Just started Nomad's Hotel by Cees Nooteboom, it's sort of a cerebral travel journal and I like it so far...all 15 pages or so that I've read so far.
Two quotes have resonated with me that I'd like to share. The first comes from the book's introduction, written by one Alberto Manguel "For all true travelers know that the reality of the world distracts from the reality of the world."
Doesn't it tho?
The second comes from Mr. Nooteboom himself, "...anyone who is constantly traveling is always somewhere else, and therefore always absent."
This is one I really, really have felt the last few months. Always absent, always somewhere else - for me it reflects both the excitement and sometime loneliness that comes from constant traveling (i.e. being away).
What is it with me and Dutch Travel Writers? (my favorite is J. Maarten Troost - both for his humor and for inspiring me to be a bit more adventurous in my choice of home-country)
Ah, reflective travelers; how I love to be among their ranks!
All photographs were taken by, and are copyright of, the blogger.
24 October 2009
Sandboarding Adventure!
Here in Cairo, the weather is finally turning cooler. As I sit on my balcony, the cool air, gentle breeze, and overcast sky are the perfect setting for blogging. In the backgound I hear a hammer on metal making a gentle, persisting ting-ing sound; a baby crying; and birds twittering away in the trees - a few of which still have blooms clinging to their branches.
Taking full advantage of the cooler weather, yesterday A, T, and I ventured into the Sahara for a Sandboarding Adventure organized by several local tour companies that joined-forces for one, big trip to celebrate Sandboarding being recognized as an official sport in Egypt.
The day was an early start, we met inside Costa Coffee at 6:30 am so we could get to the meeting place across town on-time. After a few starts, mis-starts, pauses, and a stop to pick up more adventurers, we got on our way to the Qattanya Desert, about 45 minutes - 1 hour West of Cairo.
Once we turned off the road and into the desert, it was clear that our bus was not going to be trekking us out to the dunes. Several sedans got stuck in the deep, soft sand that began about 100 yards off the road and were being pushed out by helpful onlookers. Instead, we were ferried another 20 minutes into the desert in Land Rovers - Land Rovers traveling at break neck speeds across the vast plains of the desert.
At last we approached the 'camp'. Large tents with
rug floors had been set-up for lounging in, Red Bull promotional materials were all over, and (eventually) even impromptu bathroom facilities were set up (holes dug in the sand with squat toilet platforms set over the holes, with tenting around them - for those of you who just NEEDED to know that).
Over 100 people had registered to attend the event and many had already trekked to the towering top of the main dune that had been chosen for the sandboarding and were making their way back down in a variety of fashions (here I mean fashions both as: way people made their way down the hill AND as mode of dress employed by the people making their way down the hill. For example, in the picture below a girl in hijab and fancy sun glasses stands on her board as she waits to be passed by a boy in a khaki explorer's hat who is sledding down head first).
Some folks clearly had experience, and were coming down the dune with expert precision, standing astride their boards, which were much like snowboards, and speeding down the hill. Others (myself included) chose to treat the sandboard more like a sled. After trekking up the hill (half-way; I'm quite out of shape), I sat down on the board, threw my arms up in the air, and uttered a primal "whoop" as I charged down the slope at a swift clip.
There were many, many wipe-outs. Most people fell at some point - and MOST without injury. Unfortunately, our birthday girl A fell hard on her shoulder. A few folk even went tumbling and rolling down the hill when they fell from their boards. I was glad I chose to just ride down the hill in a way reminiscent of riding my blanket down the steps of our rowhouse when I was a kid, and avoid all possibilities of injury.
The day was long. We were served a lovely bbq lunch of kofta (sort-of grilled Egyptian meatballs) & chicken with a variety of salads. While most people lounged and relaxed as they digested their food, we took over the near-empty hill and got a few runs in while there were no photographers (except me) or people lounging mid-hill to get in the way. After that we were so tired (it was nearing 3:30 when people started to fill the hill up again) that we simply napped and lounged on the rugs enjoying the cool breeze and beautifully shifting light.
Finally, around 5 pm, we headed back to the buses. A's seat in the Land Rover wasn't secured properly and she was bounced around like popcorn on the fire as we flew across the desert. Fortunately, she was a good sport about it and we laughed so hard that tears were springing to my eyes. In all the hullabaloo of the bouncing seat, we nearly missed the beautiful sunset over the dunes as we sped along, the sky all pink and purples (not unlike the bruises A likely sustained trying not to fly into the ceiling).
Two and a half hours later I was back in Maadi - ready for a long, long bath and a good nights' sleep. What an adventure for a Friday in Egypt.
Taking full advantage of the cooler weather, yesterday A, T, and I ventured into the Sahara for a Sandboarding Adventure organized by several local tour companies that joined-forces for one, big trip to celebrate Sandboarding being recognized as an official sport in Egypt.
The day was an early start, we met inside Costa Coffee at 6:30 am so we could get to the meeting place across town on-time. After a few starts, mis-starts, pauses, and a stop to pick up more adventurers, we got on our way to the Qattanya Desert, about 45 minutes - 1 hour West of Cairo.
Once we turned off the road and into the desert, it was clear that our bus was not going to be trekking us out to the dunes. Several sedans got stuck in the deep, soft sand that began about 100 yards off the road and were being pushed out by helpful onlookers. Instead, we were ferried another 20 minutes into the desert in Land Rovers - Land Rovers traveling at break neck speeds across the vast plains of the desert.
At last we approached the 'camp'. Large tents with
rug floors had been set-up for lounging in, Red Bull promotional materials were all over, and (eventually) even impromptu bathroom facilities were set up (holes dug in the sand with squat toilet platforms set over the holes, with tenting around them - for those of you who just NEEDED to know that).Over 100 people had registered to attend the event and many had already trekked to the towering top of the main dune that had been chosen for the sandboarding and were making their way back down in a variety of fashions (here I mean fashions both as: way people made their way down the hill AND as mode of dress employed by the people making their way down the hill. For example, in the picture below a girl in hijab and fancy sun glasses stands on her board as she waits to be passed by a boy in a khaki explorer's hat who is sledding down head first).
Some folks clearly had experience, and were coming down the dune with expert precision, standing astride their boards, which were much like snowboards, and speeding down the hill. Others (myself included) chose to treat the sandboard more like a sled. After trekking up the hill (half-way; I'm quite out of shape), I sat down on the board, threw my arms up in the air, and uttered a primal "whoop" as I charged down the slope at a swift clip.
There were many, many wipe-outs. Most people fell at some point - and MOST without injury. Unfortunately, our birthday girl A fell hard on her shoulder. A few folk even went tumbling and rolling down the hill when they fell from their boards. I was glad I chose to just ride down the hill in a way reminiscent of riding my blanket down the steps of our rowhouse when I was a kid, and avoid all possibilities of injury.
The day was long. We were served a lovely bbq lunch of kofta (sort-of grilled Egyptian meatballs) & chicken with a variety of salads. While most people lounged and relaxed as they digested their food, we took over the near-empty hill and got a few runs in while there were no photographers (except me) or people lounging mid-hill to get in the way. After that we were so tired (it was nearing 3:30 when people started to fill the hill up again) that we simply napped and lounged on the rugs enjoying the cool breeze and beautifully shifting light.
Finally, around 5 pm, we headed back to the buses. A's seat in the Land Rover wasn't secured properly and she was bounced around like popcorn on the fire as we flew across the desert. Fortunately, she was a good sport about it and we laughed so hard that tears were springing to my eyes. In all the hullabaloo of the bouncing seat, we nearly missed the beautiful sunset over the dunes as we sped along, the sky all pink and purples (not unlike the bruises A likely sustained trying not to fly into the ceiling).
Two and a half hours later I was back in Maadi - ready for a long, long bath and a good nights' sleep. What an adventure for a Friday in Egypt.
20 October 2009
Another Beautiful Evening Surprise
Through my windows, spiraling up from the street below, is the sound of joy.
Women are uulating, boys are singing, someone beats a drum and someone else plays energetic music on an accoridan while people clap in time. I imagine they are dancing.
This is likely another moving party, possibly a wedding. I love how alive my street can be - even on a weeknight.
Women are uulating, boys are singing, someone beats a drum and someone else plays energetic music on an accoridan while people clap in time. I imagine they are dancing.
This is likely another moving party, possibly a wedding. I love how alive my street can be - even on a weeknight.
06 October 2009
A Uniquely Cairene Experience
About a week ago I returned from the states to discover that my cooking gas had run out.
This was a horrible revelation. Almost exactly a year ago when I moved in to my apartment I discovered that, instead of being hooked up to "mains", I would be cooking (and heating water in the kitchen) from bottled gas.
Two large, rusty canisters stand in my kitchen. One supplies gas to my stove, the other to the hot water heater. The landlord informed me that they would last only a few months and, that when they ran out, I would have to hail down the gas guy and have them come hook it up for me.
The gas guy became known to me by his clanging on weekend mornings when clanging was not a welcome sound to be wafting through my window. I imagined it was a guy on a truck, driving slowly through the streets, clanging the cans.
I was wrong. As the year anniversary came of me moving in, I knew I would have to soon replace the cooker gas - especially as I've become more and more adventurous in my culinary quests. Finally, one morning as I drank my tea on the balcony, I saw the gas man go by...on a cart pulled by a donkey. Fortunately, by this time, I was quite accustomed to seeing the donkey carts and horse carts in my neighborhood, so not too much of a shock.
A few days ago, my friend who was visiting from the states alerted me to the clanging - it's TIME! Unfortunately, the clanging came on a morning that followed a late late night and by the time I'd gotten myself together, I had missed the cart. The next morning - ANOTHER CHANCE! - but no donkey cart?? Instead, a single man rode a bicycle with about 4 canisters attached to it. The canisters looked very different from mine, so I let him pass.
This morning, I got up and showered and prepared for the gas man (it is a national holiday and my plan to sleep in hadn't really panned out). I was a bit worried, because I didn't have much small change lying around the house - just like every other resident of Cairo; but I would not be thwarted! I ran downstairs and flagged down two men pushing a bicycle laden with EIGHT! canisters! (sidebar: the arabic word for 8 is tamanya)
The guy came upstairs and replaced the cooker gas quickly and then asked for something...I didn't know this Arabic word, but I knew the motion he was making - he wanted a match.
I had heard several people joke that they had heard the gas men check if there is a leak by lighting a match at the connector. I had no idea it was true. I handed the guy the matches and scurried to the rear of the apartment - just in case.
I came back and all was well, he stored the canister under the sink where it belongs, helped me get the stove working again, and took my old canister away. The total cost of this service, including the cooking gas, was $3.64. The gas should last me at least 6 months, even with all the cooking I do now.
And I've gotten a uniquely Cairene experience out of the deal.
This was a horrible revelation. Almost exactly a year ago when I moved in to my apartment I discovered that, instead of being hooked up to "mains", I would be cooking (and heating water in the kitchen) from bottled gas.
Two large, rusty canisters stand in my kitchen. One supplies gas to my stove, the other to the hot water heater. The landlord informed me that they would last only a few months and, that when they ran out, I would have to hail down the gas guy and have them come hook it up for me.
The gas guy became known to me by his clanging on weekend mornings when clanging was not a welcome sound to be wafting through my window. I imagined it was a guy on a truck, driving slowly through the streets, clanging the cans.
I was wrong. As the year anniversary came of me moving in, I knew I would have to soon replace the cooker gas - especially as I've become more and more adventurous in my culinary quests. Finally, one morning as I drank my tea on the balcony, I saw the gas man go by...on a cart pulled by a donkey. Fortunately, by this time, I was quite accustomed to seeing the donkey carts and horse carts in my neighborhood, so not too much of a shock.
A few days ago, my friend who was visiting from the states alerted me to the clanging - it's TIME! Unfortunately, the clanging came on a morning that followed a late late night and by the time I'd gotten myself together, I had missed the cart. The next morning - ANOTHER CHANCE! - but no donkey cart?? Instead, a single man rode a bicycle with about 4 canisters attached to it. The canisters looked very different from mine, so I let him pass.
This morning, I got up and showered and prepared for the gas man (it is a national holiday and my plan to sleep in hadn't really panned out). I was a bit worried, because I didn't have much small change lying around the house - just like every other resident of Cairo; but I would not be thwarted! I ran downstairs and flagged down two men pushing a bicycle laden with EIGHT! canisters! (sidebar: the arabic word for 8 is tamanya)
The guy came upstairs and replaced the cooker gas quickly and then asked for something...I didn't know this Arabic word, but I knew the motion he was making - he wanted a match.
I had heard several people joke that they had heard the gas men check if there is a leak by lighting a match at the connector. I had no idea it was true. I handed the guy the matches and scurried to the rear of the apartment - just in case.
I came back and all was well, he stored the canister under the sink where it belongs, helped me get the stove working again, and took my old canister away. The total cost of this service, including the cooking gas, was $3.64. The gas should last me at least 6 months, even with all the cooking I do now.
And I've gotten a uniquely Cairene experience out of the deal.
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