tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44950843342987892212024-03-14T07:30:12.834+03:00Round the WorldDruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-81759767363290216862012-03-19T19:10:00.001+03:002012-03-19T19:11:44.024+03:00Smoke 'em if you've got 'em<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyExSAI9QQFxuOSvoMLKocHi0J7HaKbohkiyyOVYtx5zcixMCcecfm9ltLwsV-Vb2XIc11mY2o-l4QYGddBvhZrN6MUlIJYs7QRCl-xhXd7LKVIjapz9PaQbq8WcZrMHnIiAauQbOd1o/s1600/Afghan+Local+police.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyExSAI9QQFxuOSvoMLKocHi0J7HaKbohkiyyOVYtx5zcixMCcecfm9ltLwsV-Vb2XIc11mY2o-l4QYGddBvhZrN6MUlIJYs7QRCl-xhXd7LKVIjapz9PaQbq8WcZrMHnIiAauQbOd1o/s400/Afghan+Local+police.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A U.S. colonel visits an Afghan Local Police outpost in Charkusa, Afghanistan, a sort of model village in Kandahar province where Taliban activity has been pushed out to a large degree. Not pictured, the intense smell of hashish emanating from a room full of police officers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0i6SMTuwCZNMaHRcInaGE2wpfKSVMtLaJZXsXgQP6YZMg9YZCI6_cMezERVIhNCaY65nMkU0xAPK97eY8OwuHpxENK49lCZgYfruTBeQgI35Y-fvlcc3ADmGAM8tszzuDMcW0yEFFvQ/s1600/hash+dump.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0i6SMTuwCZNMaHRcInaGE2wpfKSVMtLaJZXsXgQP6YZMg9YZCI6_cMezERVIhNCaY65nMkU0xAPK97eY8OwuHpxENK49lCZgYfruTBeQgI35Y-fvlcc3ADmGAM8tszzuDMcW0yEFFvQ/s400/hash+dump.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, that's what you're looking at. Just down the road, a different crew of police officers prepared to burn 300 pounds of hash. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-91575136174228993732012-03-18T19:05:00.000+03:002012-03-18T19:05:42.609+03:00Against my better judgment ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoUYdxsQZ4uv95ap_GOyQi5XqgGDR1sV9PsvuAWw00eShNXrl4Ij_EE-wO7rHgEMwmWRIzKUpBScSUium02Ys_8Z8c62o8Sygsre-DOe9PvTkChvPbKjx7QcNWBkscEESkdcpN7KnhdA/s1600/DSC_0536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoUYdxsQZ4uv95ap_GOyQi5XqgGDR1sV9PsvuAWw00eShNXrl4Ij_EE-wO7rHgEMwmWRIzKUpBScSUium02Ys_8Z8c62o8Sygsre-DOe9PvTkChvPbKjx7QcNWBkscEESkdcpN7KnhdA/s400/DSC_0536.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hazy morning at the engine graveyard of Kabul International Airport.</td></tr>
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KANDAHAR - Well, I'm back in Afghanistan, right now enjoying a balmy evening in sunny Kandahar. Not even two weeks in and an Afghan National Army soldier already shot at me by mistake. Should be good times.<br />
<br />
I'm just getting started here but have one story out and several more that should be coming soon. Here's a link to the first one:<br />
<br />
http://www.stripes.com/news/kandahar-massacre-reverberates-across-the-river-1.171701</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-76392896158030423782011-08-23T21:13:00.001+03:002011-08-23T21:16:31.887+03:00The Spaghetti Westerner<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">NONG KIAW, Laos - Glenn was grumpy when he boarded the rickety longtail boat. It was 8:30 a.m. and there was no beer.<br />
<br />
"Man, y'all gawt any beer?" he drawled in his slow, high-pitched Alabama twang. "Ah should have bought some for the ride."<br />
<br />
He looked around the boat hopefully for a cooler, but the Lao boatmen did not have Glenn's penchant for a.m. drinks. We had seven hours of leisurely, potentially sober jungle river cruising ahead and Glenn looked worried. He was stocked with a good supply of weed, but this evidently was not going to get him through.<br />
<br />
In addition to the two boatmen, there were just four solo-traveling vagabonds on the boat, a scruffy international contingent of wanderers. Aside from me, there was Fritz, a 56-year-old bespectacled Swiss-German conspiracy theorist, whose drooping gray goatee, shaved head, and earring looked more Berkeley than Switzerland. Only the sandals with socks indicated his Germanic roots. There was John, the Thai-American sometimes English teacher whose hobbies included smoking grass and saying very little.<br />
<br />
And, of course, there was Glenn, the mysterious Southerner whose only allowances about his past were that he once worked in a factory and had rented his house in Alabama to travel. Tall, with a loping gate, fair, mottled skin that had seen far too much sun, and wispy gray hair the same color as his teeth, Glenn looked older than his 56 years and was offended when others pointed this out.<br />
<br />
As we puttered up the Nam Ou River, the sputtering engine belched black smoke. One of the boatmen spent the first hour tinkering with the engine until he seemed satisfied it was good enough not to crap out heading upstream over rapids, as we were about to do. It did not inspire confidence.<br />
<br />
But Glenn was much more worried about the booze situation and getting a bit twitchy. Finally, I recommended he ask the boatmen if we could make a beer stop. For the small price of buying each a drink, they agreed and we pulled up to what looked like nothing more than a sandy bank in the middle of a jungle. We headed up a small footpath through the undergrowth and eventually came upon a small village of thatch-roofed huts hidden from view by the thick green canopy on the riverbank. There wasn't much in the village, save a few chickens and pigs, but they did have cold beer and we left with a cooler's worth and a smiling Glenn.<br />
<br />
"Y'all find any good food in Laos?" he asked. Lao food is in my top 10 in the world. It is nearly impossible to string two bad meals together.<br />
<br />
"Glenn, I'm not sure how you couldn't find good food here," I said.<br />
<br />
Over the next few days hanging out with Glenn he managed to completely avoid anything Lao. He reveled in ordering spaghetti and meatballs, with burgers and grilled cheese sandwiches as his back-ups. Glenn hated ethnic food almost as much he liked drugs. He ate like a boy 50 years his junior.<br />
<br />
After traveling non-stop for nearly a year, Glenn had little good to say about the places he had been. He chased cheap drugs around the world, from the subcontinent through Asia and found little else of interest. After spending four months in India, he came way hating the food and the filth, didn't get along with people, and was beaten down by the heat. After a 10-minute diatribe about the horrors of one of the most fascinating and delicious countries in the world I cut in.<br />
<br />
"Well, Glenn, I'm a little confused. Why did you spend four months in a country you seem to despise?"<br />
<br />
"Well ... they've got cheap dope."<br />
<br />
I waited for other reasons, but quickly realized there was a definitive period after dope.<br />
<br />
Then, he added: "Man, ah need to get back to India. Ah really miss hatin' that place."<br />
<br />
</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-85058648107368922552011-08-17T00:37:00.000+03:002011-08-17T00:37:41.521+03:00River of slow return<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div>EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm way late on this blog and I've been busy readjusting to the States and, frankly, being lazy the past couple weeks. I've got some actual writing in the works to wrap things up on this blog but, in the meantime, here are some pretty pictures...</div><div><br />
</div>NAM OU RIVER, Laos - Everything moves slowly in Laos (except the leeches), especially on the rivers, and I didn't want my seven-hour ride up the Nam Ou River to go any faster. Stretched out in a rickety wooden boat with an even more rickety outboard engine, we puttered upriver toward the village of Nong Kiaw surrounded by pristine jungle, karst cliffs, and peace. More on this ride and the characters I met there later, but for now, this ...<div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-z7XgluDlAp-3JvB_y8iPCJbHlPObpFapJXZS-rL8XGK9LB4m5Voq5fHY0U0jYjkDLlOJny40txndelcsvMLQ7bHjOZ79qlAN4Yq4mFdBreh_F-aZWutfELPCqFiGPerD-CIAA27GyPc/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-z7XgluDlAp-3JvB_y8iPCJbHlPObpFapJXZS-rL8XGK9LB4m5Voq5fHY0U0jYjkDLlOJny40txndelcsvMLQ7bHjOZ79qlAN4Yq4mFdBreh_F-aZWutfELPCqFiGPerD-CIAA27GyPc/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+240.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Looks sturdy, right? What could possibly go wrong?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-YU7xUDhsNrTsHUg6vMN1Njj8AatQsw6-gkiej_VXrgpG3LJ7Ljfi6iDSg9CDqSejP-NdREA9VEGkZCWSY0kqvDQjxQ50dzeCmaBjhVdkevwClLqE9cnQ351ytCLTuGk2DJzY_OYw6U/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-YU7xUDhsNrTsHUg6vMN1Njj8AatQsw6-gkiej_VXrgpG3LJ7Ljfi6iDSg9CDqSejP-NdREA9VEGkZCWSY0kqvDQjxQ50dzeCmaBjhVdkevwClLqE9cnQ351ytCLTuGk2DJzY_OYw6U/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+237.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't worry, he's not jumping onto a rock - there's water on the other side.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsPC9X1RdrDad_HNiX9XZU-SDY0k7TH6xlNLFlbprctAdOIZcXwQRbuecxCX4GV1lXZHpkd_So9iNzL14KWPQPMS4sGJncFLgcTgZdgrKt1sDL2HLpBel60fX1QYdU8nZnOyOimHyFLg/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsPC9X1RdrDad_HNiX9XZU-SDY0k7TH6xlNLFlbprctAdOIZcXwQRbuecxCX4GV1lXZHpkd_So9iNzL14KWPQPMS4sGJncFLgcTgZdgrKt1sDL2HLpBel60fX1QYdU8nZnOyOimHyFLg/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+261.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The village of Nong Kiaw, where not much happens, which no one is complaining about.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKzIUqxdemrYHs2bsk_lD8nvUs1CGWRaTNtBT8XWOKYZ1fBytkrPpJs0gNgV_475CZLxE-154luLdghvUEd-6MoDJI34aDd0PbbiSYG92CoO3UxVS7XHa4MBoVLixSJHzxcuS8aLqWZg/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKzIUqxdemrYHs2bsk_lD8nvUs1CGWRaTNtBT8XWOKYZ1fBytkrPpJs0gNgV_475CZLxE-154luLdghvUEd-6MoDJI34aDd0PbbiSYG92CoO3UxVS7XHa4MBoVLixSJHzxcuS8aLqWZg/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+264.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The genius of Lao engineering, Nong Kiaw.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90gBRJCbtcZsV1I49x5zPKcu5TKiv6MdQe6DYL4T2rXF8Uhnv3ZDBchIvv4TPUgK7Oh2O0yPXB5rQlWF6FnCVYenVO6CE7-1Q3MZAK4NC4DYy_8ioC5p1O8lw1dj8fz2BnhtzOJ3SYEk/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90gBRJCbtcZsV1I49x5zPKcu5TKiv6MdQe6DYL4T2rXF8Uhnv3ZDBchIvv4TPUgK7Oh2O0yPXB5rQlWF6FnCVYenVO6CE7-1Q3MZAK4NC4DYy_8ioC5p1O8lw1dj8fz2BnhtzOJ3SYEk/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+273.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The carpet-bombing of Laos during America's secret war pushed many people - and fighters - to the vast cave systems in the country's rocky, mountainous terrain. This cave, just outside of Nong Kiaw, was used as a hospital. No doctors on hand these days and fortunately I made it down and back up this ladder unscathed (it's not an optical illusion - it really is that treacherous).</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62sPZYr5yq7Qg0bURd0yClFN_11a_65w5Osrb185OmIrjFhELuhOKzOWV144i9SoqTYbWo9HPhDgB_Q0Lg1aMzyaPQ7H_XKDfJT59YycKV_ayY_HsWLqM8YllJjzjxuFP8J5MDpKNvAw/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62sPZYr5yq7Qg0bURd0yClFN_11a_65w5Osrb185OmIrjFhELuhOKzOWV144i9SoqTYbWo9HPhDgB_Q0Lg1aMzyaPQ7H_XKDfJT59YycKV_ayY_HsWLqM8YllJjzjxuFP8J5MDpKNvAw/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+281.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For a country defaced and demoralized by a war still etched in many peoples' memories, most Lao I met were surprisingly free of bitterness. These are the benches, made of two halves of a 500-pound cluster bomb, at the guesthouse where I stayed in Nong Kiaw. When the jovial, middle-aged proprietor asked me where I am from, I told him "America." "Oh," he said with a big grin, laughing and pointing at the bomb benches. "These are from America, too."</div><div><br />
</div></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-56108191423675066322011-07-26T10:07:00.000+03:002011-07-26T10:07:24.653+03:00Luang Prabang<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">LUANG PRABANG, Laos - Luang Prabang is a quiet colonial town at the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. It was a great place to do very little for a couple days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEm19peGDegh1CaEFIKRGWe8tDNuAM1pXin-xKZ-gtnwnbpDSjjKYsMDo4TpRLvLAAJ-IlZQ8igrwp5OEYuo4B2HMmmx6rQ5RF6AUaQEKWwfKmYtQQwPwAJCy8dFlq2ny5NnlE1fWfI8/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEm19peGDegh1CaEFIKRGWe8tDNuAM1pXin-xKZ-gtnwnbpDSjjKYsMDo4TpRLvLAAJ-IlZQ8igrwp5OEYuo4B2HMmmx6rQ5RF6AUaQEKWwfKmYtQQwPwAJCy8dFlq2ny5NnlE1fWfI8/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+179.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Young monks walk to a temple after collecting alms as children beg for food.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYMy_f6-5O9p_HbK4eAMSKVxxtYBVfwO1NN6qE7asl17i1D_aAhGh2ZBQYv3EBle0Rzo3TXCKdUXLi_YhI1L0GMyrwS_h3xj6RbUV4zOlCk3R1FmGZdxetiGLGM36XWyht3RQ4l4dW-I/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYMy_f6-5O9p_HbK4eAMSKVxxtYBVfwO1NN6qE7asl17i1D_aAhGh2ZBQYv3EBle0Rzo3TXCKdUXLi_YhI1L0GMyrwS_h3xj6RbUV4zOlCk3R1FmGZdxetiGLGM36XWyht3RQ4l4dW-I/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+220.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mekong River, Luang Prabang.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AHx9oDKPHwN6Lagi9Sb8LCHTOsnJM8eOUbA1vEo-fT8ArglHVWDB6XjpgwjpXG6o4lt7KmFfVdDp5Kdsc6H_YrEG_UrzU7vRrEVDxI5vFEOY8zpDj7pj0nq0A0Enhkf2ULAz8G-y43E/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AHx9oDKPHwN6Lagi9Sb8LCHTOsnJM8eOUbA1vEo-fT8ArglHVWDB6XjpgwjpXG6o4lt7KmFfVdDp5Kdsc6H_YrEG_UrzU7vRrEVDxI5vFEOY8zpDj7pj0nq0A0Enhkf2ULAz8G-y43E/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+225.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTH9qUq0eOwpWZ_v4LqrqCmRo6RhNOghmV1y6-DxNB5eQ1eWSyYlMHtSAf5XyLPEgrDRkeeHpaDVQcaAUcElcQ5u22nQuyKKFESSYy9YGh7ZZ8-szbw5bZPlI_pH9ZTjyoMgb59-FxKNQ/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTH9qUq0eOwpWZ_v4LqrqCmRo6RhNOghmV1y6-DxNB5eQ1eWSyYlMHtSAf5XyLPEgrDRkeeHpaDVQcaAUcElcQ5u22nQuyKKFESSYy9YGh7ZZ8-szbw5bZPlI_pH9ZTjyoMgb59-FxKNQ/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+230.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Luang Prabang from a hilltop temple.</div><br />
</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-24185830119945964882011-07-21T18:22:00.000+03:002011-07-21T18:22:50.645+03:00Death of a bus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fGFLX035Uwuqu5sYGESmiF2OhyIY078-2dlbV0YBd3Fmir8VOqkEZGjPochoPC91UFnd6yREkMSspmfi-ZW2JQhNxgHZsMRn4eGfRzCodDPpKGN768-gc7BLUDwkz9SUte5O4VwPlEQ/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fGFLX035Uwuqu5sYGESmiF2OhyIY078-2dlbV0YBd3Fmir8VOqkEZGjPochoPC91UFnd6yREkMSspmfi-ZW2JQhNxgHZsMRn4eGfRzCodDPpKGN768-gc7BLUDwkz9SUte5O4VwPlEQ/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+147.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pork buns, breakfast of champions.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPhv2d-kNc_1OKrUQ-TkZgw6d4r-rTSQ6Q8__44Lkj0GPP2ctF_Kqh7zEhMvT6CPHeYXz1mUzxCUkmtp4vPtlYjzFSTUHcQiNGKC-J4tv4-Sv0r7Hui_FZdcS5zb5Ui-6QKyW2kvz3xQ/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPhv2d-kNc_1OKrUQ-TkZgw6d4r-rTSQ6Q8__44Lkj0GPP2ctF_Kqh7zEhMvT6CPHeYXz1mUzxCUkmtp4vPtlYjzFSTUHcQiNGKC-J4tv4-Sv0r7Hui_FZdcS5zb5Ui-6QKyW2kvz3xQ/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+148.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bus with a view.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9U0oOIzMqkFZ3gKeeA4QfsOg-SnBWu0yf0Dlg_qYh4CrwdCfV1-vfDKuY0a5waMNG0yA4CcjSYbuFCasnaAYraj_nkXaZp_d99Wc6PuQzDp0CLmCJg3toONmCDMRTQPdMinGb6Qt1aPM/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9U0oOIzMqkFZ3gKeeA4QfsOg-SnBWu0yf0Dlg_qYh4CrwdCfV1-vfDKuY0a5waMNG0yA4CcjSYbuFCasnaAYraj_nkXaZp_d99Wc6PuQzDp0CLmCJg3toONmCDMRTQPdMinGb6Qt1aPM/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+151.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If we bang on it long enough, it will all magically work out.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdXGDmPF0IBUJ0EwX80bNUFrdbADEJXF-gojWyX_CJnAIa6ggvlGtpQbTjkC08t7GJZAsEyECwsBG0BjW5koncDZCdYmR1v3tcKVRyWlK3t16DYUp1Y9CDLlKsy-SOvkd-OauMVKgG9o/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdXGDmPF0IBUJ0EwX80bNUFrdbADEJXF-gojWyX_CJnAIa6ggvlGtpQbTjkC08t7GJZAsEyECwsBG0BjW5koncDZCdYmR1v3tcKVRyWlK3t16DYUp1Y9CDLlKsy-SOvkd-OauMVKgG9o/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+155.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tasty side-of-the-road snacks.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduGFZSf6XzHlkf38mtgSAC_EtB8gUrl8oYihWWgOuBapbjinrwmT-QmRweIx4B3JMz0ImN7b0n9WLKsoZz87t41o7Gah8T3nwBRFidmUYB5BmOEXt7QKIti-RiLhMOEbm2EJRjiK-p2s/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduGFZSf6XzHlkf38mtgSAC_EtB8gUrl8oYihWWgOuBapbjinrwmT-QmRweIx4B3JMz0ImN7b0n9WLKsoZz87t41o7Gah8T3nwBRFidmUYB5BmOEXt7QKIti-RiLhMOEbm2EJRjiK-p2s/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+161.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mountain pattern baldness.</div><br />
LUANG PRABANG, Laos - If you're in a rush traveling through Laos, chances are your head is about to explode. There's also a good chance your bus engine will follow suit.<br />
<br />
I read all the warnings about how slow the road is in Laos, made a point of making no firm plans on no firm date, and boarded a bus last serviced during The Secret War, before it was hit by a cluster bomb. As the flatlands of Ventiane gave way the sparsely populated mountains of the north, we crawled by karst limestone cliffs, verdant jungle, and terraced rice paddies. As we creaked up and around each hairpin curve, I was mesmerized by the view, finding it hard to complain about the slow pace. As I stared dreamily out the window, the boy next to me vomited into a plastic bag.<br />
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There are few people in Laos (less than seven million), a country about the same size as neighboring Vietnam, which has a population more than 10 times as big. As we drove through the mountains, the jungle was only occasionally interrupted by a clutch of thatch-roof huts and a vegetable stand here and there. At one point a massive gray snake crossed the road, slithering by in time and disappearing into an unruly tangle of green.<br />
<br />
The country does have a bit of a mountain pattern baldness problem, though, with the lush greenery broken up here and there by large patches of brown covered by a blackened, stumpy stubble, the legacy of slash and burn agriculture.<br />
<br />
To give us an even better appreciation of the surroundings, something important under the bus melted down about three hours into an 11-hour journey. We pulled over in a tiny village perched high on a mountain and I watched as the attendants raised the bus using a jack that looked about the right size for a Mini and an assortment of oddly-sized pieces of wood. They then very bravely got under the bus to stridently and pointlessly bang away on the undercarriage with a sledgehammer.<br />
<br />
I watched chickens and pigs run back and forth noisily, admired the view, and reveled in the fact that I had nowhere to be. The locals pointed and smiled at the only western passenger and we made the most basic small talk in gestures and their very limited English.<br />
<br />
An hour later we all pretended the bus was fixed, got back on and headed back into the mountains, bouncing over the cratered road and breaking down again as we hit a junction in a town about 30 minutes away. Fortunately there was a food market, so we all got a snack, many of the Laos chowing down on fertilised duck eggs.<br />
<br />
Back on the road again, we made it an astonishing one hour before I heard the ping of metal on concrete and felt a sickening wobble from the back right wheel. We came to an abrupt halt in the middle of nowhere, just after a hairpin curve, but fortunately my legs were already crushed against the seat in front of me, so I avoided smashing my face when the driver slammed on the brakes. One of the attendants went sprinting up the road, returning with a sheepish grin and a piece of the axle in his hand.<br />
<br />
Finally, they declared the bus dead and another one came to rescue us, taking us the rest of the way to the sleepy, colonial town of Luang Prabang without further incident.</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-42731216663452841402011-07-17T16:40:00.000+03:002011-07-17T16:40:55.790+03:00Bad boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguu9PijQ5ksxV-tbiii5HT-HjFkOMrr3xvQvaEQcV7n_qVgPHMYgNv3__JhTtNoshitl-PgIkOosibAYGz4c6FLcJHHy6FlW50pP5Wj8CutnyDxoqQCb1LYXdZydWJBWYNyNj6y7T4__k/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguu9PijQ5ksxV-tbiii5HT-HjFkOMrr3xvQvaEQcV7n_qVgPHMYgNv3__JhTtNoshitl-PgIkOosibAYGz4c6FLcJHHy6FlW50pP5Wj8CutnyDxoqQCb1LYXdZydWJBWYNyNj6y7T4__k/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sunset on the Mekong, Ventiane.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEvXZ5waSmws6YDJv00-5t0VSh5FHJrvFag7Ljyd228j4sRWBJn9LIFdbif7m4_EoNW7LnX2cx9ELM6t5slN0b3DBiFRgjfIlX10__tKX23qNppFWCYoAyLj-j-msEAv4eLZloCWYWdE/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEvXZ5waSmws6YDJv00-5t0VSh5FHJrvFag7Ljyd228j4sRWBJn9LIFdbif7m4_EoNW7LnX2cx9ELM6t5slN0b3DBiFRgjfIlX10__tKX23qNppFWCYoAyLj-j-msEAv4eLZloCWYWdE/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+128.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Ban Anou night market in Ventiane.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCoKHAO928ZH2JK1Pn5EZ6uQ-3Dt87uBFP7F_TUDkAXIzBZBhixo8zTdhEM3jpCFPB8U652fllVGG3rjRKHsJQNixU6HnLjO47uADoPKQPYkcYzbDUQQhXr2gRWLwa5vMJcdekK9ofZsE/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCoKHAO928ZH2JK1Pn5EZ6uQ-3Dt87uBFP7F_TUDkAXIzBZBhixo8zTdhEM3jpCFPB8U652fllVGG3rjRKHsJQNixU6HnLjO47uADoPKQPYkcYzbDUQQhXr2gRWLwa5vMJcdekK9ofZsE/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+140.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The weirdness of the Buddha Park, about 25 km outside of Ventiane. Created by a religious eccentric, it's a mish-mash of Buddhist and Hindu symbols. When I asked at the local bus station for the bus to the 'Buddha Park' (none of the buses have English signs) the man heard 'Border' instead of 'Buddha' so I ended up at the border from where I had just came the day before. I eventually got on the right bus.</div><br />
VENTIANE, Laos - We're five hours late by the time the overnight train from Bangkok pulls up to the Lao People's Democratic Republic border. There were many unexplained stops in the middle of rice paddies and at one stage we actually went backwards for 15 minutes.<br />
<br />
A border crossing known for hassles and overcharging goes smoothly. An Australian mother and daughter behind me in line are freaking out because they don't have the requisite photo 'required' and I assure them that if they have money, everything is negotiable. Of course they get in, for an extra $1. It's the kind of border crossing that gives me the feeling that you could write 'serial killer' under 'occupation' and still get in for an extra dollar.<br />
<br />
One tuk-tuk ride later and I'm in the capital, Ventiane (pronounced wen-chan, but after I thoroughly confuse every Westerner I talk to prounouncing it this way, I drop my pretensions) and in another embassy-visa bind. It's Friday at 3:15 p.m., I have no hotel and the Vietnamese embassy closes at 4 p.m. and doesn't open again until Monday. I do not want to spend four days in the capital, but it's my last chance to get my Vietnam visa, which they don't issue at the border.<br />
<br />
Quickly I find a place to stash my stuff, sprint out to find a tuk-tuk and get to the embassy at 3:45 p.m. I wait in line, get to the window with 10 minutes to spare, tell a tired-looking clerk I need a visa and, to my surprise, he asks, 'Same day?' <br />
<br />
I look at the non-existent watch on my wrist and back at him in astonishment. 'Today?'<br />
<br />
'Yeah, sure.'<br />
<br />
I hand over my documents, he goes into a back room, barks out something in harsh Vietnamese, I hear the sweet thud of stamp hitting passport and he comes back in less than five minutes with my visa. Say what you will about communist bureaucracy, I challenge you to find another embassy anywhere that can do that.<br />
<br />
After my shocking victory, I treat myself to dinner at a night food market recommended by some fellow travellers. I arrive to a bustling jam of stalls set up nightly in a strip-mall parking lot, with just about anything you could want or be revolted by, including pigs head and chicken beak. Amid the unsavory parts of otherwise delectable animals, though, is some of the most underrated food in Southeast Asia.<br />
<br />
For the princely sum of $3, I emerge with heaping plastic bags full of crispy, fatty, duck, lemongrass sausages, spicy ground pork, and rice. I quickly realize I've ordered too much; I eat it all.<br />
<br />
Later, while enjoying an evening Beer Lao and perusing my travel guide on a bench outside my hotel, a hooker approaches. 'What you want?' she asks slyly.<br />
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'No thanks, just reading my book tonight,' I say, trying to be polite. <br />
<br />
She ignores this and sits down next to me.<br />
<br />
'What you want?'<br />
<br />
'No really, I don't want anything. I just want to read my book.'<br />
<br />
She will not take no for answer.<br />
<br />
'No, you tell me what you want.'<br />
<br />
'Look I'm trying to read my book, so go away. I don't want anything and you're bothering me. Go. Away.'<br />
<br />
She gets up, pouting, looks at me disapproving and, wagging her finger at me, says, 'You bad boy. You bad boy,' before shimmying away.<br />
<br />
Well, I suppose she got one thing right.Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-46716614312525108802011-07-15T13:23:00.000+03:002011-07-15T13:23:29.908+03:00Ping pong with the Burmese embassy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquhvCmuOtVcODiVos1uAjxTnbWWH6W8tpdtE3zIOWCBturVeOBNIbkz72BLwTOMe89N6EP04wf5inqEM_kBeQR9YH2OIiAq7buTW7-_6oPl3XTOdKRUaYCzjO9QWeBzDeWUWBHGrrL4A/s1600/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgquhvCmuOtVcODiVos1uAjxTnbWWH6W8tpdtE3zIOWCBturVeOBNIbkz72BLwTOMe89N6EP04wf5inqEM_kBeQR9YH2OIiAq7buTW7-_6oPl3XTOdKRUaYCzjO9QWeBzDeWUWBHGrrL4A/s400/Nepal-Bangkok-Laos+062.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This has nothing to do with the post, except that I think it captures the spirit of Bangkok. It was campaign season when I was there and this party insists that if you don't vote against something, this monkey will kick your ass.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>BANGKOK - Bangkok is a city with clean streets, a dirty soul, and a spicy tongue.<br />
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Hookers patrol next to ornate ancient temples and well-suited businessmen walk by sex tourists who refuse to wear sleeves, and British gap-year-students-gone-wild shuttle between fast-food joints and ping pong shows, emerging from the latter with no more money for Big Macs.<br />
<br />
"Hey you! Where you go?" yell the tuk-tuk divers, ready with a price triple the going rate.*<br />
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"Ping pong show? Lady show, ladyboy? Hashish, opium?" the touts leer.<br />
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One middle-aged Thai man actually thanked me for the Vietnam War. He thought Thailand would be communist without it. Now that was a first.<br />
<br />
But two blocks off the tourist apocalypse that is Khao San Road, with its badly behaved westerners and enabling thriving food markets set up every evening with carts hawking everything from spicy minced pork, to spring rolls, to intestines, to crickets (great crunchy beer snack). It rivals India for food and like India, it's tough to spend more than $3 for a feast.<br />
<br />
I'm in Bangkok waiting on my Burma visa and I get in at the perfect time to get stuck - Thursday after the embassy has closed. With a three-business-day wait and the embassy closed for the weekend, it means six days in the city. So I do what comes naturally and start eating my way through the city.<br />
<br />
Fortunately I have a good guide, as a chef I had met on the trail in Nepal happens to be in Bangkok and I follow him around for three nights to spots he has meticulously researched and that I never would have found. We eat spicy liver strips, papaya salad, crunchy lemony tripe (the first I've ever enjoyed), fishball soup, ground pork with basil, and plenty of spicy, coconut curries.<br />
<br />
Food odyssey over, it is time to head to the embassy. The Burmese clerk is so friendly to me, I think for sure I have been approved. He looks through the passports, holds mine up with a smile. <br />
<br />
"Is this you Mr. Druzin?"<br />
<br />
"Yes sir."<br />
<br />
"OK, please wait here for just a moment."<br />
<br />
He comes back, hands me back my $30 and my passport, and still very genial, says, "I'm sorry, sir, we are not able to issue you a visa to Myanmar at this time."<br />
<br />
Apparently the military junta has discovered Google. Journalists not welcome.<br />
<br />
Since I'm not looking for a lady show, ladyboy, or even ladyfingers, I get the hell out of Bangkok and head north to Laos.<br />
<br />
*I think I've mentioned before, but tuk-tuks are basically scooters pulling a wagon with benches for passengers. Their drivers are consistently the least honest people in any Asian country.Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-66359964171829275482011-07-14T20:40:00.000+03:002011-07-14T20:40:48.325+03:00The yak and the yeti part IV: notes from the Annapurna Circuit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JLw3qV1iQmaRIbeJwR-ORfW62J8lBEBxK7ZT5PWW7pX1FFjlkKpAPjmQOBZTeYQdkx2Gv1v0EAm5wFZ3QeCm5eQ4BFMybcAPwvZVzZOfax4pYnnhN7BbZwQbZag3dzaGHmxnZ1MDup8/s1600/Trek+225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JLw3qV1iQmaRIbeJwR-ORfW62J8lBEBxK7ZT5PWW7pX1FFjlkKpAPjmQOBZTeYQdkx2Gv1v0EAm5wFZ3QeCm5eQ4BFMybcAPwvZVzZOfax4pYnnhN7BbZwQbZag3dzaGHmxnZ1MDup8/s400/Trek+225.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dawn at 15,000 feet.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKv3C6f9Wr53HeoOYwW61RsLO_BjV4ggoqcvYAIBFKHS8lWdjqlRB8k76cjg4dp7a5hTcA9QZllF0uCAGMG1pB99c1TZ70x4C6i5KGYxM5G5aOrHsudUtWYRwxu0L9fYcNydEoyMtAbA/s1600/Trek+232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKv3C6f9Wr53HeoOYwW61RsLO_BjV4ggoqcvYAIBFKHS8lWdjqlRB8k76cjg4dp7a5hTcA9QZllF0uCAGMG1pB99c1TZ70x4C6i5KGYxM5G5aOrHsudUtWYRwxu0L9fYcNydEoyMtAbA/s400/Trek+232.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Blue sheep.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWstCm7NCjSOhALFiS7fV9Zj0D3Y_Xh1FUn2M1s9XatM6VOGh26ZBJNQp4esR3o0AvC3OOnkd2QkuXu-vc01VW-mxw72w1TgcIXCSTcIj1dGYynlb5pF8diS44es7a6Jtz_HBkykQ1OU/s1600/Trek+234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWstCm7NCjSOhALFiS7fV9Zj0D3Y_Xh1FUn2M1s9XatM6VOGh26ZBJNQp4esR3o0AvC3OOnkd2QkuXu-vc01VW-mxw72w1TgcIXCSTcIj1dGYynlb5pF8diS44es7a6Jtz_HBkykQ1OU/s400/Trek+234.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe a third of the way up and not a whole lot going on in my brain at this point.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxPErc_XyVdfa2C7bcyeZxSnaXHAUcG-rrAAkmvR72Oxl7OaL-Ne0y97WyVpKJ_vB-aMUkUJXw4zGfhmZ4R7McDgvJkl_RzX3ALxemqJ5LY_CCxZL0_GCfENjWTW9U-KuYlTgkt1RN_IM/s1600/Trek+237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxPErc_XyVdfa2C7bcyeZxSnaXHAUcG-rrAAkmvR72Oxl7OaL-Ne0y97WyVpKJ_vB-aMUkUJXw4zGfhmZ4R7McDgvJkl_RzX3ALxemqJ5LY_CCxZL0_GCfENjWTW9U-KuYlTgkt1RN_IM/s400/Trek+237.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">More pretty pictures of big mountains. Not pictured, me wheezing for air.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgETaFEODz_f6DSRMEi8P7VCXeo2tn3SN5VDwGi9FjUfwKzkRBKFatmDyOQudvGR5DZXVglStlhrd9cpt4gBx2rneh1Nt9LnU72Dp64lUcuc_sjsp_h0Zf0G7aD3DNGcu64YHgBBbPHats/s1600/Trek+240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgETaFEODz_f6DSRMEi8P7VCXeo2tn3SN5VDwGi9FjUfwKzkRBKFatmDyOQudvGR5DZXVglStlhrd9cpt4gBx2rneh1Nt9LnU72Dp64lUcuc_sjsp_h0Zf0G7aD3DNGcu64YHgBBbPHats/s400/Trek+240.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I don't know how Connie had the energy for that kind of display, but this is the top. The sign reads "Congratulations for the success."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuQetQLfu3Z5Nzb5NIWYGitVqkWdEJ5nrxPLV6fVWDQQVbXI26vK2NwI-fw5DJIIPer7XPUoa4K7DkHNq0nCl4qhk5Jl6DLR_KRv6WCuyf7_BM3cAt8KNbhJKXLyneT3AVmpBAshgMxw/s1600/Trek+245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheuQetQLfu3Z5Nzb5NIWYGitVqkWdEJ5nrxPLV6fVWDQQVbXI26vK2NwI-fw5DJIIPer7XPUoa4K7DkHNq0nCl4qhk5Jl6DLR_KRv6WCuyf7_BM3cAt8KNbhJKXLyneT3AVmpBAshgMxw/s400/Trek+245.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A prayer flag elevation bump for the Thorong La Pass, plus mysterious prayer jeans. Not sure if that means someone descended pantless.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvO0CY3imYF7bJA3hD_IgryFORaM-lmWkBlu6Y1gLyAfVZa_tWehZPDvP3ZNhZKdQ62chAzrkkWv5gddzQTGJHF92S8D__D6K2jNJ9mfL1vqSTc57yIUovEULG_xpmZztJyUUJIgXxzVU/s1600/Trek+247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvO0CY3imYF7bJA3hD_IgryFORaM-lmWkBlu6Y1gLyAfVZa_tWehZPDvP3ZNhZKdQ62chAzrkkWv5gddzQTGJHF92S8D__D6K2jNJ9mfL1vqSTc57yIUovEULG_xpmZztJyUUJIgXxzVU/s400/Trek+247.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lonely descent into the desert.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>TREK DIARY DAY 10: Take a pass (Thorong Phedi to Thorong La Pass to Muktinath, 14,982 to 17,872 then all the way down to 12,540)<br />
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THORONG PHEDI - Wake up is at 4:30 for this, the longest and hardest of days, and the sky has just shed its black cloak for the first deep blue of morning. It's well below freezing and no one has slept well but we are relieved to see just a dusting of snow on the ground and clear skies.<br />
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We drag our feet, grab a snack, find more reasons to delay and finally face the mountain.<br />
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After nine days of ceaseless trekking everyone in our loosely affiliated group is in peak shape, but all of that work is beaten down by the altitude. It is hard enough to breath just standing around at 15,000 feet; it feels impossible when heading uphill. Each unsatifsfying breath pierces my throat. It is the day of many breaks.<br />
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Our destination is the Thorong La Pass and the route is as stunning as it is unforgiving. A steep, loose rock trail takes us to vistas of fortress-like glaciers and triangular peaks high above us, shimmering in the oxygen-starved air. Just getting my camera out of its bag seems a devastating waste of energy.<br />
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Up and up we stumble until we're simply zombie-walking in silence, thinking, 'One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.' I'm so far inside my own brain at this point that a snow leopard could stage a full frontal assault and I wouldn't notice untl claw met jugular. The fact that this actually crossed my mind at the time tells you how high I was on thin air.<br />
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Altitude squeezes your brain, your muscles, your innards. Every internal organ seems to be begging you to turn around. It also squeezes your bowels. There's nowhere to hide this far above treeline so I have to squat over a boulder. Two trekkers look my way from a highpoint across the valley. At this point I simply don't care.<br />
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I have to keep reminding myself to look up, appreciate where I am. Fortunately I do and we see a herd of blue sheep, two males butting heads, unfazed by the elevation, which is infuriating. I make a note to order blue sheep on my next trek if I ever see it on the menu.<br />
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Suddenly there's the flapping of prayer flags in the distance and the outline of a stone building. We've reached the pass.<br />
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There we find an absurdely large tangle of prayer flags hung around a wooden sign congratulating us on our fortitude, one greasy pair of prayer jeans, and numerous plastic water bottles left by people who should be throttled and made to climb the pass naked in mid-January while being chased uphill by rabid yaks.<br />
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We take a few minutes to admire our accomplishment and the view, snap a few photos, and then it's time to descend to saner altitudes where humans can breathe. <br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Down we go through one of the world's highest deserts, a silent, lonely, haunting strech of trail, where our only companions are a few hardy vultures eyeing us hopefully. We see no one for two hours while bouncing down the knee-buckling trail amid a barren, white-capped tan landscape. The silence is broken by a rumble and Connie and I wheel around to see a massive glacier split, causing an avalanche. After a few seconds admiring the snow and Volkswagen-size chunks of ice tumbling down the mountain I realize it's close enough to be concerned, so we duck behind a boulder, but it never reaches us.</span><br />
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For more than 5,000 vertical feet we descend, passing only a couple mule trains and a hopelessly unprepared Russian heading up dangerously late in the day. Finally we get to the religious pilgrimage site of Muktinath. It's clogged with Indian religious tourists and the scooter and jeep traffic is jarring after the peace of our roadless trails.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZ6EQn2OYX_uzBxNqdelP2hg1386x4F-iMwFNwe5NJfCoVD1rTUS19Kv6CJfXhMCLzzNcN0ibIXv2KJ2rKC_8YAVjv-Qow1z39BOn00X30KmpcZ8nTh45ok-5AY7awmHsQH3g0o7IhQU/s1600/Trek+270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZ6EQn2OYX_uzBxNqdelP2hg1386x4F-iMwFNwe5NJfCoVD1rTUS19Kv6CJfXhMCLzzNcN0ibIXv2KJ2rKC_8YAVjv-Qow1z39BOn00X30KmpcZ8nTh45ok-5AY7awmHsQH3g0o7IhQU/s400/Trek+270.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Riverside hot springs? Yes, please.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq3I11yR9RLuSbzLswT2-KdkyKWVUVj30XO7hsGD2Od1yY9NMQB8KduXEy8pU5491qNE2F-kfyxrHZYQ-3jcOJbOCXuQtJ_1OjwAjYFKCMkhbRg7EBVALX2X-XEMHOAE31bYkppKGLkQ/s1600/Trek+275+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIq3I11yR9RLuSbzLswT2-KdkyKWVUVj30XO7hsGD2Od1yY9NMQB8KduXEy8pU5491qNE2F-kfyxrHZYQ-3jcOJbOCXuQtJ_1OjwAjYFKCMkhbRg7EBVALX2X-XEMHOAE31bYkppKGLkQ/s400/Trek+275+-+Copy.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One way to get across the river. Not pictured: nasty rapids, just downstream.</div><br />
TREK DIARY DAY 11-12: Good karma = hot springs and cold beer at the end of the road (Muktinath to Tatopani, 12,540 ft to 3,960 ft)<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">MUKTINATH – We’ve reached the section of the Annapurna circuit where the government has recently built a road, leaving us a choice: keep walking along the dusty, highly trafficked track, or take a jeep and skip it. We choose the latter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We grudgingly accept extortion prices for the jeep (not much choice) and start bouncing down the hairpin curves, peering over sheer drop offs of over one thousand feet. Buddhists believe in karma, the idea that past deeds will determine what happens to you next. In essence they believe that if you’re going to get struck by lightning, you’re going to get struck by lightning, if the jeep goes off the mountain, it was going to happen, etc. Unfortunately Nepalis drive like everything is predetermined, passing on blind curves with abandon and paying little heed to gear shifting on tight corners.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A quick survey of the group of 11 trekkers in the jeep revealed that 10 were unemployed and the other was a prosecutor from San Francisco. I came up with a headline: “California prosecutor, 10 vagrants, killed in jeep plunge disaster.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually we have to switch to a bus, whose driver has a similarly karmic attitude toward the road. At one point we are driving in a river. We shudder along for several hours before dropping into the jungle oasis of Tatopani, where our spirits and muscles are soothed by hot springs and cold beer. It is so relaxing and peaceful, we spend another blissful day there doing absolutely nothing, retreating to the hot springs once more for a beer in the evening.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBeLIi4AQp1ws08DsceQ1oBS8hqo5r9ZkpAogEsBib1aJvDkzpcy-Pr9EHCe2CfvPDd7fLiFlWBfrTKDGQIfVVdbfFDSWXEvGcydX0uWdzVP3YRXWOwbBBnkaIQ0EbS8IfvG8I27aSF4/s1600/Trek+285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBeLIi4AQp1ws08DsceQ1oBS8hqo5r9ZkpAogEsBib1aJvDkzpcy-Pr9EHCe2CfvPDd7fLiFlWBfrTKDGQIfVVdbfFDSWXEvGcydX0uWdzVP3YRXWOwbBBnkaIQ0EbS8IfvG8I27aSF4/s400/Trek+285.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View of Dhaulagiri (26,795 ft), the world's seventh highest peak, from our hotel room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">TREK DIARY DAY 13: Stairway to Kevin (Tatopani to Gorepani, 3,960 ft to 9,570 ft)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">TATOPANI – Climbing up more than a vertical mile sounds doable until you’ve already trudged 3,000 feet up through sticky, cloying jungle air, over boot-sucking mud, and realize that you’re only halfway there.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Early monsoon rains have halted just in time for us to hit the trail for our last two days, a dizzying climb and descent to and from the famed Poon Hill (yes, it’s really called that). The path is nearly vertical, essentially one giant staircase, and the up seems to wind up forever. It is slow going toward the top. A cow passes us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As we get higher we see an oddly juxtaposed snowfield that runs down to the jungle - a reminder of how high we've climbed in one day. When we pull into Gorepani, our resting place for the night at the base of Poon Hill, we are blasted, and in no mood to go hotel hopping. We run into our much faster friend, Kevin, who has been there about 30 minutes and has graciously booked us a room, saving us the trouble. At the tea house we are greeted with a perfect view from our room of the snowy, bloated pyramid of Dhaulagiri, the seventh highest peak in the world and one of several in its class dominating the skyline. A view of the sunset over the world's highest peaks eases the aches.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb339KyuKVlxrUBA4WhoCsNizvso83a3U6760C6UHtoCaWGaXihKlBn5S0LIwmcFqT7vDu5gy5fDbkhfsh4-G67ysdfwZQebwmIlBaOJMEF0tHgRnKQtqU1SlqkdSUirZAdbvOA9vJ5g/s1600/Trek+297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb339KyuKVlxrUBA4WhoCsNizvso83a3U6760C6UHtoCaWGaXihKlBn5S0LIwmcFqT7vDu5gy5fDbkhfsh4-G67ysdfwZQebwmIlBaOJMEF0tHgRnKQtqU1SlqkdSUirZAdbvOA9vJ5g/s400/Trek+297.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maturity.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGQHn11VfbQjAAl19LL3fzTtbW8I7Qo3bR2KdfGEu2ZV00YsV9FlSu7RugWLJRtBQIc8dE_86l6POL6lCZeodJgntzblgCF3kVCS_FxKtYiL9dql8mr8AyrlxHDG41hnPMHqEmDBFGCM/s1600/Trek+303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGQHn11VfbQjAAl19LL3fzTtbW8I7Qo3bR2KdfGEu2ZV00YsV9FlSu7RugWLJRtBQIc8dE_86l6POL6lCZeodJgntzblgCF3kVCS_FxKtYiL9dql8mr8AyrlxHDG41hnPMHqEmDBFGCM/s400/Trek+303.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I envied this baby's leisure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_pUhc1fbHU6doTbYAC0rVPcX__pd8b5VdF1b5uUh5Y75uAj3lIoAMhjUziOkSqCmdOZZsrLYatPEoUIywNuLCbkWuRrKSjIaQ4K0TawFRezOHnaHJZN64n0q_JM_lVHQEunTiuD0_Go/s1600/Trek+305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_pUhc1fbHU6doTbYAC0rVPcX__pd8b5VdF1b5uUh5Y75uAj3lIoAMhjUziOkSqCmdOZZsrLYatPEoUIywNuLCbkWuRrKSjIaQ4K0TawFRezOHnaHJZN64n0q_JM_lVHQEunTiuD0_Go/s400/Trek+305.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lizards always seem to pose perfectly on the edge of a rock.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboJ1Huoj0kSLjOxcJs-HNpFRw_M-eGT8zO0gYOmLWpwn8oDJHMAVpv_HlYwAR5pO_mqTMgddLuG6Oxj0FIrk97WGoclsJfQZMatGLxG_0-HEVW44GM07AV-hIytqJEf3l_KTwQlcn5a4/s1600/Trek+306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboJ1Huoj0kSLjOxcJs-HNpFRw_M-eGT8zO0gYOmLWpwn8oDJHMAVpv_HlYwAR5pO_mqTMgddLuG6Oxj0FIrk97WGoclsJfQZMatGLxG_0-HEVW44GM07AV-hIytqJEf3l_KTwQlcn5a4/s400/Trek+306.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was brutal, but beautiful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">TREK DIARY DAY 14: Bound feet and a blind finish (Gorepani to Poon Hill to Naya Pul, 9,579 ft to 10,593 ft to 3,531 ft)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">GOREPANI – Morning comes much too early, with a 4:30 a.m. wake up to climb hilariously named Poon Hill for a sunrise panoramic view of some of the highest peaks in the world. We trudge by headlamp, the 900 vertical feet and are rewarded with a crystal clear view and predictably overpriced coffee.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s an idyllic start to a hellish last day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After Poon Hill we start our final descent back to civilization, a joint-shredding 6,000-vertical-foot staircase in broiling jungle heat. My slightly-too-small shoes are coming back to haunt me now, crushing my toes against the front with each step down, and towards the end of the descent I think I know what it feels like to have bound feet. It is difficult properly appreciate the radiant green foliage, pristine jungle creeks, and tumbling waterfalls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An hour and half from the finish, a screw pops out of my glasses, sending a lens hurtling to the earth. Having neither the energy or clean hands to put in contacts, I finish the trek in a blur of greens and browns. It's been days since I showered, the same since I changed my shirt, and the entire trek since I shaved. I'm half-blind and crippled, smell like a yak and look like a yeti, but I'm victorious. The Annapurna Circuit is in the bag and even in my weakened state I'm able to get our cab ride back for a third of the absurd original asking price - perhaps the cave lama threw in an extra bargaining blessing for my generous donation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">TREK STATS:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Elevation gain (start point to the pass): 15,265 feet to Thorong La Pass, plus another 6,600 feet to Poon Hill.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Low point: 2,508 feet</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">High point: 17,872</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Distance: 150 km</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Squat toilets: yes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Yetis spotted: 0</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-461602237755863142011-07-10T14:05:00.000+03:002011-07-10T14:05:09.095+03:00The yak and the yeti part III: notes from the Annapurna Circuit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5idKY7UgRqcD1dUa33OjMWuB6bCCyUhLjfsvb4rKlEJ2xZjqXoxw_WA8AlIURilrRKDJKIXKLZ86wXnGES7BHueO2vCtLboJj9A7VCMgMRqz_KhVKE0s8T2f8qMU3dIIz8ccTT5iKBM/s1600/Trek+157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5idKY7UgRqcD1dUa33OjMWuB6bCCyUhLjfsvb4rKlEJ2xZjqXoxw_WA8AlIURilrRKDJKIXKLZ86wXnGES7BHueO2vCtLboJj9A7VCMgMRqz_KhVKE0s8T2f8qMU3dIIz8ccTT5iKBM/s400/Trek+157.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I don't remember ever being this excited to go to school.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzRXYLshGGldvBnEjkG25gsEW3EJ4T1ih_Z5pZ9MfjSdu6BmQNGt6kvfPB_wC3k3w1GSN_59EbPRJo47SdLZrbUhA_9WAzyvFjSQHONBNZYJDNUp4QxHMa-Bm1eJyr0slqDoZesV7hzk/s1600/Trek+180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzRXYLshGGldvBnEjkG25gsEW3EJ4T1ih_Z5pZ9MfjSdu6BmQNGt6kvfPB_wC3k3w1GSN_59EbPRJo47SdLZrbUhA_9WAzyvFjSQHONBNZYJDNUp4QxHMa-Bm1eJyr0slqDoZesV7hzk/s400/Trek+180.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A blessing from the lama - for a price.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vSpKrZlGHRrKflGO9yyXaF14RIIFrROuyJY70XBik7y9G33xIEcOVdsEFwn7sO-1d4FacuMw6wH1TvAxRqFcK7OSD-ukiI7akOZIvCCPUko_R-DqjxplVlTzDqTsEaHnRexgzS6IjFI/s1600/Trek+184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vSpKrZlGHRrKflGO9yyXaF14RIIFrROuyJY70XBik7y9G33xIEcOVdsEFwn7sO-1d4FacuMw6wH1TvAxRqFcK7OSD-ukiI7akOZIvCCPUko_R-DqjxplVlTzDqTsEaHnRexgzS6IjFI/s400/Trek+184.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sure, he's lived in this cave for 42 years ...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvHyGZ48mQNc7sOvehIGHoVPEQvC4kMY6Oyz0OrdM2zTrQD8TZ4KVQrp84YMOsUa4s_iaatdQIMOtbYlu6RzbXx7pTnFEyO_lYlMfOCQdaffK9gLsqkiJKVx-1axPQ76pk5omU-i4tEw/s1600/Trek+187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvHyGZ48mQNc7sOvehIGHoVPEQvC4kMY6Oyz0OrdM2zTrQD8TZ4KVQrp84YMOsUa4s_iaatdQIMOtbYlu6RzbXx7pTnFEyO_lYlMfOCQdaffK9gLsqkiJKVx-1axPQ76pk5omU-i4tEw/s400/Trek+187.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...but he has a hell of a view (our hike to him started from near that lake).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>TREK DIARY DAY 7: Into thin air (Humde to Manang, 11,145 ft to 11,682 ft.)<br />
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HUMDE - My beard is coming along nicely and just in time as the temperature is plunging with each climb, the blue-white hanging glaciers of the high Himalaya getting ever closer. Sick of the parade of boring food we've been eating for a week, I make breakfast a chocolate pancake and vow to eat sweets all day. In the thinning air, apparently I am regressing back to elementary school.<br />
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As we make the short, lonely climb toward Manang, a stiff cold wind tears through the mountains unabated and the vegetation falls away as we cross into the yak elevations and never-summer valleys of the high Himalaya. If I had to name a favorite domesticated animal, it would have to be the stubborn, shaggy, sullen-looking stalwart of some of the most brutal terrain and winters on earth (they're good eating, too). The yak looks like a creature left marooned in an alien time period, more at home in the Ice Age, climbing higher and higher into the mountains to chase an endless winter.<br />
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Soon we pass Brugha, a Buddhist center, with stupas*, massive prayer wheels, and an imposing cliffside monastery. Next and final stop is Manang, which seems precariously perched in the shadow of the massive (and quickly melting) Gangapurna glacier to one side and a towering band of cliffs on the other. By this point in the afteroon the winds have reached hurricane levels. Prayer flags are flapping madly, threatening to tear apart, windows are rattling, doors flying open, and the sky thickening with clouds that seeem in a hurry.<br />
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After dropping our packs, we take shelter in a bakery. Lunch is an apple crumble that actually approximates apple crumble. I am euphoric.<br />
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This is the crucial acclimatization zone, where our bodies must adjust for the final push up the (nearly)18,000-foot Thorong La Pass or risk altitude sickness, so a group of us plans a 1,500 foot climb up to see a Buddhist lama, or holy man ("Climb high, sleep low" is the mountaineers mantra, as gaining elevation and then sleeping lower helps you adjust to the altitude).<br />
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Exhausted, out of breath from the elevation, and freezing, as my sweat has been turned to a frigid sheen by the winter winds, I stumble into the lama's cave. His weathered face has the impassive, impenetrable gaze I have come to know in Nepal, a country that would produce the world's greatest poker players if they ever took up the game.<br />
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He is 95 years old and has lived in this dank cave clinging to the side of a mountain above 13,000 feet for 42 years. He put a colorful twine necklace around my neck, said a prayer for my safe passage over the Thorong La, put some kind of cardboard box to my head, and thrust his donation box forward. <br />
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We had tea and I asked him questions through an elderly nun, who is his only companion. He answered but, again, I couldn't tell if he was thinking, "Please get the hell out of my cave" or "Thank you for showing interest in my life and work."<br />
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For all of the isolation, loneliness, and discomfort he must experience, his digs have one thing going for them: the most incredible front-yard view I've ever seen.<br />
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Back down in town, thoroughly wiped out, we all treat ourselves to a movie about people dying excruciating deaths in the Himalaya. It is the comically cheeseball made-for-tv movie version of Into Thin Air and we watch it in a basement theater on yak-hide benches, with the villagers who run the place serving tea and popcorn. This ranks as perhaps my best film experience of all time.<br />
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*A stupa is a mound-like structure containing Buddhist relics.<br />
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TREK DIARY DAY 8: Day of the Jackal (Manang to Yak Karka, 11,682 ft to 13,365 ft)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAgZbR1PwSYOSTyPo8QYRqPoMPut5GWvfyYrh8wvY9m20gt0TtzVtKPDZ8exG5dgvmbyVm6zGqzxKy3PK-GGy_EJmYRtEVuvhdZfV737yCkjjyJ5R6y0Hxd8gyRNiPIa7vv6c7xpiEwE/s1600/Trek+199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAgZbR1PwSYOSTyPo8QYRqPoMPut5GWvfyYrh8wvY9m20gt0TtzVtKPDZ8exG5dgvmbyVm6zGqzxKy3PK-GGy_EJmYRtEVuvhdZfV737yCkjjyJ5R6y0Hxd8gyRNiPIa7vv6c7xpiEwE/s400/Trek+199.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The views were stunning, the air crisp, as we confidently headed out in completely the wrong direction.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCZr3VTYEcToXIE162NbKXrVGptuk42R5Muy0SRbu9Gs3gs8fIPoB0GObrG-5ciY-O_NjPq6r2e1HklUTxPq9R2hnagzXnK3w86efLMbzB-TrDuFqfhi47NC_-TrG-1cEFrYQ-6adquM/s1600/Trek+203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCZr3VTYEcToXIE162NbKXrVGptuk42R5Muy0SRbu9Gs3gs8fIPoB0GObrG-5ciY-O_NjPq6r2e1HklUTxPq9R2hnagzXnK3w86efLMbzB-TrDuFqfhi47NC_-TrG-1cEFrYQ-6adquM/s400/Trek+203.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I know, Joe, way too much space up top. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc81JoJLZ6dFVXkktEwUnbQ39t0BE10qJz_PYbTKsUPkeGb-QJ3ZgD01ZPqq5r1eK9YXjv0ymrtGy1sPlOF86gylNueRfhGu2Sr_wX21vnRVH3aRx0PUYwqknHgXMXlw1k42p4R2fXNns/s1600/Trek+210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc81JoJLZ6dFVXkktEwUnbQ39t0BE10qJz_PYbTKsUPkeGb-QJ3ZgD01ZPqq5r1eK9YXjv0ymrtGy1sPlOF86gylNueRfhGu2Sr_wX21vnRVH3aRx0PUYwqknHgXMXlw1k42p4R2fXNns/s400/Trek+210.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The jackal.</div><br />
MANANG - Breathing is now getting difficult, but there's plenty of excuses to stop and rest as the views change from serene to mind-blowing. A jackal runs through a horse pasture below us followed by a watchful vulture and a Nepali guide we run into incorrectly identifies it as a fox. I have learned quickly that local guides will always answer your question, and almost always incorrectly. He is one of maybe eight people we see in six hours of trekking that day.<br />
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We've spent the first 45 minutes of the day on a gorgeous, perilous trail full of landslides and sweeping vistas. Unfortunately we've been going the wrong way. Had we not run into another lost traveler who wised up, we may still be on the trail, admiring the scenery, wondering when we'll ever get to the next town.<br />
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We are greeted in Yak Karka by a dour hotel owner who yells at her customers before they are through the door and demands that we eat every meal at her place, but our friends are staying there and we like the company, so we stay. We make sure to eat lunch at a local rival's restaurant. <br />
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The night is the coldest yet (as it will be every night until the pass) and the sullen woman refuses repeated requests to start a fire in the dining room's wood stove. I shiver over my yak burger and Connie digs in to a lasagna disaster that ranks as the most unappealing meal of the trip.<br />
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TREK DIARY DAY 9: The Cooler (Yak Karka to Thorong Phedi, 13,365 ft to 14,982 ft)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWwIQRwQdPlHOjHqaET5MtlHCW2Mz29GqsjfzJfmnnDd2-p075TT17pZuxhIDGvUwDKQ0q-3Ta5oHKiWiUXLlG_AFn4ql7w-lV-SYTSFfjakIgt7zpDmPKBDGEAJnNRe3KPQghb2yxxk/s1600/Trek+213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWwIQRwQdPlHOjHqaET5MtlHCW2Mz29GqsjfzJfmnnDd2-p075TT17pZuxhIDGvUwDKQ0q-3Ta5oHKiWiUXLlG_AFn4ql7w-lV-SYTSFfjakIgt7zpDmPKBDGEAJnNRe3KPQghb2yxxk/s400/Trek+213.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I challenge you to come up with a cooler domesticated animal than the yak.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5htLFCLjMuT2QUUha_wqJqYzj5ideaSf8glD-4m_tsFYKYMN_W4x-x52Rg0Mm3lNzuMAI8-4k6SHHFSY8fBmf8e61vD8DS5Kcsxhp5BjCYkJo-XIhleQFmty7J7wP06fuyC-mUIj41y8/s1600/Trek+217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5htLFCLjMuT2QUUha_wqJqYzj5ideaSf8glD-4m_tsFYKYMN_W4x-x52Rg0Mm3lNzuMAI8-4k6SHHFSY8fBmf8e61vD8DS5Kcsxhp5BjCYkJo-XIhleQFmty7J7wP06fuyC-mUIj41y8/s400/Trek+217.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A bad omen...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJZjWZOzmW-Ug0RxnLUz94JdZOEkksrMJXwQzqKJe8xGfKif77WTq9G9G9WWdln_D5O7P7ZOnPe9uoJ0h1Vn4_7nWkS2vXZuat4GVzLBbnm8a4o_Ay4FXDiG0CNlgDxLRFAHTYFWZuQU/s1600/Trek+223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJZjWZOzmW-Ug0RxnLUz94JdZOEkksrMJXwQzqKJe8xGfKif77WTq9G9G9WWdln_D5O7P7ZOnPe9uoJ0h1Vn4_7nWkS2vXZuat4GVzLBbnm8a4o_Ay4FXDiG0CNlgDxLRFAHTYFWZuQU/s400/Trek+223.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...and a frigid, snowy night.</div><br />
YAK KARKA - Wildlife has been sparse and I'm anxious to see blue sheep, bighorn-like wild sheep that live at dizzying elevations, are prey to the mystical snow leopard, and play a leading role in the brilliant book on the Himalaya named after said predator.<br />
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A Nepali guide assures me 'No one sees blue sheep on this trail.' Thirty minutes later, a fellow trekker we've befriended spots a large herd across the valley. Farther down the trail another herd, much closer this time, sends rocks hurtling down the trail toward us in an area infamous for landslides. No one ever sees blue sheep on this trail.<br />
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The sheep are a welcome bit of life in a grimly beautiful landscape of gray scree and the remains of mountainsides ripped apart by avalanches of rock. Our chatty group gets progressively silent as we climb and the oxygen is stripped from the air. The next stop is the last before our final push for the pass and we are nervous. Altitude sickness is on the brain, so to speak.<br />
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We pull into Thorong Phedi, a fortress-like dark stone enclave clinging to a windswept cliffside. One of the first things we see is an Israeli girl, barely able to walk, being carried to a helicopter for a medical evacuation. She had severe altitude sickness.<br />
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A chilly, overcast day, turns into a frigid, snowy night. This is summer here, but the fat flakes are coming down hard. A few of us shiver over a game of poker and I lose 70 rupees. One of our new friends gets diarrhea and starts puking but insists it's food and not altitude. He won't be talked out of the pass. <br />
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Bed time is 8 and no one sleeps well.</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-73087800557811367532011-07-01T10:18:00.000+03:002011-07-01T10:18:30.577+03:00Stray photos from Trek Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Had technical issues, but here are the photos that vanished from the last Himalaya post. Next real post coming soon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTT9TKewrpXlonhsniXkXh5UTvJfjh30zIBC7tXR56yxgXThMpQjjUQjjFsF6OWcxutYoitf3XR2mAG9slG5IT9D74sbWs5TBTeg6RVotyYTCTdgC8K8KcdN7L_M8Y6gXe65TDXRFL9HE/s1600/Trek+145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTT9TKewrpXlonhsniXkXh5UTvJfjh30zIBC7tXR56yxgXThMpQjjUQjjFsF6OWcxutYoitf3XR2mAG9slG5IT9D74sbWs5TBTeg6RVotyYTCTdgC8K8KcdN7L_M8Y6gXe65TDXRFL9HE/s400/Trek+145.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A warning to any yaks who get funny ideas.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUcGs5RV31ykjbh8eZ_fBxmLBrfkHiAbDwpSfRAltFAisUSmzEiGGMY9hne9Srdc9eXpRKD8kGHzi6_HbycYqqhEPVinnouuXeUT1QblfU_9oAlpbxdLpm1ObSTtqxBNK6RyAjsjeyGo/s1600/Trek+116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivUcGs5RV31ykjbh8eZ_fBxmLBrfkHiAbDwpSfRAltFAisUSmzEiGGMY9hne9Srdc9eXpRKD8kGHzi6_HbycYqqhEPVinnouuXeUT1QblfU_9oAlpbxdLpm1ObSTtqxBNK6RyAjsjeyGo/s400/Trek+116.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nepali kitchen, Bhratang.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWik2FI1GSF_OjJ0Ib4KHy34yO2EhfBKtTVfsl4Rkc8UyHXQPfyvgOOTdjHewePBgKX6PqG43sPpfxqBeyvySW_2r8sgvU4De3N2RhLIftc0KB92Hjolx3cB33wq_WWGCd2ev4S7bRe8/s1600/Trek+119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWik2FI1GSF_OjJ0Ib4KHy34yO2EhfBKtTVfsl4Rkc8UyHXQPfyvgOOTdjHewePBgKX6PqG43sPpfxqBeyvySW_2r8sgvU4De3N2RhLIftc0KB92Hjolx3cB33wq_WWGCd2ev4S7bRe8/s400/Trek+119.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Switching on the reading light, Bhratang.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISA7wYjIzN-mHELYoFgZk7OXF1H-HAB15jobqSIoUUzdS_nd_KnEHkDPlOBHDR65ApWxgVyOb8chR_J5ucg4OJALekS_HYtfKXpc5aAd7EJg0oV80MK01899w1hYSYiqa_T3jaZIC-0U/s1600/Trek+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISA7wYjIzN-mHELYoFgZk7OXF1H-HAB15jobqSIoUUzdS_nd_KnEHkDPlOBHDR65ApWxgVyOb8chR_J5ucg4OJALekS_HYtfKXpc5aAd7EJg0oV80MK01899w1hYSYiqa_T3jaZIC-0U/s400/Trek+120.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't forget to flush.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtfKa9TnqOSCh3mboeqjwvxYwv7slB3b4TYmHvlSQyRy-KbAetbbxFRE7Ofu_AcZeFz5TWRjXjwRTxAh5oA4peRUGF7R44LTeLKfprA0ecAK5sAz3rGUKw0b1GsL8DS8tQCBN2elrWLU/s1600/Trek+128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtfKa9TnqOSCh3mboeqjwvxYwv7slB3b4TYmHvlSQyRy-KbAetbbxFRE7Ofu_AcZeFz5TWRjXjwRTxAh5oA4peRUGF7R44LTeLKfprA0ecAK5sAz3rGUKw0b1GsL8DS8tQCBN2elrWLU/s400/Trek+128.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This goat did not want to be walked, but I suppose better to be a pet than stew.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdB7oGE3zp2wIf5kUhoswEXZyySprMOTiknET7iGQHBChFn75CLyWiKsjCLmRoBhhAzaWTOBlod8RY8cDXWmhdV3fBAmQqeCxU4Ty2vo8kGhgDepAKQUSnOckbDzKDvvIHEJh0ptI8qrQ/s1600/Trek+136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdB7oGE3zp2wIf5kUhoswEXZyySprMOTiknET7iGQHBChFn75CLyWiKsjCLmRoBhhAzaWTOBlod8RY8cDXWmhdV3fBAmQqeCxU4Ty2vo8kGhgDepAKQUSnOckbDzKDvvIHEJh0ptI8qrQ/s320/Trek+136.JPG" width="320" /></a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prayer wheels, Pisang.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-57653794721683915972011-06-22T19:06:00.000+03:002011-06-22T19:06:11.175+03:00The yak and the yeti part II: notes from the Annapurna Circuit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">NOTE: Missing a couple photos because of technical issues, but will add soon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIN6oFyY6MDe7hLVR0PtpMCP5nMgtXAGmeGzRmPqk1NWCFd3emZqeMzWyjqFPrcgpvWxbdXIwgQMwiX7TyxVvNG_KjXfIH0zOY5kYub4An5hP9y0V8_H3mnvpNqg6VonBNeHa0dHjo7w/s1600/Trek+072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIN6oFyY6MDe7hLVR0PtpMCP5nMgtXAGmeGzRmPqk1NWCFd3emZqeMzWyjqFPrcgpvWxbdXIwgQMwiX7TyxVvNG_KjXfIH0zOY5kYub4An5hP9y0V8_H3mnvpNqg6VonBNeHa0dHjo7w/s400/Trek+072.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>TREK DIARY DAY 4: Sickness (Dharapani to Chame, 6270 ft to 8943 ft)<br />
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DHARAPANI - A brutal but beautiful climb gets the day started right, with a virtual staircase spiraling 1500 feet up, clinging precariously to cliff-sides, winding through forests and spitting us out into an alpine mosaic of pine trees and horse-filled pastures.<br />
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Sweaty, tired, but in a good rhythm we of course hit one of the annoyingly frequent Nepali government checkpoints, where we are filmed by a documentary crew - look out for some exciting footage of me handing over paperwork and a sleepy bureacrat working slowly.<br />
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During the climb we cross an invisible line between the (relatively) lowland villages with their Indian flavor and Hindu symbols to the Buddhist climes where multicolored prayer flags flap over villages of stone and wood guarded on each entrance by a string of prayer wheels.<br />
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With the elevation comes the first mountain chill and a sudden violent illness. Connie is down for the count, barely able to eat even soup and in pain.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9ZaNLiSrSC0qw1R55DPaPy6p30CDXJC1V4pF6rZ20YcjH8lX8zP2to0vuKG6HRQtO4WmIf-U5R0kca49eJur8KU_MluovA8fZ-tES5RzYMWFkeKhCEG76Ip5JyitwQh0epV9UTm4KGU/s1600/Trek+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9ZaNLiSrSC0qw1R55DPaPy6p30CDXJC1V4pF6rZ20YcjH8lX8zP2to0vuKG6HRQtO4WmIf-U5R0kca49eJur8KU_MluovA8fZ-tES5RzYMWFkeKhCEG76Ip5JyitwQh0epV9UTm4KGU/s400/Trek+096.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That sweat-flavored orange electrolyte stuff saved the day.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>TREK DIARY DAY 5: A feet of endurance, a step back in time (Chame to Bhratang, 8943 ft to 9405 ft)<br />
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CHAME - At 7 a.m. Connie looks peaked but insists on hitting the trail. She's in pain and about a half mile down the trail I make a strong pitch for us to head back to town and have a recovery day. My pitch fails.<br />
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Step by agonizing step, Connie pulls herself four miles to the next town, looking like death but gutting it out. I don't know many people who could have made it in her condition.<br />
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Mercifully, we finally pull into the Wild West outpost of Bhratang, a two-donkey village with a handful of rough-hewn stone and wood buildings and the ruins of "old Bhratang" on the outskirts. <br />
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It's nearly a ghost town and its loneliness is accentuated by the frigid wind ripping through the narrow valley where Bhratang is perched between two glacier-scoured cliff faces that rise several thousand feet up and block the sun for much of the day. It's the hottest time of year and I'm freezing.<br />
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I admire the villagers and handful of scrappy pine trees that survive here - it must be a suicidal winter.<br />
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We pick the hotel with the crooked doors, leaning outhouse, and no lightbulbs - it was one of two choices we had. This is clearly not a normal stop for trekkers and it becomes my favorite village of the journey.<br />
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Two young women cook over an open fire; a three-month old baby coos in a basket, bundled in thick homespun wool. I wonder if he will ever leave Bhratang. The scent of woodsmoke hangs in the air and the streets are still, save for the bells of an occassional mule train. No one tries to sell us anything. I think to myself that this must be what it was like when my parents trekked the Himalaya more than 30 years ago.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClmdd1lsj6Qg9sBKqKisu-ggcD3DNXKWXkbihLXHBOEwx13fbilf_8RkMFQ11q83iISP3zqor5Yq1vIBZgTNmK-E6dwHw7tKoswGSEtMI8PakFnzP_EW4vkvS9CdNcdTfsDg40rX3x6k/s1600/Trek+113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClmdd1lsj6Qg9sBKqKisu-ggcD3DNXKWXkbihLXHBOEwx13fbilf_8RkMFQ11q83iISP3zqor5Yq1vIBZgTNmK-E6dwHw7tKoswGSEtMI8PakFnzP_EW4vkvS9CdNcdTfsDg40rX3x6k/s400/Trek+113.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After a tea break in Bhratang it was back to the most brutal job in the world.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76G3XZbJDd9shL3bQg4tTd25j5MTYHD4v_aw3jUl1dsA8wG4vjvqP1wcbsVIbP2BpaYuTAWlwQG2hWo8tR0qOu8VJozYBU1eldVkvBtgCyfJxY6PjmdOEeKKmxaptdWTtZ2VP96Rsobg/s1600/Trek+109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76G3XZbJDd9shL3bQg4tTd25j5MTYHD4v_aw3jUl1dsA8wG4vjvqP1wcbsVIbP2BpaYuTAWlwQG2hWo8tR0qOu8VJozYBU1eldVkvBtgCyfJxY6PjmdOEeKKmxaptdWTtZ2VP96Rsobg/s400/Trek+109.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div align="center">The lone resident of Bhratang.</div><br />
TREK DIARY DAY 6: Pizza and yak heads or no mo' momo (Bhratang to Humde, 9405 ft to 11145 ft)<br />
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BHRATANG - The peaks are dusted by a fresh coat of snow and the air is cold with menacing clouds hanging low, but Connie has been restored by the peace of Bhratang and a serious dose of rehydration salts and we hit the trail in good spirits.<br />
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Ravens fly past and I spot the trip's first lammergeier, a condor-like vulture, circling hundreds of feet above, waiting for us to take a bad step.<br />
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In the eerie quiet of a pine forest, we pass abandoned shacks and an apparent religious site with piles of rocks left haphazardly and mysteriously throughout the woods.<br />
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The water station has burned down at our planned refill stop, so we fill up with well water and purification tablets. I do not love the taste of iodine in the morning.<br />
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As we pull into Humde, our rest spot for the night, a herd of goats walks with us and a filthy, smiling child salutes. The only action on the sleepy airport runway is a lone cow chewing the overgrown bush crowding out the tarmac. Perched high on a pole next to a stone hovel, is a ratty yak head with two prayer flags jammed into the skull. Very Mad Max.<br />
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The highlight of the day is a yak cheese pizza with barbeque sauce and carrots that actually resembled a pizza. <br />
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I am an ardent advocate of eating local when traveling, but the food in the Himalaya is one of the few downsides to trekking. Nepal may share a border with India, but gastronomically it's in a different hemisphere. There seems to be a spice embargo at the border, curry becomes watery lentil soup, and the highlight is water buffalo momos - and when your culinary highlight is steamed dough with meat something's amiss.<br />
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Each tea house has essentially the same menu - momos , noodle soup, fried rice, apple pie (surprisingly, prety tasty) - all blandly prepared over an open fire. After a week, you start to lose your appetite.<br />
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It gets to the point where something approximating pizza is like the best fois gras you ever had, followed by a cheese plate and a hearty bordeaux.</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-23824008818587762842011-06-13T18:12:00.001+03:002011-06-13T18:18:47.871+03:00The yak and the yeti part I: notes from the Annapurna Circuit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">POKHARA, Nepal - To say the bus had bad suspension would be to imply it had suspension at all; it was the most rickety thing with four wheels I have seen this trip (it’s a high bar). A cockroach greeted us when we arrived in our thinly padded seats. When matched with the 470-mile string of craters masquerading as a highway from the Indian border to Pokhara , the 30-foot jalopy made for a grim 13 hours. In the midst of a snooze I awoke in mid-air – the driver had maintained his speed through a series of Himalaya-sized potholes – just in time to smash my head on the roof.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There couldn’t have been a worse start to one of my favorite journeys. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Annapurna Circuit climbs more than 15,000 feet, through jungles, pine forests, and dizzyingly high alpine deserts ringed by glaciers up to the 18,000-foot Thorong La Pass. On the way you pass grizzled old mountain men in flip flops carrying 100 pounds on their backs (and sometimes they pass you), shaggy yaks, ornate Buddhists shrines, and villages of stone clinging to mountainsides.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And, after a few days of delay due to general strikes in the weird, burnout-hippie town of Pokhara, we were on the Annapurna Circuit trail, with no guide and no porter, heading up …</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">TREK DIARY DAY 1: The spacesuit gets a test flight (Besi Sahar to Bulhebulhe, 2706 to 2772 ft.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKt3uIs718nJ1vTenjKJymr-HS3tHUiyFf21jQXQ0vg0tPGwf-U1wKjzZ8xWH9QYKh2PDdqw3BpmW4pA8_NIUVlgEWTIQTLRyOeQL0VBVEc3OMesZPR1bxWUB0FzSHnKIpUz2zBj-CyE/s1600/Trek+001.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKt3uIs718nJ1vTenjKJymr-HS3tHUiyFf21jQXQ0vg0tPGwf-U1wKjzZ8xWH9QYKh2PDdqw3BpmW4pA8_NIUVlgEWTIQTLRyOeQL0VBVEc3OMesZPR1bxWUB0FzSHnKIpUz2zBj-CyE/s400/Trek+001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">It begins and it's a scorcher.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNsaFeYT3GkT3v5xsQA2KGUJNLxF7LubGFPPd5WM7FYSYXmmhv-f2-ZTA4-F5fT3huHORmgHiV8LrXBQDwQT1gxgyBnoi9kTyb8yl8nva7dVVlT2h2Bs0jEndv3ekdtqCeQAOjRPkaWA/s1600/Trek+005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNsaFeYT3GkT3v5xsQA2KGUJNLxF7LubGFPPd5WM7FYSYXmmhv-f2-ZTA4-F5fT3huHORmgHiV8LrXBQDwQT1gxgyBnoi9kTyb8yl8nva7dVVlT2h2Bs0jEndv3ekdtqCeQAOjRPkaWA/s400/Trek+005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> Our roommate the first night.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">BESI SAHAR – Nepali bus operators are savvy enough to know Westerners like seat assignments and disorganized enough to simply make them up. After some initial confusion, everyone had a seat and we were on our way to the jungle lowlands, a steamy start to a 15,000 foot climb.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ahead of the trek, Connie and I have augmented our gear with a couple cheap ponchos – I chose bright silver for its spacesuit quality.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We started paying for bad karma early – 30 minutes down the hot, dusty road that provides an inauspicious start to the trek, the skies rumbled and burst. The spacesuit came out, worked admirably, and got us to a crumbling wooden tea house that provided refuge from the rain for both us and the largest spider I have ever seen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">TREK DIARY DAY 2: Walk it till it breaks (Bhulebuhle to Jagat, 2772 ft. – 4290 ft.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd775OTLtbKcupJMgYPAumUuLohh9cpoJZz0anj0Mve-cDpZDbIIMHChfnRyeCfqXy4RPqDjcnsESHkQ0oq7xfs2ROpwPJrc_DOOkKII9EKvmnA1pBSloPfeGOH5CI_KWbUp1dSXrzVs/s1600/Trek+010.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd775OTLtbKcupJMgYPAumUuLohh9cpoJZz0anj0Mve-cDpZDbIIMHChfnRyeCfqXy4RPqDjcnsESHkQ0oq7xfs2ROpwPJrc_DOOkKII9EKvmnA1pBSloPfeGOH5CI_KWbUp1dSXrzVs/s400/Trek+010.JPG" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">One at a time. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfpCbLrKTuyLn3rF4dekJdUO3l7MG9V6PbA9VQavT7D3lFNJHxxh0RbcfEjv5hVh6B9rFTN69IRCLRhFMw1h0qN-83wATX_ZDP6kRPcGRsx1XZGWY0n3aRabUDlRBgG1Zs2V6dz7r1qc/s1600/Trek+022.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfpCbLrKTuyLn3rF4dekJdUO3l7MG9V6PbA9VQavT7D3lFNJHxxh0RbcfEjv5hVh6B9rFTN69IRCLRhFMw1h0qN-83wATX_ZDP6kRPcGRsx1XZGWY0n3aRabUDlRBgG1Zs2V6dz7r1qc/s400/Trek+022.JPG" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Terraced agriculture in the lowlands.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUUYo7NGzdz32UhCTBF8QJY9O23esXswhyhBQ_f3H1byav-enJstEseaenDD6D8Sjpa6xjEFQL-EkMLxvRTcp30oDzk2Bga6NWwEST87YvKDgBKFJneICl9LkSEBVagyHFl78LCuAkhg/s1600/Trek+039.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUUYo7NGzdz32UhCTBF8QJY9O23esXswhyhBQ_f3H1byav-enJstEseaenDD6D8Sjpa6xjEFQL-EkMLxvRTcp30oDzk2Bga6NWwEST87YvKDgBKFJneICl9LkSEBVagyHFl78LCuAkhg/s400/Trek+039.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"> More agriculture. Actually, it grows wild, and this patch was marked on our map, along with waterfalls and points of historical interest, as 'fields of marijuana.'</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">BHULEBHULE – Eye-achingly early in the morning (I’ll dispense with that – every morning was early on the trail), we are jolted awake by the scariest bridge I have ever seen over some serious game-over rapids. This comes at about minute five of the hike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s a wooden contraption, in roughly the style you built those toothpick bridges back in grade-school with similar engineering finesse. The ends are fastened to – will I’m not sure, exactly, but they were kind of shoved under some big rocks. Remanants of the former bridge dangled next to it, highlighting the Nepali philosophy on maintenance we would come to know and fear: use it until it breaks, replace, repeat. Don’t be the one to break the bridge.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Frankly, it was a thrilling way to begin and once past the fear I was able to appreciate the gray-blue, glacial waters rushing by in the river (waters that we would follow for many miles to come).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our first glimpse of the high Himalaya in the form of snowy, triangular Annapurna II (the Annapurnas go up to IV and also include Annapurna South – someone got lazy). By 11 a.m. we crave that distant snow – still in the jungle, we’re sweating through our clothes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Relief comes in the ancient toll road city of Jagat, where put our packs down for the night and coincidentally stay at the same tea house as two of Connie’s co-workers who she hadn’t seen in four years. Really. It becomes a good excuse to have a few Gorkha beers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">TREK DIARY DAY 3: An ass-kicking (Jagat to Dharapani, 4290 to 6270 ft.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKbSuxsxnOuC5_7Zm4R0BIOSw99Ow2xTanSKZkaatrcnouDN6aYaiAAAcRvwyRGoSg2ZrBijdIDPuAAoN4Rlyo11PG0sl-VHusRJQXbhsnRLJ-j9lAX_i8hxjPl8C7rPoGjkRL-4jz3E/s1600/Trek+048.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKbSuxsxnOuC5_7Zm4R0BIOSw99Ow2xTanSKZkaatrcnouDN6aYaiAAAcRvwyRGoSg2ZrBijdIDPuAAoN4Rlyo11PG0sl-VHusRJQXbhsnRLJ-j9lAX_i8hxjPl8C7rPoGjkRL-4jz3E/s400/Trek+048.JPG" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Day of the donkeys.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67ARs1B3W8ZSM_KPZBnIaDb89BfZoQUGiVYvKoVWzxqly9qp7Kq4niqn9ghrOW9t-c3OEyspUM0MayvfHFW186-07VLL6aDm8EoKgoTIF5CwtDPoQQnF9XS4kGp_jJXtNbJPIHcQC_xI/s1600/Trek+054.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67ARs1B3W8ZSM_KPZBnIaDb89BfZoQUGiVYvKoVWzxqly9qp7Kq4niqn9ghrOW9t-c3OEyspUM0MayvfHFW186-07VLL6aDm8EoKgoTIF5CwtDPoQQnF9XS4kGp_jJXtNbJPIHcQC_xI/s400/Trek+054.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">'It's so beautiful.'</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhB6m5QLqp_OSzJWeO2xrhEEOLxjoNqlvIEKqkNd_cy4UIgNeCCWEX0wiGi_On2qsCdAJZoLaDRaB9buKzSMieaQ1NCCJg-qxLgVmdSVoSignzyIxo8xAU-LOwdl1G3TfWzkGfzm62sQ/s1600/Trek+060.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhB6m5QLqp_OSzJWeO2xrhEEOLxjoNqlvIEKqkNd_cy4UIgNeCCWEX0wiGi_On2qsCdAJZoLaDRaB9buKzSMieaQ1NCCJg-qxLgVmdSVoSignzyIxo8xAU-LOwdl1G3TfWzkGfzm62sQ/s400/Trek+060.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">This man has a long way to go. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjejQGWdrmGDc3rqvoG2eUG3bUDC0F_n6ArhjeQkETTl1QduBIj2nezM-VupeKiZkkjiK12nqE8TPn7CH7A0LPMeIZmjlMwfcXo7Wzu25L9DcoiMEQflPEmrJpvocY86i4Tlbdf0vwzA/s1600/Trek+064.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjejQGWdrmGDc3rqvoG2eUG3bUDC0F_n6ArhjeQkETTl1QduBIj2nezM-VupeKiZkkjiK12nqE8TPn7CH7A0LPMeIZmjlMwfcXo7Wzu25L9DcoiMEQflPEmrJpvocY86i4Tlbdf0vwzA/s400/Trek+064.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The (former) Maoist insurgents - now your friendly government partner (more on them later). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrjpOx-6Iv43297QvLJsPNu55LaIW80_w-Qx_zVqQQgxMijF1V76z5IlHC9VIQ7d6PyGMNXFGZBGZKapowGaeL6wqdqnRofNOzLAIuBBQ173RTiMmWiCxuRBTis-FCYUDFlGo91AB1xw/s1600/Trek+065.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrjpOx-6Iv43297QvLJsPNu55LaIW80_w-Qx_zVqQQgxMijF1V76z5IlHC9VIQ7d6PyGMNXFGZBGZKapowGaeL6wqdqnRofNOzLAIuBBQ173RTiMmWiCxuRBTis-FCYUDFlGo91AB1xw/s400/Trek+065.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">An accurate description of rakshi.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTo5_2a6zeWml-mj1GRacl_2nBQT4kJ7ikcih5U_4Cce1dy_rPX2fi8PHAbdwwDGPzDDXgaiiH8hKSwN7JspBGpiJ8TsH51mDl9Y6ShgKbJwZi2Z5kWcXZnJHJ9yKEqEn3hlg28RgC0pU/s1600/Trek+067.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTo5_2a6zeWml-mj1GRacl_2nBQT4kJ7ikcih5U_4Cce1dy_rPX2fi8PHAbdwwDGPzDDXgaiiH8hKSwN7JspBGpiJ8TsH51mDl9Y6ShgKbJwZi2Z5kWcXZnJHJ9yKEqEn3hlg28RgC0pU/s400/Trek+067.JPG" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Working on a chyang-over.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> JAGAT – Trudging up mountains is hard work, but having to stop is even worse. Today, there were many commercial breaks.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The commerce came in the form of a ceaseless parade of mule trains, carrying goods and trekkers’ gear – an integral part of everyday life in a land with no roads, but frustrating nonetheless. Every time the heavily laden beasts clopped by, we had to move to the side of the narrow trail. The fresh mountain air was cut by dung and stale donkey farts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As soon as we walked free of the traffic jam, a frantic Nepali soldier to “Must go quick.” Through pantomime and broken phrases he made clear that the rock-face across the valley, towering above the trail was about to be blown to bits. “Twenty minutes,” he said.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bewildered by exactly what was going on – the Maoist insurgency is long over – and knowing the care-free attitude Nepalis tend to take when it comes to safety, we made serious haste. When we arrived at the “safe zone” after a tortuous and nerve-wracking climb, we found some soldiers with radios that apparently worked. Exhausted and confused, we asked if we could stay and watch them blow shit up. They happily agreed and explained it was part of a road-building project.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And man did they blow shit up. A massive puff of smoke was followed by a thunderous bowel-shaking rumble, and the mountainside disintegrated, sending a cloud of debris into the valley, onto the other side and onto the trail where we thought the friends we had met the night before might be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">‘It’s so beautiful,’ the soldier in charge said. It was something, though ‘beautiful’ seemed an odd adjective.</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a frustrating day we met up again with Connie’s old friends and a couple of strays they had picked up along the way (we ended up hiking on and off with all of them the rest of the way) at that night’s tea house. They had survived the explosion, though no thanks to the soldiers. All the danger and donkeys called for some drinks and it was time to go local, so we ordered some chyangs (silent ‘y’ hard ‘a’) and rakshis.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Chyang is the local millet beer, milky white, and slightly sour, with a mild kerosene aftertaste. Actually, not bad. Rakshi is the local ‘rice wine,’ though it has nothing to do with wine, and is murky clear with floating bits. It smells like sake and tastes like burning. Connie (understandably) couldn’t finish hers, so I made it a double.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4495084334298789221&postID=2382400881858776284" name="_GoBack"></a></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-64064629321295316422011-06-07T11:28:00.001+03:002011-06-07T11:30:44.231+03:00The Subcontinental Part III: The Darjeeling Limited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">DARJEELING, India – All steep, misty mountains, bright green tea plantations, and ornate Buddhist temples, Darjeeling is best told in photos, so I’ll keep it brief. <br />
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Geographically in India, but culturally straddling Nepal and Tibet, Darjeeling is a welcome relief from the heat, filth and hassle of lowland India (though I loved India, despite India). I even had to wear a jacket, a novelty after three weeks of relentless sweat.<br />
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Darjeeling is a former British tea colony about 7,000 feet up in the Himalayan ‘foothills.’ Unlike most coffee-growing regions I’ve visited, where Nescafe is invariably the restaurant drink of choice, Darjeelingites drink their product and so did I again and again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUaNiBsCHRWDSraYICvedngTnS8DDInCOaaD07HFolZua040WiK38ILV6BfapZEOkbb6CCg6YJ7T5_35LtrwzVtjgznX5vKmalhGc-OFoZM5vCHakMsyi4lqDX3Fll_uptegsrReoluo/s1600/India+097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUaNiBsCHRWDSraYICvedngTnS8DDInCOaaD07HFolZua040WiK38ILV6BfapZEOkbb6CCg6YJ7T5_35LtrwzVtjgznX5vKmalhGc-OFoZM5vCHakMsyi4lqDX3Fll_uptegsrReoluo/s400/India+097.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our search and spiritual journey to seek out the mystical snow leopard, queen of the Himalaya, comes to an end - at the zoo.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYX1k-VZxh_wut1uHTXbp5cJ4h_SJRiTgDZUtq3e0jehzwXU2rU1QYlqQKlOLM10RK76yqVhXBziieRnRf2qLYxFhFaEVLdQjO_8lHyBjhXA-4UHzQX4NQaW7qLAtU0PS7JWRI3Nwy3Ug/s1600/India+126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYX1k-VZxh_wut1uHTXbp5cJ4h_SJRiTgDZUtq3e0jehzwXU2rU1QYlqQKlOLM10RK76yqVhXBziieRnRf2qLYxFhFaEVLdQjO_8lHyBjhXA-4UHzQX4NQaW7qLAtU0PS7JWRI3Nwy3Ug/s400/India+126.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Foggy days in Darjeeling.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBFrsElU6hC8ZjyRQf2SS5jwgU0g6wkFHg7DKSN-lWBdPMq9th3i7cmEowxWOQU3PftH7vm3C-QiQfEx2w2d9v8uo6h4Pak9htHQAj3iRPBuBmktUhqBV4amle-5NMVjPjPCJNwb2lvo/s1600/India+059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBFrsElU6hC8ZjyRQf2SS5jwgU0g6wkFHg7DKSN-lWBdPMq9th3i7cmEowxWOQU3PftH7vm3C-QiQfEx2w2d9v8uo6h4Pak9htHQAj3iRPBuBmktUhqBV4amle-5NMVjPjPCJNwb2lvo/s320/India+059.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Picking tea on the road to Darjeeling.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGb51TZIGy2wADy7C-17uDKOv8ET5IwNLNTcOe_Zmb3nV0ctlJxWYbxWzvJHulR_epnaZxb3BuZR34JSajDFGN0dKNu6FOChIWJi3FDt7by7jK_Yoa9UmBGBVIk7b1o8L_aHw2xksVjo/s1600/India+152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGb51TZIGy2wADy7C-17uDKOv8ET5IwNLNTcOe_Zmb3nV0ctlJxWYbxWzvJHulR_epnaZxb3BuZR34JSajDFGN0dKNu6FOChIWJi3FDt7by7jK_Yoa9UmBGBVIk7b1o8L_aHw2xksVjo/s400/India+152.JPG" t8="true" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Backroads of Darjeeling.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwDwQLznbkoZ6qzKq6flQ90pvYkjpcn2aj6R9Tw2N_5JZUjdX2H4d-v8lFXLwaA3CvophKyC0LxeBSacYkYK-mWy5rzS1sL89fzQ_QVpBSaB0ItY4OUC6uAFgBMLzgB2GxlxoErgr5eg/s1600/India+140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwDwQLznbkoZ6qzKq6flQ90pvYkjpcn2aj6R9Tw2N_5JZUjdX2H4d-v8lFXLwaA3CvophKyC0LxeBSacYkYK-mWy5rzS1sL89fzQ_QVpBSaB0ItY4OUC6uAFgBMLzgB2GxlxoErgr5eg/s400/India+140.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An elderly Tibetan spools wool at the Tibetan Refugee Center, a safe haven for thousands of refugees for several decades and a thorn in Indo-Chinese relations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23-f9-1qa_Yr2sPo1fkTMjkZ4ZQcmBrI_vw3mq4sD4dKZKxuSbEO0uty3cnd4NxAQa667AkzwNY0R0E336xCM9Fk9rB-0xlUfo6rBGjE7gdsfaXwwq4WqAQP-Bc3RCZHx3s2KNKyhh1g/s1600/India+194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23-f9-1qa_Yr2sPo1fkTMjkZ4ZQcmBrI_vw3mq4sD4dKZKxuSbEO0uty3cnd4NxAQa667AkzwNY0R0E336xCM9Fk9rB-0xlUfo6rBGjE7gdsfaXwwq4WqAQP-Bc3RCZHx3s2KNKyhh1g/s400/India+194.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Darjeeling Limited or, to be accurate, the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, an actual working steam locomotive that plys a steep winding route through the mountains at a (very) lesisurely pace and was part of the inspiration for the movie. It still runs on the same extremely narrow guage track that it did 130 years ago. One of the coolest train rides I've ever experienced, even though there was no sweet lime.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksSkx5RuKW4UFMekQYaIWs-so0LXwrCmwaYr_YZ4gZRotPeCpmOttUYQ03BszyvLsbMsMUbAmRXWcrvWfa60c7FOoteqgY5qIbWV1HtCR9pTbabZH6Bcksx3aGrqgKxUTqwEt97YWtzU/s1600/India+250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksSkx5RuKW4UFMekQYaIWs-so0LXwrCmwaYr_YZ4gZRotPeCpmOttUYQ03BszyvLsbMsMUbAmRXWcrvWfa60c7FOoteqgY5qIbWV1HtCR9pTbabZH6Bcksx3aGrqgKxUTqwEt97YWtzU/s400/India+250.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Feeding the fire on the "Toy Train."</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-13098139566987789712011-06-04T15:26:00.001+03:002011-06-04T15:30:04.310+03:00The Subcontinental Part II: The universe and Varanasi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1dziSIzEo1dB9MKDMWh935h8FJW1N5KOnlxNt-7owu9ItdJ9dR3NdRoXGyE68qjaKOw5qrs9aTaV6MUuRA4Xl5Y5K_mLTMc_pS1LbCc3LBBEqRbBDfjsalUaIFTTmlZtTCdB546o2AM/s1600/India+040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1dziSIzEo1dB9MKDMWh935h8FJW1N5KOnlxNt-7owu9ItdJ9dR3NdRoXGyE68qjaKOw5qrs9aTaV6MUuRA4Xl5Y5K_mLTMc_pS1LbCc3LBBEqRbBDfjsalUaIFTTmlZtTCdB546o2AM/s400/India+040.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A young street sweep sleeps on the ground at the train station.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wn-VMc7oCaJSF2nztjUSLkgMcZ96vRK78KbsI18NINxhq4yEhSpbjQui8AtKJ2ErQdjUWfV9S_rIXTz1094JABESQGk-_ufuPIRlzxgR3tNWyuGBYkH_SB-UW51YaCBQYomCFS4X5Sw/s1600/Tiger+park-Varanasi+128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wn-VMc7oCaJSF2nztjUSLkgMcZ96vRK78KbsI18NINxhq4yEhSpbjQui8AtKJ2ErQdjUWfV9S_rIXTz1094JABESQGk-_ufuPIRlzxgR3tNWyuGBYkH_SB-UW51YaCBQYomCFS4X5Sw/s400/Tiger+park-Varanasi+128.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Washing water buffalo in the Ganges.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXQxQTXcju-B9aPpbsHzIQobu4E6fMRxrs6tWUn4NsixcSwYkpwr8qlFGdFX3jTcyovJwNJx3h8IckFSgs-znl7uBKLE46GncVlIzQDF1KmL-G4DnZyS7Zs1jXBh4Xs0EYvXhFQRRbcI/s1600/Varanasi+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXQxQTXcju-B9aPpbsHzIQobu4E6fMRxrs6tWUn4NsixcSwYkpwr8qlFGdFX3jTcyovJwNJx3h8IckFSgs-znl7uBKLE46GncVlIzQDF1KmL-G4DnZyS7Zs1jXBh4Xs0EYvXhFQRRbcI/s400/Varanasi+035.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pilgrims wade into the Ganges.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrxG7l43yPvmGA3yifqXioHb51kbpL5kQW1moXJk9oJN953DFKdlXOcTiglUrK7mdKCKtA_KrosLnuBV_PPAaR4IBrJ0HOmEI7xeMPMYtZ92mxx-rdI3ukh4aMumi86RhfC-wk6oelv4/s1600/Varanasi+082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrxG7l43yPvmGA3yifqXioHb51kbpL5kQW1moXJk9oJN953DFKdlXOcTiglUrK7mdKCKtA_KrosLnuBV_PPAaR4IBrJ0HOmEI7xeMPMYtZ92mxx-rdI3ukh4aMumi86RhfC-wk6oelv4/s400/Varanasi+082.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A 'floating soul.'</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73zk0-QCGNjnnquqW6ZpOuAC3Wn4rqx3xmQjr0lIXIXjp14EoroEq3sXAyzpQJ5iiRalJ_jCAQk3xUQBVcPK9wgu317-R77YuuR2gRz0klsbxhfHC4Aj2MDdsGX-Nd_WKZQFpodMBhck/s1600/Varanasi+092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73zk0-QCGNjnnquqW6ZpOuAC3Wn4rqx3xmQjr0lIXIXjp14EoroEq3sXAyzpQJ5iiRalJ_jCAQk3xUQBVcPK9wgu317-R77YuuR2gRz0klsbxhfHC4Aj2MDdsGX-Nd_WKZQFpodMBhck/s400/Varanasi+092.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div> The funeral pyres.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrIYRZIlgWW3LnBpZJCEWQWbOz-iRjw0mez8s12jguVzn1oA-bLANZajTlCmJb8ohbMtIyWp3zUakY_LB61PaRHuWbH80CPnaHiszpSYKRyZyfnd2BYHKhXCBNCQMslpdFEuGgOIYCz8/s1600/Varanasi+142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrIYRZIlgWW3LnBpZJCEWQWbOz-iRjw0mez8s12jguVzn1oA-bLANZajTlCmJb8ohbMtIyWp3zUakY_LB61PaRHuWbH80CPnaHiszpSYKRyZyfnd2BYHKhXCBNCQMslpdFEuGgOIYCz8/s400/Varanasi+142.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thousands of Indians gather every night by boat and on the steps of the ghat to watch a religious fire ceremony.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxgqyZfJuJuqQ9NNsQYs3EMHjHrqlezuDTbWbK33hiEufw1czKE-iLPvhOoOAA1zT3Lh_EGMH4MKnZxl3RUJT_Im_RMbZqlfwut4wFQWjjhcBk14ZTqeg_H7l3GkhEv3ow2ldFV_HWXI/s1600/Varanasi+252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxgqyZfJuJuqQ9NNsQYs3EMHjHrqlezuDTbWbK33hiEufw1czKE-iLPvhOoOAA1zT3Lh_EGMH4MKnZxl3RUJT_Im_RMbZqlfwut4wFQWjjhcBk14ZTqeg_H7l3GkhEv3ow2ldFV_HWXI/s400/Varanasi+252.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hindu ceremony on the banks of the Ganges.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY81gcUFrSMjtNMuMY-LDwKo5F1p9wTOqGgUoRC5-4fZznOtz3leXwUNvcOC1oHKryuoZbEQYHO4y2vsyMV9Oqv5ooWGJbdb2setJMR4gJmXRrZjEgJzFlVAhNJaW-L89XWD8PWumiWEc/s1600/Varanasi+098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY81gcUFrSMjtNMuMY-LDwKo5F1p9wTOqGgUoRC5-4fZznOtz3leXwUNvcOC1oHKryuoZbEQYHO4y2vsyMV9Oqv5ooWGJbdb2setJMR4gJmXRrZjEgJzFlVAhNJaW-L89XWD8PWumiWEc/s400/Varanasi+098.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And special for Mr. Geoffrey, the fu. Note the Nehru-style Indian shirt, completing the Sub-continental look.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">VARANASI, India – In the winding alleys of this holy city, the odors of life, death, dung, and freshly baking bread all compete for nostril space. Cows eat and excrete the trash that chokes the streets, scruffy red-faced monkeys steal food, charred bodies meander down the Ganges, and a man drops his pants to squat on a main walkway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Varanasi is the filthiest city I have ever loved.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“There is the universe and then there is Varanasi,” was how hotel manager/philosopher Sanjay put it, but more on him later.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Death is never far away, and it is both shocking and refreshing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Flower draped bodies make their way through the streets to the river, often carried by mourners, alongside traffic, school children on bicycles, and tourists.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Night is illuminated by the funeral pyres tended by men and boys with the unenviable task of pushing, protruding, stiffened limbs back into the fire. The fires burn 24 hours a day and the tenders are kept busy. When the body is sufficiently burned, it is sent into the river where crows, vultures, and fish pick at the remains. The local boatmen call them ‘floating souls.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A deeply holy place for Hindus, pilgrims come from far away, the well-dressed, the bare-assed, and everyone in between, to pray, swim, and die, and while there are plenty of Western tourists, they are far outnumbered by the pilgrims. In the misty, sultry mornings, Indians walk down the ghats (concrete staircases leading to the river) in various states of undress to swim in and drink holy water deemed unfit for even a shower.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Crow-sized bats flit in and out of the river-side floodlights while thousands of devotees turn out to watch a religious fire ceremony that has been bombed several time by Islamic extremists. Walk 100 meters and you’re sure to run into a Hindu shrine if not a full-blown temple.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m still fuzzy on the details of Hinduism, but Sanjay made<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a point of sitting down to tea with me to explain it and talk about everything else from Indian politics to Osama bin Laden (if you go to Varanasi, Sanjay’s place, The Eden Halt, is the place to stay – mainly to talk to Sanjay). Apparently there are more than 3 billion gods. So far I’ve memorized three.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amid the spirituality, there’s a nastiness to Varanasi, deeper than the irritating hash slingers and touts: disfigured beggars, malnourished children, bloody, mange-ridden dogs, and, just away from the main ghat, a small colony of very sick, mostly young men, emaciated and too weak even to beg, awaiting their final float down the Ganges. In the world’s biggest democracy, it’s a reminder of the gap that sometimes exists between voting rights and prosperity and in Varanasi it’s not hidden away (nor does anyone seem to be doing anything about it).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Sanjay puts it, “Everything is possible (in Varanasi) – both good and bad.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><strong>Train Extra:</strong></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">NOTE: We criss-crossed almost the length of India from west to east nearly entirely by train, so it seems a shame to ignore the experience. This is just something from my notes in the midst of what turned out to be a 13 hour delay. Unfortunately no one told us that. First they said five hours late, then each hour the staff added another hour to the delay until the sun came up. Our 6 p.m. train eventually left at 7 a.m.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We’re at hour eleven of our train delay and the metal bench gets harder with each passing hour. The station smells of urine and body odor – not unlike many American subways and bus stations but, of course, nothing like them at all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A boy with a distended belly sleeps on the floor, crusty eyelids swarmed by flys; a stump-footed beggar makes his hobbled rounds; a poor woman beats her child. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As if they were expecting it (which they were) the Indian passengers roll out their blankets on the concrete floors and pass out.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCDPrTNQAMeCBo76CfZzGoTFNALJbkvG_4IMIaArYvAkVDaiMpWd4g9iPm6FpwAnhOIYz40gA3_8ANuSMwbITbbNw59sCwb51eLchlSD0SzGaD68Hbb_aa0qQTfFEgADz1A7ZRYFn9KI/s1600/Mumbai-Taj+137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCDPrTNQAMeCBo76CfZzGoTFNALJbkvG_4IMIaArYvAkVDaiMpWd4g9iPm6FpwAnhOIYz40gA3_8ANuSMwbITbbNw59sCwb51eLchlSD0SzGaD68Hbb_aa0qQTfFEgADz1A7ZRYFn9KI/s400/Mumbai-Taj+137.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our spacious luxury sleeping berth. Actually, it wasn't so bad and, despite the vicious stare, our neighbor was very neighborly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-12723822193808316642011-06-02T17:09:00.002+03:002011-06-02T17:36:55.681+03:00The Sub-continental Part I: The Avenging Mustache<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX-YFxSztlnXj4ulnuRQIPF4gk-YXmMGdt97wcSq-ROP84qEIw5N6UXWIqdXUIlkKnq7y-YJG-UXWRX-irKINrEudHxFJz4N269r7eKRy5IzbBh5bOGR_cG_PIcbxXdiIy3rurGlT3rU/s1600/Mumbai-Taj+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX-YFxSztlnXj4ulnuRQIPF4gk-YXmMGdt97wcSq-ROP84qEIw5N6UXWIqdXUIlkKnq7y-YJG-UXWRX-irKINrEudHxFJz4N269r7eKRy5IzbBh5bOGR_cG_PIcbxXdiIy3rurGlT3rU/s400/Mumbai-Taj+012.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mumbai beach.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOM7HmLT8701OoEe8Oj_FRWoiwd3LzpuZ1PQ_yNBs7lCqaAJ82tAZfnmlmMqdXHsBiuznaCsQYkuAPwgoXi06tjTaaoml6VyD2rvootkn10cu2KPjpln5EPJVpvVkNw1K0tst4miVniU/s1600/Mumbai-Taj+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOM7HmLT8701OoEe8Oj_FRWoiwd3LzpuZ1PQ_yNBs7lCqaAJ82tAZfnmlmMqdXHsBiuznaCsQYkuAPwgoXi06tjTaaoml6VyD2rvootkn10cu2KPjpln5EPJVpvVkNw1K0tst4miVniU/s400/Mumbai-Taj+022.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That jumble of abandoned boats and scrap wood is actually a squatter's home.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XvoMa7R8_7_SqXlCcn2aHeJlcwKxk6cEjdTOyEv9aJB_ZXcRaNRGLGJSBw0ma4UnjwE1HCqgRixsNTxISDhgvXipBWqO0gV5qY4zVzjSIwPmxPNoyyj_dMZhxWrfDz_boeIyCM29wYw/s1600/Mumbai-Taj+036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XvoMa7R8_7_SqXlCcn2aHeJlcwKxk6cEjdTOyEv9aJB_ZXcRaNRGLGJSBw0ma4UnjwE1HCqgRixsNTxISDhgvXipBWqO0gV5qY4zVzjSIwPmxPNoyyj_dMZhxWrfDz_boeIyCM29wYw/s400/Mumbai-Taj+036.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div>Note that nearly every car is a taxi. Also note the interpretive art being performed by the traffic cop. It's known as 'The Dance of No Consequence.'<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">MUMBAI, India – Red lights mean go, stop signs mean very little, and a shake of the head means ‘yes’ – except when it means ‘no.’ Unlearn everything and India will start to make sense.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My first experience in Mumbai was a 4 a.m. ride from the airport in one of the ubiquitous black vintage Pals that ply the streets. Our cabbie actually sped up for the red lights, though I’m not sure where he was in a hurry to get because, as we found out, he had no clue where he was taking us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After driving around the wrong district of town for a while and asking no less than five people for directions he finally, mostly by accident, ended up at our hotel. He then asked for an extra 100 rupees as a reward for getting lost. Last I heard from him he was still yelling through the doorway at us.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In many ways Mumbai is overwhelming – the streets are gridlocked half-mad scooterrorists, cabbies paid by the honk, and overloaded buses. Despite the traffic, everyone manages to go fast, and directly at you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The architecture is a riot of styles, from sprawling colonial buildings (you can never have too many gargoyles), to drab socialist-era tenements, and ornate Hindu temples.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Businessmen, laborers, and beggars hurry elbow to elbow down crumbling sidewalks, walking over and around cripples, potholes, and puddles of piss, and the air is thick with humidity and the most wonderful and nauseating smells.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For those without tickets to the big cricket match, you’re guaranteed to find an amateur one around just about every street corner and taking up every garbage-tainted patch of park space. The kids will be happy to let you have a go – prepare to be embarrassed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Less fun is the shocking poverty, rampant disease, and child labor – yes that 8-year-old child passed out on the train platform sweeps by day and sleeps on the ground and that little girl with the outstretched arms was crippled by her parents to aid her begging.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you have a question you’ll always get an answer, often wrong but always well-meaning, with that peculiarly Indian head shake. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll have trouble spending more than $3 on a feast and if you’re not eating well, you’re not trying. No one is more fond of and deft with spices than Indians. It’s one of the few places in the world you can go vegetarian and never get bored, but you can find some outstanding meat dishes too (I even tried the brain). You get used to the bad Indian habit of touching with bare hands everything that is to go on your plate and learn to forget the poor hygiene that may lurk behind the touch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s dirty, exhilarating, depressing, and delicious, often at the same time. Once you get swept up in the madness, though, it’s the friendliest, most endearing anarchy you’ll experience.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">BOLLYWOOD EXTRA:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4FznNy1-fYXJcIAaZwO35DRnQtFT-PxgVhdjaILRFkl6MoQFjYDrUuo05V6UflOpFrDCQ6vv7sUsxp-oSUQe-hIqcxYs-SbDCqpkd_aD7m2LHdLFV_YkUWvWhwblRFLUsMEN4zzRxk0/s1600/Mumbai-Taj+056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4FznNy1-fYXJcIAaZwO35DRnQtFT-PxgVhdjaILRFkl6MoQFjYDrUuo05V6UflOpFrDCQ6vv7sUsxp-oSUQe-hIqcxYs-SbDCqpkd_aD7m2LHdLFV_YkUWvWhwblRFLUsMEN4zzRxk0/s400/Mumbai-Taj+056.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Crime-fighting 'stache.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A visit to Mumbai demands taking in a Bollywood flick (and it doesn’t hurt that the theaters are air conditioned) and we picked a doozy. ‘Dum Maaro Dum’ roughly translates to ‘The Avenging Mustache’ and the moral is essentially ‘drugs are bad.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The director worked hard to ape the style of Guy Ritchie, which is a bit like a baseball slugger patterning himself on Mario Mendoza*. Despite or, most likely, because of this, the movie his hilarious, though not billed as a comedy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not for the faint of heart, the movie delves into the dark heart of party town Goa, with plenty of bloody violence, a ‘comical’ interrogation where the mustachioed hero repeatedly sticks the business end of a handgun into the business end of a drug dealer, and, of course, songs, the highlight being a ‘rap’ about law enforcement by the hero, in uniform, reminiscent of the Village People.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was so inspiring, I kept a fu manchu for the rest of the India trip.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*Baseball's 'Mendoza line,' a .200 average, is named after Mario Mendoza, a career .215 hitter, and denotes serious hitting incompetence.</span></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-12588951794659356282011-05-28T09:06:00.001+03:002011-05-28T09:16:27.159+03:00Friday beatings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNHfrsvuIrkIAgWrnBDvPbv6rX0rN1OrGYgIIoao1VxXYqg0nWorlUuSojSvT_y0D_4XO6mVQttWOv0_yvZnf2EoJnovp2qE1v9LfHZnFUfKDyzRBwhv6l3yDnkCp3VZ-i5bPWxO_BRc/s1600/Namib-SA-Maputo+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNHfrsvuIrkIAgWrnBDvPbv6rX0rN1OrGYgIIoao1VxXYqg0nWorlUuSojSvT_y0D_4XO6mVQttWOv0_yvZnf2EoJnovp2qE1v9LfHZnFUfKDyzRBwhv6l3yDnkCp3VZ-i5bPWxO_BRc/s400/Namib-SA-Maputo+022.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cape Town's Bo-Kaap neighborhood, a mostly Muslim ('Cape Malay') neighborhood with distintive architecture.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC1gnF5kDvyZxr7JEnA-9qMxU1xsj2c7txT3ibffkOHN7TSdswTjkReXNJG09iDx_PJLNSjY3IgFwzIbiWlmpl_kzCEzFPLRlXVqPj-z93nLLfET92_ESx7xafeDQCq4wRpFlZTWezB0/s1600/Namib-SA-Maputo+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC1gnF5kDvyZxr7JEnA-9qMxU1xsj2c7txT3ibffkOHN7TSdswTjkReXNJG09iDx_PJLNSjY3IgFwzIbiWlmpl_kzCEzFPLRlXVqPj-z93nLLfET92_ESx7xafeDQCq4wRpFlZTWezB0/s400/Namib-SA-Maputo+042.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A former prisoner at Robben Island talks about his years there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYu3q78bfTN-_NRgoxkHszDNaCtqoGhooub4D7MXJIIfyGYbdUP5fCnPt18aEsBJnwOqyIArkgXDttWD1hgZxhvYcBTKAmoq_ZPvgcT_Phmwl8jzXJirJ-qVrDlbL7Cd0wbtI1hfF3GA/s1600/Namibia+township+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYu3q78bfTN-_NRgoxkHszDNaCtqoGhooub4D7MXJIIfyGYbdUP5fCnPt18aEsBJnwOqyIArkgXDttWD1hgZxhvYcBTKAmoq_ZPvgcT_Phmwl8jzXJirJ-qVrDlbL7Cd0wbtI1hfF3GA/s400/Namibia+township+049.JPG" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Max McBride, former youth activist with the ANC during the bad old days.</div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">CAPE TOWN, South Africa – Not that I asked, but a disgruntled Cape Towner, who went by the name Little Brother, explained South Africa’s main problem: “We South Africans love violence. We love killing, we love rrrape and we love rrrobery,” he said with that peculiarly South African way of rolling rs for an absurdly long time to punctuate speech.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Little brother was getting drunk while awaiting the start of a comedy show, but he wasn’t kidding. All of the comics at the show that night interspersed stories of crime into their acts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One comic, whose father is a witch doctor, said he always leaves his dad’s calling card on his seat. “Once, someone smashed my window before seeing the card. When I came back, I found a note on my seat with 500 rand: ‘Please, sir, accept my deepest apologies for breaking your window and please accept this money for repairs.’”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The country’s cities are littered with billboards advertising anti-theft alarms, tracking devices to find your car after the alarms fail, and armed security to kill people trying to steal your car. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Driving into Johannesburg always feels slightly apocalyptic – a sinister haze hangs over the shabby skyline and numerous warnings rattle around in my head: “Don’t take the minibuses,” “Don’t go out at night,” “Don’t carry a camera,” or, simply, “Don’t go.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And seventeen years after Apartheid there’s still an ugly strain of racism, especially among South Africans of a certain generation, and the unreformed use crime as proof of some Mengela-like racial logic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You can take the black out of the bush, but you can’t take the bush out of the black,” a middle-aged Afrikaner, traveling with a black woman, said quite audibly on a bus full of mostly black passengers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most Africans I talked to in other countries point to South Africa as the continent’s heart of darkness. Mentioning that I was traveling there elicited looks of terror and concern.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The headlines and statistics bear this out and I don’t know a South African who hasn’t been robbed, in many cases at gunpoint. It’s a country of fortress cities, with streets dominated by high walls, barbed wire, and fear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t know if I could live here,” Connie said. “Too many bars on the windows.” For once, I had no retort.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a lot to dislike about South Africa and really, there’s no sugar-coating the ugly crime in the big cities. And yet, there’s a vibrancy, a history unfolding, a culture that draws me back again and again. Sure, half my family lives there, but I’d visit if I knew no one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite the ultra-violence, many South Africans live and thrive in and love their country. They possess the wicked gallows humor required in such a place.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s our National Anthem,” my cousin Julian muses every time we hear police sirens (and that’s often).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And yet, he doesn’t want to live anywhere else.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There's also a living history. You don't have to talk to the elderly or even the middle-aged to hear first-hand accounts of life under apartheid.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
"I was beaten every Friday," said Max McBride, a black South African with the white undershirt, flat-brimmed cap, and gold chain of an early '90s gangsta rapper and the quiet, elegant articulation of a philosopher. "The ANC would put the young people up front with the thinking that they (the apartheid government police) wouldn't open fire on the young people."<br />
<br />
Max is 32 years old. He witnessed a suspected informer get "necklaced"* when he was just 13, was a veteran activist by 15, and had fled to Namibia with his family by age 16. Now, he says he's had it with politics.<br />
<br />
He visits South Africa often and considers it home, but the country's crime makes him hesitant to move his family back and the bad memories are still fresh.<br />
<br />
"When you hear the tires screaming, you run (from the cops)," he said. "In Apartheid South Africa we were not afraid of the white cops. We were afraid of the black cops because they knew where we lived."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amid the bigotry, the violence, and the poverty, there’s a frank discussion about race that’s still years away in the states. The young comedians at the Cape Town bar, black, white, and colored (the South African term for mixed-race people) discussed race easily and naturally and the equally mixed crowd ate it up without so much as a gasp. The District 9 generation makes me hopeful.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The incredible thing about South Africa (other than the pristine landscapes and accessible, scary wildlife that is not to be missed) is that all but the youngest people you talk to have straddled the divide of one of the most dramatic political events in recent history. Even those in their late 20s can remember a school curriculum full of racist ideology or no curriculum at all in the black and coloured ghettos called townships (they still exist and they’re still grim – and you can even tour them, if you’re into that kind of thing – one of the many promises not kept by the majority government).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The country’s history is still being written, in many cases by people who once fought each other, and if you stop five people in the street you’ll probably get five different takes on post-apartheid South Africa.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">South Africans are welcoming, honest, and proud of their country, though not afraid to criticize it. And amid all of the politics, violence, and tension, South Africans know when to drop it all in favor of soccer, rugby, grilled meat, and, most especially, beer (go for the Castle Milk Stout). I can get on board with that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">*Necklacing is an execution style whereby a suspected informer - usually a black man suspected of dealing with the apartheid government - has a gasoline-soaked tire put around his neck and is lit on fire. It's well-chronicled in photos and words in the book The Bang Bang Club, if you have the stomach.</span></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-77307094551500995252011-05-25T07:23:00.000+03:002011-05-25T07:23:49.606+03:00Yeti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Still on the Annapurna trail without the connection to post photos, but will be back with exciting stories of squat toilets, avalanches, and even a Yeti sighting.</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-31213771625481735822011-05-12T15:21:00.000+03:002011-05-13T23:42:23.812+03:00The brutality of Nam’: sands of shame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMDW98nHr461oeJuA0KpsdIsy83VLzrflectfSb1agkMl6C9xNzWcqZm7VgnVYbEN_eg_04xBCjrNtjE_MM3UDEhQ66W6xydaGOgZZevw8fGa0kNXQKNQq0c79CSS-0CYNeY2ksKikLM/s1600/Namibia+158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMDW98nHr461oeJuA0KpsdIsy83VLzrflectfSb1agkMl6C9xNzWcqZm7VgnVYbEN_eg_04xBCjrNtjE_MM3UDEhQ66W6xydaGOgZZevw8fGa0kNXQKNQq0c79CSS-0CYNeY2ksKikLM/s400/Namibia+158.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The car was pulled free, but who will rescue my battered ego?n</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">NOT CLOSE TO MUCH OF ANYTHING, Namibia – Before us lay a conundrum. The Abu Huab River was dry, but recently flowing, leaving 100 meters thick, animal-tracked sand of unknown depth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our destination lay several miles to the other side, defeat to our rear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought about our dainty Volkswagen Polo and the leaden storm clouds that threatened to fill the riverbed anew and said, “I don’t think we should do this.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I think we can make it,” Connie said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She chucked a few large rocks out of the way, I gunned it, and for a couple seconds I was rally driving through the desert, fighting to keep it between the skids – a badass. Twenty meters in, I was just another idiot in need of a winch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The afternoon sun washed the desert in a leering white glow and sand stuck to every crevice of my sweating, stinking body as I furiously scooped sand out from under the car.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had no shovel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A troop of baboons sat on the opposite river bank, the side where we desperately to be. The alpha lae looked our way. He was not impressed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We dug and dug and snipped and dug and made no progress.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fifteen minutes into our miserable, futile excavation, a truck crested the hill on the other side of the river.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Afrikaans versions of Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh jumped out and immediately began hooking a rope to our marooned car. They towed us to the closest bank – the wrong side. We pondered our options. We would likely have to cross this river again on our way back if we continue. Jerry Garcia piped up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I think I can get her across," he said with a look of determination.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Se we let him and he did, barely. Not for the first time this trip, my pride took a savage beating.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Paved roads are the exception in Namibia, a massive, sparsely populated country criss-crossed by gravel roads and 4x4 tracks.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Unless it’s been raining” is the caveat in guide books before going on to say so and so road is passable by any vehicle. And it’s true – the roads are fine, except that bridges in the country are about out as common as Damara terns, which is to say there approximately four, and the two times a year the river flows means major problems for the non-Land Rover set.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite the rainiest rainy season in decades, though, our VW, Petunia, rattled through the washboards and crawled through the swollen rivers almost without incident. We had to stop at many a crossing, move rocks, and, a couple times, turn around completely. But we usually made it, the mud from the roads perfectly covered the acacia thorn paint scratches (handy for our rental inspection) and the exposed rocks came just short of snapping an axle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We toured nearly the full length of the Skeleton Coast, the yellow dunes of Swakopmund, and the red sands of the Sossusvlei dune sea, with nary more than a slow leak in one tire (also undetected by the rental company).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then we headed back, Connie behind the wheel, and had to do battle with the Abu Huab once more. There was no other way - trust me, we looked. Connie</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> gunned it</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, the baboons turned their heads skeptically (well, I imagine they did), and we served and skidded over the sand within 50 meters of the opposite bank. The tires spun, the car made one last pathetic wiggle. We were stuck. Again.</span></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-45407603160008158732011-05-11T15:29:00.000+03:002011-05-11T15:29:43.859+03:00Namibia: And now, pictures of pretty animals ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Namibia has some of the strangest beauty on earth and with the population of Idaho and not many visitors, you never have to share it with many people. The even have the rare distinction of a damn tasty national lager (Windhoek). It's one of my favorite places.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASHRPR2oGOJ0xHFnNFpaaI4SGdSWbKvcNgdGoHC_5693nQUiFgrfvfs6zgLLnrafeJSp9mPS-8-pqs-3SQkJu1wKe7nQrBqoLhe7IqOV2RZPchpCz9lLmdPW275Qvl1GARAqTTfSf6J8/s1600/Namibia+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASHRPR2oGOJ0xHFnNFpaaI4SGdSWbKvcNgdGoHC_5693nQUiFgrfvfs6zgLLnrafeJSp9mPS-8-pqs-3SQkJu1wKe7nQrBqoLhe7IqOV2RZPchpCz9lLmdPW275Qvl1GARAqTTfSf6J8/s400/Namibia+054.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bull elephant, Etosha National Park.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzsiuCoWcv0zAGst1i6XuWGQto-V2Ee9HZqizTAGS7G7jgG2mHB20ujUzKaa3VGiLJpSBXwoY-0ccIkykMqkL8tqL18pcmX1TwWjVQtKVDbPrsPZzweKSk54AnoYNsoPkJ0byKwQGsb0/s1600/Namibia+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmzsiuCoWcv0zAGst1i6XuWGQto-V2Ee9HZqizTAGS7G7jgG2mHB20ujUzKaa3VGiLJpSBXwoY-0ccIkykMqkL8tqL18pcmX1TwWjVQtKVDbPrsPZzweKSk54AnoYNsoPkJ0byKwQGsb0/s400/Namibia+034.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jackal in rainy season wildflowers, Etosha.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kk0WXAFOwwKS6QeXhfVg5QRcXT9Fd6JZ9_JcPpizlerYHkx31Oejx-gVmFTtbTuL65_kJxQwClalms8nR38kvZciZN05gl6fwL2KwDwSA4njpqH7ud_qU3Xl93IKq7-sSxZsHNmdu5g/s1600/Namibia+2+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kk0WXAFOwwKS6QeXhfVg5QRcXT9Fd6JZ9_JcPpizlerYHkx31Oejx-gVmFTtbTuL65_kJxQwClalms8nR38kvZciZN05gl6fwL2KwDwSA4njpqH7ud_qU3Xl93IKq7-sSxZsHNmdu5g/s400/Namibia+2+023.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cape cobra raiding a weaver's nest, just a meter off our hiking trail in Solitaire. It's one of the deadliest snakes in Africa, which is saying something.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOng4C_ix-DFA08sYILatObhSFJ97pZt4kgHkny_pU6PUEFZhCnZuPbDP5tYX7na0yMULAtMbbcGIGNAITdJJV7pv4J1RWYI5lWRMeLTIoDC75ExF5_DLXPjgFjBs4gmYNdSN84RzKiY/s1600/Namibia+2+060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOng4C_ix-DFA08sYILatObhSFJ97pZt4kgHkny_pU6PUEFZhCnZuPbDP5tYX7na0yMULAtMbbcGIGNAITdJJV7pv4J1RWYI5lWRMeLTIoDC75ExF5_DLXPjgFjBs4gmYNdSN84RzKiY/s400/Namibia+2+060.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Same, trail, different deadly animal. This little scorpion could seriously ruin your day (dead without medical attention).</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eLVSpax3g7cwAA8FXOC9O0JNA12BAEMdN1EKAWjgQmG6yNGZ2GR-f7NIBceo2tzwgwrMh2C4EMlpAh52YJyCKYROLYRJGFhYEnNwo0qnuxnz9uRxhw_-7fjEnRFu_ZuGuRCCjJVGvJY/s1600/Namibia+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eLVSpax3g7cwAA8FXOC9O0JNA12BAEMdN1EKAWjgQmG6yNGZ2GR-f7NIBceo2tzwgwrMh2C4EMlpAh52YJyCKYROLYRJGFhYEnNwo0qnuxnz9uRxhw_-7fjEnRFu_ZuGuRCCjJVGvJY/s400/Namibia+009.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ostrich taking a break, Etosha.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu6VzMOn2R0MRMxNpacsNA43Blf1pVzydu8auHQbkwbQhSCTcDg3_bllWDF2Dif-kFL9qWJSXcjV0FSor46KGIQEIstnN1r-6GBbgvT_FDpDqR_7DQfGFR0-Q9o9VCrj484c3FXMQe40/s1600/Namibia+179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu6VzMOn2R0MRMxNpacsNA43Blf1pVzydu8auHQbkwbQhSCTcDg3_bllWDF2Dif-kFL9qWJSXcjV0FSor46KGIQEIstnN1r-6GBbgvT_FDpDqR_7DQfGFR0-Q9o9VCrj484c3FXMQe40/s400/Namibia+179.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaiBKAJmP3q_srkERJdwo2kYNZHDXWS8HULImzdI4MG7MRSjQ6fM6Yl68XfZ4Ah0u92WdAsiMwtXu_9naM1eG_sA6w2E_znOG-dJ3ItyKCKX6k6GMEhZZA7D6Vm4EsQZuFpybLV90SZ0/s1600/Namibia+199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaiBKAJmP3q_srkERJdwo2kYNZHDXWS8HULImzdI4MG7MRSjQ6fM6Yl68XfZ4Ah0u92WdAsiMwtXu_9naM1eG_sA6w2E_znOG-dJ3ItyKCKX6k6GMEhZZA7D6Vm4EsQZuFpybLV90SZ0/s400/Namibia+199.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yum.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaURMWh3WnpiEhy0JE17wRuYZnei9MPMnzxuqp_IWc1htdxPbG1xQ5VecKIgXvABuVTQEm6NlGsxq-ss_fmS9WXXR_i-s44K9b4AKg5g1oAedn1y1wF-cL2noJxT-AoCvLjO-qd9hd56E/s1600/Namibia+139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaURMWh3WnpiEhy0JE17wRuYZnei9MPMnzxuqp_IWc1htdxPbG1xQ5VecKIgXvABuVTQEm6NlGsxq-ss_fmS9WXXR_i-s44K9b4AKg5g1oAedn1y1wF-cL2noJxT-AoCvLjO-qd9hd56E/s400/Namibia+139.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9lJvCo_MKOSF4Ekl65D_c_qtySbeGEVc6w2ukgXHVop0lyagPZcs8Tn2CKPSyLZHwYB7ZTMiRMDS9vw_2OCB3x2RluIhSijMipfnDb-tiRofoEFeEInq1lMSJaT2Xg_oCpNWyj5UK-4/s1600/Namibia+207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9lJvCo_MKOSF4Ekl65D_c_qtySbeGEVc6w2ukgXHVop0lyagPZcs8Tn2CKPSyLZHwYB7ZTMiRMDS9vw_2OCB3x2RluIhSijMipfnDb-tiRofoEFeEInq1lMSJaT2Xg_oCpNWyj5UK-4/s400/Namibia+207.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And they weren't kidding. We saw these rare desert elephants not far from that sign, just hanging out on the side of the road. People pay thousands of dollars to see desert elephants. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_thFoSjmOfcNbz4fN2SNUyoAQH-BA0fZLOO8isv33fgfqcMjGSOsTzJGMjBBa2rG-ELZT8RLHEQKuuXQU4OOr9u4bIkgsDDENwxd2l1PRYBkzoLlUAlOspPUSMnUHLou6OnLyHsN_XI/s1600/Namibia+2+155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_thFoSjmOfcNbz4fN2SNUyoAQH-BA0fZLOO8isv33fgfqcMjGSOsTzJGMjBBa2rG-ELZT8RLHEQKuuXQU4OOr9u4bIkgsDDENwxd2l1PRYBkzoLlUAlOspPUSMnUHLou6OnLyHsN_XI/s400/Namibia+2+155.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Sesriem canyon in the rainy season. It only floods for a few weeks, if that, every year.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_sRol2Io3KzW12PFmumMF8JAyUT3YpKjRc0YzF6Xd5QvhTVVE_s4AhrP6gDJjmLnCrqNpIbbgAs8ZkvlPYJ-l_HC9cIZNm7xhkG17HhUmNy6buM3jaDuWZ2NBMSG3_YtqUn5iBnrS8Y/s1600/Namibia+191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_sRol2Io3KzW12PFmumMF8JAyUT3YpKjRc0YzF6Xd5QvhTVVE_s4AhrP6gDJjmLnCrqNpIbbgAs8ZkvlPYJ-l_HC9cIZNm7xhkG17HhUmNy6buM3jaDuWZ2NBMSG3_YtqUn5iBnrS8Y/s400/Namibia+191.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ancient stone carvings in southern Namibia.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAi-rCJmIhLCc9CLHeZTTomSWSDh84X0zpvrwDCObYqcK_XpI0mQLoILk8B4WoEdMLX3ZfewscA89tVB3IYZrSHav5ibEA_LkXkRrxSew2Ner4WptoNoqvmpTGdZXFJU7AqW14zFD1vzg/s1600/Namibia+2+193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAi-rCJmIhLCc9CLHeZTTomSWSDh84X0zpvrwDCObYqcK_XpI0mQLoILk8B4WoEdMLX3ZfewscA89tVB3IYZrSHav5ibEA_LkXkRrxSew2Ner4WptoNoqvmpTGdZXFJU7AqW14zFD1vzg/s400/Namibia+2+193.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sossusvlei dune desert, one of the most stunning places on Earth.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4s4Pzk_FOiEzjc3fp_Oteqw2fkTjQoAeq1QLKIat9-GS8gQK6eR9DjcpRx4C0p_Jyfipc7AQwOSnSJL1WThYSeLJbKDkmQqZONb31RihyphenhyphenmOwuNOvf7a328qodvKciWj5eQBRSlm8GxR4/s1600/Namibia+2+178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4s4Pzk_FOiEzjc3fp_Oteqw2fkTjQoAeq1QLKIat9-GS8gQK6eR9DjcpRx4C0p_Jyfipc7AQwOSnSJL1WThYSeLJbKDkmQqZONb31RihyphenhyphenmOwuNOvf7a328qodvKciWj5eQBRSlm8GxR4/s400/Namibia+2+178.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And again.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJOb-1zcL-0fNqQHMFZmi5EcY-65Y-vHWnGY3LPkiDGHqoZClxLJEKzJLXreNPvmGZ8B5b1VsVU4jWA-g-Fafurr4xFhgnjZ7IT89OafbC6L8o2jB82Oin3wLO3g31xIyQxvuOWA468o/s1600/Namibia+2+172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJOb-1zcL-0fNqQHMFZmi5EcY-65Y-vHWnGY3LPkiDGHqoZClxLJEKzJLXreNPvmGZ8B5b1VsVU4jWA-g-Fafurr4xFhgnjZ7IT89OafbC6L8o2jB82Oin3wLO3g31xIyQxvuOWA468o/s400/Namibia+2+172.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And one more time.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlc8Yh_1MCz6trlSzH9pk7qvQZ1A56U5h0iLfPsaE2QIVb7xIIbjkLxq_hPpjapmLn30jeNUtb40p9utYoPlyQFnAMiIjBPIf4HjFwW4HjOT56IiHLLj1xhPQ3Px_Ug0kIX1i9J58LEI8/s1600/Namibia+2+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlc8Yh_1MCz6trlSzH9pk7qvQZ1A56U5h0iLfPsaE2QIVb7xIIbjkLxq_hPpjapmLn30jeNUtb40p9utYoPlyQFnAMiIjBPIf4HjFwW4HjOT56IiHLLj1xhPQ3Px_Ug0kIX1i9J58LEI8/s400/Namibia+2+062.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Thunderstorm, Solitaire.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsBvqZyfvfYZT7zlNUDIMjoNyowqh5q5vZRlJH9fbDG1qzAZ3IjOvAbiiyG7yv1eO46wXpDH5rvbwCci3_DgOS3wl-WluC-RioH6NyXLpD1js-i684y0oGBIPdVD_NF8t5Adpyky_RU4/s1600/Namibia+240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsBvqZyfvfYZT7zlNUDIMjoNyowqh5q5vZRlJH9fbDG1qzAZ3IjOvAbiiyG7yv1eO46wXpDH5rvbwCci3_DgOS3wl-WluC-RioH6NyXLpD1js-i684y0oGBIPdVD_NF8t5Adpyky_RU4/s400/Namibia+240.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Skeleton Coast National Park.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSsYJ1byzUJGg0BaEworyodEvAKp41YhR-fBAZC60yzNgzlQ1zVK1HH4CtUpZmfZZl-gKr_JyP4ovOlU5ia_LnBXth1Vlify9WkJyUfP68piXCSpzu0g2hk56t9RpB5OHK7yH9ctqVUE/s1600/Namibia+274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSsYJ1byzUJGg0BaEworyodEvAKp41YhR-fBAZC60yzNgzlQ1zVK1HH4CtUpZmfZZl-gKr_JyP4ovOlU5ia_LnBXth1Vlify9WkJyUfP68piXCSpzu0g2hk56t9RpB5OHK7yH9ctqVUE/s400/Namibia+274.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Shipwreck, Skeleton Coast.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSpA0tm3fVdBVwD92Ntl_c-FjzhsxDdWaBWluIwgN5X4kGRZYfQm2x0cYCiAbwzNblm5Xhhgc7bQIbeOHVQzu5RQos8KJWZ7LHiR_beQ4-BhEtG24ruMjPZam80Sw8Trke974TXXKpmM/s1600/Namibia+257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSpA0tm3fVdBVwD92Ntl_c-FjzhsxDdWaBWluIwgN5X4kGRZYfQm2x0cYCiAbwzNblm5Xhhgc7bQIbeOHVQzu5RQos8KJWZ7LHiR_beQ4-BhEtG24ruMjPZam80Sw8Trke974TXXKpmM/s400/Namibia+257.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Wrecked oil rig, Skeleton Coast.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc6CpL75sLMDzyHYZB-zwhCtSb11KqTLbw_INnaLXZNNhoG0tyoSoV9F_68gNsLyqmmLNB6i6OlcQkJY8606k1Y6hBYBaU2o69pbG7G6iA5CL_4rgkFYO4v4nvJKaqifGLJJcpnCm5qA/s1600/Namibia+2+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc6CpL75sLMDzyHYZB-zwhCtSb11KqTLbw_INnaLXZNNhoG0tyoSoV9F_68gNsLyqmmLNB6i6OlcQkJY8606k1Y6hBYBaU2o69pbG7G6iA5CL_4rgkFYO4v4nvJKaqifGLJJcpnCm5qA/s400/Namibia+2+001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> More rainy season beauty. This river usually flows once a year and that green won't last more than a few weeks.</div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-33146315911545411682011-05-02T14:06:00.000+03:002011-05-02T14:06:23.201+03:00The ugali truth: food diaries vol. I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkZ04AG2ODLw1mHZITJoJFCgsqUu8zkjw4r539rxr7yyXzktNQAVlrczJDqqsEQgpGdVEv3wd4xCEFasBLVCXIpXXttmswGCKfaUkFsM7W5pWW-H9abdNzKFlOQNBwh3LI04ifLBVGPM/s1600/Malawi+MV+Ilala+246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkZ04AG2ODLw1mHZITJoJFCgsqUu8zkjw4r539rxr7yyXzktNQAVlrczJDqqsEQgpGdVEv3wd4xCEFasBLVCXIpXXttmswGCKfaUkFsM7W5pWW-H9abdNzKFlOQNBwh3LI04ifLBVGPM/s320/Malawi+MV+Ilala+246.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Editor's note: I've gone far too long without a food-specific post - an embarrassing ommission.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s thick, white, grainy, and though locals claim it should have no taste – prepare for a snicker if you dare salt it – but it is the defining food of Southern Africa. Ugali, nsima, nshima, pap, papa, wusa – it all means a sticky glop of cheap calories in the form of corn porridge.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a way, one of the liberating aspects of traveling in much of southern Africa is that there’s no gourmet food traditions (a major exception being Zanzibar) and therefore no pressure to seek out the regions great delicacies.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The preeminent regional board game, bao, is entirely about finding food to survive. It’s even played with seeds. When you make a good move and steal your opponent’s seeds, it’s called “finding something to eat.” When you can’t make a move, “you have nothing to eat.” (It’s also often played for money and cheating is not tolerated. If you’re opponent catches you may be the victim of “having no teeth left with which to eat.”) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ugali (Swahili) is survival food. Corn is a quick, dirt cheap crop to grow, and from the Rift Valley in Tanzania to Cape Town, you will find miles and miles of the stuff planted on every marginally fertile piece of land. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The porridge is often served with a bit of stewed or curried meat and sometimes a few vegetables (my favorite being salty pumpkin greens), but the bulk of the calories come from the corn and a lot of poor people must make do with just ugali for more meals than is healthy. Even in Mozambique, with its Portuguese cooking flair, the perfectly crisped side-of-the-road whole chickens are served with a liberal dollop of wusa.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I grew up with pap (what South Africans call it) and always loved it as grainier, heartier alternative to mashed potatoes and a great side to grilled meats. Apparently I learned improper pap etiquette, though, enjoying it with a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of salt and butter. When I did this in a local restaurant in the tiny lakeside town of Monkey Bay, Malawi, a Malawian in the restaurant laughed and schooled me in the ways of nsima (the Malawian name).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s not supposed to taste like anything,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you’re lucky enough to have some accoutrements to your starch, the nsima is there to soak up the flavors, which it does quite effectively. Papa (Botswana) is a no-silverware affair. Despite the fact that it’s served scorching hot, you are supposed to dig in fingers first. You didn’t need those fingerprints, anyway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Scoop out half a fistful, use your thumb to dimple the bottom and scoop up that fatty morsel of beef you had your eye on. Enjoy, and keep telling yourself it’s beef.</span></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-51571390703840375522011-05-02T13:50:00.000+03:002011-05-02T13:50:26.156+03:00The Tau of Zimbabwe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kt0FOoIpdEQuSTWjFDmOJaYfX1InJRtOySLQ7lMsSl9sS9P5axbzREh4LKOqoflY6VH6_VbKlXosa1B2ebcz7Ln5o-8_mNSIt2w9sbSD-x5TwQLfpz-Hv8beNgWTjkAA0SgWlPg5aRo/s1600/Okavango+099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kt0FOoIpdEQuSTWjFDmOJaYfX1InJRtOySLQ7lMsSl9sS9P5axbzREh4LKOqoflY6VH6_VbKlXosa1B2ebcz7Ln5o-8_mNSIt2w9sbSD-x5TwQLfpz-Hv8beNgWTjkAA0SgWlPg5aRo/s400/Okavango+099.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Random hitch-hiking pic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">SIHETHWE, Botswana – This trip did not include Zimbabwe. A virtual coin-toss decided that we would transit through Zambia instead and stop on that country’s side of Victoria Falls. Zimbabwe, though, famous recently for its multi-trillion-dollar notes and political violence, has followed us throughout this journey. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems that every other bus ride my neighbor is part of the growing diaspora of educated Zimbabweans who have fled the country in the past decade as economic conditions have deteriorated and along with political freedom.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I met one of these exiles on a hot dry day that started bleakly in Maun, Botswana with the announcement that the only bus to our destination had been mysteriously canceled. Connie and I instead took another bus to what we were promised was an ideal destination for hitch-hiking - we had 500 miles to go to reach Windhoek, Namibia, so it was a crucial gamble.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An hour later we got off at a place reputed to be a town, but which appeared to be little more than a snack stand, a collection of noisy, traffic-dodging goats, and a few slothful cows hogging the precious shade under the acacia trees. Sihethwe was notable one thing: a distinct lack of traffic.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Car after car drove down the shimmering, sun-drenched highway only to turn at the last minute down a road that must have gone to some Valhalla vastly superior to Windhoek, where a cool sea breeze gently tickled the lucky traveler’s feet and the Windhoek Lager never ran out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked at the crowd of hopefuls waiting patiently for a ride. There were about 15 of us and I wondered how many days it would be until the snack stand ran out of food. Then, a van approached in the distance. It passed up the first turn, then the second; now, it just had to pass Endless Windhoek Lager Road and we might get a ride – if we could duke it out with the other hopefuls. Improbably, the van pulled up and, even more improbably, it was empty, but there weren’t 15 seats and it was no time to be timid, so Connie and I jostled our way on. One poor bastard was left on the side of the road. He may still be there.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our luck continued when we found out the bus would go all the way to the Namibian border and became ridiculous when every passenger save Connie, myself, and a bespectacled fellow in the back exited halfway to the border. We stretched out, relaxed, dug into some side of the road stop nshima* and chicken, and watched the Botswanan bush fly by at 90 mph.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I introduced myself to our fellow rider and we didn’t stop talking for the next 400 miles –<strong> </strong>all the way from northern Botswana to Windhoek<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">. </b>His name is Tau,**which he says means “talkative” in his native Shona, and his parents had some sixth sense when naming him. Tau has a professorial look, talks a mile a minute and has lots to say about his native Zimbabwe, which he fled in the mid-2000s. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He had just returned from a trip to Harare, where he was rewarded for his three-day overland journey from Namibia (his current home) by having to pay a $200 bribe to renew his passport. On the bright side, he doesn’t have to repeat the exercise for another ten years – “A lifetime, especially in this time of HIV,” as Tau put it wryly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once a booming crop exporter with an education system that was the envy of Africa, Zimbabwe, as has been exhaustively reported, has taken a nose dive in the past decades, as invasions of White-owned farms have mutilated the agricultural sector and political violence directed at the opposition MDC party and its supporters has turned the country into an international embarrassment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Inflation got so bad at one point, that people had to bring wheelbarrows of cash to the grocery store as prices rose by the hour and the mint had to print a 100 trillion dollar note – the largest denomination in the history of money (now for sale as a souvenir on both sides of Vic Falls).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Zimbabwe has since dumped its currency for U.S. dollars and, by most accounts, is slightly less disastrous than before, though still far from functional.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All the Zimbabweans I spoke with have issues with the ruling ZANU-PF party and leader Robert Mugabe, an erstwhile liberation hero turned international pariah, but the bottom line in their decision to leave is always the same: no jobs, no money. None of them had any looming plans to return.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tau, who has a university degree, has managed ok in his self-imposed exile, teaching in Namibia and supporting his family, albeit in a cramped house in a rough neighborhood. Others are not so lucky and tales abound of college-educated Zimbabweans working as housekeepers and guards.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tau bemoaned the corruption that has metasticized in his country, leading to a hustler economy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Even if you ask directions, they want a dollar.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those with street smarts can manage, but many honest people suffer, Tau said. If Tau had not figured out who to bribe and with how much, he would have been made to wait months for his passport and may have lost his job in the meantime.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“If you follow the rules, you won’t survive.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Botswana-Namibia border was the van’s last stop and so Connie, Tau, and I were back to hitchhiking. Soon I saw the perfect ride pull up – a large SUV whose sole occupant was the driver, a burly, bearded Afrikaner. I made a terribly unfair judgment – I thought having a black man with us would prove an issue. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Connie went to do the talking – let’s face it, it’s much harder to say no to her – and, not for the first time this trip, one of my snap judgments made me look the fool. Stephen, a safari guide and fourth-generation Botswanan whose ancestors fled British oppression in South Africa, took us with little hesitation, took us all the way to Windhoek and refused our money (even dropped Connie and I at our hostel).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Along the way we talked more about the demise of Zimbabwe - “He is like a child who does not want to give up his toy,” Tau said of Mugabe, though he’s not convinced even the death of the 87-year-old ruler will be enough to turn the country around. We discussed the various quarrels, past and present, some quite bloody, between Southern Africans both black and white, as Stephen chain-smoked cheap, Stuyvesant cigarettes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Everyone fights each other. No one is clean,” Stephen said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We puzzled over how to stem deep-seated corruption that is ravaging southern African states, horrific poverty, and ultra-violent crime (Stephen is terrified of his ancestral homeland, South Africa) which makes most African cities no-man’s lands after dark. Of course we came to no conclusions before changing to the cheerier subject of the bush and African wildlife. One thing Stephen said about lions rang a bit too true for many human predators in Africa.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“If you walk at night, they will eat you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">*The ubiquitous corn meal peasant grub of Southern Africa.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">**First name only and no photo or detailed description of what he does, due to ongoing political intimidation in Zimbabwe.</span></div></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-39946521898713007732011-04-15T18:59:00.000+03:002011-04-15T18:59:44.956+03:00Death in the Delta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYj7PORFqYn7H4nUsd45gkIk5Fhfp1CpDJ5lkUrL4BEHt2ToyO-Nv7QSHtKctmHL9TgjUoondgfN7kPkfw6gPFCicAQsuNuQmPx-gV6vQ99Xh62ax0_wuk-Ew80bdBGe3bUEdF3_dJgk/s1600/Okavango+158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYj7PORFqYn7H4nUsd45gkIk5Fhfp1CpDJ5lkUrL4BEHt2ToyO-Nv7QSHtKctmHL9TgjUoondgfN7kPkfw6gPFCicAQsuNuQmPx-gV6vQ99Xh62ax0_wuk-Ew80bdBGe3bUEdF3_dJgk/s400/Okavango+158.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IAqpqEkhS11nHoYjrMFFSkL1iETKHmYIhtb9kBBmdpLd12qCXb_eeaGUnVQXfwzHNBaPx4uSHtdq6suvjJ0BQoEjnHsFnHhnzibAw4C9l94nBT8tpj-y-HtSHqR56wZXD64faq4uVhI/s1600/Okavango+168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1IAqpqEkhS11nHoYjrMFFSkL1iETKHmYIhtb9kBBmdpLd12qCXb_eeaGUnVQXfwzHNBaPx4uSHtdq6suvjJ0BQoEjnHsFnHhnzibAw4C9l94nBT8tpj-y-HtSHqR56wZXD64faq4uVhI/s400/Okavango+168.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our delta camp...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit77HnaS2GJhAsSvGH-FLHQJrgRpaLXC1uRokeOnrDt2j-G0YuwsjmKEfOPDWdfHGzCMkLn-3R8I6WGrpym4GEnX9PDCU_ZqPiBjiM6IGI-qsOvO4Ov7dkAwtZ5hIGwzEXsh2Ljny1vCA/s1600/Okavango+191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit77HnaS2GJhAsSvGH-FLHQJrgRpaLXC1uRokeOnrDt2j-G0YuwsjmKEfOPDWdfHGzCMkLn-3R8I6WGrpym4GEnX9PDCU_ZqPiBjiM6IGI-qsOvO4Ov7dkAwtZ5hIGwzEXsh2Ljny1vCA/s400/Okavango+191.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...and the leopard tracks nearby.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy-NlhdPT23hfSmrCoYNUP5rB4ysSOS1fyUR-HpJqk7NSNTmx3CdhLF3GzWmPFGELRx-4HA6_fJwBb4DlG3L5cv2jfcgyDmYjtbhJ_9f96GNkuJo1h8H3APjtCrT0INQF-A3JjkQt8BM/s1600/Okavango+189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy-NlhdPT23hfSmrCoYNUP5rB4ysSOS1fyUR-HpJqk7NSNTmx3CdhLF3GzWmPFGELRx-4HA6_fJwBb4DlG3L5cv2jfcgyDmYjtbhJ_9f96GNkuJo1h8H3APjtCrT0INQF-A3JjkQt8BM/s400/Okavango+189.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Also, hippo tracks.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTFBD0H40mq_2gYuJNH8PCTLLxAHNcHfpUxCZkD5YqcZdvBaJsvtxGulgCmGMcsVhT3EEnCQ4H3X0a8DfUE2SpbsjEix8TVLyVRVEZEEWjEE-rMTGWCFEXGyv8LRrOyuFFcBDwgOIfx4/s1600/Okavango+190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTFBD0H40mq_2gYuJNH8PCTLLxAHNcHfpUxCZkD5YqcZdvBaJsvtxGulgCmGMcsVhT3EEnCQ4H3X0a8DfUE2SpbsjEix8TVLyVRVEZEEWjEE-rMTGWCFEXGyv8LRrOyuFFcBDwgOIfx4/s400/Okavango+190.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our trail through the delta. We never saw lions, but we heard them at night. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOk1zGt8lY3chJecgZOZ6C4D-wtWKdCsW1Nmlx6iBCm0Q6QjBy2OlwhQphYOXNbwEMMY3i4hOJVemDSPVrGYcQ7m53l0a-3Z70e7xlo0Iz_GSb-MF5kqRKWBZ0JBuXAGj3ye7Wbffi7f0/s1600/Okavango+223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOk1zGt8lY3chJecgZOZ6C4D-wtWKdCsW1Nmlx6iBCm0Q6QjBy2OlwhQphYOXNbwEMMY3i4hOJVemDSPVrGYcQ7m53l0a-3Z70e7xlo0Iz_GSb-MF5kqRKWBZ0JBuXAGj3ye7Wbffi7f0/s400/Okavango+223.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chibuku break in Boro Village.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_ZG4FELVhPVE8d9TYPPy_YRvrAxAD5v7H_-f_m8QlSYXfyOOtvLFLpPj8u_yJGtWZZOo4QprxSnShJcR177oMb7pgYsKJMmz3mr29mDU2OGktfzuYGxLHHDGlj5CG9-9Wy1L0KxRLnw/s1600/Okavango+250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_ZG4FELVhPVE8d9TYPPy_YRvrAxAD5v7H_-f_m8QlSYXfyOOtvLFLpPj8u_yJGtWZZOo4QprxSnShJcR177oMb7pgYsKJMmz3mr29mDU2OGktfzuYGxLHHDGlj5CG9-9Wy1L0KxRLnw/s400/Okavango+250.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbECsedV9QnDR0tNfi0wYgy0FdgBXc1RQaqSOXsUC4nA1-J3YMWT2dBCwICiroW1y_7jGbZCwcVRkg4LDO-IfINctSQTjLEgmD7I0FqzgNl2FEXl1kHFG7GWPX0fYZXwIk8ZI62EKyH2E/s1600/Okavango+265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbECsedV9QnDR0tNfi0wYgy0FdgBXc1RQaqSOXsUC4nA1-J3YMWT2dBCwICiroW1y_7jGbZCwcVRkg4LDO-IfINctSQTjLEgmD7I0FqzgNl2FEXl1kHFG7GWPX0fYZXwIk8ZI62EKyH2E/s400/Okavango+265.JPG" width="372" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mushrooms growning out of elephant dung. Every turd is a little ecosystem.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>BORO VILLAGE, Botswana - The hippo became the mythical swamp monster emblem of our trip to the Okavango Delta by dugout canoe. Its heavy, four-toed imprint crisscrossed our campsite on arrival and we were warned sternly to steer clear perpetually smiling, obese water horses whenever they lumber onto shore.<br />
<br />
When the clear cool delta night descended on our bush camp (population: 3), the tell-tale crash of brush and almost feline growls sounded just steps away from our flimsy tent (and, as the spoor showed the next day, they were).<br />
<br />
The hippopotamus is infamous in Africa as the deadliest beast this side of the mosquito. Its roly poly dimensions belie a dangerous aggression in the water and, when grazing on land, a need to trample anything and everything between it and the water.<br />
<br />
Upon heading off to camp rough in the delta, the territory of lions, leopards and hyenas, all we heard were the hippo warnings.<br />
<br />
These horror stories proved to be true just two days before we set out on the delta: two men drowned after their canoe was capsized by a hippo, not far from our riverside hostel.<br />
<br />
But despite the warnings, our proximity to the animals, and the clear evidence of their fondness for our camp we still hadn't caught sight of a hippo nearing the end of our three day journey into the delta.<br />
<br />
For the first two days they lurked, they foraged, and they grunted, but they never appeared. <br />
<br />
I started imagining a b-list Jaws knock-off starring Lou Diamond Phillips - 'Hippo! Death in the Delta.'<br />
<br />
This hippo paranoia (Could they be under the canoe, waiting to tip us?) was made worse by my unfortunate decision to buy our guide, Martin, a Chibuku (the ubiquitous, dangerously cheap fermented sorghum beer of southern Africa). It seems Martin had more of a taste for the sauce than I realized and instead of just stopping at one Chibuku, he took my offer as license to drink on the job as much as he wanted. I even caught him singing, 'Shake, shake, Chibuku,' (the drink's motto) while he made the campfire.<br />
<br />
On the plus side, we got to tour his village on our Chibuku run, meet his family, and get bitten by the Boro Village ants (an important cultural experience). The downside was that our guide/poler/protector-from-wild-beasts was from time to time pushing us through croc- and hippo-filled waters with a fresh liter of swill in his belly.<br />
<br />
I finally had to draw the line and cut off the booze during the day-time, when we headed away from the camp. He seemed disappointed.<br />
<br />
One night, Martin came back from a fishing expedition with five wriggling tilapia and an excited look on his face.<br />
<br />
"There are hippos in the hippo pools. Do you want to see?" (Hippos in the hippo pools seems a no-brainer, but we had passed through three times already and seen nothing but lilly pads).<br />
<br />
"Is it safe," I asked.<br />
<br />
"Exactly," Martin replied.<br />
<br />
Martin had a funny way of using "exactly" as a catch-all response. It meant 'yes,' 'good,' 'sort of' and, most confusingly, 'exactly.'<br />
<br />
A converstaion would go something like this:<br />
<br />
'Has tourism been good for your village?'<br />
<br />
'Exactly.'<br />
<br />
'But I see a lot of people drinking Chibuku in the morning.'<br />
<br />
'Exactly.'<br />
<br />
'And how has the government taken care of your people, in terms of drinking water, medical care, that sort of thing?'<br />
<br />
'Exactly.'<br />
<br />
'And how many people live in Boro Village?'<br />
<br />
'600.'<br />
<br />
'Exactly?'<br />
<br />
'Exactly.'<br />
<br />
I took this most recent, hippo-related 'exactly' to mean, 'Well, you're in a dugout canoe in the water with angry one-ton animals, pal, so I can't exactly guarantee anything but, at the same time, I'm not risking my life so a couple of sunburned tourists can tell their friends they canoed with hippos. So are you getting in or not?'<br />
<br />
So, under darkening rainy season clouds, we coasted through the water to a wide expanse of water lilies cut out of the reed-choked swamp prairie. As Martin poled us through the open water in our wobbly vessel, I got the same unsettling feeling I get in the ocean – something is beneath me and, because I can’t see it, it is very large.<br />
<br />
At first we saw nothing. We scanned the water for any sign – a twitching ear, a barely visible pair of eyes – but nothing. I was okay with this, as by this time I had gone over and over in my head the unpleasantness of a hippo-caused death. The gnashing of massive teeth, the water filling the lungs, the awesome story I would not live to tell.<br />
<br />
Then,100 meters away, a mighty spray, like a whale surfacing, but still actual hippo. I was getting a little nervous.<br />
<br />
“Do they see us, Martin?”<br />
<br />
“Exactly.”<br />
<br />
So Martin did exactly what I didn’t want him to do. He pounded the water with his pole to agitate them enough to surface.<br />
<br />
A massive set of jaws came out of the water, then nearby a set of eyes, the two beasts grunted, blew anther cloud of vapor skywards, and sunk back into the depths.<br />
<br />
Swamp monster spotted, get the hell back to camp.Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-85068467128871551522011-04-10T23:48:00.000+03:002011-04-10T23:48:17.647+03:00A hitch in our plans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLs3iCU9HJIGPF7Qfm0x3-lvgsJLSev7Wko5VH9SAEfE16W5tNofZ9jG_ekzK4I2GkogDXCnKzXgcHD1Pc6iSIawRupSdYQVY2JxkqKmDmQXEUTbC0JLfdhxclDZuBcRRcR6c-XZMRt0/s1600/Okavango+079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLs3iCU9HJIGPF7Qfm0x3-lvgsJLSev7Wko5VH9SAEfE16W5tNofZ9jG_ekzK4I2GkogDXCnKzXgcHD1Pc6iSIawRupSdYQVY2JxkqKmDmQXEUTbC0JLfdhxclDZuBcRRcR6c-XZMRt0/s400/Okavango+079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They weren't kidding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZket9cSUa_Fq7jRN_qr-BUXt40QzNp-RoQ3jyRujyNdfx7s_0JklssN671SGgRuULTA5GhO1oB_HSgi1StQ3R73DUlxglLLDkF4FZUMwaOYYZN_L2898IjF5h4ImDz2zyTodftRtEHw/s1600/Okavango+087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZket9cSUa_Fq7jRN_qr-BUXt40QzNp-RoQ3jyRujyNdfx7s_0JklssN671SGgRuULTA5GhO1oB_HSgi1StQ3R73DUlxglLLDkF4FZUMwaOYYZN_L2898IjF5h4ImDz2zyTodftRtEHw/s400/Okavango+087.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJLYLj170JbMyUo7UDdz4feUgGH0cFerQnk_0wAag5YZd3bFli4UPWhIbLWzVqJ9Au1427NJVEolVDpPqBolvj89LXyR1CkE5E1aruGL-xwqEOf4QbBdbJq_qRDUKLXYgrYwyo30a47U/s1600/Okavango+094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJLYLj170JbMyUo7UDdz4feUgGH0cFerQnk_0wAag5YZd3bFli4UPWhIbLWzVqJ9Au1427NJVEolVDpPqBolvj89LXyR1CkE5E1aruGL-xwqEOf4QbBdbJq_qRDUKLXYgrYwyo30a47U/s400/Okavango+094.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We skipped this ride. Must be getting soft.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxFtMIqZaRZ1uOUZAhcNI3rjqN-QzsDaxX3-za15oSM7gC7vpg-JyWT5BhqdoBuNpnV0frWdn0eaYuubURsWZddehJns_thXAEaoLZDNv6e2xJO2Pv3eg7EhW7D6tN-9gV8cwvaFTB8Y/s1600/Okavango+077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxFtMIqZaRZ1uOUZAhcNI3rjqN-QzsDaxX3-za15oSM7gC7vpg-JyWT5BhqdoBuNpnV0frWdn0eaYuubURsWZddehJns_thXAEaoLZDNv6e2xJO2Pv3eg7EhW7D6tN-9gV8cwvaFTB8Y/s400/Okavango+077.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Smugglers of some sort racing away from the ferry from Zambia to Botswana after throwing their jerry cans onboard without paying.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">KAZUNGULA BORDER POST, Botswana – Much of Botswana is one long, lonely road cut through an endless expanse of flat, unpeopled scrub land, where elephants outnumber cars and potholes outnumber people. Distances are vast, towns are few, and the dusty earth shimmers in the mean afternoon sun.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In other words, a bad place to be without a ride.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After crossing the Zambezi River from Zambia on a rickety pontoon ferry, we found out we had missed the last (only) bus out of the frontier. We still had about 650 km to go, so it was time to stick our thumbs out and escape the heat. It didn’t take long before two construction workers picked us up. Hitchhiking, or ‘hiking,’ as everyone in Southern Africa calls it, is so common there’s a nearly formalized system in Botswana.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only stops we made for the next 300 km were for elephants, who would nonchalantly saunter out of the bush, loiter in the road, and slowly shove off. We were dropped at the ‘town’ of Nata, essentially a gas station, Chibuku bar, and a herd of cows at northern Botswana’s main road junction and 30 minutes later were in the cab of a soda truck, rocking out to South African pop two truckers were blasting to stay awake after a brutally long day on the road.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At sunset we arrived in Maun, at the edge of the Okavango Delta. Two rides, 650 km - our drivers even stopped to let us gape at the elephants.</span></div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4495084334298789221.post-61886769846806026752011-04-07T23:41:00.002+03:002011-04-07T23:43:41.874+03:00The tally 2<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"></span></strong></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh809RJVRI-hYVVCF8WISawScs525WykADAWVevc6yqMvohYkDlFpqYEPY13aGviqHY7-t-WMvtCFTNrYDgC1XUNl9XS0TKjMfcy3o3xD3YaZpXqQCITLO5sCHzCYUnHX8okFybKfm3IfI/s1600/Okavango+197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh809RJVRI-hYVVCF8WISawScs525WykADAWVevc6yqMvohYkDlFpqYEPY13aGviqHY7-t-WMvtCFTNrYDgC1XUNl9XS0TKjMfcy3o3xD3YaZpXqQCITLO5sCHzCYUnHX8okFybKfm3IfI/s400/Okavango+197.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></strong></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Day 64. Maputo, Mozambique. Our trip by the numbers so far.</span></strong></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Miles traveled:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 6,700</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Countries visited:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 8</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Miles logged on anything other than local transport:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> rented a car in Namibia for about 1,500 km, then got back to Windhoek and took the bus to Cape Town.</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Times we high-centered the rental in the Abu Huab river bed: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">2</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Longest bus ride: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">25 hours</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Vomiting bus passengers: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">1</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Miles hitchhiked: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">900</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Modes of transport: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bus, death-trap mini-bus, shared taxi, motorcycle, ferry, train</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Angry bus church sermons:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 1</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Days at sea:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 3</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Nights in the tent:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 25</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Days on safari:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 2</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Wild animals spotted:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> lions, elephants, cape buffalo, giraffes, warthogs, impala, baboons, vervet monkeys, one dung beetle + dung, one overly friendly chameleon, and countless incredible birds, including the African fish eagle and lilac-breasted roller.</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Deadly snakes/scorpions seen on hikes: </span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">2</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Robberies:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 1</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Scams attempted:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 1</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Scams thwarted:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 1</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bribes solicited:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 1</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bribes paid:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 0</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Arrests:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 0</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Cell phones lost/broken:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> 2</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bug bites:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> lost count</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Times I have violated Aunt Goldie’s plea to avoid street food:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> more than I care to tell Goldie</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Serious intestinal problems:</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> incredibly, 0</span></strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><strong>Link to map of our journey:</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=Dar+es+salaam,+tanzania&daddr=arusha,+tanzania+to:mbeya,+tanzania+to:Nkhata+Bay,+Malawi+to:Monkey+Bay,+Malawi+to:Lilongwe,+Malawi+to:Livingstone,+Zambia+to:Maun,+Botswana+to:Windhoek,+Namibia+to:Etosha+National+Park,+Ombika,+Kunene,+Namibia+to:Swakopmund,+namibia+to:Sesriem,+Hardap,+Namibia+to:Windhoek,+Khomas,+Namibia+to:cape+town,+south+africa+to:Durban,+KwaZulu-Natal,+South+Africa+to:Swaziland+to:Maputo,+Maputo+City,+Mozambique&hl=en&geocode=Fffjl_8dHTVXAinx1psWrktcGDHdoYagJmsPlA%3BFWOkzP8dkpsvAilBGd3Lihw3GDGKgznyBUH_Ng%3BFWAyeP8dEGj-ASnNmRNxHqAAGTGlIx91P_USQA%3BFZjiTv8diEcLAilvyhKV-GgdGTHhgM_CNlr0bQ%3BFfsaKf8dO8kUAikzoI00KLzfGDFY-Nm0p-4hiA%3BFZuhKv8dJX4DAikFmCn8H9MhGTH5P6Agn-u3BA%3BFUmD7_4dkpGKASlvNVhZm_BPGTFqKDfWpxQiSA%3BFcfpzv4dIFZlASmZAghMBU1UGTFLL4LtJcF8rQ%3BFUjHp_4dcagEASntAQyzXBsLHDE7XUTMQEm45A%3BFYkK2f4d2TrzACmJ8zPM2A2NGzGBwLkyVPdHiw%3BFUsFpv4dYK3dACmP10QL71h2HDFMPDjDOwSe3g%3BFdZciv4dOBvxAClNUR84iopyHDGJTOfB_Q4fAw%3BFUjHp_4dcagEASntAQyzXBsLHDE7XUTMQEm45A%3BFfxY-v0d9yAZASnX7iaID1DMHTGHqigo_OF_aA%3BFaxnOP4dfXHZASm3YbwBAKr3HjGBbqrERlWnzA%3BFXlMa_4diiHgASkHDzJH4c7oHjFpcA0YL8Y9wQ%3BFbXHc_4dpS7xASlV2ma2I5fmHjFCtGuaV39JQg&mra=ls&sll=-6.102645,36.218085&sspn=10.211651,28.081055&ie=UTF8&ll=-21.943046,16.699219&spn=28.303698,160.136719&z=3">http://www.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=Dar+es+salaam,+tanzania&daddr=arusha,+tanzania+to:mbeya,+tanzania+to:Nkhata+Bay,+Malawi+to:Monkey+Bay,+Malawi+to:Lilongwe,+Malawi+to:Livingstone,+Zambia+to:Maun,+Botswana+to:Windhoek,+Namibia+to:Etosha+National+Park,+Ombika,+Kunene,+Namibia+to:Swakopmund,+namibia+to:Sesriem,+Hardap,+Namibia+to:Windhoek,+Khomas,+Namibia+to:cape+town,+south+africa+to:Durban,+KwaZulu-Natal,+South+Africa+to:Swaziland+to:Maputo,+Maputo+City,+Mozambique&hl=en&geocode=Fffjl_8dHTVXAinx1psWrktcGDHdoYagJmsPlA%3BFWOkzP8dkpsvAilBGd3Lihw3GDGKgznyBUH_Ng%3BFWAyeP8dEGj-ASnNmRNxHqAAGTGlIx91P_USQA%3BFZjiTv8diEcLAilvyhKV-GgdGTHhgM_CNlr0bQ%3BFfsaKf8dO8kUAikzoI00KLzfGDFY-Nm0p-4hiA%3BFZuhKv8dJX4DAikFmCn8H9MhGTH5P6Agn-u3BA%3BFUmD7_4dkpGKASlvNVhZm_BPGTFqKDfWpxQiSA%3BFcfpzv4dIFZlASmZAghMBU1UGTFLL4LtJcF8rQ%3BFUjHp_4dcagEASntAQyzXBsLHDE7XUTMQEm45A%3BFYkK2f4d2TrzACmJ8zPM2A2NGzGBwLkyVPdHiw%3BFUsFpv4dYK3dACmP10QL71h2HDFMPDjDOwSe3g%3BFdZciv4dOBvxAClNUR84iopyHDGJTOfB_Q4fAw%3BFUjHp_4dcagEASntAQyzXBsLHDE7XUTMQEm45A%3BFfxY-v0d9yAZASnX7iaID1DMHTGHqigo_OF_aA%3BFaxnOP4dfXHZASm3YbwBAKr3HjGBbqrERlWnzA%3BFXlMa_4diiHgASkHDzJH4c7oHjFpcA0YL8Y9wQ%3BFbXHc_4dpS7xASlV2ma2I5fmHjFCtGuaV39JQg&mra=ls&sll=-6.102645,36.218085&sspn=10.211651,28.081055&ie=UTF8&ll=-21.943046,16.699219&spn=28.303698,160.136719&z=3</a></span></b></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Druzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13820968463718703980noreply@blogger.com1