time was spent exploring Shela and Lamu Town, walking the beach, lounging, catching up on emails, posting a few blogs, making plans, eating too much food and having sunset cocktails.

Sand life and art: