Obama is Everywhere… Even on Bubble Gum
Posted: Wed, 07 Nov 2012 11:00:58 +0000
As I sit here glued to CNN (really, I should wait to watch later but it’s fun to watch the percentages change bit by bit), I’ve been thinking back to how much Africans adore Obama. Because of his Kenyan father, I can’t tell you how many times (like millions), I’ve been asked in Africa, as an American, ‘Oh you know Obama?!’ I wish I could tell them, ‘Of course I do. We grab coffee together on Fridays.’ Except I don’t drink coffee, and I don’t know Obama personally. But I know that they are just excited to talk about Obama, and I try to relay as much current news as I can. As an American, my popularity in Kenya grew tenfold from my visit in 2008 to my subsequent visits. And I quickly discovered on those later visits that Obama products are everywhere…everywhere!
I’m sure like many of us, including this little girl, you are extremely sick of hearing the names Romney and Obama and are relieved the elections are over. But I thought I’d give you a glimpse of Obama products that can be found in Africa and leave the politics for others to discuss. (I came across tons of clothing and even backpacks and shoes, but I couldn’t find all of the photos.)
Obama knows his status… do you? (Taken in Makuyu, Kenya)
Obama bread from the bakery! I forgot to take a picture of the sign so you’re stuck with this photo of the bread. (Taken in Monkey Bay, Malawi)
Obama passport photos- in EVERY city in Kenya. If you come across a passport photo shop, I guarantee Obama’s photo is the example. (Taken in Kenol, Kenya)
Obama fabric. I snatched this one up a few years ago and still want to make it into a dress… unless you have another idea! (Taken in Nkhata Bay, Malawi)
And yes, even Obama bubble gum. Strawberry flavored and yummy. (Taken on Likoma Island, Malawi)
And just so you know, even though Africa loves President Obama, I also discovered President Bush at the Hot Coconut Bar on Likoma Island. I bring you- bonus photos:
Osama and Bush on a wall in Malawi
Bush and Saddam on a wall in Malawi
I’d love to hear what random products you’ve come across on your travels!
Awkward Travel Moment: Being Mistaken as a Victim of Abuse
Posted: Wed, 31 Oct 2012 10:00:07 +0000
Onesmus at Fort Jesus
Cultural differences… sometimes it’s as simple as wondering whether or not I should take off my shoes at the door. Other times it is taking continual shots of rice spirits at a Laotian wedding because you’re not sure if it’s rude to refuse. And then there is the time when a white girl’s sunburn highlights a cultural difference in a rather interesting way.
***
When I was in Kenya this past December, you might recall that I took a vacation with the boys to the coast. The boys had never seen the ocean, and we couldn’t wait to go! We spent a quiet and relaxing week at Diani beach (south of Mombasa) that consisted of swimming, snorkeling, making friends with the beach boys, playing at the pool, eating with the locals, and taking the guesthouse dogs with us wherever we went. The boys even made a big to-do about tasting the saltwater because they insisted that it must be used for cooking since it was free salt! Even though just being at the ocean was a big enough event, I thought we should make an educational day trip to Mombasa to visit Fort Jesus. It was the dead of summer and unbelievably hot. Before we had even boarded the ferry to get to Mombasa (after the multiple matatu rides to get to the ferry), we were drenched in sweat, and I thought to myself how much this was a terrible idea and that I’d rather be cooling off in the ocean right then.
The ferry to Mombasa
Determined, we continued on in search of Fort Jesus. We finally made it, and though it wasn’t all that exciting, the boys could at least say they had gone. It was fun to climb up on some parts of the fort and the cannons and peek out of the little watchtowers.
John & Onesmus right before we left Fort Jesus
After we left the fort, we meandered through the Old Town.
A beautiful carving around a door in the Old Town
As a lover of architecture, the Old Town is like a little slice of heaven for me. Typical of coastal towns in East Africa, it is mostly a Muslim community with Arabic influences, and the African/European/Arabic architecture, reminded me of my time wandering through Stone Town in Zanzibar. As much as we tried to follow a map, we got lost in the tiny cobblestone alleyways almost immediately. We came across intimate moments of children playing ball, and an old cobbler making sandals. There were women cooking bread items in front of their homes, and young men carting items from the market to their shops. We had nearly made our way out of the labyrinth of the Old Town and to a main street when a gentleman approached me. He was pointing at my legs and speaking rapid Swahili to me. I was utterly confused. I know basic greetings and some random words but had no idea what he was saying. And for a moment, I was a little afraid that I had offended him. You see, even though it was blazing hot outside, I tried to dress in cool clothing while still being modest. I had on a short-sleeved top and shorts that came nearly to the knee. Perhaps long pants would have been better but it was a million degrees out, and I couldn’t imagine putting any more clothing on my body. And I justified the shorts, which I rarely wear in Kenya, because of the hot weather. Like I said, they nearly came to my knees.
John in the Old Town
Onesmus and John were slightly ahead of me because I had stopped to take a photo so I yelled for them to come back. Onesmus jumped in and asked the man what he said. After repeating himself again in Swahili and pointing at my legs, Onesmus shook his head and replied. I stopped them because I wanted to know what the heck was going on! “What’d he say?!” Onesmus got a big grin on his face, let out a boyish laugh and said, “He is telling you he’s sorry that your husband beats you!” I looked down and realized the confusion. While I had worn sunscreen all week, I had missed the spot behind my knees (or maybe just sweated it off) and the back of my knees were red. And this man thought I had taken a beating across the back of my legs. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea, and told the man “Hapana,” (meaning ‘No’). He rested his hands on my shoulders and said, “Pole. Pole,” and sauntered off. Clearly, he didn’t believe me because he was saying he was sorry. And not sorry for the mixup, but rather sad eyes sorry as if he felt sorry for me.
It was a funny misunderstanding because he’s probably not used to the idea of a white girl getting sunburned. And the fact that I was only sunburned on the back of my legs was a mystery to him. But on the same token, it was kind of a sad moment that his first assumption was that I was a victim of spousal abuse. It is not uncommon in Kenya. While the UN and USAID have made progress with campaigns against spousal and child abuse, the fact of the matter is that it’s still all too common. In more rural areas, traditional gender roles and harsher treatment towards women is still culturally accepted. As an American, if I saw someone in the same situation with reddened legs, that would probably be the last thing that would come to mind. Yet this man was just convinced that I was a sad victim of abuse. In the end, I came to the conclusion that since he was addressing me in public about my legs and feeling sorry for me, he was probably a man against spousal abuse. That made me feel a little better and slightly less embarrassed about this rather odd encounter.
Have you ever had a weird mixup abroad that left you at a loss for words?
When HIV is No Longer a Statistic
Posted: Thu, 11 Oct 2012 10:00:30 +0000
It felt slightly wrong. I mean, I knew it wasn’t really any of my business, but my curiosity somehow got the best of me. I slipped into the room next to mine at my homestay and picked up the bottle on my grandmother’s dresser. The description was in Afrikaans but I was almost positive of the translation; I was staring at a bottle of antiretroviral (ARV) medication. My suspicions were confirmed, and there was suddenly a slump in my shoulders and a knot in my throat. An innocent little girl that I lived with was HIV positive. A million questions raced through my mind. Why her? And not her siblings? Does she understand? Is it common knowledge? Will she be angry when she gets older?
In a region where HIV is as common as the flu (at least that’s how it felt at times), I wondered if they viewed it differently. A funeral occurred as often as a soccer game. One weekend, there were three funerals in my village. Someone two doors down died. It’s easy to spot a death because a white tent is erected, and it’s a weeklong process of vigils and services. I arose one Saturday morning at 6:30 and my grandmother was already gone from the house. My cousin showed up shortly after breakfast, and I asked her if my grandmother had gone to my friend’s brother’s funeral. “Oh no,” she said. “She went to a funeral over there,” and pointed toward a street in the other direction.
And even as common as HIV/AIDS was in the village, I still lived in a state of somewhat denial. Not denial that HIV is rampant, but with that ‘it won’t happen to me/them mentality’. There’s just no way that a child, a very innocent child, could have this horrible disease. No one deserves to live with this type of illness, but it’s not even as if you can look at her life choices as an explanation. The choices of her parents ultimately determined the well-being of their children. I was sad. Really sad. As in, I couldn’t look at this little girl for several days without feeling pity and sorrow. And yes, that may sound terrible, but I just couldn’t get over that defeated feeling. I saw her smile, I heard her laugh, and I watched her play and enjoy life, and yet it made me hurt on the inside a little more. Because all I kept thinking is how much longer she would have to smile and to laugh and to play outside. When I stared at that bottle, all I could see was an uphill battle.
But ironically, the hardships in the village in general, put things back into perspective. And as sad as I initially felt, living with HIV is not a death sentence. I needed time to process and to grieve. It is my belief that the human spirit has this indescribable ability to cope, an intangible mechanism that allows one to move forward. To see reason. To explain the unexplainable. Or simply to feel good in the face of something that seems so bad.
And so it is with this in mind, that I started to feel a little better each day. Every evening at 7 o’clock sharp when the local news started, my grandmother made this little girl take her meds. Every day at the very same time. There was no, ‘Wait just a minute, I’m coming.’ No, she had to take it right then at 7pm. Not 7:01….. at 7pm! Not only was I at least relieved at the fact that ARV’s were available in this village (I must remind you that in the late 90′s, even the Health Minister of South Africa was opposed to ARV medication), but that the woman I lived with was so diligent about her granddaughter taking them. And, the grandmother took this little girl to the clinic for routine checkups. Despite the overcast feeling of her living with a completely preventable disease, there was hope and love that shined bright.
It is not a situation to be romanticized. A little girl, like so many of her neighbors, is living with a disease that could very well cut her life short. And it’s simply not fair. But the fact that she has medical supervision and a loving family that sees a bright future for her, might categorize her as one of the lucky ones. Roughly half of the people in South Africa living with HIV/AIDS do not receive ARV treatment. However, access has dramatically increased from even five years ago, so I expect ARV access to continue to grow, as well as a decrease in the spread of the disease.
Towards the end of my stay in this village, as I mentioned above, a friend’s brother died. My friend and I looked at the vigil as a cultural experience and asked our cousins if they would accompany us to attend. On a crisp Friday evening, we were allowed to go out after dark. Around 8pm, we left the house and walked the couple of blocks to his home. I covered my head with my orange scarf and wore the only dress I had with leggings. Since the deceased was a member of the conservative Zion Christian Church, women and men sat separately at the vigil. The ZCC choir sang a few songs and then the Catholic Church choir sang “South Africa Must Be Saved”. It was a beautiful but melancholic rendition. The vigil for a ZCC member will last into the wee hours of the night, so we cut out early at 11:00. The HIV/AIDS epidemic in South Africa became very real to me. It is easy to brush off a statistic. After all, it’s just a number.
But when that number has a face, it takes on a very different reality.
A Positive Experience in Barcelona
Posted: Fri, 05 Oct 2012 12:05:18 +0000
I was recently reminded of the five days I spent in Barcelona on my around the world trip in 2010. Whenever Barcelona is brought up in conversation, I am quick to pipe in, “Oh, I love Barcelona!” And I think many people share this same sentiment. But I have also come across several people that truly did not feel a connection to the city. So, it got me thinking- what is it exactly about Barca that had such a strong pull on me?
The man with the Nike Backpack
One thing that surprised me about my trip was the connection I felt with the people. Why? Because the people I connected with weren’t Spanish or natives of Barcelona at all! I enjoyed the FC Barcelona game with a Ghanian that was seated next to me and my most favorite characters were in Park Guell- especially thePakistani man with the Nike backpack. And while I was in search of a Barcelona hotel, one of the reasons I chose my hostel was because of the rave reviews about the amenities and its staff. And while it did have some Spanish staff, half of the staff were actually foreigners as well. Yet I would say my good experience in Barcelona was heavily influenced by the people I met- even if they were mostly foreigners.
Gaudi Gaudi Gaudi!
One answer that is unsurprising is the architecture. I was absolutely in love with Gaudi’s work. While I had studied Gaudi in college, the depth and span of his work in the city left me in awe. After all, I made three trips to Park Guell during my short stay in the city, and the interior of La Sagrada Familia is one of my most favorite architectural masterpieces of all time. Recently, someone emailed me asking for advice on visiting Italy. Their only caveat was that they had no interest in architecture. While I recognize that everyone has different interests, I couldn’t believe that someone would travel through Europe with no interest in architecture. But, if I were not interested in Gaudi’s work, then perhaps I’d see Barcelona in a different light.
At the market
Visiting the markets in Barcelona was also enjoyable and strolling down Las Ramblas is memorable. But I would say one of the biggest problems with the city of Barcelona is the pickpocketing. Just in my first couple of nights at my hostel, three people staying there were pick-pocketed or mugged. One even had her passport stolen when she was held at knifepoint. It is a huge problem in the city and my looking like a foreigner wasn’t exactly comforting. I was extremely cautious and carried most of my money and my camera in zipped jacket pockets, while I had my map and other unimportant items in my purse. I did feel the need to constantly be aware of my surroundings, which is a bit wearing.
My five days in Barcelona were a really positive experience. I went out with people from my hostel one night, and even my seven male roommates were all wonderful. A bad hostel experience could have a negative influence on my opinion, but I had a well-rounded experience in Barcelona. Architecture is a big love of mine, but I find it ironic that one of the reasons I fell in love with Barcelona was because of the foreigners I met in the city. I honestly can’t say I had many in-depth interactions with locals in the city, but perhaps that will change if I get to visit again.
Oh, and I did I mention there is sangria?
A Little Escape to the Outer Banks
Posted: Thu, 04 Oct 2012 10:00:49 +0000
Reunited in the Outer Banks
When Megan and Sarah, former colleagues from South Africa, contacted me on Wednesday to take a little vacation starting on Thursday, it all happened so fast. We wanted a fun place to meet between New York City and South Carolina and found ourselves meeting in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. They picked a house in Kill Devil Hills so that we could meet right in the middle of the Outer Banks (OBX). Even though they had a 9-hour drive from NYC and I had a 6-hour drive from SC, we managed to arrive just minutes apart! Our house was a block away from the rental office, so they grabbed our keys and we wasted no time. At the house, we checked out our rooftop deck, changed into our swimsuits, and headed straight to the beach. I couldn’t have fathomed swimming at the end of September as I was certain that it would be way too cold. And it was. But when Megan and Sarah strolled right into the water, I had to suck it up and gasp my way through easing into the water.
View from our roof deck
I had messaged Heather to get her expert advice on vacationing in the Outer Banks. We were excited to take her up on many of her suggestions, the first of which was to watch the sun set from Jockey’s Ridge, the tallest sand dune in the Eastern United States. We hurriedly left the beach, changed out of our wet swimming attire, and hopped in the car to make it in time for sunset. We commented on how we felt like we were back in Namibia on the world’s oldest sand dunes. After romping around the dunes and taking silly jumping photos, we sat still momentarily on a ridge to catch the last moments of the sun as it disappeared over the inlet. Behind us, the purple-blue sky over the ocean was lit up with a nearly full moon. It was a beautiful first evening in the Outer Banks, and my friends immediately wanted to do everything on Heather’s list of recommendations!
Off to Jockey’s Ridge!
We decided to grab takeout and spend the evening in to catch up on each other’s lives. After a quick stop at the liquor store, we grabbed delicious pizza from Slice Pizzeria. Sarah found that it was highly recommended on Yelp. With a little pizza and Jim Beam, we polished off our first evening in Kill Devil Hills. The following morning, we went for breakfast at a coffee shop called Front Porch Cafe (another recommendation by Heather). Though my parents had also given us recommendations, like visiting Okracoke Island, our time together was so limited, that we went straight back to the beach house and spent the afternoon on the water. After another beautiful day with perfect weather, we headed back for showers and a shared bottle of wine up on our rooftop deck.
Sunset from Jockey’s Ridge
For dinner, we had two places in mind but ended up at Black Pelican. As our last night together, we thought it would be fun to go out. Unfortunately, when we asked locals on where we should go, you could hear crickets. Seeing as it was off-season in the Outer Banks, it wasn’t exactly a happening place to go out. We drove by several of the places we thought were possibilities- the first two were duds, and while the third, with karaoke, was a bit more ‘happening’, it was full of the 40ish biker crowd that had come to the island for Hog Rally Week. We got a good laugh out of it, but decided it wasn’t our scene, and headed back to enjoy one more night in the beach house.
The purple-blue sky in the Outer Banks
The following morning we went for a last coffee (of course I had tea) at Morning View Coffee Shop. It was sad that our visit was so short, but I was so grateful for the time to catch up with cherished friends. And, as my first visit to the Outer Banks, I am now longing to go back!
A Last Minute Getaway & Stop at South of the Border
Posted: Wed, 03 Oct 2012 10:00:17 +0000
When I opened my email on Wednesday morning, there was a message from my dear friend Megan who I worked with in South Africa last year. She had taken a last minute flight from Colorado to New York City to visit our other friend Sarah, and they wanted to meet up. I was about to burst with excitement, because even though New York City and South Carolina aren’t exactly next door to each other, if anyone could make a meetup happen, it would be us. I scrambled to get my shifts covered at work for the next two days while Megan and Sarah picked a place (Outer Banks, North Carolina), called the tourism office, and rented a house in Kill Devil Hills. In a matter of an hour we had a plan and my work was taken care of. After a late Wednesday night at work, I still leapt out of bed Thursday morning, excited to see my friends. After we worked together last summer, I caught up with Megan during my road trip through San Francisco last October, but I had not seen Sarah since we parted ways back in the village. It was bound to be a fabulous little getaway.
One of the many South of the Border billboards
While Megan and Sarah had a 9-hour drive ahead of them, mine was more manageable at just over 6 hours. And, though debatable, I would venture to say that my route was far more interesting. Why? Because it included stops at rural gas stations (which means interesting characters to meet), religious and political signage that can only be found in the south, and then a stop at South of the Border.
South of the Border takes up both sides of the road.
South of the Border is what you could call a tacky tourist attraction that lies on the North Carolina-South Carolina border, in SC. If you have seen the movie Forces of Nature or driven down I-95, you might have heard of it. At one time, there were billboards for it up and down the entire East Coast. Now, there are probably well over 100 billboards that make it impossible to pass without notice.
Of course- a Mexico shop in a redneck South Carolina town makes complete sense ;)
Why, hello polka-dot safari animals. (There are multiple fireworks shops here.)
Myrtle Beach shop? Well, at least they’ve got the redneck theme going now.
Pet toilets!
It is tacky and super kitschy with its stereotypical Mexican decor and names, without so much as a single Mexican in sight. Pedro, in his sombrero and Mexican getup, is the mascot for South of the Border. At this time of year, it looks virtually abandoned. The amusement park rides are shut down and there’s barely any cars in site. I ventured into Pedro’s Pantry for a drink, but decided to pass on Porky’s Truck Stop as well as the hat shop. Have you ever been to South of the Border? Or seen one of their billboards? If not, I’m sure you’re dying to go now!
My Jordan Experience
Posted: Wed, 26 Sep 2012 12:52:32 +0000
Scenery on the Dead Sea Marathon route
On my around the world trip, I chose to go to Jordan almost solely based on the fact that it had a marathon race and would fit in with my rough route that I had made. Only after I decided to run the marathon did I really consider what there was to do in Jordan. And before I arrived in the country, the only place I was certain that I would visit was Petra. Planning last minute, while at times stressful, really is a wonderful thing. I let my experiences guide me and the freedom to change plans or follow a random path on a whim took me to unexpected places. Because of the chance meetings with friendly folks, I avoided hotel stays half the time in the country and was fortunate to have people living in the country to show me around or give me good tips on where to go and what to see.
After a fascinating three weeks in Italy, I stayed overnight in Egypt and flew in to Jordan’s capital city Amman. From a sketchy introduction to the country in Amman, I went to Petra, Aqaba, Wadi Mujib, the Dead Sea, Wadi Dana, Madaba, and back to Amman. After Jordan I was headed to Kenya. I found a really cheap flight, along the lines of what you would pay to fly Airtran back in the States, and stayed overnight in Qatar. Even with my budget friendly flight, it still included a five-star hotel stay in Doha. All in all, Jordan was a wonderful experience full of beautiful vistas, dramatic architecture, wonderfully warm people, and a glimpse into a culture very foreign to my own.
Petra & Aqaba
Treasury at Petra
After my two days exploring the mysterious and captivating Petra, I took a two-hour taxi ride to Aqaba to get in some snorkeling and beach time. I ended up having to camp because all of the rooms were full. It wasn’t a big deal though, and I didn’t mind it. I enjoyed some sun and relaxation (with the exception of being assaulted by a dive instructor while in the water) and got in a few nice runs on the road to the Saudi Arabian border. I met a girl from Atlanta who shared a mutual friend from home (small world!) and met two foreign girls living and teaching in Amman who were running the Dead Sea races and invited me to stay with them.
Beautiful waters of Aqaba with Israel in the distance
Wadi Dana
Wadi Dana
From Aqaba I headed to Wadi Dana. It was a Friday and I had a really difficult time finding transportation because of it. I had to take a bus and then a couple of taxis to reach this small little village in a breathtaking valley but it was all so very worth it. Accommodations are slim and I chose to stay at the budget friendly guesthouse in the village that refers to rooms by name, not number. My room was called the Crazy Camel. Travelers are free to write on the walls and I fell asleep in the evenings reading quotes and random musings on the wall.
The writing on the wall in my Crazy Camel room
I met a retired couple from St. Louis who decided to take teaching jobs at a boarding school in Jordan for a year (where the Prince of Jordan attended school at the time) along with their daughter who was visiting, and together we took a guided hike through the valley out to Rumanna Campground. It was a beautiful hike and I ended the day with a sunset over the valley.
Dana Village, where I stayed
Watching the sun set over the valley with my journal and hot tea
On the Road to Madaba with a Stranger
In addition to my awesome guide, one of my favorite people experiences in Jordan was the stranger who gave me a ride out of Dana. You see, buses can’t come down into the valley because the road is really windy and has sharp switchbacks. The manager at the hotel was trying to arrange for a taxi to pick me up to take me out of the valley to meet the bus, but then he pointed out that one of his friends from Amman was staying at our hotel and was leaving the same day. The gentleman was an archaeology research assistant and had made multiple trips to Wadi Dana for his job at the university. I was skeptical to ride along with this guy (especially after my incidences in the country already with creepy guys) but when the manager introduced me, the guy seemed nice and normal. I also considered the fact that tourism staff highly value their reputation, and the manager probably wouldn’t risk it if he didn’t think this was a good idea. After introducing myself to this potential driver, his phone rang and he said, “Excuse me. I need to take this call from my girlfriend.” Sweet! He has a girlfriend, I thought. That eased my concerns, and even though this guy needed to go 30 miles out of his way to drop me off in Madaba, he agreed so I just decided to go with him.
The next morning we left Dana a little late, around noon. He wasted no time in giving me a little lesson on sediments and archaeological rock talk. When we got out to the main highway, instead of turning left to head towards Madaba and Amman, he turned right. And I kind of panicked. I was like, “Umm, isn’t Amman the other way?” He apologized and said that he just needed to stop by the hospital nearby to collect data. I didn’t really understand but I went with it. The hospital was only about a mile up the road, and as I soon learned, it was the only place in the area with reliable electricity and generators so the hospital allowed him to have his machinery on the roof which runs tests on samples. The machinery looked very foreign but he tried to explain it to me as he was repairing one machine and switching out samples in another.
Fixing one of the machines that he uses to test samples
As we got back in the car, I was completely at ease and thought that it was turning out to be quite a unique experience. We stopped for road trip snacks, of which he insisted on buying stuff for me even when I said I was fine. I enjoyed the three hour ride out to Madaba with this random guy. In Madaba, I was planning on staying with the St. Louis family that I had met. They had left town after our hike to visit another place and wouldn’t be back to Madaba for another six hours. My new friend dropped me off at a hotel in town where I could meet the family later in the day. He was very concerned to leave me unattended but I insisted that it would be fine. We said our goodbyes and he wished me a Happy Easter. Honestly, I had forgotten that it was even Easter until the reminder from my Muslim friend. He got the phone number of my host, and texted her later than evening to check that I was able to meet up with them. It was a wonderful gesture of hospitality from a stranger in Jordan.
Madaba
Making mosaics in Madaba
With my new friends in Madaba, we went wet trekking in Wadi Mujib which was one of my favorite activities in Jordan!
Wet trekking in Wadi Mujib
Floating the Dead Sea
Do it yourself spa treatment at the Dead Sea
We then took a float in the Dead Sea and spent the following day visiting the famous churches and archaeological sites in the Christian centre of Jordan.
Old mosaic at St. George’s Church
Amman and the Dead Sea Marathon
After that it was back to Amman to stay with the girls I met in Aqaba. I went sightseeing with my favorite taxi driver to see the Citadel and the Roman Theatre, and ran the Dead Sea Marathon. I tasted traditional Jordanian dishes and spent a night out with their local Jordanian friends, including a Jordanian-American girl whose parents met at my alma mater in Tennessee. Jordan made the world feel really small to me.
I was sad to leave Jordan but really loved this small and inviting country.
Channeling My Inner Indiana Jones in Petra
Posted: Sat, 22 Sep 2012 10:00:56 +0000
Petra was insanely beautiful and satisfied my love of climbing and exploring. I spent two full days in Petra and could have easily done a third. I don’t think it is possible to see enough of Petra in one day. From the winding Siq that leads to the Treasury, to the hikes up to the Monastery, the High Place of Sacrifice, the Tombs, and even a lesser-known climb up to an overview of the Treasury- it was beautiful. I met some Bedouin children that after trying to sell me rocks, insisted on giving me a few to take back to Obama, I took advice from Bedouins I met on where the best view points are, and I really loved my time there. Below are some of the photos from my visit.
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Arriving in Amman & Escaping to Petra
Posted: Thu, 20 Sep 2012 10:00:42 +0000
I landed in Amman only to be greeted on the bus into the city by a slimy married Egyptian man who insisted we share a hotel room together only to ‘save money’. I responded with some sarcastic remark about how I was sure his wife would be perfectly fine with that. Though he did follow me to my hotel, I finally was able to ditch him. The hotel worker did not speak English so he simply showed me to my room and refused to let me pay- I assumed I was to pay later when the English-speaking manager (who had rave reviews on Hostelworld) was around. I had looked forward to getting his advice on Amman but was quickly discouraged by my accommodations. It smelled of stale smoke, I later learned my bed had bedbugs, and there was no one else staying in my dorm so it was a bleak start. I left to get dinner and decided to skip town early the next morning and just head on to Wadi Musa. I would be returning to Amman for the Dead Sea Marathon and planned to sightsee in the city then. I left the hostel around 5am and when the person turned around at the reception desk, it turned out to be another traveler. I just set my keys on the desk and left. Frankly, getting the room for free wasn’t even a bargain- that’s how bad it was.
I caught a taxi to the bus station, and though there were minibuses everywhere, I was told to sit on the curb next to an empty spot to wait for the bus I needed. Finally, a bus showed up and I climbed in. As it started to fill, I was told by the driver to move seats to sit next to another woman, so that she would not be sitting next to a man. When I traveled in Egypt, I was with a group, so I never had this experience before in the Middle East. The rest of our van was all men and no one really spoke. I wasn’t sure if the woman next to me spoke English, so I was quiet for some time, until she finally greeted me. With her head partially down, and slightly timid, she shared with me that she was a teacher and was going to visit some of her family. A college guy behind me then started conversation and didn’t stop until we arrived in Wadi Musa. I was relieved that somebody talked to me! The minibus dropped us on the edge of town, and I went in search of a hotel. I got a room in a recently renovated hotel and went out for shawarma. The receptionist brought some rice, cooked with fermented yogurt and topped with almonds, to my room so I could try.
I had passed on the hotel dinner option, simply because I was trying to travel on a tight budget. The increase in Jordan tourism in recent years, even before they did a big marketing and PR campaign with travel bloggers, has caused prices to soar. It is cheap by US standards, but hotel, food, and transport were still more expensive in Jordan than it was for me in Egypt.
I planned to spend the next two days exploring Petra and could not wait to discover the beautiful architecture carved into the earth and get a glimpse into the Bedouin lifestyle that still exists today.
The Time I Nearly Got Stranded at a Desolate Border Crossing
Posted: Mon, 10 Sep 2012 10:00:26 +0000
Enjoying beautiful Zanzibar on the trip that almost wasn’t.
Though I had gone abroad several times in college, my post-graduation summer trip to Africa was my first trip abroad without being accompanied by an organization, my school, or my family. Instead, I skipped town with a dear friend of mine for a ten-week adventure through Egypt, Kenya, and Tanzania. As if getting accustomed to bathing in a bucket and peeing in a hole in the ground (descriptively known as a ‘squat toilet’) weren’t enough of a learning experience, I also acquired bargaining skills. Okay okay, so maybe bargaining is more aptly applied to situations where one is bargaining for souvenirs. Perhaps it is more articulate of me to say that I learned the importance of begging.
You see, my friend and I would now call ourselves quite savvy travelers. Having traveled Africa and southeast Asia together, we are pretty well-versed in the necessary skills to get around in rough environments- we know how to read maps, we can calculate exchange rates easily, we can travel on a budget, we can problem solve in a short amount of time, and we can adapt. But we also learned some tough lessons on the road and learned not to make the same mistakes again.
In the summer of 2008, after spending two adventurous weeks in Egypt and six weeks in Kenya volunteering and going on safari, we had planned to spend our last two weeks in Tanzania. From Nairobi we booked a 12-hour bus ride that would take us to Dar es Salaam. We considered stopping near the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro en route to do some day hikes, but made the decision to head straight to Zanzibar and perhaps stop on the way back to Kenya. The morning of our departure, we missed our 5:30am alarm and by some miracle woke up just minutes before we needed to leave our hotel. We were pretty tired so I still don’t know how we managed to awake on our own but we made it just in time. We had booked the last two seats on this bus to Tanzania so we had to sit apart from each other. I had been given a window seat towards the back while my friend Lauren was sitting in the last row next to a seven foot giant. Although not ideal, at this point we were glad we didn’t miss the bus. We made it to the Kenya-Tanzania border midmorning and gathered all of our belongings and luggage for the border crossing. We stepped inside the border office to purchase our $50 Tanzanian visa. We got in line and noticed that all of the signs hanging inside said ‘Visa $100′. Our first thought was that this was a classic we are going to rip you off at the border situation. After all, we were the only non-East African residents in sight. Lauren and I each had exactly $50 USD for the visa. The official signs posted all said that they only took US dollars and would not take any other currency. Holy sh*t. We were in the middle of nowhere at a remote border crossing. If the bus left us here for lack of a visa, where would we stay? How would we get back to Nairobi? The thoughts entered my mind, but then I just decided that there was no other option but to get back on that bus. On my last ATM withdrawal in Nairobi, I had decided to pull extra money out for our final night in the country, as we were returning to Kenya for one night before our trip came to an end. Between that and the little Kenyan money that Lauren had, we had the equivalent of $105 USD in Kenyan shillings. I deemed it necessary to keep $1 worth of Kenyan shillings ‘just in case’, so with our Kenyan shillings and US dollars, we had about $204 on us- just enough for two Tanzanian visas if the border was willing to take other currency.
I asked Lauren to give me her passport and I stacked ours together and compiled all of our money together. We stood in line nervously, trying to push out thoughts of being stranded in the Kenyan bush, and seeing our dreams of a beach paradise staying just that- a dream.
When it was our turn at the counter, I don’t think I really even greeted the woman. I shoved our passports and wad of money on the counter and said in a desperate plea, “This is everything we have. We thought the visa was $50 USD and we have no other money. Please, please, please take our Kenyan shillings.” Or something to that effect. She told us she would have to talk to her supervisor, took our passports, and she went back into an office and shut the door. It was grueling. Those few minutes felt like a lifetime. We were freaking out and had no idea how we could possibly have made this mistake.
She finally came out and said that they would accept it. I think we nearly cried. As soon as our passports were stamped, we practically ran out of the office. It didn’t matter that our bus wasn’t air conditioned and that people kept closing the windows on us. It didn’t matter that our bathroom break for the entire bus lasted about five minutes and that I barely made it back on to the bus after I went and that people had to chase after our bus who were in line behind me. We were not left stranded and were headed for a beautiful paradise off the coast of Tanzania.
We rolled into Dar es Salaam around 10:30 at night. It was of course pitch black, and though exhausted, we needed to haggle on a taxi. After agreeing to pay double what our guide book suggested (though we knew gas prices had soared since the time of writing), we agreed to get in the cab as long as he took us to an ATM first- because our $1 in Kenyan change that I had clung to was not going to get us very far!
We learned that even if your guidebook gives you a price, you should probably check it the night before you are to depart for the border- because things change since the time of writing. And I also learned to carry more US dollars on me at all times. When we finally did reach Zanzibar, I artfully bargained our hotel room in half and then made a final plea to get it to a price we could afford. Our original guesthouse we selected was booked so we had to stay somewhere more expensive but I bargained to below guidebook prices during tourist season. This whole pleading/begging thing was starting to work out!
Oh, and I should make one last mention that this wasn’t my last border crossing issue but certainly the most stressful!
What’s been your biggest challenge at a border crossing?
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