Tag Archives: Photographer

Nile Cruise

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After three nights in Luxor our private egyptologist, Safwat, picked us up at the hotel and took us straight out to see the first temple (I’ll list them later for all you amateur archaeologist).  Wowza!

The size and scale is hard to fathom.  As we learned the hieroglyphic stories from day to day – characters and symbols began to repeat themselves and we ourselves felt like pre-school archeologists!

*click on photos to enlarge and tap on the blue words to watch a video of the cruise boat and diesel soaked air

Crowds

Ra,  Osiris, Isis,  Horus, Anubis, Ramses II, Hatshepsut, Tutankhamun, Nefertiti, Nefertari…..  The stories are fascinating.  The Pharaohs’ and  the Queens’ egos  were humongous and their engineering mind blowing.  The colors are original.  Egypt does not repaint the antiquities.

Before the crowds
The crowds – we were told this is nothing compared to high season

After the visiting the first temple we checked into our “local” Nile cruise boat – 67 rooms. Over four nights we’d travel from Luxor to Aswan.

Our rooms were large and one up from basic.  Meals were buffets and sufficient.  The gin and tonics – perfect.

What we weren’t prepared for was the vast number of boats.  Oh my! They docked by tying up one boat next to another some six deep.  Unless you were the first boat tied up at shore you had to walk through the first, second, third boat to get to your own.

Our dirt boat on the outside but clean as can be inside

The air was gross and dirty. The result of 60 plus boats burning diesel fuel.  The way the boats honked at one another and playfully maneuvered around as if playing tag in the toxic cloud was rather amusing.

If you want to book a Nile cruise don’t waste your money paying for a balcony because when you dock next to another boat (which is the majority of time) your view is into the next room.  We went the cheap route and got a sliding glass door which was beautiful when we sailed.  However, we spent more time on deck than in the room.

The pace was wonderful.  Wake up, eat, tour, back to the boat for lunch, chill, back out to tour in the afternoon or evening, back to the boat, cocktails, dinner and bed.

We saw: Karnak, Luxor Temple, Valley of the Kings, Mortuary Temple of  Harshepsut, Colossi of Memnon, Temple of Edfu, Temple of Kom Ombu, The High Dam, Temple of Isis on Philae, and the Unfinished Obelisk.  After all this, in Aswan, we took a small boat ride to bird watch on the cataracts of the Nile and visited a Nubian village where Jonel and I got black henna tattoos.

In Aswan, to unwind and luxuriate we are staying three nights at the historic Old Cataract Hotel (built in 1899) on the bank of the Nile. It is decadent.  We are on our last night right now.

Agatha Christie wrote Death on the Nile while she stayed in her room 2 doors down.  Lady Diana and many dignitaries also spent time here.

We lounged by the pool and walked around town.  We even took part in our own death on the Nile by enjoying McDonald’s on the Nile.  We split a Big Mac!

Mark and Jonel stayed two nights and are now making their way back home first by flying back to Cairo and visiting the Pyramids in Giza.

And we’re off tomorrow for another quick plane ride…

Cairo to Luxor, Egypt

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Geez Louise have we been on a lot of flights.  A quick flight from Sharm el Sheikh got us to Cairo.  From the sky it was hard to see much green against the dusty, beige sand that is endless and coated on every building.

Look at these leaning buildings

Remarkably on the ground, there were trees within the grungy buildings.  It’s as if a gloom had set in the sky and the buildings reflect that sadness.

We only had half of a day to explore and we opted to see the brand new Grand Egyptian Museum.  It was their soft opening – July 2025 will be their grand opening. The artifacts dating back 5,000 plus years are unique.

Traffic was a bear from Cairo to Giza (home of the new museum) but at least for the most part they drove in their own lane – occasionally sharing their space with another vehicle but not overly crazy.

View from the museum

We tried to see the Saints Sergius and Bacchus Church built upon the site where Joseph, Mary and Jesus rested at the end of their journey into Egypt but it was closed by the time we got there.  The police guarding the area wouldn’t even let us take photos of the outside.  They would have had to let us walk down a short street but there was no convincing them otherwise.  Our driver also tried to no avail.  Had Mohamed from Sharm been here to convince the guards like at St. Catherine’s we would have not only seen the outside but the inside as well.

The following day we headed to Luxor.  There were two options to choose from – a really quick flight or a 10.5 hour train ride.  That was a no brainer.  We took the train.

Just trying to find the entry to the train station was like a game of Clue. Every door was incorrect.  “No, over there.” “No, over there.” That’s all I heard when I translated their Arabic in my head.

Finally, after several wrong doors a policeman guarding yet another door must have realized how stupid we were and summoned a man who grabbed some of our bags and led the way.  He got us to the correct side of the track where another train police kindly took over, had us wait in a particular place and then escorted us to our seats.

The train car interior was filthy.  The worse we’ve been on.  I had a couple Lysol wipes left over and a swipe on the arm rest rendered the wipe solid brown.  Every square inch was gross.  God only knows the depth of the cooties on the cloth seats.  Ewww.

Life beyond the window, in some respect, was filthier than the train.  Plastic garbage bags lay waste everywhere.  As we left Cairo city and got into the burbs people were tending crops between the rail and what appeared to be a tributary of the Nile River.  The only colors – laundry, green crops and riverbanks lathered and stacked with fading but colorful rotting trash.

The whole – 13 hour train ride – yes thirteen hours – not 10.5 (that was to encourage passengers) – the truth was 13 – was lined with either towns or farming.  Fields with deep green alfalfa and grain that were being harvested.

It appeared that most farmers have a donkey.  It was great fun watching children and adults bouncing on the backs of donkeys as they went from here to there.  Some have a camels and cows and an occasional horse.  Tiny shade structures are built in the corners of fields resembling mangers to keep the livestock out of the sun.  Today was 109 degrees.  As we got further away from Cairo the fields got larger and the garbage subsided a bit.  The buildings shrunk in size but the layer of dirt remained.

The train must have had no shocks.  As we gained speed the train car jolted from side to side.  So bouncy at times that I prayed we’d not bounce off the tracks.

It was 9:00 pm by the time we got to Luxor, the gateway to the next portion of our journey.  The second we stepped out of the train station the taxi cab drivers were on us like flies on trash. They were coming at us from every angle. We picked a kid who drove his grandfather’s Peugeot.

We spent three nights in Luxor and toured the “off the beaten path” places before we boarded our official, and local, cruise from Luxor to Aswan.  The people have been overly kind and friendly.  The hawkers can be a bit overbearing but back off after you say no with a palm in the stop position.

It is hard to wrap my head around the artifacts here.  The tombs are elaborate and some buried so deep. Sand and flooding upon sand and flooding has hidden dynasties.  The lack of oxygen has kept the original colors of the hieroglyphics so perfect it was like they were painted last week.

Mind boggling!

Dhaka, Bangladesh

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Bill has wanted to go here for years.  It’s not an easy place to get to.   Only a few cities offer flights and lucky us, one was Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.

I was excited to ditch the uber conservative clothing and handle the heat like an American with my arms exposed.  While standing in line to board our flight I learned that Dhaka is Muslim like Saudi Arabia.  Are you kidding me?  I googled my heart out as I walked to the jetway to see what women tourist wear in Bangladesh. Phew.  Shoulders and knees should be covered.  I’m not looking up the tattoo part – wish me luck!

Dhaka is Bangledesh’s capital city and one of the most densely populated cities in the world.  I’ll bet you have clothing in your closet made here.  They are the second largest exporter of garments in the world.

I was prepared for Bangladesh to be India on steroids as far as cleanliness and crowding.  The cleanliness was equal and the holiday squashed the crowded theory.

The Bengalese were still celebrating Eid so many shops and businesses were closed.  I’m going to count that as lucky for us.  We don’t shop and it made what would have been utter gridlock more manageable.

The sky is blanketed in a thick haze like froth on a latte.

*Click on photos to enlarge. Click on blue words for a video or article.

People could not have been nicer.  Bill and I were movie stars when we got into “Old Dhaka”.   It was crazy how many people stopped us to take photos with them.  People were sneaking videos with their cell phones.  Some were clever enough to pretend to take a selfie and capture us the moment we stepped behind them.  Not many light skin foreigners touch down in Bangladesh, especially in Old Dhaka, and if they do they most likely stay in the commercial corridor.  My white hair and Bill, a giant by their standards, made quite a spectacle.

It was beyond hot and humid.  We dripped in sweat.  The first day spent exploring offered little shade and quickly wiped us out from walking in the hot sun.    

We explored the University campus and their art center.  The upcoming celebration of their independence had craftsmen busy.  The colorful art was made to sell at the event to help pay for the large animal displays made out of bamboo.

University bus

On day one we hit the flower market late and much of the flowers had been sold.  Weddings are a big event and even bridal cars are adorned with flowers.  Day two we went back a bit earlier in the day and saw the aftermath of a fire that took place in the wee hours of the morning.   The cause yet to be determined.

Rickshaws (electric and pedal), tuk-tuks, and people  fill the space between motorcycles, cars, trucks and busses like batter in a waffle iron.  The busses are not only scratched from top to bottom but the grooves run deep.  It is utter chaos.  Near-misses have to be in the gazillions every day.  Horn honking is a sport and rickshaw drivers raise a hand to the towering bus drivers demanding they make way.

It was thrilling.  The roads are filled with pot holes and the metal, suspension-less rickshaws jarred our spines like a chiropractor with a jackhammer.  The vehicle next to us so close that I wanted to high five the driver.

Everything feels neglected.  Bangladesh is currently run by an interim government.  A student run uprising in August 2024 brought down the authoritarian and tyrannical (per new articles) Prime Minister.  Our guide said half the country wants to become East Pakistan under Muslim rule and the other half wants to become part of India.  Newspaper articles say they want democracy like the USA. So who knows – for now their future is uncertain.

Down at the river, it was super interesting to watch a team of workers unload a huge shipment of watermelon by hand,  carrying heavy baskets on their heads across narrow planks and up a hill.  True beasts of burden.  The boat arrived on the highly polluted Buriganga River or the Old Ganges. The water is black as night, caused by industrial and human waste.  All the fish have died and it is considered to be biologically dead. 

Of course we learned the extent of the river’s death after we boarded a flimsy, flat bottom, seatless, wooden boat to cross the river to see their ship breaking yard so I could take photos.  I lost all interest in taking photos while the nothingness of our boat teetered on the wakes of passing motorboats.  All I envisioned was us getting splashed or worse, falling in.  I captured a couple quick photos – my lens not long enough and more importantly I wanted to be on land on the correct side of the river.  Get me outta here!!!

The shipyard is small compared to one in Chittagong , Bangladesh which employs 200,000 people and handles a fifth of the world’s ship breaking.  This yard employs approximately 15,000 workers earning about $5 a day to work this grueling job in the hot sun under hazardous conditions.

The trip was fascinating. And heartbreaking.  Colorful, dirty and chaotic.  It is so hard to believe that we can live on the same planet in such vastly different situations.

Paying for the storage of his shoes

Jeddah, Saudi Arabia – Gateway to Mecca

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Our flight was virtually empty.  No more than 40 people on board.

I was a bit nervous about this one.  I had read that if a woman was discovered to have a tattoo the punishment was time in the clinker.  It’s not mandatory but women should be covered from head to toe and in loose fitting clothes to be respectful.

I purchased a used polyester dress that fit the bill in the market in Rwanda and a hijab from a tiny Muslim shop in the same country.  While in the shop this kind gentleman off the street helped the shop keeper translate for our transaction.  When my purchase was finished the man asked me if I was Muslim and then asked me to convert when he wasn’t satisfied with my answer.  We had a pleasant exchange and he tried to persuade me one more time before we said our goodbyes and left.

I put on my new outfit before our flight so I’d fit in as best as I could.  I knew in advance that I was going to be in major trouble wearing polyester but I figured the car, airport and airplane all had air conditioning so what the heck.

It was like someone had wrapped me in cellophane and set me by a campfire.  Chemicals from the polyester rose like smoke signals.  I’m not sure what was worse – a menopausal hot flash or heat stroke from polyester sauna.

When we arrive at the hotel the front desk clerk didn’t have on a hijab so off came mine.  Off came the dress the second we entered the room and never left the closet.  We’ve left the country and the dress stayed behind.

My cotton and linen clothing was much better.  It helped by absorbing sweat but didn’t keep me from being drenched in the 97 degree temperatures.  Holy moly the women here have more endurance than the crazy people who hiked to the top of the volcano to see the gorillas.

Jeddah is Saudi’s second largest city with a population of 3.75 million people.  It’s located on the Red Sea west of Mecca.  In 646 it became a port for pilgrims crossing the Red Sea.

Saudi Arabia has always been closed to non-religious tourism. However, in September 2019 they changed that and opened up to international travel from 49 countries aiming to cut their economic dependence on oil.  Soon after COVID hit and they closed again for 18 months.

We spent all of our time roaming the old part of the city called Al Balad in the historic part of Jeddah. It is beautiful, reminiscent of the crumbling buildings in Havana, traditional Hijazi houses are adorned with wooden Roshan windows and balconies.  Most of them have serious structural issues and are abandoned. In 2019 the crown prince announced a huge multi billion dollar restoration project where now the new and old reside side by side.  An ongoing project.  I hope they don’t restore everything.

The cat population was hefty in Al Balad

The first day the streets were empty.  People were celebrating Eid Al Fitr (breaking the fast) which started the day after the end of Ramadan. The endless shops were all closed as were the restaurants.   I wished we got to see it full of people and Bill said he’d rather imagine it full of people and stroll in the quiet!

I wanted to see Al Balad in the evening when all the lights would be on.  On day two, we ventured back in the afternoon and walked until dusk.  About 4:30 people started coming out bit by bit.  A few shops were open and a couple cafes.  Coffee is big here.  This too was a holiday.

The warm glow of the lights added softness to the evening.  Every so often a breeze would add a moment of relief from the heat.

After our little visa fiasco needing a visa for Kenya you would think we’d be smart and check all the up coming countries we wanted to visit but oh no that would be too efficient.  Our next stop required four days minimum to be approved for our flight that was in three days that had already been purchased.  No getting around it.  So we pivoted.

São Tomé, Sao Tome

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If you get a trivia question asking what country’s capital is the same name as the country here’s your clue…

*click on photos to enlarge

We went to the capital city São Tomé located on the Island of São Tomé. This island country is located in the Gulf of Guinea and off the Northwest coast of Gabon.  Two islands make up the Democratic Republic of São Tomé and Principe.  Colonized by the Portuguese and once a trade center for the Atlantic slave trade.  Volcanic soil and its location by the equator made it a perfect place to grow sugar and cocoa. In the early 1900’s it was the world’s largest cocoa exporter and the islands were referred to as “The Chocolate Islands”.  Today 85% of its GDP is foreign aid and 90% of its food is imported.  This country of 200,000 gained its independence in 1975 and is mostly Christian.  The residents today are mostly decedents of the slave population.

It definitely reeks “island life”.  Humid!  Dilapidated but gorgeous, colorful Portuguese colonial buildings were closer to the shoreline and the heart of the city center.  Tin structures, rickety wooded homes and concrete structures dot the hillside.  Orange stain leaches up the sides of homes like Easter eggs dipped in liquid henna.  Everything in the yard is dusted in the matching color.

Bill referred to a couple of streets as “Rainbow Row” reminding him of the colorful homes that line East Bay Street in Charleston, South Carolina.

We spent lots of time exploring on foot. It was so hot and humid that by the time we returned to the ship our tops were completely soaked in sweat.

I was taking a photo of a motorcycle and this man put his head in front of my camera lens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abidjan, Ivory Coast (Côte d’Ivoire)

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When we neared port the sky was heavy with fog and the burn off from the gas towers beaconed us like sirens on a rocky shore.

The Ivory Coast gained its independence from France in 1960.  French is still its primary language however 60+ languages are spoken.  This suggests it is still quite tribal. There are two capitals – Abidjan is the economic capital (where we docked) and Yamoussoukro is the political capital.

Today was our first shore excursion with the cruise line.

It was to be a panoramic drive to the town of Grand Bassam.  Abidjan is a large city with LA like high rises on the horizon.  The traffic was utter gridlock.  Two motorcycle police escorts guided two busses like Frogger through the congestion.  At times, they closed lanes on our side and when possible had us driving in the lane of oncoming traffic. The front row seat offered the perfect amount of excitement.

Photo ops had to found between the tour notices taped to the window, a broken windshield and rear view mirrors.  Our stops were a tiny museum and two craft fairs where hungry shopkeepers begged us to take a free look.  Needless to say we lasted about 20’ at the first market and didn’t enter the second.  Other than getting to watch “life” from the bus, the tour was a bust but we understand that developing countries like this are doing the best they can to entertain us weary travelers.

I love watching the constant movement of people.  Driving, walking, selling…. The world is a buzz.  Woman are skilled at carrying their “stores” on their heads – from food to sandals. Without business license rules/laws, others just take their umbrella, stick it in the ground and set up shop!  No rules.

American flag
Cassava

Interesting – babies are named by the day of their week on which they were born.  They are also given family names but their birth certificates list their weekday names.  Boys names differ from girls.

Away from the city the French colonial influence is quite evident.  The architecture of that era, the ubiquitous pale yellow paint combined with the latitude create a feeling of French Indochina.

65% of the population is Christian, 25% Muslim and the balance Traditional aka. Voodoo.  Be sure not to tick someone off or they just might make a pin doll with your image.

Melting metal
Endless satellite dishes

 

 

Hello Grenada – Island of Spice

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A quick 35 minute flight from Trinidad.  Grenada is an island (21 miles long by 12 miles wide) in the West Indies and an independent commonwealth of the UK.

It’s our vacation from our vacation.  Three days of vegetating by the clear, warm turquoise waters of the eastern Caribbean Sea.

Dreadlocks in my space!

See ya in the USA….

Back in Suriname

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Back to Paramaribo, Suriname to finish what we started.  We met a great group of people on the border crossing boat who all spoke English.  A lady who currently lives in French Guiana having escaped Vietnam in 1975, a man from Laos and another from Cambodia all going to Suriname for the Easter weekend.

Like the masochists we are we decided to walk in the heat of the day to the Arya Diwaker Hindu Temple – a mere 5 plus miles. 


We passed through the bustling Central Market where herbs and dried greens were stacked high and sold for medicinal purposes.

Having been warned that the women shopkeepers didn’t like their photographs taken, I took heed and asked a gal for permission to take photos of her goods, promising to exclude her.  She kindly said yes and oh what a stir that caused.  Another shopkeeper came running up to cuss me out.  In my best English I told her to take it up with the person who gave me permission.  Bam.

We took a boat trip up the Suriname and Commewinje Rivers that led us to Nieuw-Amsterdam, Rust-Werk, Johan-Margaretha and Plantage Frederiksdorp.  Like visiting the landlocked country of Eswatini (Swaziland) last year – it felt a bit like forced tourism.  I’ll be kind and just say…

We enjoyed being on the water. The breeze from the boat’s movement cooled the pools of sweat on our bodies.  We played Where’s Waldo with the frolicking dolphins that live in the brackish waters.  Our boat weaved and bobbed in the swift river current.  It was the highlight of the day.

Plantage Frederiksdorp looked charming on the internet.  It’s an old plantation turned hotel/resort.  Our last stop.  A two hour stop!  UGH! Two hours.  It was suggested that we relax by the pool.  Apparently good and relaxing for people with no sense of smell!! The moldy, black, stagnant water sitting in the canals around the pool and bar reeked so badly that I had to hold my breath and briskly walk back towards the entrance to get some relief.  Poor Bill was also gagging but wondered where the fire was.  I didn’t want to have to take a breath until I was clear of the area.   Under the shade of a big tree we did relax and read.

Below the surface and unseen, drug and human trafficking are evil problem in these adjoining countries – a gateway to the United States and Europe.

Our take away from Suriname is the people.  Very warm and friendly.  We loved that, from our point of view, many cultures communed without animosity.   Our boat captain said it still a work in progress…

We’re super glad that we explored this part of South America.  It’s not on the bucket list for most Americans but we’re honored for having been the few.

From Bill:  Guyana in indigenous lingo means “Land of water” and included two additional land areas north and south prior to colonization. There is much water. Basically one paved road runs from Venezuela to Brazil on the coast where more than 50% of each country’s population lives.

The populations are very diverse, mostly from importing slaves, or post-slavery, “indentured workers” from Java, India and somehow, China. Its a bit strange to see some of these nationalities on horseback and tractors, or to hear unusual languages spoken by differing nationalities (e.g. Chinese speaking  French). However, the dominant nationality is African, presumably because there were more slaves than slave masters.

Oiapoque, Brazil

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A shared van showed up right on time.  It’s quite a remarkable system that we’ve experienced in Guyana, Suriname and now French Guiana.  These drivers pick up passengers at their homes, hotels, etc and drop them back off as well – there’s no main terminal like a bus company.

We rode from Cayenne to St. George’s (French border).  The only other passenger was a Polish guy who spoke no English but recited all the countries where he has traveled in the world.  The list was exceptionally long.  He only possessed a tiny, half full backpack that could hardly hold another set of clothes his body odor confirming such a thought.

The shoulder-less roads were windy and the ground undulating with the rise and fall of the jungle.  Wild banana and papaya  trees lined the road, as well as an occasional rusted, burnt out car with its tires missing.  Do they not have means to remove them or this is a public service announcement?  It did give me pause nonetheless.

Our French and Portuguese speaking driver whizzed along breaking for the one lane bridges that sprang up forcing the cooperation of drivers in both directions.

At the border we thought we’d cross the Oyapock River by boat but we signaled the need for a passport stamp, confusing the driver.  He drove us to the police station just before the entrance of the Franco-Brazilian Binational Bridge.

Oiapoque in the distance

This bridge was finished in 2011 but sat unused for 6 years, citing problems on the Brazilian side.  It was finally opened due to pressure from French Guiana.  It’s the first bridge between French Guiana and a neighboring country.  Since Brazil has not built a customs facility the bridge is only for personal vehicles- no commerce.  It’s only open for 4  hours in the morning and 4 hours in the afternoon and closed on weekends.

The police at the French Guiana border waved his hand in the air when he realized we were only going into Brazil for hours, signaling that we didn’t need a passport stamp.  He kindly called us a taxi and we were on our way.

The immigration office on the Brazilian side was in downtown Oiapoque.  When we explained that we’d only be there for hours the English speaking immigration officer laughed and said he’d stamp our passport as a souvenir.

With his suggestion for the best restaurant we parted ways with our Polish world traveling friend and headed for lunch.  The sleepy little town didn’t offer much so we filled our bellies and strolled.

Fishermen in all these countries net fish from boats on the big rivers and ocean. Some hang their nets in the river and check them every 5-6 hours. Some boats go to sea for 14 days and only have ice to preserve their catch – no refrigeration.

Oiapoque sits on the edge of the Amazon basin, and looks like a thousand other small river towns all the west to Peru – one story wooden buildings, dusty dirt streets, mostly indigenous people, folksy crafts for sale and all the action is along the river

The low tide renders the boats useless in the brackish waters at the river’s edge.  Several fishermen were working on their nets while others were just hanging out.

Per Wikipedia: At the beginning of the 20th century, the village of Oiapoque hosted a political and criminal concentration camp called Clevelândia. In 1922 an agricultural outpost called the Núcleo Colonial Cleveland was transformed into a camp. Many Brazilian anarchist militants were sentenced to hard labour here. Of the 946 prisoners interned at Clevelândia between 1924 and 1927, 491 died. Many of the survivors returned to São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro sickened with malaria

Leaving Oiapoque we crossed the border at the river’s edge since immigration wasn’t an issue.  One of the passengers in our boat was a local English speaking lawyer/musician who relayed stories about the area.

Silver dollar pancake sized raindrops pelted us for a time on our ride back to Cayenne – alternating between deluges and sunshine.

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….

Suriname to French Guiana

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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.

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.

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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!

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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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.

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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…

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.

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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.

Maputo, Mozambique

Maputo (sounds like Ma-pu-tu) is the bustling capital city. Previously named Lourenço Marques after a navigator who explored the area in 1544. Upon independence as a Portuguese colony in 1975 it was renamed Maputo. It borders Eswatini and South Africa.

The architecture is a combination of old uninteresting concrete buildings with occasional unique and charming Mediterranean buildings in between – like the creamy middle of an Oreo cookie.

*click to enlarge photos

The city is right next to the port and easy to get to by foot. The streets are lined with jacaranda and flame trees (our favorite from Baja – árbol de fuego).

Armed police were scattered about and security guards stood in doorways which I took as a warning to keep my camera hidden.

The Maputo Central Train station was quiet with only a couple people wandering around. Two passengers napped on a bench engulfed in their luggage. It’s named one of the top 10 most beautiful train stations in the world by Time Magazine and Newsweek.

Outside of the main city center it became lush and hilly. We only took a short ride but it offered a yin to the city center’s yang.