Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Quito, Ecuador
From Madrid, I fly through the long day chasing the sun. It takes twelve hours but when I arrive in Ecuador it is only six hours after I left.
The plane descends through layer after layer of clouds. Green and cold and high in the mountains. A new country. A new continent.
Map, taxi, hotel, ATM, local SIM card, internet. I read emails from a day in the future. I´ve stretched out the day so much it is already the next day in Australia. I am living in the past.
Quito
Morning and I start to explore Quito. It was a cold night and when I hit the street it is overcast and foggy. The streets aren´t that interesting in the part of town I am staying. I pass through a sterile park. I decide to make my way to the old section of town. Grafitti on a wall reads, ¨VIVA LOS PUNK¨.
As I progress the fog starts to lift. A large cathedral appears. I see misty hills covered with houses in the background. One hill has a huge statue of an angel on top looking down on the town. (It isn´t really an angel. It is actually Mary with wings.)
In the cathedral a man approaches me and asks if I would like him to show me around the cathedral. I ask him if he will be expecting a tip afterwards. I have been in this position many times before. A local approaches a tourist, offers an unwanted service and afterwards names his fee.
"Well, you know," he says, slightly sheepishly, "a man has to make a living." I offer him a dollar and he says it isn´t much. I don´t know if that´s true or not but it´s the standard response. He would probably say the same if I offered him twenty dollars. We agree on a dollar and he shows me around for fifteen minutes or so. Afterwards I think, " a man has to make an honest living".
The cathedral is beautiful. Light shines brightly through the stained glass windows showing all the Popes up until John Paul II. The most interesting thing is a statue of the infant Mary. It shows Mary as a two year old child dressed up as a Spanish princess which supposedly was the fashion for small town Jewish girls circa 20B.C.
I light a candle in front of the infant Mary in memory of Tanja and Dim. I think Tanja would be perplexed.
Outside the cathedral, I like the look of the hats the locals are wearing and think I should get one for myself. After a while I change my mind as it seems only the women are wearing the hats.
The laughs and shouts I hear tell me I am passing a primary school. There are so many high pitched squeals it sounds like an aviary.
The old part of town is quite charming. It contains numerous churches, museums and ornate old buildings along narrow cobblestone streets.
A man draws my attention to a streak of wet purple paint that is running down my shoulder bag. He points up to suggest the paint has dripped down from above. I look up but can´t see the source. He gives me some tissues and beckons me to the side of the road to cleanup. I thank him and decline. My instinct tells me to leave the scene and I go to the restroom of a nearby restaurant.
There is a line of paint on my shirt, bag and down the leg of my jeans. Another manenters the restroom and notices my misfortune. He speaks in Spanish but I gather he thinks someone squirted paint on me to distract me so they could try to steal my camera or bag. I suspect the helpful stranger with the tissues.
After lunch I sit in a park and relax as the sun comes out warm and bright. I see some men wearing hats and I once again plan to get one. Breathing is already a little difficult at 2600m and the pollution from passing traffic makes it worse.
Town squares like the one I am in are a prominent feature of towns throughout South America. Even small towns will have a Plaza de Armas or a Plaza Mayor, typically a square with a path around the perimeter and four paths leading into the centre form each corner. In the centre is a prominent statue which may be in the middle of a fountain. The rest of the square is usally gerrn grass and trees or bushes.
I head to an Internet cafe for a while and when I come out the sun has gone and it is raining. Typical Melbourne weather.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Madrid, Spain
I arrive at my hotel at 4:30am. I think the taxi driver short-changed me five euros or maybe it was an extra late-night charge.
The tired girl at the front desk explains in broken English that I can leave my bags here but I won't be able to check in until 12 o'clock. "Not possible" she insists. The room needs to be made up and won't be ready till noon. We discuss this for five minutes before she realizes I am not trying to check in early. I am trying to check in late from the day before.
She shows me to my room immediately and it is not long until I am soundly asleep. I wake and sleep a few more times and don't get up until about 10am. The girl apologises for the misunderstanding the night before and gives me a map pointing out local sites.
I hit the streets with two goals in mind:
At first glance Madrid is an ordinary city with cars, shops, MacDonald's. As I start to wander, the city starts to reveal itself.
The buildings display a consistent architecture. Metal balconies on all the windows are almost obligatory. Its not uncommon for the building to be adorned with busts and statues. Just about every corner has a plaza with interesting architecture and sights. Unfortunately there is a lot of renovation and construction under way which undermines the plazas' aesthetics.
The Plaza Mayor is a huge square with beautiful buildings on four sides. The most interesting is adorned with three floors of paintings on its wall between its shuttered windows and two large clock towers either side. In the centre of the square is an impressive statue of Philip III mounted on a horse. But the focus of the square is a central large white building, currently under construction which looks like it might turn out to be a visitor centre or perhaps Spain's biggest fruit juice stand.
I buy an English guide to Madrid in a souvenir store. The girl short changes me two euro. I am really going to have to watch my money from now on. I look at some more sites and the guide book explains what I am looking at. But the city is engaging enough without following the itinerary. Soon I get tired and wander off to a park where I sit on the grass by a fountain and relax.
over the next few days, the more I explore the city, the more it reveals its grandeur. The bright sunny weather helps. Cafes and restaurants are well populated. Streets offer long views of beautiful building after building. The prevalence of Spanish and the absence of English keeps me aware of where I am. Ubiquitous paella and jamon. The respect for ham typified by Museo del Jamon stores.
Often my walks are accompanied by lovely music played by skilful buskers. A solo violinist plays bright classical music. A classical guitarist plays Spanish music. A string quartet plays Vivaldi's Four Seasons. An accordionist plays Gershwin's Summertime with a quick tempo. A Mexican band plays Mexican Music. In the Plaza Mayor a three piece band plays as a girl dancing Flamenco before the admiring patrons of an outdoor restaurant.
And this is just the ordinary Madrid - the typical streets. The extraordinary scenes include a lake full of row boats before Roman columns in the Parque Del Retiro. Goya, Velazquez and Brughel in the Museo del Prado. The frescos on the ceilings throughout the Royal Palace. The religious art in numerous churches. The sculptures in the parks.
Madrid is a truly beautiful city. I am sorry I have to leave it so soon.
Leaving Madrid
I count my cash, I have 99.97 euros. My hotel bill is a hundred euros and it will cost me two euros to get a train ticket to the aeropuerto. In case you are not in the mood to do the math I need 2.03 euros to leave the country.
I decide to go to the ATM and take out twenty euro but the minimum I can withdraw is fifty. When I go to check out, the receptionist tells me my first nights accommodation has already been deducted from my credit card so I only have to pay the balance of seventy-five euro.
This leaves me with 72.97 euro for breakfast at the airport. It should be just enough.
The tired girl at the front desk explains in broken English that I can leave my bags here but I won't be able to check in until 12 o'clock. "Not possible" she insists. The room needs to be made up and won't be ready till noon. We discuss this for five minutes before she realizes I am not trying to check in early. I am trying to check in late from the day before.
She shows me to my room immediately and it is not long until I am soundly asleep. I wake and sleep a few more times and don't get up until about 10am. The girl apologises for the misunderstanding the night before and gives me a map pointing out local sites.
I hit the streets with two goals in mind:
- Get a basic orientation of my surroundings (i.e. don't get lost.)
- Get some breakfast.
At first glance Madrid is an ordinary city with cars, shops, MacDonald's. As I start to wander, the city starts to reveal itself.
The buildings display a consistent architecture. Metal balconies on all the windows are almost obligatory. Its not uncommon for the building to be adorned with busts and statues. Just about every corner has a plaza with interesting architecture and sights. Unfortunately there is a lot of renovation and construction under way which undermines the plazas' aesthetics.
The Plaza Mayor is a huge square with beautiful buildings on four sides. The most interesting is adorned with three floors of paintings on its wall between its shuttered windows and two large clock towers either side. In the centre of the square is an impressive statue of Philip III mounted on a horse. But the focus of the square is a central large white building, currently under construction which looks like it might turn out to be a visitor centre or perhaps Spain's biggest fruit juice stand.
I buy an English guide to Madrid in a souvenir store. The girl short changes me two euro. I am really going to have to watch my money from now on. I look at some more sites and the guide book explains what I am looking at. But the city is engaging enough without following the itinerary. Soon I get tired and wander off to a park where I sit on the grass by a fountain and relax.
over the next few days, the more I explore the city, the more it reveals its grandeur. The bright sunny weather helps. Cafes and restaurants are well populated. Streets offer long views of beautiful building after building. The prevalence of Spanish and the absence of English keeps me aware of where I am. Ubiquitous paella and jamon. The respect for ham typified by Museo del Jamon stores.
Often my walks are accompanied by lovely music played by skilful buskers. A solo violinist plays bright classical music. A classical guitarist plays Spanish music. A string quartet plays Vivaldi's Four Seasons. An accordionist plays Gershwin's Summertime with a quick tempo. A Mexican band plays Mexican Music. In the Plaza Mayor a three piece band plays as a girl dancing Flamenco before the admiring patrons of an outdoor restaurant.
And this is just the ordinary Madrid - the typical streets. The extraordinary scenes include a lake full of row boats before Roman columns in the Parque Del Retiro. Goya, Velazquez and Brughel in the Museo del Prado. The frescos on the ceilings throughout the Royal Palace. The religious art in numerous churches. The sculptures in the parks.
Madrid is a truly beautiful city. I am sorry I have to leave it so soon.
Leaving Madrid
I count my cash, I have 99.97 euros. My hotel bill is a hundred euros and it will cost me two euros to get a train ticket to the aeropuerto. In case you are not in the mood to do the math I need 2.03 euros to leave the country.
I decide to go to the ATM and take out twenty euro but the minimum I can withdraw is fifty. When I go to check out, the receptionist tells me my first nights accommodation has already been deducted from my credit card so I only have to pay the balance of seventy-five euro.
This leaves me with 72.97 euro for breakfast at the airport. It should be just enough.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Egypt II
Balloons over Luxor
People pay $450 USD for a balloon ride in the Serengeti. I decided a $90 USD balloon ride in Luxor would be better value. For $90 you don't get a champagne breakfast. Instead you get a cup of tea and a slice of Madeira cake sealed in foil especially designed to keep out the freshness.
The balloon basket is about four feet by ten feet, divided into five compartments four feet by two feet. But the compartments aren't all lined up. There is one in each corner of the basket, longways, plus a central compartment across the width of the basket. The balloon pilot, crewman, gas bottles and equipment are in the centre compartment. Each of the other compartments holds five or six passengers with a total of 24 people in our balloon.
About twenty five balloons ascend smoothly into the early morning sky, rising up to five hundred metres.
I am wearing my fleece jacket and beanie to protect against the pre-dawn chill but the beanie mainly protects me from the searing heat of the gas burner which roars whenever the pilot wants to ascend. There is a faint but distinct smell of burnt hair coming from somewhere.
As the gas jets ignite, the flames light up the balloons from within and they glow like huge party lights. Our balloon is yellow.
The sunrise is beautiful. Most of the balloons are spread out in the sky between us and the sunrise. To the east, green fields, the Nile, Luxor known to the ancients as Thebes. To the west, a desert plain, a temple ruin, desert hills.
We can see the shadow of our balloon out over the desert.
Yes it's beautiful, but I must confess, it is not as exciting as I thought it would be. But some excitement returns on the landing. Everyone enjoys the landing best of all.
As we descend it is obvious we will have to land in someone's field. We head towards a cleared field, the remains of a sugar cane crop in evidence. The ground crew come running out. they must have been driving around anticipating our landing site. A large black tape rolls down from the balloon. Ten men grab it and pull with all their strength, trying to guide the huge balloon against a mild breeze.
In my head I go over the pre-flight landing instructions, waiting for the call to assume the "landing position". In any other aircraft it would be called a "crash position".
Amused locals look on from a nearby farm yard. Children run out to watch the landing. We hover over a five foot wide ditch and it looks like we are going to land in it, but the ground crew pulls us over it. The basket scrapes the ground, drags a few feet and stops. A smoother landing than any airplane I have been on. The landing position was never called for.
We have to wait another five minutes for the balloon to become heavy enough so that we can get out without having it fly away. Then we are off to meet the others who didn't do the balloon ride.
Donkey Ride
If the balloon ride was less exciting than I imagined this was well compensated by the seven kilometre donkey ride to the Valley of the Kings.
The donkeys are low enough that you don't need a foot in the stirrup to throw your leg over to get on. Just as well as the soft saddles have no stirrups.
The donkeys trot off down a quiet lane between an irrigation channel and some fields. Michael, the tall Slovakian takes the lead. He looks comical with his large frame perched precariously on his tiny beast. We have nominal control over our animals with the reins, but they know their business better than us and mostly we are enthusiastic but docile passengers.
The animals speed up their trot as we shout "yellar, yellar, yellar". It's unclear if our yelling causes them to go faster or if their increased speed causes us to shout more. I balance carefully as I take photographs ahead, to the side and over my shoulder. We laugh as the animals jostle each other and change position. This is a lot more fun than the camel ride I had a few days earlier.
Lauren speeds by, unable or unwilling to control either her donkey or her laughter. She has named her donkey "Flopsy" because his left ear is torn and droops. Sam calls this a sissy name so I decide to christen my steed "Thunder".
Soon we catch up with another group of donkeys and riders and we progress as one large group. We ride through the streets of a small town. I exert some control over Thunder as we have to cross a busy intersection. Next we come to a wide highway with very little traffic. This is the road to the Valley of the Kings.
My Camera stops working as the batteries go flat. I wait till Thunder is travelling smoothly to take spare batteries out of my shoulder bag. I balance carefully as I unload the old batteries and put them in my shirt pocket but in the process, I knock my sunglasses out of my pocket and they clatter on the road. I pull back on my reins hoping to stop and recover my glasses but Thunder resists and merely slows down and brays in protest.
Now the glasses are back a ways. There's a herd of donkeys behind me and stopping seems to be too much trouble. I give up on the glasses, reload my camera and start taking pictures again.
Eventually we come to the entrance of the Valley of the kings and we regretfully end our donkey ride. One of the men in charge of the donkeys recovered my glasses. Fortunately they were undamaged and I still have them to this very day.
People pay $450 USD for a balloon ride in the Serengeti. I decided a $90 USD balloon ride in Luxor would be better value. For $90 you don't get a champagne breakfast. Instead you get a cup of tea and a slice of Madeira cake sealed in foil especially designed to keep out the freshness.
The balloon basket is about four feet by ten feet, divided into five compartments four feet by two feet. But the compartments aren't all lined up. There is one in each corner of the basket, longways, plus a central compartment across the width of the basket. The balloon pilot, crewman, gas bottles and equipment are in the centre compartment. Each of the other compartments holds five or six passengers with a total of 24 people in our balloon.
About twenty five balloons ascend smoothly into the early morning sky, rising up to five hundred metres.
I am wearing my fleece jacket and beanie to protect against the pre-dawn chill but the beanie mainly protects me from the searing heat of the gas burner which roars whenever the pilot wants to ascend. There is a faint but distinct smell of burnt hair coming from somewhere.
As the gas jets ignite, the flames light up the balloons from within and they glow like huge party lights. Our balloon is yellow.
The sunrise is beautiful. Most of the balloons are spread out in the sky between us and the sunrise. To the east, green fields, the Nile, Luxor known to the ancients as Thebes. To the west, a desert plain, a temple ruin, desert hills.
We can see the shadow of our balloon out over the desert.
Yes it's beautiful, but I must confess, it is not as exciting as I thought it would be. But some excitement returns on the landing. Everyone enjoys the landing best of all.
As we descend it is obvious we will have to land in someone's field. We head towards a cleared field, the remains of a sugar cane crop in evidence. The ground crew come running out. they must have been driving around anticipating our landing site. A large black tape rolls down from the balloon. Ten men grab it and pull with all their strength, trying to guide the huge balloon against a mild breeze.
In my head I go over the pre-flight landing instructions, waiting for the call to assume the "landing position". In any other aircraft it would be called a "crash position".
Amused locals look on from a nearby farm yard. Children run out to watch the landing. We hover over a five foot wide ditch and it looks like we are going to land in it, but the ground crew pulls us over it. The basket scrapes the ground, drags a few feet and stops. A smoother landing than any airplane I have been on. The landing position was never called for.
We have to wait another five minutes for the balloon to become heavy enough so that we can get out without having it fly away. Then we are off to meet the others who didn't do the balloon ride.
Donkey Ride
If the balloon ride was less exciting than I imagined this was well compensated by the seven kilometre donkey ride to the Valley of the Kings.
The donkeys are low enough that you don't need a foot in the stirrup to throw your leg over to get on. Just as well as the soft saddles have no stirrups.
The donkeys trot off down a quiet lane between an irrigation channel and some fields. Michael, the tall Slovakian takes the lead. He looks comical with his large frame perched precariously on his tiny beast. We have nominal control over our animals with the reins, but they know their business better than us and mostly we are enthusiastic but docile passengers.
The animals speed up their trot as we shout "yellar, yellar, yellar". It's unclear if our yelling causes them to go faster or if their increased speed causes us to shout more. I balance carefully as I take photographs ahead, to the side and over my shoulder. We laugh as the animals jostle each other and change position. This is a lot more fun than the camel ride I had a few days earlier.
Lauren speeds by, unable or unwilling to control either her donkey or her laughter. She has named her donkey "Flopsy" because his left ear is torn and droops. Sam calls this a sissy name so I decide to christen my steed "Thunder".
Soon we catch up with another group of donkeys and riders and we progress as one large group. We ride through the streets of a small town. I exert some control over Thunder as we have to cross a busy intersection. Next we come to a wide highway with very little traffic. This is the road to the Valley of the Kings.
My Camera stops working as the batteries go flat. I wait till Thunder is travelling smoothly to take spare batteries out of my shoulder bag. I balance carefully as I unload the old batteries and put them in my shirt pocket but in the process, I knock my sunglasses out of my pocket and they clatter on the road. I pull back on my reins hoping to stop and recover my glasses but Thunder resists and merely slows down and brays in protest.
Now the glasses are back a ways. There's a herd of donkeys behind me and stopping seems to be too much trouble. I give up on the glasses, reload my camera and start taking pictures again.
Eventually we come to the entrance of the Valley of the kings and we regretfully end our donkey ride. One of the men in charge of the donkeys recovered my glasses. Fortunately they were undamaged and I still have them to this very day.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Egypt
Cairo
Travel Overload. Where am I? How did I get here?
All these images are colliding in my head. Wildebeast and Zebra are spread across the Serengeti. Next I am in St Paul's Cathedral in London walking around the whispering gallery. Now I am entering the Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt.
Modern stone steps supplement the short climb up the ancient blocks to the pyramid entrance. This is the lower entrance hacked into the north face by explorers searching for treasures. The main entrance was discovered from inside the pyramid and opened at a later date.
I have to crouch down as I make my way through the roughly hewn, fluorescent lit passage.
The tunnel is stifling, hot and humid.
Soon I come to the ancient Egyptian passage of smooth stone. I still have to crouch down as I descend a steep 45 degree angle. The modern addition of hand rails and wooden anti-slip flooring make it possible. At the bottom a small section before the passage ascends again at the same angle. But now there is more than enough room to stand.
The ceiling is level with the uppermost end of the passage. It is spacious and impressive, yet confined and claustrophobic at the same time. I feel echoes of the excitement of past explorers.
At the top I need to duck again to enter the burial chamber at the pyramid centre. The room is about 20ft wide, 20ft high, 40ft long and 5500 years old. The lights are dim, the room gloomy. The stone walls are smooth and unadorned. At the far end of the chamber there is a large empty box shaped stone pit - the tomb where the Pharaoh once lay.
Around the room, several people sit on the floor with their backs to the wall, resting from their exertions or simply meditating. I join them and spend a few minutes contemplating and experiencing.
Then it is through the tunnels and back to fresh air.
There is only one known surviving statue of the Pharaoh who demanded such a huge memorial. I see it later in the afternoon in the Cairo national museum. It is 7cm tall. The Pharaoh is seated. The head of the statue is less than 1cm high.
The Nile
The main deck of the felucca is one large mattress twenty feet long, fifteen feet wide tapering to ten feet wide towards the stern. A cloth shade is suspended four feet above by a robust frame of four metal pipes on four metal posts. A large triangular sail is loosely attached to a tall mast on the front deck. It swings from side to side over the top of the shade cloth.
Three Nubian sailors guide the boat. Most of the work is managing the rudder as the sail swings easily as we tack up wind and down stream.
There are fourteen passengers including our tour guide, Sam. Half of us are lounging on the mattress, reading, talking, sleeping or enjoying the view. "Chillaxing" as Sam says. The rest are standing on the fore deck or at the stern, chillaxing, moving with the boat and avoiding the moving sail when required.
The weather is perfect - the hot sun is ineffective against the shade and the cool breeze blowing gently over the water.
We sail throughout the day with brief stops for toilet. The shore has rushes, bushes, weeds and palm trees. Beyond that may be farm land or sandy desert.
At night we anchor on a large sandy island. blankets are hung down from the sides of the shade cloth. A plastic mat is spread down the centre of our new room and we dine. We sleep soundly on the boat, side by side, with day bags and feet down the centre line.
In the morning we sail to a temple built by Romans - an odd mix of Greek Columns and ancient hieroglyphics.
After exploring we retire to a Bedouin tent. Well, maybe it is more a room in the style of a Bedouin tent. Carpets on the floor and walls. We lounge on low cushioned seats around the wall. Most of us have locally made chocolate and mango ice cream. A few smoke apple and peach flavoured tobacco from sheeshas.
As I am down to my last few spoons of ice cream a wave of satisfaction and well being inundates me. I am relaxed and happy. This feeling lasts throughout the day and enhances the simple pleasures of relaxing on the Nile; the food, the breeze, the gentle sway of the boat, the water lapping at the sides, the gentle blue expanse of the river with a backdrop of palm trees and sand.
I ask Mondo on the rudder if he enjoys his job. He does. I am not surprised.
Travel Overload. Where am I? How did I get here?
All these images are colliding in my head. Wildebeast and Zebra are spread across the Serengeti. Next I am in St Paul's Cathedral in London walking around the whispering gallery. Now I am entering the Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt.
Modern stone steps supplement the short climb up the ancient blocks to the pyramid entrance. This is the lower entrance hacked into the north face by explorers searching for treasures. The main entrance was discovered from inside the pyramid and opened at a later date.
I have to crouch down as I make my way through the roughly hewn, fluorescent lit passage.
The tunnel is stifling, hot and humid.
Soon I come to the ancient Egyptian passage of smooth stone. I still have to crouch down as I descend a steep 45 degree angle. The modern addition of hand rails and wooden anti-slip flooring make it possible. At the bottom a small section before the passage ascends again at the same angle. But now there is more than enough room to stand.
The ceiling is level with the uppermost end of the passage. It is spacious and impressive, yet confined and claustrophobic at the same time. I feel echoes of the excitement of past explorers.
At the top I need to duck again to enter the burial chamber at the pyramid centre. The room is about 20ft wide, 20ft high, 40ft long and 5500 years old. The lights are dim, the room gloomy. The stone walls are smooth and unadorned. At the far end of the chamber there is a large empty box shaped stone pit - the tomb where the Pharaoh once lay.
Around the room, several people sit on the floor with their backs to the wall, resting from their exertions or simply meditating. I join them and spend a few minutes contemplating and experiencing.
Then it is through the tunnels and back to fresh air.
There is only one known surviving statue of the Pharaoh who demanded such a huge memorial. I see it later in the afternoon in the Cairo national museum. It is 7cm tall. The Pharaoh is seated. The head of the statue is less than 1cm high.
The Nile
The main deck of the felucca is one large mattress twenty feet long, fifteen feet wide tapering to ten feet wide towards the stern. A cloth shade is suspended four feet above by a robust frame of four metal pipes on four metal posts. A large triangular sail is loosely attached to a tall mast on the front deck. It swings from side to side over the top of the shade cloth.
Three Nubian sailors guide the boat. Most of the work is managing the rudder as the sail swings easily as we tack up wind and down stream.
There are fourteen passengers including our tour guide, Sam. Half of us are lounging on the mattress, reading, talking, sleeping or enjoying the view. "Chillaxing" as Sam says. The rest are standing on the fore deck or at the stern, chillaxing, moving with the boat and avoiding the moving sail when required.
The weather is perfect - the hot sun is ineffective against the shade and the cool breeze blowing gently over the water.
We sail throughout the day with brief stops for toilet. The shore has rushes, bushes, weeds and palm trees. Beyond that may be farm land or sandy desert.
At night we anchor on a large sandy island. blankets are hung down from the sides of the shade cloth. A plastic mat is spread down the centre of our new room and we dine. We sleep soundly on the boat, side by side, with day bags and feet down the centre line.
In the morning we sail to a temple built by Romans - an odd mix of Greek Columns and ancient hieroglyphics.
After exploring we retire to a Bedouin tent. Well, maybe it is more a room in the style of a Bedouin tent. Carpets on the floor and walls. We lounge on low cushioned seats around the wall. Most of us have locally made chocolate and mango ice cream. A few smoke apple and peach flavoured tobacco from sheeshas.
As I am down to my last few spoons of ice cream a wave of satisfaction and well being inundates me. I am relaxed and happy. This feeling lasts throughout the day and enhances the simple pleasures of relaxing on the Nile; the food, the breeze, the gentle sway of the boat, the water lapping at the sides, the gentle blue expanse of the river with a backdrop of palm trees and sand.
I ask Mondo on the rudder if he enjoys his job. He does. I am not surprised.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Tanzanian Safari
more details to come ...
Ngorongoro Crater
Wild Animal Attack!!
We stop at a large lake to eat our packed lunch. A huge shady tree dominates the shore and a group of people are beneath it taking turns to take photos of each other. I take my lunch to the lake side of the tree and sit down. There are reeds and water plants on the other side of the lake as well as a group of hippos at safe distance.
The rest of my group mill around the four wheel drives.
I notice another hippo, not so far away and I consider how quickly I could climb the tree if the hippo decided to attack. Hippos are surprisingly fast and will outrun a person but they don't climb trees. The tree is easy to climb and the hippo is not concerned so I relax but stay alert. (The hippo is not the agressor - people are the agressors.)
A bright yellow and black finch lands two feet away in the bushy grass. I am surprised how close it comes, unafraid of human contact. I feel an intamacy with nature as we study each other. Another finch lands two feet to the right of the first. How wonderful.
Another finch lands on the tree behind me, a foot from my head. Now I am starting to feel surrounded.
As I start to unwrap the cling wrap from my sandwiches the first finch flys up and pecks at it. I wave it away. The other finches take flight, but not in retreat. They are looking for the best access to my lunch. This is Africa, where wild animals attack without mercy.
A fourth finch appears. I shoo the birds away like flies. I hold my sandwiches close to my mouth. This settles them down. They aren't game to come close to my cruel, powerful, razor sharp teeth. They don't know I am a vegetarian (who also eats fish).
I manage to eat half of a double sandwich. I momentarily lower my left hand when - wham - something hits the food in my hand. My fist automatically closes on my food as I see a medium sized eagle flying away.
Time to retreat. I head back to the four wheel drive. The rest of my group are standing close to the vehicles.
Numerous eagles circle overhead. A girl is returning from the rest rooms nursing her hand which has been scratched by an eagle. she is worried about possible infection.
I take stock of my lunch in hand. it seems to all be there. The eagles talons unable to gain purchase on a bread sandwich. I notice the cling wrap is missing. The bird must have carried it off like a magician whipping a table cloth out from under a dinner setting.
Another eagle makes a grab for my brown paper bag containing a banana. It gets nothing. I decide to get in the four wheel drive. some finches follow me - darting in through the open windows and the overhead hatch.
Everyone returns to the vehicles and we drive away leaving the wild birds behind. A few minutes later I discover that in all the excitement, I have left my water bottle behind, back at the tree.
---------------
More to follow
Ngorongoro Crater
Wild Animal Attack!!
We stop at a large lake to eat our packed lunch. A huge shady tree dominates the shore and a group of people are beneath it taking turns to take photos of each other. I take my lunch to the lake side of the tree and sit down. There are reeds and water plants on the other side of the lake as well as a group of hippos at safe distance.
The rest of my group mill around the four wheel drives.
I notice another hippo, not so far away and I consider how quickly I could climb the tree if the hippo decided to attack. Hippos are surprisingly fast and will outrun a person but they don't climb trees. The tree is easy to climb and the hippo is not concerned so I relax but stay alert. (The hippo is not the agressor - people are the agressors.)
A bright yellow and black finch lands two feet away in the bushy grass. I am surprised how close it comes, unafraid of human contact. I feel an intamacy with nature as we study each other. Another finch lands two feet to the right of the first. How wonderful.
Another finch lands on the tree behind me, a foot from my head. Now I am starting to feel surrounded.
As I start to unwrap the cling wrap from my sandwiches the first finch flys up and pecks at it. I wave it away. The other finches take flight, but not in retreat. They are looking for the best access to my lunch. This is Africa, where wild animals attack without mercy.
A fourth finch appears. I shoo the birds away like flies. I hold my sandwiches close to my mouth. This settles them down. They aren't game to come close to my cruel, powerful, razor sharp teeth. They don't know I am a vegetarian (who also eats fish).
I manage to eat half of a double sandwich. I momentarily lower my left hand when - wham - something hits the food in my hand. My fist automatically closes on my food as I see a medium sized eagle flying away.
Time to retreat. I head back to the four wheel drive. The rest of my group are standing close to the vehicles.
Numerous eagles circle overhead. A girl is returning from the rest rooms nursing her hand which has been scratched by an eagle. she is worried about possible infection.
I take stock of my lunch in hand. it seems to all be there. The eagles talons unable to gain purchase on a bread sandwich. I notice the cling wrap is missing. The bird must have carried it off like a magician whipping a table cloth out from under a dinner setting.
Another eagle makes a grab for my brown paper bag containing a banana. It gets nothing. I decide to get in the four wheel drive. some finches follow me - darting in through the open windows and the overhead hatch.
Everyone returns to the vehicles and we drive away leaving the wild birds behind. A few minutes later I discover that in all the excitement, I have left my water bottle behind, back at the tree.
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More to follow
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