No way to express, how sweet it is, but to know what it is real, that you can feel!

Give Thanks ;-))

Finally

What can I say, I've been here for nine days and taken four pictures. There is just too much to do, eat, drink, watch, listen, and celebrate. I feel too much at home to be a tourist. It's like California, Italy and Pakistan all wrapped in one bizarre geo-cultural cobb salad and I really don't what to make of it quite yet. I can say one thing for sure though; never ever in my short little life have I met or even considered the possibility of an entire country composed of such outrageously generous fun loving people. Who knows where it'll go from here, but I'll let you know as soon as I find out God. Thanks, Sam

Power of Petra (not a registered trademark)

A major rewind shall be difficult at this point, but if I didn’t briefly mention my experience in the ancient sandstone city of Petra, I would certainly be opening up a great void in my travelogue universe.

After spending those five intensely “influential” days in Rum, it was difficult to fathom leaving for a similar desert environment that I knew would be swarming with tourists. During that last evening in Rum at Mohammed’s camp, as we sat around digesting, discussing, and drinking good Israeli vino, I expressed my reluctance about dealing with the hassles of yet another major tourist site. Eighth wonder of the world or puddle of mud, it really didn’t seem to matter, mainly because I was quite content where I was. But upon hearing these hesitations, without so much as a moment’s consideration of my dilemma, the Israelis, all of whom had visited Petra at least once, scoffed and said quite clearly that I should and must go. As fellow climbers, I was certain that their advice could not be the result of blasé impressions or contrived, guidebook type agendas. No, these were very discerning dudes who would not so strongly suggest a destination based simply on its reputation.

My biggest qualm with this sort of international travel tourism that I’ve been doing is that we’re all basically told to go the same places because (for obvious reasons) the places have some great historical or cultural distinction. In the end unfortunately, nobody is really making their own decisions. It’s the educated sheep mentality. This of course is the totally natural approach for us sheep-like humans when walking about in a new and mysterious country. Nobody disputes that all the major sites are indeed spectacular, for why else would they be designated as such, but for me the catch is not so much the destination itself but the surrounding the experience. My appreciation does not so much depend on the grandeur of the site but more so on the experience of being there, walking about, contemplating, and taking in. This is by necessity a slow and personalized process. The difficulty is that some places, for example the Pyramids at Giza, seem to have absolutely no room for a surrounding (slow) experience of any sort, at least not for a casual traveler who doesn’t know any better. Now that I think about it, my day at the Pyramids was perhaps one of the most dull experiences of the whole trip, and so when I was first considering going to Petra without really knowing how unique the place was, I was quite concerned it might be a similarly frustrating, and ultimately a waste of time. Hordes of tourists and convoys of coaches, constant haggling over camel rides and Pepsis, hot sun, zero shade, nothing but sand underfoot, and a few enormous crumbling edifices to gawk at; this was not my idea of fun and would be sure to avoid it in the future.

But low and behold! I could not have been any more mistaken in regards to these Egypt-based preconceptions of Petra. For one thing, Petra is by no means a tour bus accessible site. To even begin to enter the ancient city, one is required to walk, or at the very least be carried by donkey or camel, a full 3km through the main entrance canyon. And from there, there is at least another 20kms of promenades to the main edifices and ceremonial sites, to say nothing of the hundreds of minor pathways and trails that lead throughout the smaller ruins of the old city. All of this is to say that Petra is not a quick, off-the-bus-on-the-bus type destination. It is recommended to spend at least two days meandering through the landscape, slowly absorbing the remains of a culture that was developed over three thousand years in complete harmony with its surroundings.

The atmosphere today on the main promenades of the city is an extraordinary mixture of tourists and locals mingling in a totally relaxed yet active mode of being. Bedouin guides and shop keepers, beckoning but not insisting, tourists walking but not hurrying, local children playing more than working; this is the Petra that I experienced, a place where the old facades and archeological ruins blend and blur seamlessly with the modern adaptations for tourism and trade. In its own way, Petra has not died; though it may have been lost and unseen by anyone but a Bedouin for five hundred years, the city today is most certainly alive and evolving.

What is referred to as the ancient Petra is a massive layered conglomeration of three thousand years of Nabatean, Roman, and Crusader construction and cultural development. Carved out of the sandstone by successive waves of enterprising kingships, the amphitheaters, churches, tombs, and other such royal dwellings, though partially eroded in many places, still protrude distinctively from the canyon walls and tickle the imagination. Interspersed throughout the major buildings, are countless smaller homes and shelters, so tightly packed in some areas that it gives the feel of modern apartment complexes existing in a paradoxically urban, manmade, manipulated yet completely natural environment. Alas, it’s the ideal eco-village, complete with complex flood-control systems, water wheels, irrigation, agriculture and energy. Nowadays, generators have replaced the indigenous technologies, but nonetheless, the Bedouin are out there carving out a seemingly decent livelihood from a mix of crop production, goat herding, and tourism.

Over the two days I was lucky enough to spend discovering Petra, I walked about, scrambled and stemmed my way up and down, canyons, valleys, animal trails, and gentle desert ridgelines. The landscape was at points completely overwhelming, especially at sunset, when the fleeting orange hues would linger endlessly on the rolling bulges of white sandstone that lined the eastern canyons. At the end of both days, I chose fortuitously to exit Petra through these surreal white gateways to the setting sun, walking up and into what felt like a magical bath of angelic light, brushing away hunger and sadness with every upward breath. On both days it was exactly the same; just as I reached the pinnacle of these luminous white ridges and the blazing red orb had dipped below the horizon, I was completely swallowed up by an energizing tidal wave of love for the earth and complete awe for its (her?) beauty. This feeling more than anything else is why Petra is pure, and why the human beings there are still to this day able to blend with the nature, and why even with the whir of generators and the intrusion of modern restaurants and port-o-potties, the place has an undeniable resonance of power that must in some way affect every person who visits. Clear and simple, it is a sacred place available to all, no matter what path one chooses to trod. Me personally, I can’t wait to go back!

Wadi Rum

The difficulty with this medium is its limitlessness. It is in fact not one medium at all, but a great messy collage of many overlapping possibilities. As such, the medium of the blog and the medium of life are quite similar. When one suffers, the other projects. It seems no one wants to read about this aspect of (my) experience but of course it’s there and must be levied against the inspiration.

I arrived in the Bedouin village of Wadi Rum happy as a clam. It had been two days since I left Cairo, traveling overnight across the Sinai to reach the port of Nuweiba and then climbing aboard the ferry for the four hour trip to Aqaba, Jordan. From Aqaba, it was just a matter of one night’s fitful sleep in a cramped hotel room with a snoring Spaniard and some light provisioning in the morning, then I was off.

Undeniably, in all ways and at all moments, Wadi Rum was very, very good to me. First of all, as you might infer from the picture below, it is one of the most astoundingly gorgeous desert landscapes in the world.

The village itself (sprawled out on the valley floor between the massifs of Jebel Rum and Jebel Khalazi) is a pleasant place to stay. The Bedouin people are relaxed and living quite comfortably, many of them banking heartily off the growing tourist flow. Almost every adult male of Wadi Rum owns a Landcruiser, and when they’re not using it to transport goats or building materials, or whatever, there is no shortage of tourists wishing to pay 50 bucks for a ride around the desert. Fortunately for me, the tourists don’t seem to get out of the vehicles to walk around much, so in five days of climbing and hiking I did not meet a single one except in the parking lot of the village’s only restaurant.

The climbing and hiking was delicious sweet surrender. On the afternoon of my arrival, I hiked out into the desert and took this picture from atop an outlying tower in front of the main massif of Jebel Rum. These two hours of twilight strolling and scrambling through the winding canyons were all that was needed to convince me that I had come to the right place. The desert sunk its claws into my soul on that first afternoon and from sunset onwards, all other details slipped into place as water in the sand. The most definitive aspect of my good fortune was meeting Elad and his friends that night in the restaurant. Longtime Rum climbers, they told me everything I wanted to know about the valley and suggested that I migrate over to the other campsite in town where there was a free kitchen for use as well as many other conveniences and comforts. The following day after climbing with Mohammed, a local Bedouin kid who knows all the classic routes, I headed over to the climbers camp and just as I was walking in, Elad’s friends were walking out with their backpacks on. Turns out they had been unexpectedly required to drive back to their home town of Haifa that evening, thereby leaving Elad to wait until the end of the week for his other partners to arrive. This turn of fate naturally offered me the opportunity to climb three days with Elad, who of course was not just any climber dude, but one of the strongest and most experienced in the Valley, and certainly one of the most conscientious, respectful, and focused persons I have ever met. Needless to say, I thanked my lucky stars many times throughout the rest of the week (even as I struggled hard to follow the 5.12 cracks that Elad led effortlessly) and tried as much as possible to express my gratitude to him whenever possible.

The four days of climbing was intense; full of manifest suffering at times from a mix of hot sun and cold shade, sharp sandstone whose integrity that I never fully learned to trust, painful shoes that for some reason seem to have shrunk two sizes since I wore them in Alaska, and most of all my frantic head and deflated body out of shape from two months of malnutrition and sitting on my ass. At the end of the week, when Elad’s friends arrived and it was time for me to move on to Petra, I was left with the uncomfortable sensation of wanting more but knowing that I couldn’t handle it physically. My hands were torn up and toes blistered, physically I was quite a mess and emotionally I had an overwhelming sense of deficiency, which lingered heavily for some days and never fully subsided. But as with any difficult endeavor, the rewards I suppose are inevitably worth the hardships, even if the eventuality is uncertain and hard to ascertain in the moment.

(More climbing pics coming soon!)

Oddities

This is a message posted throughout the decks of the Nuweiba-Aqaba ferry boat -- see below for a picture of the oddly designed boat. I think there must have been something missed in the translation of the word "opinions," but nonetheless it is an accurate reflection of the paradox of Islamic politics.

Pyramids and Pudding

I'm kind of at the end of a line here. I took the night train down from Luxor three days ago and ever since I stepped off into that morning haze of Cairo's chaotic rush hour with no direction and no connection, life has been good; I certainly can't complain even though at times I really try.

It is quite a special experience to get off the train sleepy-eyed and slowly in a brand new city of 20 million people and have no idea where to go and no need to go anywhere. First step I took was to exit the station and go in search of a morning beverage. This ended me at an adjacent orange juice stand, where during the course of drinking, I was befriended by an Egyptian man who had just returned from living for 14 years in Namibia. For god knows what reasons exactly, this man Mahmoud was entirely devoted to helping me get to where i needed to go -- namely downtown, where the LP recommended budget hotels are located-- without any need for personal gain whatsoever. I say this with a bit of incredulity because it was a first for me in Egypt. Not that people are any less helpful and good natured here, it’s just that in relation to other places I’ve been on this trip, the level of street swindlers, scammers and sellers is astronomically higher. I have had to build up a hardy shell of skepticism in my encounters with people on the street, only to avoid being the constant victim of thickly embellished sales schemes.

After finishing our juice, Mahmoud and I took a taxi together to downtown Cairo and he dropped me off right where I needed to be. I got out the taxi and wandered several blocks down from the enormous traffic rotary of death at Mahab Tahrir and started looking for the budget hotels. Of course before I had a chance to find the one I was looking for, some dude with a striking resemblance to Tiger Woods asked me what I was looking for and if he could help. To be sure this was by no means going to be a selfless act. But in the end, Tiger Woods, as he preferred to be called, was genuinely helpful and pretty hilarious. First I asked if he could help me find the Syrian embassy, after which he insisted on showing me a hotel which he thought would be more suitable for me and my budget. He brought me up to the Dahab Hotel on the seventh and top floor of a building in the heart of downtown Cairo. This place turned out to be a real oasis of rooftop calm, potted plants, and a very diverse array of international backpacker types, from the classic Euros to the quirky Christian surfers from Hawaii, to a really sweet couple from Washington Avenue in FT Greene BROOKLYN! But what convinced me to follow Tiger’s advice was not so much the sweet setting of the place which didn’t really become apparent until later, but it was more the fact than when I arrived at the reception desk, the people checking in before me were none other than the two travelers sitting next to me on the train, whom I had noticed but not spoken with. As usual, nothing is as it seems and it’s always better to follow a whim than a reason.

Back to Tiger. After I checked in contentedly, he naturally insisted I come downstairs to his perfume shop and have a look around. I chuckled lightly thinking there was no way he would sucker me after I told him countless times that I was not in the market. But low and behold, after two cups of tea and his long monologue about the energetic chakra healing properties of his uniquely high quality essential oils (and me realistically considering the fact that I have been without any deodorant or added body scent for two months), I gave in. I left the shop happily and indeed energetically awakened from my overnight train stupor. On my way back upstairs to the Dahab, I bumped into the the two from the train--Canadians, Sarah and John--who were on their way out to visit the markets and mosques of Old Cairo. At first I thought I needed to shower and relax, but after some good cajoling and conversation with them, I was convinced to head right out and dive into the sights of the city.

From that point forward, I’ve been blessed with a continual barrage of Cairo sight seeing, walking, driving, talking, and taking in. I could have spent hours inside the Cairo museum but of course I was a bit distracted and disgruntled by the package tour hordes. I did leave the museum however fully satisfied by the experience of seeing the mummified body of Ramses II and about 20 other major pharonic personalities under glass and wrapped in the original formaldehyde soaked bandages of three thousand years ago. Something about the shriveled bodies and frazzled orange hair still clinging to their softball sized skulls really gave me a sense of what everyone is after here... We love the dead because it reminds us of how nice life is now?

After the museum, I strolled across one of the many Nile bridges into the upscale (island) neighborhood of Zamelek with a plan to meet a friend of a friend for dinner. Dear sweet Rima from NYC had mentioned to me several months back that she had a friend Suzanne who owned a restaurant in Cairo. Of course at the time I had no idea that Suzanne owned the best restarurant in the whole damn city and her and her husband and their 3-year old boy are amazing people and quite a blessing to know. The restaurant, La Bodega is set up in amazing colonial era mansion, with goegroeus murals, a decked out comfy lounge bar, and an extensively mouth watering menu that was on par with the best of the best in that other little upscale island neighborhood we all know so well. We sat and dined and chatted for three hours about their lives, my trip, and the frenetic nature of cairo. I left feeling for the first time completely recharged and ecstatic to be in Cairo. More than anything, I was humbled once again by the enormous generousity of what would otherwise be strangers and also again by an overwhelming appreciation for the unfolding plan, of which I seem to have no ultimate control but complete trust in.

And now it only gets better. I spent yesterday bouncing around in a mini bus to the three major Cairo pyramid sites (my own little package tour). It all began at one in the morning the night before when I mentioned to the manager of the Dahab that I might like to travel down to Giza for the day and in a matter of five minutes he had returned to me with news that a German couple was looking to do the same and it could be arranged for only 12 dollars a person. So off we went, me and the middle aged german couple, Joseph and Monica, to check off perhaps the single most acclaimed tourist experience in the world. In full style, we circumnavigated the Giza pyramids atop horses, gazing at the dessert monoliths and the Disney like clamor of 100,ooo others streaming about. This experience could be nothing more than slightly anticlimactic, alas we quickly moved on to the next site. The highlight of the day was indeed at the Saqara Red Pyramid, into which we were allowed to descend without paying the usual additional 10 or 20 dollar ticket charge. The inside of the three thousand year old building smelled strongly of ammonia or perhaps stale pee pee. Either way it was quite a memorable space for a minute. But actually the most memorable part of the day was the rush hour traffic through Cairo on the way back north. I believe the city planners must simply have forgotten to consider the modern predicament of cars and drivers. In fact, there is no city planning at all in Cairo! The city is ancient and completely broken when it comes to driving. The subway system ain’t half bad though, but the roads are a mess! Trying to cross the street on foot is a bit like Russian roulette though I’ve heard Delhi and Bangkok might be worse.

Anyhow, I don’t really to have to worry about traffic anymore because last night after returning to the hotel with the Germans, (who by the way it turns out are professional waste oil collectors, biodiesel manufacturers and diesel engineers back home in Munich) I packed my bag and took the metro down to the wealthy Cairo suburb of El Maadi. Yet another example of the unfolding goodness of the plan and people along the way, back in Luxor, I met a group of American school teachers – they happen to be Canadian but what’s the difference, eh – and one of them named Laura was sweet enough to offer me her guest bedroom in the house (see above) she shares with her boyfriend Hanni and their two cats. It was really pretty extraordinary to make this offer after knowing me for all of an hour and a half and to be honest I wasn’t really sure if it was right of me to take advantage of such openness. But I guess the point is nothing is to be taken advantage of out here, only appreciated and reciprocated. Though it may sound smug cliché or contrived, I realize this is the only approach to life when you have no home, only the world as nesting material. I’ll even go so far as to say, the proof is in the pudding.

Last night we ate at the Korean restaurant RIGHT around the corner from their house, then came back “home” and baked cupcakes for Laura’s seventh grade class bake sale. We chatted about the demands of teaching and the love/hate intensity of the city. Hanni and I spoke about the fruit and vegetable distribution business that he owns with his brother and Egyptian agriculture. By the end of the night, I felt more comfortable and ‘familiar’ than I have in a month, at least since I left Daniela in Nanyuki. I woke up this morning completely refreshed from the first real night’s sleep in weeks, took a beautiful shower, ate cereal and drank tea. Now it’s time to part ways with the slumbering cats of this lovely abode and go a wandering and book shopping on these new jersey-esque streets.

Valley of the Kings

Today I rode a bicycle 40 kilometers up and around the ancient cemetery of Thebes. It was perhaps the most overwhelming tourist experience I've ever had, with literally 70,000 of us stumbling around the tombs and monuments to the dead. I felt a bit awkward paying 20-30$ to gawk at the walls and stare dumbfounded at the colorful hieroglyphics and graphic adornment. The whole experience felt like a bit of a trespass, with an air of voyerism and necrophilia. In an hour, I'm off to Cairo on the night train. I think this'll be a good move for deepening my perspective and appreciation for the country. Tune out the tourism and hopefully begin to blend in a bit.

Down the Tube to Egypt

(slow train through northern Sudan)

(Lake Nasser Ferry at sunrise)

(Karnak Temple entrance)

I've been watching many bad American movies on Arabic television in the lobby of this pleasant backpacker hotel in Luxor. Right now, I find it difficult to concentrate on writing anything of substance with the TV blaring. But with free high speed Internet and tea, I must take advantage of my circumstances and write what ever comes out.

Since arriving by boat three days ago from Lake Nasser in Sudan, this journey -- and my corresponding state of mind which is the real driver of everything out here -- has drastically shifted. For a month and half I was fully immersed in Africa. For a month and half the experience was genuinely mine. Even in Ethiopia or Zanzibar where there were many tourists, I never once felt like I was being pegged and pinned by the locals for being one. I travelled with the sense that I was actually discovering something new and genuine for myself and using this blog to report about it. The Africa of Sudan, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Kenya was indeed brand new for me and relatively untrammeled by others like me. In Egypt, it's not only that there are hordes and hordes of tourists, but that the entire country (for me only the cities of Aswan and Luxor) seem to be almost completely designed to cater to the tourist desire. There are rows upon rows of markets with stalls selling an almost identical selection of spices, carved trinkets, clothes, jewelry, water pipes, and the like. Through the rows wander countless package-tour groups that have sailed up the Nile in luxurious cruise ships or sped up the high way in plush air

conditioned buses. Most appear to be Europeans (and Japanese, see above) on holiday. I say more power to them. Come to Egypt and appreciate the heritage. Come to Egypt and give your money to Egyptians. Thus far, it appears I have stumbled upon the true tourist mecca, but of course this not all there is to it and most definitely not the experience I desire.

(Aswan mosque)

I am in fact completely uninterested in visiting the archaeological sites, though yesterday and today I happily ride a rented a bicycle from one ancient Thebian site to the next. When in Luxor, there is really no choice but to do as the tourists do. This is fine, but what I'm really after is Egypt of the present. What is Egypt, who are the Egyptians, how do they see themselves? These questions began to occur as soon as I stepped out of the tube and into the culture. There is a very strange air of confusion about this place. Neither Africa nor the middle east, neither black nor white, but according to one educated Egyptian man I spoke with last night, the culture can best be described as pharonic. I laughed, but this is actually quite true. Egyptian identity is distinct and as a whole, the country can rightfully claim a direct lineage to pharoahs. I'm not sure if this distinction actually has any positive influence over culture and politics in Egypt today. The country is indeed a political force to be reckoned with in the region, and it is definitely the world capital of moderate Islam's mainstream media and education. But all this is in Cairo, and I am not there yet. Hopefully, with the few connections I have in Cairo, I'll gain those genuine windows into the Egyptian reality that I seek more than pyramids.

In Sudan, the windows were sublime and almost entirely inaccessible in a mere five days. Here it's the reverse but ultimately the same. Culture is blatantly lathered on the tourist but in such a way that the authenticity becomes questionable. From the Egyptian men I met in Sudan right through my three days in Egypt, I have run head on into bigotry and ignorance many times. In three or four different instances, Egyptian men have articulated to me the view that black Africans are lazy and Egypt is a cut above not only all of Africa, but the middle east as well. Having this kind of racist small talk so casually thrown out makes me want to dismiss the whole country outright. But then I remember that this is only an obstacle on the path to finding the windows. It'd be like going to Texas and concluding that all of the United States advocates concealed weapons and the death penalty. Unfortunately there are large sections of the population in any country, no matter how open minded and progressive the whole, that convey narrow provincial opinions. Sometimes, these people are even tools of the state, such as the current situation in Khartoum with the 600 "protesters" yesterday demanding death for the British teacher who's students named a teddy bear Muhammad. It is absolutely astounding to me that everywhere in the world, but especially in the Arabic speaking countries, blind allegiance and faith in authority figures overrides all human instincts of compassion. Bigotry and arrogance often wins the majority. People label themselves with this or that religion, nationality, or ethnicity, but so often the labels only serve to confuse.

What makes me happy more than anything out here is when I meet someone who is willing to grapple with these ideas, to engage, not to agree. Of course language can be a major limitation, but somehow, maybe not everyday, but always just at the right times, these folks cross my path and bestow their perspectives and knowledge in such a way that I am enlightened not defensive. Sometimes there is a fine line, such as the case last night in a conversation I had with the American owner of the Oasis Cafe...

(Feluccas on the Nile)